A/N: So, this will be a two-shot in two acts. Each act is named after and inspired by a song from the fantastic Stephen Schwartz musical "Children of Eden." I was listening to it not too long ago, and when I heard this first song - "A Piece of Eight" - I thought that this is something that Sherlock would do (always a love for the dramatic). Listen to the song, which I'm sure you'll like, and you'll enjoy this story a whole lot more! Now go listen to it, read this, and enjoy!
Act I: A Piece of Eight
All throughout the Holmes Manor on the edge of London, there existed a high, almost tangible, air of excitement. Preparations were underway for a family dinner, and the reason for it provided the mood of those in the household.
The only person in the manor that did not share in the excitement was a housemaid, a petite young woman of about one-and-twenty years. The first impression one would get of her would be of a doe: chestnut brown hair, large brown eyes, elfin features, tiny hands, and a small mouth that was usually kept respectfully shut. Her personality and demeanor only added to that, because both were ideal for a servant: quiet, polite, hard-working, efficient, and compassionate.
So, even though the news that was causing such excitement both upstairs and downstairs caused her heart to feel like a lead weight in her chest, she kept calm and carried on as if it were just any other day. She kept quietly to herself, going about her daily task with the same efficiency and dedication that she always did.
As she was crossing the front hall, her hands holding a small tub of silver polish, she crossed paths with Lord Holmes, the patriarch and head of the family. When he spotted Molly, he beamed and called her to him. "What a lovely day it is, Molly! When you lay the table this evening, remember that there will be, not seven, but eight!"
With that, he patted Molly's shoulder amicably and continued on his way. Molly had thankfully managed to give him a small smile, but it dropped once he was gone, her heart even heavier. With renewed determination, Molly continued on her way with her silver polish.
Several hours later, Molly was finishing up in the dining room. All of the plates and silverware had been laid out elegantly, the napkins folded prettily at each setting, and now Molly was lighting the candles that would light up the room. As she finished, one of the dining room doors opened and in walked the young man who held her heart.
Twenty-two-year-old Sherlock Holmes was the second and youngest son of Lord and Lady Holmes, and a more strange and beautiful being Molly had never come across in her life. She had known him her whole life, both being born into the manor, him upstairs and her downstairs. As children, they had been playmates, since his brother Mycroft was older by seven years and had little patience for what he called "immature activities."
"Ah, Molly!" Sherlock said, a pleased smile on his normally impassive face. "The table looks lovely, as always."
The smile and the compliment caused Molly's heart to flutter; both were rarities for the younger Holmes – genuine ones, at least. "Thank you, Master Holmes," she said, almost squeaking.
He continued. "Glad that you have remembered the extra place, since we are adding a new addition to the family tonight!"
Molly's fluttering heart dropped in her chest, but she refused to show anything beyond her mask of polite pleasantness. "Of course, Master Holmes. And may I offer you my congratulations, sir."
His beautiful aquamarine eyes became softer, as did his beaming smile. "Thank you, Molly. That means the most coming from you." He took a step towards her. "I would like for you to serve us tonight. Would you, please?"
He asked so politely – two words that usually were not associated with him – and looked so...adorably beautiful in his asking, Molly was sure that it was physically impossible for her to refuse. She bobbed a little curtsey, if only to gain her breath back, and dutifully replied: "Of course, Master Holmes, whatever you wish. It is, after all, your special day."
His smile, which had not left his face since coming into the dining room, became suddenly somewhat mysterious, and his eyes had a twinkle that Molly could not interpret. "Nearly right, Molly, nearly right." He gave her a tiny bow and then was gone, leaving poor Molly both confused and with her heart heavier than ever.
Blinking harshly, Molly shook herself and turned back to her task of candle-lighting. He was never yours to lose, you stupid girl, the housemaid silently berated herself. Your own feelings don't matter right now. See how happy everyone is, especially him! And isn't that what matters most? So just do your duties, smile at the official announcement, and wish him and his…bride…Godspeed.
She finished this sad train of thought how she had finished it for years: Father, give me strength…She'd already lost the man she loved most in her life – her father – when she was thirteen; her mother had died long ago, when bringing her into the world, so Molly had no memories of her. Now she was losing the man she loved most in a completely different way…and it didn't hurt any less this time. In fact it hurt more now, because at least her father had loved her equally as much as she loved him…With Master Sherlock, she didn't even count.
Molly was ready and waiting with the wine when the family entered the dining room in pairs. They had first all gathered in the front hall to chat and catch up.
First came Lord and Lady Holmes, who looked ecstatic and excited. What an elegant couple they were, and so much in love even after thirty years of marriage! Molly had always had great respect (and envy) for that, as well as great love for them. They had always treated her kindly, though she was of the servant class. When her father, their head gardener, had passed away from scarlet fever, they had immediately taken her in to be trained as a housemaid. She was always allowed the day off on her birthday and the anniversary of her father's death, and they could always spare her a kind word when they saw her. Though they were her employers in the eyes of the world, Molly felt blessed that their relationship was not merely as cold as that.
