Mr Holmes and Miss Hooper - a Sherlolly Story

Chapter 13

"Sherlock, are you feeling okay?"

John Watson eyed his best friend from across the table. His wife was smugly smiling beside him, and John couldn't help feeling like he'd missed something.

"Yes, John. Why?"

"You're very - how can I put it - well, happy?"

"Am I not allowed to be happy?" Sherlock's tone was somewhat indignant. John backtracked.

"No, you are! Of course, you are. It's just, an odd look on you that's all. You're usually grumbling about something, some sort of class or case or whatever."

"Well, I have no grievances as of late."

"Right." John nodded curtly and elongated the word as his mind reeled.

"Come on, John. You can't seriously be that blind?"

John turned to face his wife, whose eyes were urging him to understand. John just shrugged, shook his head and raised an eyebrow as he glanced between Mary and Sherlock.

"John, Sherlock is in love."

"Come now, Mary. Don't be ridiculous."

"Love? Sherlock? Funny one, Mary."

The men's sentences were said simultaneously, an overwhelming overlap of disbelief and slightly panicked words. Sherlock said it, but he didn't believe it. A lot had happened between himself and Molly and he loved every second they were together. But when he was left alone with his thoughts he couldn't help but wonder if he was really good enough for her. Could Sherlock Holmes really love someone as special as Molly Hooper? Could he really give her everything she deserved? If so many people thought him incapable of love, surely there had to be some sort of truth in that? He looked down at his mug of coffee.

"Don't 'come now' me, mister. I see right through you." She pointed her finger at him from across the table, John looked on in confusion. "You've been somewhat boisterous over the past few months and I've noticed a sparkle in your eye these last weeks that was never there before. You've got it bad, Sherlock Holmes. You've got it real bad."

"Mary." Sherlock's tone was one of warning. Yes, he believed he loved Molly. He had very strong inclinations that he truly did. But that was not public knowledge yet and he still had a lot of thoughts to process before he could go further. He didn't want to discuss his (probable ... definite) love before he had had the chance to tell the woman herself.

"What? Really?" John sounded utterly astounded, believing what his wife was saying immediately.

"Yes, really. Come on, John! You have to see it. Just look at him." She gestured at him with her hand again. Sherlock almost began to feel as if he wasn't even in the same room as the couple, he was just a sample being discussed and examined. "He has actually, genuinely smiled tonight, really smiled. Smiles that have made it to his eyes. And he has laughed, belly laughed at times. His demeanour and his manners have been so much better, yet slightly delayed as if someone has reminded him to employ them. This woman, whoever she is, is seated deep within that bloody great mind palace and is telling him what's right and wrong." Sherlock's gaze was fixated on the mug. John looked like a kid who just discovered the most amazing fact of all time before his face morphed into realisation and then, finally, agreement. Mary sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "As I said, he's got it bad."

At this, Sherlock's cheeks reddened and his whole body raised in temperature. He slowly lifted his eyes from their fixed spot to meet John's.

"Come on then, who is the unlucky woman?"

"John!"

Mary elbowed her husband in the side, quite hard.

"Ow. I'm joking, I'm joking." He turned his attention back to Sherlock from his sneering wife, "Well?"