A/N: My late contribution to the holidays. It's a little random, dreamy (because I'm sleepy) and somewhat inspired from my London trip. Most importantly, it's a feel-good piece. And well, I guess that's all we really want for Christmas, isn't it? Some feel-good Sherlolly. :) Happy Christmas, loves xx

Circus

It was warm for a winter's evening. Molly found she had no need to wrap her scarf around so tightly around her neck, nor did she need to fully button up her coat. The sun had long gone, but the evening winds remained mercifully tame.

She emerged from the Underground at Piccadilly Circus, smiling briefly as she took in the rather exquisite display of Christmas lights. Nothing lavish, for the buildings alone were lavish enough. Just a touch of luminescence here and there which connected the buildings, reminding everyone in the throngs that yes, Christmas was nigh.

Molly breezed past large, well-lit shops, pausing sometimes at the more interesting window displays. The one at Selfridges amused her. Glittery cats atop spinning disco balls seemed too ludicrous to be true. With a smirk, she stopped to actually take a picture. It's definitely Christmas, she thought, as she tucked her phone back into her pocket and carried on her way.

The presents were few and easy to buy. Molly was a good planner, and an early one too. Having decided beforehand what she was going to buy for whom, it meant getting in and out of the shops quicker than it took to say Merry Christmas.

Everything was going according to plan and she wore a satisfied smile on her face as she walked out with her shopping bag of presents. What she had not expected was to run into a rather familiar frame, causing her to drop her things.

"God, I'm so sorry—" she said, pausing only when she realised whom she had bumped into.
"Nothing to be sorry about," was the reply as the well-dressed man in his signature long coat dusted imaginary lint off himself.

Sherlock smiled at Molly, as she smiled in return. Fancy running into him here.

"You shouldn't be outside," she said, carefully rearranging the bags on her arms.
"Couldn't help it," said the detective with a shrug, "Besides, it's a lovely evening out."
"It is, isn't it?" Molly could not help but agree.
"Need a hand?" he asked, extending a gloved hand.
"I'm good, thanks." she answered, "I didn't buy much, so I can manage. Besides, you're—"
"Much better now," he interrupted, smirking at her.
"Still, you shouldn't be running about like that," Molly remarked, eyeing him sternly.
"You know me," he said with a dry laugh.
"Yes," she replied with a smirk, "Unfortunately, I do."

They parted ways; Molly on her way back to her flat and Sherlock to somewhere only God would know.

Back home, Molly settled her presents on her little coffee table and began labelling them, writing little cards to their respective recipients. She had just moved on to writing one for Mrs Hudson when she heard her door click open.

"Nice of you to use the key," she said, not looking up from her writing.
"I'm trying to be a good guest," answered Sherlock as he wiped his feet, "Don't want to be kicked out again."
"But you do so like being outside," said Molly as she looked up and smiled wryly at him.

The detective laughed quietly at her words and moved to join her around the coffee table. He draped his heavy coat on the back of an armchair and sat himself down.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly, inching forward to peer at her busy hands.
"What do you think, detective extraordinaire?" she answered with a chuckle.
"Writing me a love note?" he answered, sinking back into the armchair as he placed his hands behind his head.
"Who'd write you a love note?" Molly said, clicking her tongue in amusement at him.

He answered by sitting up suddenly to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, stopping her from her card-writing. When she turned to look at him with bright, amused eyes, Sherlock could not help but move to kiss her again, this time gently on her lips. After all, she had turned to face him.

"How's the wound?" Molly asked, pretending she did not want to kiss him back.
"My intestines are still inside my body," Sherlock replied, "That's good enough for me,"
"Don't be an idiot," Molly chided, setting her pen down.

Getting up, she forced Sherlock to stand up in order for her to examine the very injury that had brought him to her doorstep in the first place.

"If you wanted my shirt off, you could have just asked," he smirked, eyeing her as she bent to study the stitches in his side.
"Shut up and keep it on," she answered, rolling her eyes. "I just need it unbuttoned so I can check this…"

Carefully, she pulled apart one side of his shirt as she scanned each stitch in his side to make sure there was no sign of infection. Satisfied, she let the shirt fall back down, covering his wound and instructed him to button it back.

"So soon?" he asked, standing before her with his shirt still unbuttoned.

Molly shook her head and laughed as she moved to hold him. She slipped her hands through his undone shirt, gently sliding her arms around his torso and careful to avoid the nasty row of stitches.

"You're such a clown," she said, moving her lips against his chest.
"Well, I did just bump into you at a circus…"
"For someone so intolerant of fools you really say the most ridiculous things, Sherlock," Molly said with a laugh.

The sound of her laughter brought him laughter. Wrapping his arms around her petite frame, Sherlock kissed her hair and sighed quietly from the sheer nearness of her.

"Thank you, Molly," he whispered, not once loosening his grip around her.

Smiling, Molly pulled herself slightly away but only so she could kiss him.

"Whatever for?" she asked against his lips.
"Too many reasons to list," he answered.
"Name one," she teased.
"Thank you for having such divinely-smelling hair," he teased back, only to kiss her hair again.

They parted, with Molly chuckling softly and Sherlock grinning as he finally buttoned his shirt.

"So, what did you get me for Christmas then?" he asked, picking one of the gifts up and tossing it in the air.
"Oy, put that down. That one's Mrs Hudson's and it's fragile…"
"What did you get me?" he asked, setting it back down.
"Isn't putting you up in my flat without contacting your brother good enough a gift?" Molly asked with a wry smile.

It had to be seen to be believed, but the detective actually looked slightly despondent. Molly wanted to burst into laughter but managed to keep a straight face.

"Well, you have a gift - of sorts," she said, returning her gaze to writing her card.
"What is it?" he asked curiously.
"A bed." she answered, trying very hard to bite down a growing grin.
"A bed?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Molly looked right at him as a slow smile crept across her face.

"Yes," she answered calmly, "Specifically, mine."

The detective's eyes widened as he swallowed hard, internally cursing himself for having clowned around on a case, getting himself injured. What was the point of her gift if he was physically constrained with these bloody stitches.

As though reading his mind, Molly merely shrugged and smiled wryly at him.

"You'll just have to wait till New Year's," she said, signing off Mrs Hudson's card with a flourish whilst Sherlock looked on, making a mental note never to get himself injured again.

END