Chapter 10

A Perfect Day

Molly needed a plan.

What she wanted to do was storm over to Baker street and beat some sense into the high and mighty Sherlock Holmes! She could do it too, she thought with grim satisfaction. She sat at her computer drumming her fingers on the desk in frustration. She didn't really want to beat him up she told herself, but she could think of a few choice words she would like to call him.

While she was thinking, she idly Googled "London" and the dates John said he was going to be out of town. Molly looked at the screen and began to smile. As she thought about what she saw she realized it was perfect. She was pretty sure it would interest Sherlock and if she made a fool of herself what difference did it make?" She began to make a list.

Later that evening she sat on the sofa in her flat holding Toby. Except for a new kink in his tail, Toby had survived Jim Morairty's cruel treatment without permanent damage.

Molly looked down at Toby, it was remarkable he was still alive. He had been a real mess when Lestrade had tracked him down. A couple of weeks in Soho Animal Hospital had worked wonders, he was back to his old self.

"It wasn't very nice of you to nibble on Mrs. Duncan like that you know." she scolded him gently. "I know she was a nosey old thing, but she was only trying to help." In spite of her cigarettes and constant questions, Molly did miss the old lady. She picked up Toby and held him up, looking into the mysterious yellow-green eyes.

"She loved you too." Molly told him, "I suppose, knowing her, she probably didn't mind that her body kept you alive long enough to be rescued." Thoughts of her neighbor's unexpected death saddened her. Jim Moriarty was responsible for so much agony and distress in the lives he had touched. She was glad he was locked away in solitary confinement. She hoped he rotted there.

Thoughts of Moriarty lead to thoughts of Sherlock and his dangerous life style. Molly knew every day could be the one he died. She also knew he would rather be dead than change the way he lived. Danger and solving problems was all he really cared about. She didn't wish anything different for him. She understood the danger was what fed him. He could not be without it and still remain the Sherlock she knew and loved.

"Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero." Molly whispered to herself. She was determined that she was not going to look back someday and regret that she had not made the most of her time with this strange but wonderful man.

Molly looked at the items she had collected and placed on the coffee table before her.

"You know Toby," she addressed the cat solemnly. "This may be the stupidest thing I have ever done. He is going to think I'm an utter fool and tell me so."

Toby just looked at her. He didn't think she was a fool or stupid, he knew she was the second smartest person he knew. He began to purr loudly. He knew she liked to hear him purr.

Φ

Monday afternoon Sherlock had been totally surprised at John's casual mention that Molly was planning to move to Cardiff.

"Cardiff?, Why would she want to move to Cardiff?" he asked incredulously.

"I believe she said something about needing a change in scenery, making a fresh start, meeting new friends, you know something like that." John replied vaguely. "You sure you don't want to come with me to visit Harry?"

"You know I don't get along with your sister."

"Only because you called her a drunken twit."

"Well, it's the truth and she called me a mindless robot first. I am not mindless." Sherlock replied in an offended tone. "And I certainly don't appreciate being called one by a drunken twit."

It amused John that Sherlock did not seem to have trouble with being called a robot. In fact he probably considered that a compliment to his skills in logic. Rather he objected being labeled mindless.

"I'll be leaving in about a half hour if you decide you would like to go with me." he replied. He turned to leave the room and grinned has he heard Sherlock grumbling to himself :

"Cardiff. Why would anyone give up London to live in Cardiff?"

"Okay, Molly." John thought as he climbed the stairs to his room. "It's up to you now."

Φ

Wednesday morning started out at 221b with streams of sunlight filtering through the curtains and reflecting off the figure of the tall man pacing back and forth in front of the couch. Dust motes danced, settled, then danced again as Sherlock moved to and fro. It would be clear to an even casual observer that he was highly agitated. He abruptly sank onto the couch placed his elbows on his knees and doubling over ran his hands irritably through his hair. Something had to be done about Molly Hooper. It was all too much. Not only had she invaded his mind palace, but now she was active in his dreams as well. She had filled the few hours of sleep he had been able to catch in the last two days. The Molly in his dreams was much less demure than the one in the Mind Palace. No doubt a result of all those books she had been reading he concluded rather irrationally. He stood up and began to pace again. If he let her go off to Cardiff who knew how long she would continue to plague him? His luck, he thought sourly, it would probably be forever. He desperately wanted the old Molly back. The one whose work was so meticulous and well organized. He had never told her so of course, but he truly appreciated her abilities as a pathologist and he knew he could trust her excellent capabilities as an occasional assistant. She had been so easy to control. A quick smile or a light complement and he pretty much had anything he required at the lab. When she became distracting or annoying a word or two or sometimes just a look would have her scurrying away until the next time he required her. He needed to talk reason to her. Make her see that this new attitude of hers was quite disastrous. She was being totally irrational. Surely if he explained it clearly, she would see the error of her ways? Part of him liked the new changed Molly he cautiously admitted to himself. She was certainly more interesting. He never knew what she was going to say or do. But he certainly didn't need the way she had been distracting him lately.

