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rainbow--letters · 6 years

Text

Compromise

Link to the story on AO3 can be found here

“Molly, how much longer is this going to go on for?” Sherlock announced rather loudly.

“Will you be quiet.” She hushed at him through gritted teeth and a serious glare. “Just go to your mind palace, or something.” She sighed.

His hand moved to the inner pocket of his suit jacket to locate his phone.

“Except that.” She hissed.

“Fine. But I’ve already been inside my head for the past however many years this has been going on for.” He slouched further down the wooden bench, creaking noisily as he slid.

“SHHHH.” An old lady in a ridiculous hat poked her head between Molly and himself, although her anger was directed towards Sherlock.

Molly sighed and turned her attention back to the couple at the altar. His eyes roved around the church, observing the ridiculous stained-glass windows and their ridiculous attempt to portray the fictional story of one of the many non-existent Gods this world was full of.

What to do. What to do. What to...

His eyes flittered around trying to find something to distract his idle mind when they settled on Molly. Molly dressed in her deep red, floral kimono maxi dress and her hair pinned into a soft loose bun, the front few strands falling in waves down her face. The lipstick staining her lips, a pantone or two from matching identically with her dress.

He had noted all this before, obviously. She had stepped out of her bedroom as he waited by her breakfast bar earlier that morning. He was finishing the fastening of his cufflinks onto the crisp white shirt, which contrasted against the darkness of the navy, three piece suit he wore. The image of her as she floated by him to put on her heels she had left by the door, caused him to double take. She was gesturing to something behind him, he realised after staring at her like a gormless idiot for a few moments she was asking him to pass her phone over. Instead he told her she looked beautiful. She truly did. She smiled at him sheepishly, unsure. He kissed her softly to reaffirm his point. She was very efficient when it came to distracting him.

Much like he was now.

He blinked rapidly, coming back to the present. His eyes still fixed on the woman beside him. Her hands restless in her lap as she twisted and pulled at her fingers. She was nervous, she had been for the past few days before the event. Apparently, their first official outing as a couple was a 'big deal', especially when the paparazzi caught knowledge of it to Molly's horror. An 'unknown' source had confirmed they were attending a close friend's wedding. Sherlock figured it out in all of twenty seconds. The maid of honour of course. She was one of the only ones armed with the intel of their attendance, besides the bride and groom, as she was responsible for the seating plan. Tweets and Facebook posts fantasizing about surgically enhanced breasts identified the motive for that tip off to the press.

Molly had expressed her fears to him as they lay in bed the previous evening. How she didn't want to ruin Meena's big day, with photographers desperate for a shot of them both together, everybody talking about the two of them. To have her photo printed in paper and online for thousands to see and judge. He told her bluntly that people who read or were associated with any of the media who posted those photos were not worth a millisecond of her thoughts. He didn't choose to be with her because Dave, who lives in Dagenham with his wife and three children, thought her tits looked good. He clearly said the right thing because she proceeded to give him some rather good oral sex.

She was still wringing her hands when his thoughts focused back to the present again. He thought about repeating the Dave from Dagenham comment to her again, especially with her reaction to it last night but he didn't think Molly would appreciate it at this moment... Instead he reached his own hand into her lap and took her hand in his own.

She glanced up at him, her expression was still anxious and distant. Even her obvious annoyance at his earlier behaviour didn’t affect the beauty she radiated. She squeezed his hand tightly, before lifting his hand out of her lap. Her arms remained folded for the rest of the ceremony.

-----------------------

The tables were now deserted of all dinner ware, replaced by bottles and glasses full of alcohol. The DJ was in full swing, although by the looks of the empty dance floor and full tables it would be around ten minutes before the liquid courage kicked in.

“I knew it would be lamb.” Sherlock attempted his own version of small talk. Molly had barely spoken a word to him since they had left the church.

“Hmm?” Molly shook herself from her day dream, where she was watching the two young flower girls dance wildly to some 'shake it' song on the vacant dance floor.

