The Arrangement

Summary: To keep Molly safe, Sherlock had to enter an arrangement...a marriage arrangement.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

To: mayacakaia on Tumblr. Happy Valentine's Day! :)

"This isn't the 18th century, Mycroft!"

Sherlock Holmes ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling his curls, as he paced in his brother's spacious office.

Mycroft sighed and uncrossed his hands, placing them on his desk. "There is nothing I can do, Sherlock. I only have a minor position—"

"Liar!" Sherlock sneered, dropping into the seat he had just vacated. "You have successfully offered security and protection to John and Mary Watson, and I'm not married to either of them. Why can't you do the same for her?"

"Doctor Watson has willingly put himself out there, appearing as your colleague, assistant, and friend. He has been in the papers and is well known across the country as a person of interest for you. I had no choice but to put him under my protection. Therefore, his wife is under the government's protection as well."

"But Molly is important to me." Sherlock slammed his fists on the table. "There has to be something you can do!"

"Unless you want to expose Doctor Hooper as a significant participant in your suicide, I have given you my only viable option. Privately wed Doctor Hooper and she will receive every bit of protection I am capable of offering."

Sherlock stared at Molly Hooper, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Her hands were trembling and her eyes were shiny. Her mouth was set at a frown, and he desperately wanted to do everything in his power to fix this.

"It's the only way," he found himself saying, crossing his legs. He was sitting in his chair and Molly was sitting across from him in John's old chair. "You are in grave danger until we sort out this Moriarty business, and I don't know how long that will take. If I could ensure your safety without Mycroft, I would, but I can't. Don't you understand?" He suddenly leapt to his feet, pacing in the small space between the chairs and the fireplace. "I need you to be safe, Molly Hooper, and I cannot have you exposed in the papers as my…" he waved his hand impatiently for a moment before saying, "partner in the suicide because that will just alert the criminal community around the world that are a person of interest, and it would be my fault if something happens to you. As long as we're married, Mycroft can offer the highest amount of security possible to you. We can annul the marriage after this is all over."

He stopped and looked at Molly. During his short speech, she pulled herself together, the tears no longer present in her eyes and the shaking in her hands had subsided. "We're getting married, then?" she asked shakily.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, and then he moved to Molly's side. He fished out a black velvet box from his robe pocket and was about to kneel in front of her when Molly jumped to her feet, shaking her head. "I can't!" she said, taking the ring box from him. His brow furrowed, and Molly opened in and removed the ring from the box. It was a gorgeous ring; platinum band, three sparking diamonds, simple and elegant. She slipped the ring onto her finger. "I've done this before, and I can't do it again if you don't mean it, Sherlock."

He could see that she was about to cry again. His hands hung limply at his side as Molly quickly stepped away from him, donning her coat and picking up her bag. "So I guess I'll be moving in here, right? I should pack. I'm assuming you have everything under control. Let me know when I can bring my things over. And ask Mrs. Hudson if I can bring Toby. If not, I'm sure I can find a temporary home for him. I'll see you later, alright? I have a shift this afternoon, so I expect I'll see you there since I haven't had a moment of peace since Moriarty came back!"

She was running down the steps before Sherlock could get a word in edgewise.

"Married life" with Molly Hooper was not that different from "bolt-hole life" with Molly Hooper, except instead of being in her flat, she was in his. She still cooked, she tidied up, and she was quiet and followed her typical post work routine.

Shower. Dinner. Telly. Book. Bed.

But things started to change after the second week of being married, when Sherlock made dinner for her. He had been bored, case-less, and Mrs. Hudson just did the shopping. The knowledge that Molly did three autopsies on children that day had no correlation with his need to ensure that dinner was perfect and the kitchen was completely tidy.

He even made a chocolate cake—not to cheer her up— for science.

Sherlock was definitely not falling into the role of dutiful husband after two weeks of fake marriage.

He had to stop himself from standing at the top of the stairs to wait for her. Instead, he set aside a bit of the pork roast he prepared on a small saucer and poured a bit of milk into a bowl for Toby; the cat had been well-behaved in his new environment, and deserved a treat.

At the sound of the door downstairs opening and Molly's familiar gait as she walked inside, Sherlock moved their plates to the table in the living room and sat down in a chair.

"It smells lovely. Has Mrs. Hudson been…oh!"

Sherlock turned to the door and smiled at Molly, hoping he didn't look threatening. "I made dinner. Pork roast and vegetables. And there's a chocolate cake for later. I heard about your shift and…." He trailed off. He initially had no intentions of revealing the reasons why he chose to make her dinner. But Molly didn't wait for him to speak up again. She just crossed the room quickly and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering for a second or two longer than necessary.