He began to make plans. Today was her day off, he would need to wait until tomorrow to drop by the morgue and clear things up he decided. The sooner everything got back to normal the better for all concerned. He walked over to the window and looked down. His body stiffened as he watched Molly Hooper climb out of a cab. She was carrying a fairly large cardboard box closed at the top by overlapping flaps.

The knock on the door downstairs was greeted by welcoming murmurs from Mrs. Hudson. He sighed as he heard the stairs creak. Too much to hope she was just visiting Mrs. Hudson. It looked like the conversation was going to happen now. It really didn't matter, he told himself. He waited until he heard the distinctive creak of he last step, then opened the door.

"Come in Molly." his voice was carefully neutral.

Smile plastered on her face, Molly sailed past him as she carried the box across the room and placed it on the small table between the two chairs on either side. Her smile wavered slightly before she turned and faced him.

"We need to talk." Sherlock told her in his low voice.

Molly stared for a second. He isn't going to make it easy, she thought grimly beneath her smile. She had to keep control of this situation or she was going to lose big time.

Still smiling as if she hadn't a care in the world she nodded in agreement. "Yes, we do need to talk. But not here and not now. Maybe later today. For now I've come to pay a visit because John says you haven't had a case in a couple of weeks and he was concerned about going out of town when you were so bored. I thought maybe I would come over and help distract you for a while?"

Sherlock stared, A hysterical giggle started welling up in the back of his throat. She wanted to distract him? That was all she had been doing for the past few weeks! He clamped down the emotion and just nodded, not trusting what his voice might sound like if he tried to speak.

"Good," Molly said and pointed to Sherlock's chair. "If you'll just sit down, we'll get started. I've got a lot planned for today."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Let me see," He clasped his fingers together in front of his chest index fingers tapping his chin. "You have a crystal ball in that box and you plan to tell me my fortune." This was easy, let's see how she handles that, he thought smugly. He was faintly relieved his voice sounded quite normal.

Molly's grin grew wider. "Good guess," she said, "but I'm afraid you've got it wrong. I suppose your deductions are based on my outfit? I admit the blouse, scarf and earrings did start out life as a gypsy costume, but I have adapted them and I promise everything I'm wearing is totally appropriate for the activities I have planned."

"In other words, you cheated." Sherlock growled.

"Only a little, how do you expect me to have a chance to interest you if I don't provide a little mystery? Besides it will do you good not to be right all the time."

Molly opened the box on the table and pulled out two nondescript earthenware mugs and two bottles of rum. She opened one of the bottles poured a measure of rum into a mug and handed it to Sherlock.

"Drink up now." she encouraged as she opened the other bottle and poured herself an even more generous amount.

"I do have glasses of my own," he remarked. "There was no need to bring your own. It's only ten o'clock. Don't you think it's a little early to be drinking?"

"Nah," she grinned. "It's totally the thing to do on this auspicious occasion." She looked down at the mug in her hand." And as to this;" she raised the mug in a salute, "rum always tastes better in a mug. I think it's an old school thing. Do you know what today is?" She gulped the contents of her mug and looked at him expectantly.

Why was she asking a question like that? Molly was leaping from one subject to the next so rapidly it was hard to keep up. He nonchalantly emptied his own mug. He felt the fiery liquid slide smoothly down his throat. Molly had splurged, this was very good rum.

"Well?" she asked again, "do you know what day this is?" She refilled both mugs.

Was this another trick question? He scowled, and then said. "Nineteenth of September, Two thousa . . ."

"Yes, yes." Molly interrupted, "but do you know what day it is?" she asked again then downed the contents of her mug.

