In the Wrong Order, a sherlock fanfic

Prompt: Sherlolly, arranged marriage. Sherlock tries to confess his feelings for his wife (Molly). She doesn't believe him. [Normal to M, your call.]

Author's Note:

So this has to be a period piece... and I imagined the Holmes that I imagine when I read the books so the characterization might a bit not BBC Sherlock. Their reactions are a bit wrong for a period piece though.

Also, let's just pretend that instead of John as a flatmate to get some financial stability, Holmes decides to marry and the marriage is arranged for him? Don't know how arranged marriages worked exactly, so improvised. Also don't know much about contraception methods during that time, but I know there were some crude ones that worked somewhat.

He seems okay enough. Perhaps a bit cold, but Molly can't complain. She never wanted to marry. Marrying and being allowed to keep her own room and part of the house with almost no obligations to her husband seemed like a rather good idea.

And it was. They consummated their marriage that once in her bedroom under complete darkness with half their clothes on. Sherlock used something he said would almost ensure she didn't get pregnant, but no other words were spoken. Almost no sounds were made in fact. He was rough but quick and then he never asked to do it again.

He was a bit odd. Playing the violin at odd hours, experimenting in the kitchen (that was a bit annoying), going off on strange cases and sitting silently for hours on end. She kind of liked him then. When he was deep in thought, his body either stretched out on the couch or curled tight with his feet on the cushions, and his fingers always steepled.

She started to sneak down to sit with him at such times. Usually she was upstairs in her room, but she took a small pleasure from his presence when he was like that.

The second of third time she heard him murmuring and found out that he often liked to talk to himself to figure out his cases. She offered to listen to him is he liked. She loved hearing his voice and since getting any sort of small talk out of him was like pulling teeth, she was glad to know there was something he liked to talk about.

Sherlock smiled at her for the first time then and proceeded to state the facts of his current case, occasionally asking for her input.

These little sessions started to become an almost daily occurrence. She enjoyed it, that is, until he started to demand she sit with him. She'd be upstairs, often embroidering or reading, when she'd hear the door open, and his loud voice "asking" her to come downstairs and join him. But she took a few deep breaths and joined him. He could have asked for worse.

This went on for a few weeks until one day she just had it.

"Molly."

"I'm busy," she replied.

"You're only reading. I know you bought that book yesterday."

"Than I'm busy reading."

"You're always reading when I speak to you."

Molly closed the book and came downstairs. Sherlock smirked with satisfaction.

"I need you to accompany me-" Sherlock stopped abruptly as he saw the look on her face.

"I will not accompany you anywhere. I thought we agreed. I'd provide you with financial stability, but would get to keep my freedom. I would have my space. You would have yours. We would not act like husband and wife in private."

"I thought you enjoyed our little talks. I thought you'd enjoy an outing."

"I did, but I don't anymore. Can you please keep your side of the deal?" And with that she strode back upstairs.

Sherlock followed.

Molly closed her door.

"Molly, please let me in. I want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Mrs. Hol- Miss Hooper, please."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it from there."

"I would like to change our agreement. I- I have found that I enjoy your presence. I thought myself truly only married to my work, but- I..." Sherlock clenched his hand. Could he say it? Could he admit it? No. No. No. His mind was saying. You are married to your work. These thoughts of her, they've only been brought about by your living with her. And then in the background, his heart, whom he'd locked away and hadn't heard from for some time asked just one thing. Can you stand loosing her?

Sherlock brought his hand down on the door in frustration.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"I... you have captured my heart Miss Hooper. I usually ignore it but it protests too much at your absence. I would like to be your husband and all that entails."

"What?" The door softly creaked open.

"I will court you. I was courting you with my invitation. I thought it was so obvious, that I didn't have to say a word. I thought you understood, coming down every day to listen to me. I thought we had grown on each other. But, and this doesn't happen often, I was wrong."

"Oh."

"If I'm ever wrong it seems to be about social matters, please don't hesitate to correct me. If you accept that is."

"I- don't know... I..."

Sherlock cupped her cheek and leaned in.

"Please." He whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips. She could smell him this close, that strange dark scent that she had only smelled once before but hadn't been able to forget. She would never admit it, but she often hugged his coat to her face when she had the chance to hang it (which was always since he was used to leaving it thrown about). Maybe she had been ignoring her heart all along too.

"Yes."

He beamed and then he tentatively pressed his lips against hers. He'd never kissed her before, she realized. They were doing all this backwards, but it felt perfect.

Continued Author's Note:

Might come back to this some day and expand on it.