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"I wonder what sort of flower she likes," John wondered aloud.
"Who?" Sherlock didn't bother opening his eyes, still rolling over the evidence in his head. He was sprawled onto one of the empty slabs in the morgue, waiting for results to come in.
"Molly Hooper," John replied. "We ought to get her flowers, to thank her, y'know, for everything she does for us." Sherlock cracked an eye.
"Why?"
"Because she deserves them." John said. Sherlock lifted his head from the slab, frowning. John was sitting at the table, glancing at Molly in her office in between finishing the paperwork.
"Hm."
It was almost six months after the case in Sherrinford that John finally got his answer. Sherlock was in an impossible mood, sulking on the couch one moment, positively manic the next, and almost always in constant communication with his brother.
“What is your problem?” John snapped, finally sick of Sherlock throwing darts perilously close to his head.
“You would think my brother with connections round the world would know the answer to a simple question!”
“What’d you ask him?” John wanted to know. The fact that the great Mycroft Holmes was coming up dry piqued his interest.
“What is Molly Hooper’s favorite flower,” Sherlock sighed heavily, as if he were asking the riddle of the Sphynx.
“Is that all?” John burst out laughing. He grabbed his phone.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, alarmed.
“Texting Mary,” John replied. In a moment, the phone buzzed. “There,” he held it up for Sherlock to see. "Daffodils." Sherlock was still. John frowned, looked at his phone then back at his friend. “Did you hear me?”
“What…what do I do now?” Sherlock asked quietly. Suddenly, it clicked, and John grinned. Sherlock Holmes was in love with Molly Hooper and was in an absolute panic. It would have been funny if Sherlock didn’t look like a kicked puppy.
“Get her flowers, Sherlock.”
“I’ve never done this before I- what if she doesn’t want them from me? What if-“
“Sherlock, she’s been in love with you for years now. If you want to make your feelings known, then get the woman some bloody flowers before someone else does.”
Sherlock thought then of all the terrible things he'd said to Molly. True, all those things were in the past, and Molly had assured him so. What was between them now was a real and solid friendship. But it could be so much more and he knew it. But what if Molly didn’t want it anymore? He felt his heart sink.
"What if her feelings changed? What if I’m too late?"
“You’ll never know until you tell her.”
The Next Day
I need to talk to you, are you free? – SH
What's wrong? – MH
Meet at the park by Baker Street. – SH
Please, Molly. SH
OMW – MH
Molly didn't know what to expect when she clocked out, telling Mike that there might be trouble at 221b. He gave her a knowing smile and waved her off.
"Take the day," he said. "You've put in more hours than anyone, I think we can spare you." She frowned at the twinkle in his eyes. "What?" he asked. "Can't I give you a day off without question?"
"No, of course you can, I'm just surprised. I said 'Baker Street' which could mean a certain Consulting Detective is high or a bomb or-"
"Go on and find out then, might be a nice surprise this time."
She rolled her eyes, sighing. She waved goodbye, thanking him as she went.
Flagging down a cab, she ran through a few scenarios that she could come across once she reached her destination. Sherlock could be having a bad day. Sherlock and Mycroft were finally having it out and John couldn't pull them apart. Sherlock was high. Sherlock had constructed a bomb (he'd done so before). She was so worried she hadn't heard the driver commenting on the sea of yellow that stretched across the park. She paid him, climbing out, surprised to see John and Mary standing at the park gates.
"Where’s Sherlock?”
Mary hugged her in greeting, putting up a terrific front that everything was peaches. "Sherlock’s inside already, waiting for you."
"Oh, okay." She started in.
She went down the path that led her by the boating lake. John and Mary walked ahead of her, and then suddenly they broke into a sprint, rushing up the hill and out of sight.
"Where are you-" she rolled her eyes, plodding after them. She reached the hill, stopping suddenly.
Stretched out before her was what must have been a thousand daffodils. Hundreds of thousands. They bobbed and danced in the cool spring air. They edged the pond, the paths, and every patch of green in-between. In the middle of it all stood Sherlock Holmes, looking rather sheepish, hands in his pockets. Covering her mouth, Molly blinked quickly. Wiping her nose, she looked at the flowers, looked down the path to John and Mary who were standing arm-in-arm, teary-eyed and beaming.
Picking her way through, careful not to step on any, she approached the Consulting Detective.
He sniffed in the cool spring air, trying to appear calm. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she answered back with a small laugh. “Sherlock…what is all this?”
“You love daffodils,” he blurted out.
“Yes I- I do,” she nodded. “How- when…why?”
“Because I love you,” his eyes were red-rimmed, and the usually steady hands of Sherlock Holmes trembled as he reached for her own hands, drawing them from the pockets of her coat.
She blinked again; her eyes filled with tears as she looked around them. All one could see for quite a way was daffodils, fluttering in the breeze. It must have cost a fortune, it must have taken ages to set them all up. It must have-
“I’m not good at saying how I feel,” Sherlock said at last, breaking through her thoughts. “But I do- I do love you and I think we’ve wasted enough time pretending a friendship is enough for us when it isn’t.” He looked at her then, almost fearful. “It isn’t enough, is it?”
“No,” she shook her head, unable to look away from him. “No it isn’t.” She blinked quickly as tears rolled down her cheeks. She gestured weakly to the sea of flowers around them. “These are really for me?”
His smile was warm, gentle, reassuring and relieved. His smile reached the corners of his twinkling eyes, and he nodded. "These are for you," he repeated. She stifled a giggle and a sob, covering her mouth again as he took her hands. Molly gave a small gasp as he knelt, and reverently kissed her hands, her wrists, and rested his forehead against her belly as if he were a fairy-tale prince having vanquished a dragon for her.
Mary and John stood a short distance from them, watching their best friend genuinely smiling as Molly bent, wrapping her arms around Sherlock. He stood, returning her embrace. He picked her up then, swinging her round and round, the toes of her shoes brushing against the flowers at their feet as their laughter echoed across the park.