Sherlock took a deep breath, recognizing the vanilla and honey soap that she kept in her locker at Bart's, which meant she already showered for the evening. Her routine was definitely deviating from the norm.

Molly settled into the seat beside Sherlock, and the two ate in a companionable silence.

After dinner and dessert, and with Molly' assistance with washing the dishes and putting them away, Sherlock found himself sprawled out on the sofa, his legs resting in Molly's lap. He tried to focus on the telly and then in his Mind Palace, but he couldn't stop thinking about Molly and the fact that she was absentmindedly rubbing his ankle with her thumb.

It was with relief when the movement stopped. He opened his eyes to see what distracted Molly, and he smiled at the sight of her fast asleep. Before long she tipped over, curling a bit on her side and using Sherlock's legs as a pillow.

He didn't mind.

The weeks went by rather quickly, with Sherlock work case after case while simultaneously looking for clues about Moriarty. So far there hadn't been anymore attempts at contact, and Sherlock was beginning to feel like this was some clever ruse to get him back from being exiled. But there weren't any indications that this was the truth, so Sherlock continued his search.

It didn't take long before it became abundantly clear that his brother's security team was constantly around. There were cameras set in strategically around Baker Street, which Sherlock requested numerous times to have taken down, there was an armed agent parked around the corner from the flat, and there were new "neighbors" too. At St. Bart's, Molly had a new "intern" that never left her side, even accompanying her to the bathroom during her breaks.

Sherlock felt terrible for Molly. Her work was taking longer than necessary because every post mortem began with a brief examination from someone other than Molly to ensure that she wouldn't be harmed by the corpse. So her days dragged and dragged and her paperwork was getting pushed to the end of her shifts. Soon she was working ten or twelve hour shifts just to accomplish the tasks she would normally do in eight.

He found himself taking Molly out for lunch nearly every day, giving her a short break from the "intern". If Sherlock was in her presence, Mycroft's men would back off. Even if he was working on a case or on an experiment, he always found the time to spend one hour with Molly either in the canteen, at a nearby restaurant, and several times just locked in her office to eat.

There were benefits to this; Molly managed to get a short reprieve from constant surveillance and Sherlock got to bask in her presence without having someone else staring at him the entire time. He could listen to her talk endlessly about what she did that day because the "intern" wasn't really interested in pathology.

When John and Mary finally had their daughter on January 23rd, Sherlock's routine only changed slightly; instead of spending most of his day at St. Bart's when he wasn't working on a case, he spent the morning with the Watsons, helping around their home, doing general cleaning, and taking care of the baby so they could nap. By lunch time, he was always on his way to St. Bart's to save Molly.

"I was just wondering if you could watch Scarlett for a few hours on the fourteenth? It's Valentine's Day, and I wanted to take Mary out to dinner and the cinema."

Sherlock scrunched up his face, shifting his violin beneath his chin. "I'm a married man, now, John. You can't just assume I'll be available all the time, especially on holidays!" He dropped his right hand to make a few changes in the music he was composing.

John's eyes widened. "Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean—" He stopped at the sight of Sherlock's smirk and he rolled his eyes. "You're taking the piss, aren't you?"

"It would be more than acceptable to spend that wretched holiday babysitting your little girl." Sherlock turned around, dropping his pencil back to his music stand and moving his fingers to first position his instrument.

"So you don't have plans?"

"No. Molly always works nights for the holidays." He spun away from John, raising his bow to play the violin. He hesitated for just a second, and in that second he knew John Watson had deduced his feelings on Molly's particular holiday habit. Before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Valentine's Day is just a commercial holiday to sell sweets and cards and—"

"You don't have to try and convince me that you don't care about Valentine's Day; I know you don't. But you do care about Molly, and you know Molly is sentimental like the rest of us ordinary people and you want her to be happy, even if the holiday is…stupid."

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment, and then he turned slowly, giving up on composing for the time being. He had been working at it for weeks and wasn't getting very far, anyway. "She is under the impression that we're getting an annulment once this is all over."

"That's what you told her."

"But it's not what I want…anymore." He carefully placed his violin and bow on the table before moving to his chair and plopping down. John took this as a sign that he should sit across from Sherlock, and he did.

"Then you need to have a conversation with her."

"I hate having conversations."

"We're having one."

"And I'm nearly dead."

John chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "You're an idiot." Sherlock rolled his eyes at John and crossed his arms over his chest. He was well on his way to sulking when John said, "This conversation won't be as hard or uncomfortable as you think it will be. First, sit down with her. Second, tell her how you feel. Third, listen to her response."

"Is it that simple, John Watson?"

"Of course it is, Sherlock Holmes. Not everything is an extravagant puzzle that takes hours upon hours to solve. You just have to get over your fear of talking about sentiment."