“The main course. Meena’s father is from a certain part of India that sees lamb as a delicacy. Hence the lamb shanks and what a beautiful touch served in a cardamom and aromatic herb sauce.” His voice elevated over the deafening sound of the disco.

“Or you could have seen it on the invite requesting our meal choices.” She wasn't impressed by his efforts, he could tell.

“Feels more satisfying knowing I deduced it.” He replied smugly, his arm stretched to rest on the back of her chair but she was on her feet before he could touch her skin.

“Right, well now that I know you’ve stalked my friend's family history and who knows what else, I’m going to go and get us a drink. Same again?” She was being short with him, but then his patience hadn’t particularly been enduring throughout the day either. He never was a fan of weddings.

“Not stalking, deducing. And yes.” She walked off without barely a glance towards him, although he watched her all the way to the bar, a frustrated expression crossed his face.

“So, Sherlock.” His blue orbs glanced away from the bar to the red, blotchy face of Mike.

“I hope you’re treating our Molly well.” He winked and Sherlock blinked in confusion.

“As opposed to treating her badly? I accidentally bruised her left hip during one of our sexual explorations the other week. You’re not suggesting I’m abusive are you.” Mike’s face grew redder and his wife shuffled awkwardly beside him, both averted their gaze.

“No, Sherlock. That was what I most definitely was not saying. I just meant, well she seems a lot happier other these past few months. Very happy. I hope you both are.” He laughed for some strange reason and Sherlock furrowed his brow at Mike’s words.

He looked towards Molly at the bar. She was stood side on speaking to another work colleague, her expression light and her face seemed full with the smile she wore. A smile he realised he had been longing for her to give him all day.

“Yes.” He replied simply, he held the ‘s’ slightly longer than intended his mind focused on her frame.

“Good. Because I’d quite like to be invited to yours when the time comes.” Sherlock spun his head back to Mike.

“My what?” Why did this man always speak in riddles.

“Your wedding of course.” He laughed but Sherlock failed to understand the joke.

“But we aren’t engaged.” Sherlock states blankly.

“Surely, you intend to propose to her at some point?” Mike questioned, and Sherlock dreaded what was to come next. He’d already had this conversation with his mother, which ended in a blazing row.

“Hardly.” He announced, his head turned up to the ceiling.

“Oh.” Both the Stamford’s replied in unison.

“Wedding’s are a waste of time, money and paper. Nobody needs to be married in the 21st century. Anybody can open a shared bank account these days without a marriage certificate.” He sounded scripted, as if he had spoken those lines many times over.

“They are also the biggest type of romantic commitment you can make to one another.” Mike's wife argued back.

“Weddings are essentially no different to business contracts. Molly and I, do not intend to exchange such contracts. ” He yawned purposefully, indicating he was bored of the subject.

“Are you sure Molly agrees with you on this?” Mike’s wife questioned him further, her eyes sad and pitying.

“I don’t assume, I deduct.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Molly clearly loves you. I think rather than using your superhero powers Mike has told me all about, you should probably ask her.” Sherlock felt the lump in his throat form instantly.

“Well, we all have different perceptions of love I suppose. Wouldn’t do us all to be the same now would it!” Mike thankfully concluded, drawing the heated debate to a close. “But you know if it does happen then save us two seats.”

“If what happens?” A familiar voice called from behind them. Molly stood positively radiant behind him. Her hands full with a flute of prosecco and a glass of scotch. Her smile was nowhere to be seen, instead her features were plastered with an annoyed expression.

“Oh, Nothing-“

“Our wedding.”

Mike and Sherlock replied at the same time.

“Oh. I see.” The glasses were immediately deposited on the table. She almost collapsed into the chair, her hands clasped tightly.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up Mike.” She joked, but her face didn’t seem to match the light heartedness of her comment.

