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Molly’s curtains were the first things John noticed when he entered 221B. He knew they were hers because she’d had him and Mary and baby Patricia over for dinner a month or so back, and Mary had complimented her on them. She’d just bought them, cheerful yellow things with small cherries sprinkled over the ruffles at the bottom.
And now here they were – or at least, an identical couple of sets – neatly hung up over the windows in Sherlock’s sitting room. “Redecorating?” he quipped, wondering if it was something case related.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and huffed out an annoyed, ‘don’t-be-stupid’ breath as he hopped up from his chair, where he’d been lounging in his pyjamas and beige dressing gown. “John’s here!” he called out, apropos of nothing, then bustled off to the kitchen.
John started to follow him, trying to figure out what was going on, when he heard the sound of a door opening. Sherlock’s bedroom door, to be exact. He stared, open mouthed, as Molly Hooper wandered out, yawning and stretching, wearing one of Sherlock’s grey t-shirts under his blue dressing gown and nothing else, at least that John could see. “Morning, John!” she chirped, offering him a sleepy smile before heading into the bathroom.
“Sherlock!” John hissed as he stumbled into the kitchen. “What the bloody hell is going on? You’re not…not…janining that poor girl are you?”
“‘Janining’? Sherlock echoed, brow furrowed in distaste. “What a terrible way to put it, John. No,” he added when John’s own expression turned thunderous, “I’m not ‘janining’ Molly. Why would I need to fake a relationship with my own fiancée?”
When Molly came out of the bathroom two minutes later, she stared at John’s rigid, staring form, his half-open mouth, then glared over at Sherlock. “All right, what did you do this time, you git?”
“Er, I, ah, may have neglected to tell John that we’ve been engaged for the past month,” Sherlock admitted sheepishly. He grabbed John by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Hey, John, snap out of it! You haven’t dropped into an alternate reality, you’re not dreaming, and I am definitely NOT ‘janining’ Molly, all right?” When John failed to respond, he gave Molly a worried look. “Should I call Mary?”
“Probably for the best,” Molly replied with a sigh. As Sherlock whipped his mobile out of his dressing gown pocket, she took John gently by the arm. With a few murmured words of encouragement, she managed to steer him over to his chair and get him sat in it. “Make sure she brings Patricia, I think some daddy time will be just the thing!” she advised her idiot fiancée. Judging by the current situation, he’d also ‘forgotten’ to tell John and Mary that they’d been dating. No wonder they kept giving her funny looks a dinner last month!
Sure enough, twenty minutes later John was cuddling his two-month-old daughter while he and his wife heard the story behind How Sherlock And Molly Got Engaged And Moved In Together.
But that, I’m afraid, is a tale for another day!