Sherlock scowled, he lifted his mug and drained it. Fixing Molly with an irritated stare he pointed to the mugs as she began to refill them. "If you continue to drink in this manner, you'll be under the table soon," he observed. "What's this all about?"

Molly just grinned and repeated her question. "Do you know what day it is?"

Sherlock sighed. "Wednesday?"

Molly rolled her eyes dramatically. "Obviously," she said and drained her mug for the third time. "Let me see. . . how can I make this more clear? Um, some days have special festivities attached to them. Like Christmas or Halloween. Do you know what is special about today? Drink up," she admonished, "you're falling behind."

"I haven't a clue." Sherlock answered dryly and drained his mug. As the third drink settled in his empty stomach he noticed he was feeling a pleasant buzz. He held out his mug for a refill, but Molly just shook her head. "I just need you to relax a little." she said. "I don't want you pickled."

He scowled and looked at Molly standing there grinning. He did feel relaxed. It came to him in a flash. "You are dressed as a pirate!" he announced suddenly. "Today must have something to do with pirates. Are we going on a treasure hunt?"

"Excellent!" Molly approved. "Pirates it is. Not a treasure hunt though, at least not this time."

Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as Molly calmly drained her mug for the fourth, or was it the fifth time? Her eyes were alert. Her cheeks were flushed, but not overly so. She stood steady in those ridiculously sexy spiked heel boots. "What are you drinking Molly?"

Molly laughed, "Lemonade with food coloring. A girl has to keep her wits about herself when dealing swashbuckling pirates."

"Today," she informed him importantly, "is International Talk Like a Pirate Day! All over London people are gathering to participate in events and to celebrate all things pirate." At his look of doubt she said, "If you don't believe me, just look it up on the Internet."

"Now let's see, you need and outfit, nothing too flamboyant." She eyed him up and down. "The jeans and shoes are okay, and your beard and moustache are perfect. The only thing you will need is a different shirt, and I've got just the thing." She reached into the box again and brought out a striped pull-over shirt.

Sherlock took one look at the shirt and began to laugh.

"What's wrong?" Molly frowned.

"Nothing." Sherlock continued to chuckle, "It's just that John has one exactly like it."

Molly eyes opened wide. She clapped her hand over her mouth and began to laugh. "You could go as twins!"

Sherlock grinned and said," He'll have a fit." They both looked at each other and laughed.

"Be sure to get a picture if you can." Molly giggled. She looked down at her watch. "Oh gosh, hurry up and put this on," she said as she handed the shirt over. "We don't want to be late."

"Late for what?" he asked, but she had her head buried in the box again.

Molly allowed herself a few peeks as Sherlock turned his back and removed his shirt. His muscles rippled as he lifted his arms to pull the striped shirt over his head. He had a really nice bum too, she thought to herself. What she didn't realize was that from the angle he was standing, Sherlock could see a perfectly clear reflection of her face in the mirror over the fireplace.

It was good to know Molly wasn't as calm and collected as she appeared, he smirked. He thought of several choice remarks but surprised himself when he decided he didn't want to say them. It would embarrass her, he realized. Anyway, he wanted to see what she was up to next. He'd never know if she got mad and stormed out. He straightened his face and turned around. Molly had her head down in the box shuffling items around.

"Do you have a kitchen sink in there by any chance?" he asked as her head popped up and she held a small black box in her hand.

"What?" she asked, "Oh, very funny." She offered the box to him. "I noticed your left ear is pierced," she said rather breathlessly. "I've never seen you wear anything in it. Has it been a while since you wore anything? Is the hole still open?"

"Since University days," he murmured. "Mycroft was being an ass about my decisions on my future career. I did it to annoy him."

Sherlock slowly opened the small pasteboard box. Inside was an exquisite gold hoop earring. Thick and heavy it was clearly designed for a man. It was no cheap piece of costume jewelry. Obviously she had

tried to disguise how much she had spent on it by placing it in the box. Surprisingly it slid into place with only a small amount of working it back and forth. He looked at Molly. "Thank you," he said simply.

Molly smiled. "It looks good, especially with the beard. It suits you." she said.. "Come on, we have to go or we're going to miss it."

"May I at least inquire what we are going to miss?" Sherlock asked mildly.

"Trafalgar square please." Molly informed the cabbie.