“I already explained the pointlessness of the conversation.” Sherlock spoke proudly.

“Brilliant. I love it when you tell people how great it is that Molly Hooper will never be the bride.” She rolled her eyes and took a sizeable swig from her flute. Sherlock seemed to get a niggling feeling that something was not quite right. The Stamford’s looked away awkwardly, registering the annoyance of Molly’s mood. Then the music changed and Mrs Stamford was on her feet very quickly and dragging Molly to the dance floor.

Sherlock watched from the safety of the table as Molly attempted to dance rather badly to the beat. He recognised the song from one Molly had on her Spotify playlist. Beyanca was it? The information was irrelevant. She looked happy for the first time properly that night. A part of him longing for her to show him the same happiness she shared with her friends.

---------

Sherlock wasn’t the greatest when it came to understanding human behaviour. But he knew when he was being avoided. And Molly was most definitely avoiding him. Since she had been whisked away to the dance floor she had failed to return to the table. That was forty-seven minutes ago. He’d took to responding to a couple of emails during her absence when he looked up to try and find her.

It was much darker now. The room illuminated by disorientating coloured disco lights. Despite this obstacle, Sherlock knew she wasn’t on the dance floor. A quick glance behind him. Or at the bar.

If he could track down some of the countries most infamous criminals he should have no issue locating a tipsy Molly Hooper. He excused himself from the embarrassingly drunk Stamford’s who were all over each other like a pair of teenagers. He instantly appreciated the quietness of the large corridor as he exited the main hall of festivities and stood to consider his next move.

“Ah shit.”

A familiar voice echoed from the left of him. He rounded the corner to find her sat alone on the third step of the grand staircase. She appeared to be trying to unstrap her shoes but was failing miserably. He walked over to her and bent down onto his knees in front of her. His hands covered her own at her feet, gently pushing them aside. She accepted his assistance slouching back onto her elbows, he could feel her watching him.

“I told you to wear your flats. But I’ve seen a basket of flip flops by the entrance to the hall aptly named ‘the real dancing shoes’ so at least there’s a back up plan.” He smiled up at her to be met by a pair of sad brown eyes and a matching frown. “You’re upset with me.” He spoke as he looped the strap from around the back of her slender ankles.

“You here on your knees, taking off my shoes, is the closest I’m ever going to get to a marriage proposal isn’t it.” He paused briefly at her words, his fingers poised against the skin on her lower calf. He quickly proceeded on with his task, his head lowered staring intently at her feet.

“Molly, I-“ His voice quivered slightly.

“Last night when I told you why I was nervous, I didn't tell you everything." They looked at each other then, and for the first time in their relationship, Sherlock felt apprehensive for the words about to leave her mouth. "I was nervous, yes, but I am also jealous of Meena. I know it isn’t fair because when I accepted this relationship I knew marriage was going to be the compromise. I thought I could get over that. I genuinely thought that having you was enough.” The shoe slid off of her foot and to the floor with a thud. Sherlock continued on with the other shoe. “And then today happened and when I watched Meena marrying and committing herself to her best friend, I just felt so frustrated and confused that it would never be me.” She was upset. Sherlock detected it in her voice and it made him feel guilty that all along he had unknowingly been the source of her distress.

“I’m not angry at you Sherlock. I knew what I was giving up to be with you. You’ve come along way from the man you used to be and I’m so proud of you. Proud that you opened yourself up to me.” She exhaled in long breaths. The tears now threatening to fall from her eyes.

“But you’re not happy. And now we are in a situation where you want me to give you the one thing you have always wanted.” He spoke in a sombre tone. The mood turned tense once more. He watched as Molly sat there looking so sad and so deeply beautiful.

“Sherlock, it’s fine. I'm just drunk. Just forget it, forget I said anything.” She moved to stand but Sherlock’s hands pushed her thighs firmly, she dropped unsteadily back to the carpeted stairs.