"I'm not—"

"Mary doesn't even have to be here to tell me you're fibbing."

With that, Sherlock launched from his seat and picked up his violin. "Don't you have a newborn you should be taking care of?"

"I'll tell Mary you send your love." John took this as his dismissal and quietly left the flat, not before clapping Sherlock once on the shoulder.

"See you tomorrow," Sherlock grumbled, before plucking away at the strings.

The Monday before Valentine's Day, Sherlock was sitting at his microscope in the lab, waiting for Molly to finish whatever tests she was running before they went to lunch. He heard Molly puttering around the lab behind him, and in the back of his mind it was obvious that she was nervous about something. Suddenly, Molly stopped walking and took a deep breath. "I was wondering…if maybe we could go out to dinner on Friday? Mike has arranged for people to cover my shift since it's my first Valentine's Day as a married woman!" Molly chuckled nervously while wringing her hands in front of her.

Sherlock adjusted the knobs on his microscope to get a clearer view of the soil samples Lestrade had given him from the case he was working on. He wasn't paying complete attention to Molly as he observed an odd shell in the sample. He barely thought fully of his response before he said, "No," without looking up.

"Oh…oh…"

Sherlock's head snapped up as Molly quickly moved away from him. He reached out for her before she could run from the lab, his hand easily wrapping around her slim wrist. "I mean," he said, trying to talk even though there was no saliva in his mouth and his heart was beating erratically, "I already promised John and Mary that I would watch Scarlett on Friday so they can have dinner and go to the cinema. I can cook for you and we can spend the evening in if you don't mind me having a three week old infant to take care of as well." He heard Molly sniffle, and he winced. He licked his lips and then said softly, "I would love to spend the most useless holiday on the planet with my wife."

At that, Molly spun around. Even though her eyes were shining with unshed tears, the smile on her face was enough to take his breath away.

Valentine's Day couldn't come fast enough for Sherlock. He normally despised all holidays, recognizing them as wastes of time, money, and effort, but the idea of seeing Molly, even if it was in their own home, made his stomach twist in knots—and it wasn't all that unpleasant.

And Sherlock had to continuously remind himself that he shouldn't be ashamed of the shiver that went down his spine every time he thought of 221B Baker Street as their home.

Cooking was something Sherlock excelled in; it was nothing more than chemistry, so he wasn't worried about the meal they were going to share. Especially since it was something he knew Molly liked; during their many lunches out over the past few weeks, Molly had on three different occasions ordered pea and mint risotto and salad. It wasn't hard for Sherlock to get the recipe from the restaurant and replicate it at John and Mary's for a practice run.

Standing in the kitchen with his hands on his hips was Sherlock, and he was watching as the onions and garlic for the dish began frying. When his phone began to ring, his first thought was that something had happened to Molly; she had just stepped out to buy dessert for the two of them, taking one of Mycroft's security men with her. He reached for his phone and his eyes widened when he saw it was John.

"Not good," he breathed, before answering. "Is everything alright? You never call. Is someone hurt? Have you called 999 already? Do I need to get Mycroft? Is it Scarlett?"

There was a moment of silence on the phone and Sherlock quickly turned off the cooker, pushing the saucepan to the side. He was already shrugging on his coat and was halfway to the door when John said, "Uhh…no to all of that, actually."

Sherlock paused when he reached the top of the stairs. "Then what is it?" he asked, irritated.

"Mary and I are cancelling our plans for tonight. She's feeling really unwell, and there's no use in dragging her outside if she isn't up to it."

Sherlock slowly removed his coat. "Have you called her OBGYN? It's not uncommon for women to take several weeks after birth to—"

"I'm a doctor!" John reminded, and Sherlock could hear his eyes rolling in his head. "There's no reason to rush off to the A&E."

"Okay."

"I hope this doesn't ruin your evening with Molly." He could hear the smirk in his voice, and it took everything for Sherlock to not sigh dramatically.

"Shut up."

"Just be safe with all your activities. A lot of babies are born in November because of this holiday! You don't want to become a statistic."

"I'm going to kill you," Sherlock growled, his voice barely audible over John's laughter.

"No you won't! But seriously, enjoy your date! I'll text if Mary's condition changes or gets worse."

Sherlock's irritation melted away. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls. "If you need me to watch Scarlett so you can take care of Mary, that's fine."

"I'll hold you to it if things change. But right now, I can handle them both."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Bye."

After slipping his phone back into his pocket he returned his attention to the onions and garlic. The oil was still hot enough without the heat that they fried, so he turned the cooker back on and resumed cooking. By the time he finished the risotto and was dressing the salad, he heard the door downstairs opening and knew Molly was returning from her short trip to the shops.

