mrs-stitch: He always waited for her. Every Friday.“I work at one of the largest and bus

mrs-stitch: He always waited for her. Every Friday. “I work at one of the largest and busiest hospitals in the world and you’re possibly the most famous and most recognisable man in Britain, you …” she often had the pleasure to complain, Not that she minded really. There was always this extra buzz about Fridays now, ever since that first time he’d seen her and had spent the whole day waiting around at that street corner for her to finish. Eventually, she reasoned that if Moffat was alright with this, then so was she. To her, there was nothing more wonderful in the word than seeing him, whatever the weather may be, whistling and kicking his feet around impatiently, his hair flopping back and forth. Then, the moment when he caught sight of her; the grin, that rare, almost embarrassed smile which had stayed even after all this time, always making it seem like any moment now he would break out into laughter; those boyish eyes managing to twinkle and then smoulder almost simultaneously. She’d catalogued all theses moments over the years and stored them as her most precious memories. “Hello dear” he’d always say first, after either draping an arm across her shoulder or offering her an umbrella. “Where to now?” Was always next. It was a cold, windy December Friday, close to christmas, and as usual England hadn’t quite managed to stretch itself to snow and so had compensated with bucketfuls of rain. But he’d still been out there, waiting in the dark and cold with a huge umbrella, his face expectant and impatient and almost nervous as he’d hummed under his breath and tried to avoid being splashed by various taxi’s and buses as they charged through ankle deep puddles at the side of the curb. Again, she took a mental snapshot of the moment, and awaited the routine as she saw him glance up and notice her. Only this time there was a twist. “Hello Dear - will you marry me?” -- source link
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