"We are about to be part of a flash mob of pirates." she grinned. When they arrived at Trafalgar square it was obvious something was up. People were milling about staring at their mobile phones. Molly had hers out and murmured "Get ready. when the alarm on my phone goes off we are supposed to spend one minute saying "Aarr" to everyone around us, then we are free to express ourselves by talking whatever pirate lingo we desire for five minutes."

Phone alarms began beeping. Suddenly they were surrounded by a mass of people thumping each other on the back and shouting "Aarr!" in as many different ways as there were people. Molly lost sight of Sherlock as he was surrounded by several rather buxom wenches and she found herself lifted off her feet by a rather large pirate with a gold tooth and a braided beard. The Aarrs died down and a positive babble of speech flowed up from the gathered crowd. Molly fixed eyes on the large pirate holding her.

"Avast ye low lyin' bilge rat!" she growled. "Release me or I'll keelhaul your scurvy arse and stuff what's left through the nearest bunghole!"

The large pirate laughed, put her gently down and swept a low bow before her. "Arrgh! Beggin' your pardon me proud beauty. I was meanin' no offense. I've sailed the seven seas and you're the sleekest schooner I've ever had pleasure to rest me eyes on!" He swept her another bow and grinned as he moved on.

Molly soon found herself in the arms of a gangly pirate with a very large nose. All around her pirates were trading insults, trying to outdo their opponents. Or as in the case of her beaky swab, trying to kiss as many girls as he could in the allotted time. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself. He was surrounded by a bevy of fetching wenches and if one of the buxom ladies had a rather large Adam's Apple he seemed to be taking it all in stride. Finally, alarms began beeping all around and people good naturedly shook hands or slapped one another on the back and drifted away in all directions. If some of them left with people other than whom they came with, well they were all adults. Molly walked up to Sherlock who grinned at her.

"That was interesting," he commented as they walked away. Molly laughed and handed him a tissue.

"You have lipstick on your cheek," she remarked saucily.

"You have stubble burn on yours," he grinned.

Molly nodded, "Pirate speed dating has its drawbacks," she said. They both laughed.

Linking arms they walked until they found a fish and chips stall. Later they toured a small maritime and pirate museum. Molly was impressed by the details Sherlock was familiar with on the subject. When she commented on it, he just smiled and said it had been a favorite interest of his when he was a child. Afterward they took a taxi to the Prince Charles Theatre for Molly's promised grand finale. Featured was a marathon of Pirate Movies. The auditorium was crowded but they finally found two seats together and settled down with popcorn and drinks. The first feature started with a loud cheer from the crowd. It was an old black and white movie with terrible dialogue and even worse acting. It was perfect. The crowd cheered when the hero appeared, whistled at the wenches, and made kissing noises during the romantic scenes. Several people, including Sherlock called out funny remarks at the most inappropriate times, the crowd roared in appreciation. Someone had brought several large black balloons with skull and crossbones on them which were constantly bouncing up and down as the audience batted them back and forth. It was very silly and everyone had a wonderful time. Three movies later, they headed back to Molly's flat. The taxi ride was quiet. Molly was content to rest her head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Outside the door of her flat, Molly gazed up into Sherlock's moonstone eyes.

"Thank you, Molly," he murmured, "for a perfect day."

"It was good wasn't it?' she agreed.

Sherlock nodded placing a hand on either side of her beautiful upturned face. He held her gently as he lowered his mouth to hers.

How could he have ever thought her mouth was too small? It was just right, he decided as he deepened the kiss.

Molly was totally shattered. If he let go of her she knew her body would immediately dissolve into a puddle on the floor. She unconsciously wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. She felt him press her into the wall. Fire coursed down her spine and set her aflame. She groaned.

Sherlock pulled back slightly. "Okay?" he asked.

Molly clung to him weakly. "Oh God," she said, "you make my toes hurt!"

He frowned slightly. "Is that bad?"

"No," she whispered, "it's wonderful."

"Aah," he said and lowered his lips to hers again.

Sometime later he lifted his head and pulled Molly's head to his shoulder and held her close. "You could invite me in." He suggested in a low voice. He felt her tremble. He pulled back watched the emotions play across her face. He watched as resolve took hold.

"I could ask you in," Molly agreed. "But I'm not going to." Her face turned away in embarrassment. Sherlock gently placed a finger under her chin and moved her face until her eyes looked into his, pleading for understanding.

"I know it's not done nowadays. People meet and jump into relationships overnight all the time. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I'm a little old-fashioned, is it so wrong to want to slow down a bit and enjoy the journey?"