"I bought some red wine. I know we're babysitting, but a glass won't hurt, right?" Molly asked, as she stepped into the kitchen. Sherlock watched her from the corner of his eye as she placed the wine and two square boxes in the fridge.

"There's been a change of plans," Sherlock finally said, after Molly removed her coat. He smiled at her simple navy wrap dress; he hadn't realized she changed her clothes earlier in the day.

"Really?" Molly asked, and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. He mentally reminded himself that he needed to work on his delivery of simple statements.

"Yes. Mary is sick, so we're not babysitting Scarlett this evening."

"Oh! Is she alright? What's wrong?"

"John didn't really say," Sherlock said, "But it's not too serious, or else he'd rush her to the A&E."

"Right. Well, I'll just send her a text," Molly said, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

"Great! Have a seat at the table. I'll bring dinner to you."

Sherlock waited until Molly was finished texting Mary before he set the dishes on a tray; two heaping bowls of risotto and two plates of salad, wine, glasses, and silverware. He managed to balance the tray in his hands and turn off all the lights until only the fairy lights from Christmas were twinkling around the room. He heard Molly's sudden intake of breath and he knew he did something right.

His finishing touch, after placing the food and drink on the table and tossing the tray over his shoulder was lighting the lone candle that was in the middle of the table; if he learned anything from Angelo, it was that lighting a single candle was the epitome of romance.

Once again, Molly took his breath away with the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye. He sat motionless across from her for a moment, trying to determine if he'd ever seen her so happy before. This look rivaled the smiles they shared after his return from the dead.

"This looks delicious."

"I can guarantee that it tastes just as good as it looks."

They talked quietly as they ate. They hadn't spent a lot of time together lately. It was refreshing for Sherlock to sit back and listen to Molly tell him about her week. The tight bundle of knots in his stomach receded as the evening continued, until they were sitting in a companionable silence, full of good food, wine, and conversation.

"Maybe we can have dessert for breakfast?" Molly offered, rubbing her stomach. "I'm not sure if I can eat another bite!"

Sherlock smiled and pushed himself away from the table. "If we're skipping dessert, there is one more thing I would like to do before we end our evening."

"And what is that?"

Sherlock walked around the table and picked up his violin from his chair. "I've been working on something since we got married, but it's not finished." He lifted the violin and placed it beneath his chin. "I wanted to have it finished for tonight, so you could hear it, but it's been difficult to compose." He hesitated for a moment, watching as Molly slowly sat up in her chair. With her eyes on him, he felt nervous again. He swallowed thickly and turned around, facing the window. "But here's something else."

He began playing, his eyes sliding closed so he couldn't see Molly's reactions in the window. He allowed the music to flow through him, and slowly, his body began to relax until all the tension left his shoulders and he could move a bit more fluidly.

He was so lost in his music that he didn't hear Molly get up. The only warning he had that she was standing right behind him was a warm ghost of breath against his back, and then she wound her arms around him, pressing her face between his shoulder blades. "Don't stop," she whispered, as she began to sway slowly.

As Sherlock continued playing, he couldn't help but think he was finally getting his first dance with his wife.

Eventually, the music tapered off, and Sherlock held his breath as the final strains floated in the air before they were left in silence. He could feel Molly trembling, but he didn't really know what to do. They stood in silence for only a minute before Sherlock whispered, "I don't want to annul this marriage."

He felt rather than heard Molly's shaky intake of breath. "Turn around." Her arms loosened around him enough for him to turn slowly, and then she latched onto him again. He carefully rested his instrument on his chair before reciprocating her hug, resting his head on top of hers.

"I want you to keep these rings, and in a year's time, we will have a real wedding ceremony, because that's what you've always wanted. Either I can plan it, or we can plan it, it doesn't matter. I just don't trust an actual wedding planner because all they want is the money. And I'll have your piece finished by then, and we'll dance to it as our second dance, because tonight was our first. And I really want this relationship between us to work; I've never wanted anything more in my entire life. So if you'll have me, Molly Hooper, I would like you to continue being my wife."

He had to force himself to stop talking.

But Molly didn't waste any time. She quickly hopped to her tiptoes, pulling Sherlock closer to her. "Yes," she breathed, before kissing him soundly. He stood rigidly for a moment before melting into the kiss, bringing his hands up to cup her face. When they pulled away, Sherlock rested his forehead against hers.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Molly Hooper…Holmes."

Molly gasped softly and pulled away so she could look him in the eyes clearly. Sherlock saw tears running down her cheeks, and he was about to apologize, not sure if he overstepped a boundary or said something offensive, when Molly sniffled, wiped at her cheeks, and choked out, "Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock Holmes."

And then she kissed him again.

Fin.