It was hard, being well known. Molly wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten this famous with just one series, but she was one of the hottest authors in an age and, therefore, everyone wanted a piece of her. Everyone was so nosy, it seemed. And oh, did it make her life difficult, especially when her boyfriend was the type who detested being splashed all over the tabloids.
It wasn’t that Sherlock wasn’t famous himself. He was a classical violinist who had broken into the mainstream with some electrifying compositions and, frankly, could head up huge arenas full of fans. But he’d had some trouble with drugs for a bit, something she’d stuck by him with, helped him through, and while their relationship was all the stronger for it his relationship with the press was...not.
And yet he accompanied her on the book tours and the press events and studiously avoided the alcohol and instead enjoyed the food and sometimes the company. She was lucky they shared a managing team who knew them both well. John and Mary were excellent at what they did and knew how to smooth over hurt egos and soothe slight hurts. The Watsons were absolutely amazing, and she knew she and Sherlock were lucky to have them.
But every once in a while she needed to get away from it all, and that was how she’d found herself on the roof of the building, her wrap pulled tight against her arms, staring up at the starry sky as she wondered if this was really worth it all. Oh, she knew it helped her sales and it did wonders for the goodwill in the press, but...she wanted a quieter life. Simpler. Maybe a child or two, in the future. Sherlock’s children, if she could be so lucky. She just wondered if he wanted the same thing.
After a moment she felt a suit jacket nestle on her shoulders and a kiss pressed into her hair. “Had to escape?” she heard Sherlock murmur.
She nodded, turning to the side and he moved around and looking up at him with a smile. “Just a little bit of peace and quiet to re-energize myself.”
He nodded. “It makes you wonder how much more of this we have in us before we want to chuck it all away and run off to...I don’t know. A little cottage in Sussex.”
“Mmm, I would like that. A place for me to write and you to compose.” She paused. “If you wanted to, I mean.”
“Why not?” he asked. “We aren’t particularly grand fans of the London lifestyle. We could...” He reached over for her hands grasping the in his. “We could settle down, get married. Maybe have children?”
“Are you asking me to run away with you?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“I suppose I am,” he said, pulling her closer and then removing a hand to tilt her chin up.
“I thought you never would,” she said with a soft smile as he leaned in to kiss her. Their lips touched, and she swore she was in heaven.
The moment was ruined, however, by the telltale click of a camera. Sherlock jerked back and they both turned to see a man standing there with a camera in front of his face, a haughty smirk on his lips. “Oh, this is going to be great. Snogging on the roof and practically planning to jettison your careers? I’ll get so much for this.”
“Delete that immediately,” Sherlock said.
“Not a chance,” he replied, turning around…
...and walking smack into one of the members of security for the evening, a man with salt and pepper hair that Molly believed had been referred to as Lestrade. “You know, it’s not a good idea to walk without watching where you’re going,” he said, taking the camera from the man.
“That’s my property, mate!” the man said.
“Well, do you have an invitation to be at this event?” Lestrade asked. “Where are your press credentials?” The man paled. “Trespassing, I see. So. Here’s the deal. I’ll delete the picture you took of Ms. Hooper and Mr. Holmes. I’ll escort you out the back entrance. You’ll forget whatever you heard them talking about because I’ll write down your name and check it against your identification. And if I find one word of the conversation in the tabloid rags, I’ll haul you in on a trespassing charge. Understood?”
“You can’t do that,” the man scoffed.
“I’m an off-duty copper, so...yeah, I can,” Lestrade said. “So, do you want to stay out of jail or don’t you?” He looked over at Molly and Sherlock and winked at them before he led the man away and began dealing with the problem.
“You know, if we do more of these events and tours and whatnot, I think it might be a good idea to poach this Lestrade fellow to head the security team,” Sherlock mused.
“Well, that depends on how quickly you’d like to go to that cottage,” Molly said, moving to slide her arms around his waist. “Or perhaps how early you’d like to try for some children.”
He looked down at her, his eyes bright, and then reached up to cup her cheek, running his thumb along her cheekbone. “I suppose we should get married first, though.”
“I suppose,” she said, smiling up at him.
“Destination wedding, perhaps? Someplace that will let us get a wedding license the same day? And be nice and warm so I have an excuse to see you in as little clothing as possible?” he asked, giving her a smile as well.
“Like you need an excuse,” she said before leaning in and kissing him softly. Fame and fortune was nice, but this...this was much nicer, being in the arms of the one man who loved her most and had made the choice to put her above fame and fortune, just as she would with him.