“When we first committed to each other. We had a conversation about compromise. Well more of a you taught me how to try to be good at it.” She smiled and Sherlock’s heart increased by at least another ten beats per minute. “We agreed if someone cooked dinner, or bought in my instance, then the other had to tidy up. Whoever used the last of the milk had to replace it. If I wanted access to some body parts then it would cost me, well a demonstration of my sexual prowess.” She rolled her tear filled eyes and swatted his chest. “We had all these conversations about the little things, but we never spoke about the big ones. You made the assumption coming into this relationship I will never propose to you. I will admit my thoughts on matrimony are not conventional and I most definitely don’t agree with the pompousness of it. But Molly Hooper...” His finger delicately lifted her chin to his eye level. She closed her eyes and gulped hard. “I lied too. Well, to Mike and his wife. They asked if I knew you were okay with the idea of us never eloping. I told them I deduced it from you, because in reality I didn’t want to accept what I always knew. That this…” His eyes rolled in an upward arch at the surroundings. “A wedding. Is what you have always wanted.” The hands on her thighs tightened their grip. “And Molly, if it takes tens of thousands of pounds, a room full of insufferable family members and a ring to make you happy, well then I suppose I can compromise on this one thing for you.” She met his eyes, her own wide and bright with a hope he had not seen before. Then her lips crashed against his own for a hungry kiss.

“You do know it’s rude to propose at someone else’s wedding.” She whispered against his lips.

“I’ve just asked for your hand in marriage and now you’re critiquing me?” He pulled his head back slightly and raised his right brow high.

“I’ll give you a six for the proposal. The romantic gesture was perfect. Major criticisms were most definitely timing and the lack of a ring.” She held his gaze, her right forefinger absentmindedly rubbed the length of her ring finger on her left hand.

He glanced to the side, a used party popper cast aside on the floor. He picked it up and snapped the gold ribbon from the head. He delicately wrapped it into a tight knot onto her ring finger.

“I can’t do much about the timing aspect, but does this improve the score?” She stayed quiet as he affixed the band, her eyes watched in astonishment.

“Most definitely.” She kissed him hard. Her fingers curled possessively around the back of his neck, her other hand slid into his shirt between the space of his second and third button, her nails roamed over his chest. Sherlock recognised these signs instantly and dragged her up to him. His lips were upon hers in moments again.

“The room key-“ She spoke breathlessly between kisses as his left handed fisted into her hair.

“is still on the-“ the right roamed down and lifted her dress up past her hips on one side, squeezing her left bum cheek.

“tableahhhh.” Before venturing to the inner part of her thigh just where it was softest and a favourite trigger point of his Molly’s.

“I’m not going to be able to make it back to our room.” His voice rumbled and his eyes glowed devilishly as he dragged her further away from the festivities. His sentence was a statement and Molly followed him willingly.

“But where-“ he cut her sentence short with a chaste kiss.

“Do you know me at all?” He grinned at her wickedly. “I already checked the floorpan of the building before we got here in case of this exact predicament. Or the best exit points in case of emergencies.” She giggled so deliciously it intoxicated him into a further frenzy as took her by the hand.

He stopped at the second door on the left and removed a key he most definitely should not have access to from his pocket. Molly rolled her eyes, her hands still weaving their way around his torso. The knob turned as he pushed her into the dark cupboard. He quickly followed her in, slamming the door behind him. He lifted her onto an empty shelf, their touches feverish. He heard soft thuds as Molly’s hands reached out to grab onto something for support, crisp white linens falling to the floor around them.

-----------------------

The dance floor was positively heaving when they returned ten minutes later. Seemingly their lack of presence gone unnoticed. Molly made a beeline straight for Meena who was dancing with a small group of girls. He headed to the bar for much needed refreshments.

“Now, we’ve ‘ad a boogie. Let’s ‘av some romantic ballads for all the couple’s out there. This is a wedding after all!” The DJ’s voice came muffled and northern over the microphone.