Sherlock pulled Molly against him gently. He could feel her trembling, he knew she was afraid he was going to walk away because she refused to quickly jump into bed. He began to speak softly.

"I once had the privilege to know a very wise man. He was the grounds keeper on my grandmother's estate. Though looking back on it now, he was probably much more than that. His name was Paul Sargon and he taught me everything I know about deduction and observation. One day when I had just turned twelve he told me a story. I would like to tell it to you if you don't mind?"

Molly nodded and rested her head against his chest. She felt like a prude and a fool.

"I remember we were sitting on the hillside looking out over the rows of grape vines. He told me he was going to teach me a lesson that I wouldn't understand fully until I was older but he knew I was clever enough to remember it and think about it later. I think he knew my time with him was about to end." Sherlock moved uncomfortably. "I wish I could tell you that I took his lesson to heart and allowed it to guide my life. The truth is I haven't even though of it until now. Anyway, we were sitting on the hillside and I remember the smell of the grapes in the sunlight like it was yesterday. Monsieur Sargon held his arm out and pointed to the vineyard."

As Sherlock continued to speak Molly envisioned the old man and young Sherlock. Soon she was no longer hearing Sherlock's voice, but rather hearing the words as if the old man was speaking directly to Sherlock.

"Sherlock," the old man had said, "this is a very important lesson you must learn if you are to be happy in this life." Paul Sargon gazed at the vineyard sadly.

"There are many kinds of grapes and all can be turned into wine with a little effort and time. But not all grapes are alike and the wines produced from them vary greatly in richness and taste. Some grapes are carelessly grown and the wines produced from them are harsh and cheap; not fit for the palate. Avoid those at all cost. They are not worth your time."

"Other grapes are adequate and have a certain appeal, but they are hastily processed into wine and can not stand the test of time. Their vintage sours with age and brings discontent to all who continue to consume it."

"But some wines are like the ones made from the grapes you see before you. They have been carefully nurtured. They ripen slowly in the sun and their taste is a joy to the tongue. Wines carefully made from such grapes are made better by blending the strengths and weaknesses . And over time, as the wine matures, it blossoms into a fullness that is a delight to the one who consumes it. Such wine only grows better with time. If one is very fortunate, once in a great while he may find himself the owner of a truly great wine. It is rare thing that should always be savored and protected from those who do not appreciate its worth."

"The lesson I want you to learn, Sherlock, is that women are exactly like wine. You must learn to be a connoisseur of only the finest. Don't waste your time on cheap imitations. And if you would be so lucky as to meet a truly rare one, one whose beauty comes from the quality of the convictions from which was she was formed, be sure to treat her with the respect and honor she deserves. Your grand mere is such a woman. She has only love and compassion to give to all those around her. You would do well to search for someone like her. All who know her have been blessed."

"I think," Sherlock said after a time, "He must have loved her very much. She died a few days after he told me this story."

Sherlock wiped the tears from Molly's cheeks. "I didn't tell you this to make you sad," he said. "Only to say, I know I'm not a good man, I don't even know how to begin to become one. But I think I finally understand what Monsieur Sargon was talking about. I can't change the past Molly. I'm not sure where all this is going to. But if you want to go slow, we will go as slow as you need. After all," he smiled, every woman deserves a little romance in her life. "Sherlock leaned down and kissed her cheek. "May I call you tomorrow?"

Molly looked up and smiled, he was as formal as an eighteenth century gentleman. "I'd like that," she replied.

"Good night Molly," he said simply and was gone.

Molly let herself into her flat in a daze. She felt like someone who had been knocked senseless. She sank to the sofa and held Toby in her arms.

"What do you think Toby? I think I just might die from being overwhelmingly in love."

Toby, just sat on her lap and purred.

The End

A/N - Finally the end! I got so excited about finishing I popped a whole roll of bubble wrap in celebration. I'm honestly sorry for telling you all that I was going to write a short epilogue and then let it turn into two more chapters! Next time I will not say anything in advance until I have actually typed the words "The End!" To all, best wishes and thanks for all the kind words.

Announcement - Actually, I have decided this is only the beginning for Molly Hooper. I like her new determination so much I'm planning to write several more stories in an "Unstoppable" series. If you have any situations you would like to see Molly get into and out of in the future, let me know and I'll see what I can do!

Translation:

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the day, putting as little trust as possible in the future."