5. "Take what you need." - prompt from the Fictober list on tumblr

Molly was tidying up after a long day arguing with just about every piece of equipment in the lab. The centrifuge wouldn't get up to speed, the mass spec sample loader wasn't being recognised by the software, despite being all wired up correctly, and the icing on the cake, she'd run out of pipette tips. She was just hanging up her lab coat when Sherlock burst into the room, coat billowing out behind him dramatically. She took a deep breath, and with one hand on the door knob, told him to take whatever he needed, she was going home.

What she hadn't anticipated, was Sherlock picking her up in a fireman's lift, and carrying her out of the door, safety specs still on her face. They were almost out of the building by the time she'd got over the initial shock, and started demanding to be put down. She could have sworn she felt him chuckle, but he did not put her down until they were outside, and it was directly into a car she didn't recognise. She sighed to herself, as if impromptu kidnap wasn't enough, Sherlock got in the driver's side, and put the key in the ignition. She started to look in her pockets for her phone, groaning when she remembered it was in her bag, in her office.

"Handbag is in the boot," He said gruffly, pulling out of the hospital carpark with alarming speed. At least he'd remembered that, even if she couldn't get to it.

She sat back and stared out the window, wondering where he could be taking her. It wasn't to Baker Street, or her house, and they were heading in the wrong direction for John or Lestrade. There was a slim possibility they were going to visit Mycroft, but a left turn or two put that idea to bed. Soon they were out of London entirely, careening down the almost empty M23 until they hit a long segment of roadworks, where the speed dropped to something Molly found less terrifying. It did not last long, however, as Sherlock opted to come off at the next junction and fly down the country lanes with unnerving precision.

It was another twenty minutes before they reached their destination, a beautiful redbrick cottage in the middle of the Sussex countryside. Sherlock came around to open her door, having retrieved her handbag from the boot, as if she hadn't been brought there without explanation, and they did this frequently. She followed him up to the door, which he opened with an old, dull key, one that looked like it had been on his keyring for years. It had to be a case, or an Airbnb near a case, although why he'd book something quite so large for just the two of them was strange. The photos on the wall seemed familiar, for a reason she couldn't put her finger on, and Sherlock seemed to have taken off his shoes. She was beginning to wonder if the fumehood had been broken, and she'd inhaled slightly too much solvent; Sherlock rarely took his shoes off, in case of a quick getaway.

"Surprise!" greeted her as she entered the living space ahead of Sherlock, where several of their friends were stood around, drinks in hand and party hats on heads. Two familiar faces amongst them playing host explaining where she was – the Holmes house. She turned around to Sherlock,

"Happy Birthday, Molly Hooper," He said with a smile, gesturing for her to go and join the others.

John, little Rosie, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mr Holmes and even Mycroft came over to wish her many happy returns, before being bustled out of the way by Mrs Holmes.

"Have you come straight from work?" She asked, looking Molly up and down,

"You could say that. I didn't have much choice in the matter," She said wryly, aware that regardless of what she said next, Sherlock was likely to receive an earful from his mother.

"What did that idiot boy do? Kidnap you? He gets more like his brother every day." Mrs Holmes bristled, striding off to find her younger son.

Her presence was quickly replaced by Mr Holmes wielding a plate of food, a large gin and tonic, and enough small talk that they were left alone while she ate. It helped that everyone else was too busy watching Sherlock, and Mycroft get scolded for their manners. Sherlock had tried to justify himself, saying that Molly had told him to take what he needed, so he had just taken her. Unsurprisingly, it did not go down well.

Molly thanked Mr Holmes for the sustenance and the company, and went to relieve John of his parental duties for a while. Rosie was just walking, and as a result did not want to be stationary for a minute, which was exhausting for him as a single parent. They walked around the lounge, the kitchen, back through the dining room, across the hallway, doing the loop a few times, until John decided that Molly ought to enjoy her own party, rather than have her time monopolised by everyone's favourite toddler.

Lestrade had caught Sherlock watching Molly as she walked around with Rosie, a fond look on his face when he thought no one else was looking. After everything that had happened in the last year or so, the two had got back to amiable speaking terms, but both wanted, needed more, and he was going to find a way to get them together, even if it meant locking them in a room until they finally came to their senses. Hopefully he wouldn't need to, however, as Mrs Holmes, and Mrs Hudson, were also conspiring with him. After John had retrieved Rosie, Greg made a beeline for Molly, she needed to know whose idea this had been.

It had all been Sherlock's idea, the party, the venue, the guest list, the surprise, he had wanted to do something for her outside of Molly's Day, something that proved to her she was an integral part of all their lives. What had surprised Lestrade, was when he found out that Sherlock had also organised the party. A quick word to his mother, and she would have sorted the whole thing gladly, but he had insisted on doing it himself, something he was particularly keen to tell Molly.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with some of Molly's favourite games, plenty of food, and free-flowing drink; before she knew it, she was yawning, and trying not to fall asleep in the comfy armchair she had found herself in. Most of the guests had already departed, or gone up to bed, so she did not feel guilty about hauling herself out of the chair, so she could turn in too. She was a little overzealous in her movements, however, and would have ended up face first on the floor, had Sherlock not been lurking to catch her. He chuckled under his breath, arm tucked around her waist to steady her, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. They made it upstairs before Molly half-extracted herself from his hold, curious as to why he'd gone to the trouble of planning all that just for her, adamant that he was silly for wasting time on such frivolous things. He smiled down at her, shaking his head,

"We all do silly things," He said, parroting her own words back at her from many years ago. He had intended for it to be poetic, but the link was tenuous, and she just looked at him curiously, waiting for the punchline. He was about to try and salvage the moment, when the penny dropped, and Molly turned the most magnificent shade of fuchsia.

"You're not x-raying my possessions, are you?" She asked tentatively, hoping she had got the reference

"I can do, if you'd like me to," Sherlock replied, uncharacteristically nervous

"I'd like that very much." She stated, taking his hand in hers.

Mrs Holmes smiled from the bottom of the stairs, the words meaning little, but the tone saying enough. She went back into the lounge to give them a little privacy, and share the good news with her husband – they may be getting grandchildren after all!