The upbeat, pop song faded out as Sherlock's drinks were served. Sherlock recognised the song as the intro started. Can’t take my eyes off you, by Andy Williams. Surprisingly, a song he knew well going back to his university days when the rugby boys would sing their own crude version to any beautiful girl who walked by them on their weekly social outing.

Sherlock watched on as Molly hugged Meena, before the newly betrothed woman was whisked off her feet by her new husband. Molly moved to the side of the dance floor and clapped the happy couple. Sherlock paid the bar man, took a deep gulp and placed the drinks back onto their table, but he had no intention of taking a seat. He walked straight up and behind Molly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She turned in his arms, her eyes wide with shock.

“Are you lost, Sir?” She mocked him. Her arms looped around his neck as they started to sway.

“On the contrary. I think I’ve found exactly where I need to be.” Her deep brown eyes softened in the disco lights, he pulled her closer his mouth by her ear. “Although, there will most definitely not be a DJ from Leeds, with a DUI, living in a two bed terrace with four husky’s at our wedding.” He felt her stiffen slightly and he pulled back to study her face. “I was thinking more of a string quartet?” He continued, but her face still remained glazed.

“You really are serious? About us, and a wedding?” She eyed him hesitantly he felt a little unnerved.

“I thought my intention was clear?” He removed her left hand from his neck, holding it up in the space between them. The cheap gold ribbon still remained fastened to her finger. He kissed her finger softly, their eye contact never faltered. “Though I do plan on getting you something a little more…” he pinched her ring finger between his thumb and forefinger “permanent.” He was rewarded with a smile as they both closed the space between them. The side of their heads pressed together as he inhaled her scent, traces of his own smell mingled with her own from their lustful encounter and he suddenly felt quite possessive of the woman in his arms.

They danced in circles to the rhythm, when Sherlock’s attention was briefly diverted. He looked up to see Mike waving furiously at him from a few metres away, his head peering over the shoulder of his wife. Once Mike knew he had Sherlock’s attention he pointed to Molly’s hand atop of Sherlock’s shoulder, clearly signalling to the gimmicky band around her finger. He nodded once at him with a reassured smile, and Mike beamed back at him clenching his hand into a tight fist as a gesture of triumph.I’ll watch out for our invitation in the post. He mouthed out before turning his attention back to his wife. Speaking of wives… Sherlock looked back down at the woman in his arms, her head tucked into his neck.

“Oh and about your part of the compromise.” He whispered loudly above the music, lifting her from her daze.

“Yes?” She mouthed up at him.

“I get to take you up to our room right now, without saying goodbye to anyone in this hall.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly at his offer.

“Round one wasn't enough for you was it?" She smiled up at him impishly. "Fine. Fetch my bag and a bottle of champagne. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes.” She kissed him deliciously, before she slid out of his arms and out into the hall.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock acknowledged he was a very lucky man indeed.

----------------------

“So, I never did ask what changed your mind?” The voice of Mike Stamford called from behind him.

“Let’s just say I still had a lot to learn about how relationships worked.” Sherlock stood tall from his slouching position on the stone balcony.

“Well I’m glad you did." They both turned at the same time, looking back through the veranda windows to the sight of Molly Hooper being held tightly by Mike's wife. Her fitted ivory lace dress gifted to her from her mother's side of the family. Simple, yet elegant. It complimented its wearer beautifully.

“Guaranteed peace for my time.” Sherlock smirked as he took the glass tumbler from Mike's hands.

“Peace? Surely the great Sherlock Holmes isn’t that deluded? You do know how that worked out for Chamberlain back when he said those words?” Mike laughed and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. “Wait until you’re deciding on the name for your first born. Then you can let me know how the peace thing works out.”

Sherlock almost choked on his scotch.

#sherlolly #Sherlock x Molly #Sherlock Holmes #Molly Hooper #domestic #remember it's all about the giving as well as the taking

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