When the pair of them saw her, they both smiled at her and spoke to her. "Good evening, Molly!" greeted Lord Holmes jovially.
"What a happy day it is!" exclaimed Lady Holmes.
Molly managed a smile as she curtseyed to them.
The second couple to enter soon after was Mycroft Holmes, the eldest son, with his wife, Anthea. The heir to the Holmes title and estate held a not-so-minor position in the British government, and was always the picture of cold dignity. Of all of the Holmes family, Molly truly felt like merely an employee with him. He was never unkind or cruel to her, but he'd also never looked past her title in what would one day be his household. Nevertheless, there were times when Molly did not like him, but it was never because of the way he treated her. It always had to do with the times when Mycroft would look down his nose at his little brother, especially when he used cutting words that he knew would hit Sherlock's nerves (much more sensitive than most people believed).
His wife of two years, a dark beauty who was also in the second trimester of pregnancy, rarely said more than a few words (at least while Molly was there), but she always spared Molly a kind smile or word. The happy wife gave Molly one of those soft smiles as they walked past her to their seats. Mycroft didn't acknowledge her at all, but that never bothered Molly. After all, this wasn't the Holmes son that had captured her heart. So she bobbed a perfect curtsey to them without a problem.
The third couple to enter the room were not members of the Holmes family, but they may as well be. Twenty-six-year-old John Watson – well, Dr. John Watson now, since both he and Sherlock had just finished their schooling – was the best friend of Sherlock Holmes, having roomed with him at 221B Baker Street while he went to medical school and Sherlock to university. He was also Sherlock's partner whenever Sherlock was able to help out on a case that Scotland Yard was stumped on. On his arm was a pretty blonde governess named Mary Morstan, to whom John had recently become engaged. Molly knew little about her beyond the fact that she had been at the center of their last big case. It had thankfully been a success in two ways: it was solved by Sherlock and John found the love of his life.
Both acknowledged her as they entered, Mary with a kind smile and John with a kind, "Evening, Molly, nice to see you."
"You too, Dr. Watson," said Molly, bobbing a third curtsey. John's chest proudly puffed out a bit at his new title that he had more than rightly earned, and Mary squeezed his arm in equal pride.
Finally, the last to enter was Sherlock, who gave Molly that same mysterious, excited smile that he had earlier in the day. Blushing, Molly gave her last curtsey, and only then noticed that Sherlock had entered unaccompanied. Where is his bride-to-be? Molly wondered. But she couldn't wonder long, for soon everyone was seated, and that was her cue to serve the wine, which she did as every servant should: quietly, quickly, and without a hitch.
Once her task was done and she had taken a step back from the table, Lord Holmes stood up from his chair with his now-full glass in hand. "A toast is in order now," he said from head of the table. He and his wife exchanged a smile from opposite ends of the table before he spoke again to all of them. "For this family has many reasons to celebrate. The summer is about to start, for one. Also, a grandchild that is on the way and will be with us before winter comes." He raised his glass to Mycroft and Anthea, who exchanged a look that contained more feeling than Molly sometimes thought Mycroft capable of.
Lord Holmes then turned to John and Mary. "To our recent graduates and soon-to-be-husbands! John, your title of doctor is truly well-deserved, and I've no doubt that the lives you will save shall be many. We are all glad that you have found Mary, who is truly worthy of you, and we look forward to your upcoming wedding before you ship out."
John nodded humbly and squeezed Mary's hand under the table. Molly knew that he wanted to follow his father's footsteps into the army, but as a doctor instead of a soldier. Molly could not think of an occupation that John would be more perfect for, but she worried for the people he would leave behind. Not only Mary, but Sherlock as well. John was his best, and possibly only (she did not count), friend, something he'd never had in his life before (again, she did not count). She prayed that Sherlock would be alright, now that he would be on his own.
Finally, Lord Holmes turned to his younger son with a proud smile. "And finally, to our graduate chemist, top of his class, getting such a degree years early than most men would. Not only that, but soon to be the finest detective that London has ever seen! Now that Scotland Yard have seen what a gift you are, your lifelong dream is very close to becoming a reality. And very well-deserved, my son. Your mother and I are very proud."
With tears in her eyes, Molly listened to the words she would gladly have spoken to Sherlock herself (if she had the right). She could only see the back of his head, shoulders, and chair from where she stood, but she could see in the straightening of his shoulders how much it meant to him to hear those words. Though Sherlock often exuded an air of nonchalance, of not caring what others thought of him, Molly knew that he cared very much what the very few he held in his heart thought of and felt for him.
You see, Sherlock? Molly thought, though knowing that he couldn't hear her. You truly are as extraordinary and loved as you've always wanted to be.
"And," concluded Lord Holmes. "Needless to say, we were all quite surprised at the news you gave us this morning: that you have found a lady that you love and wish to marry! I won't deny it, Sherlock: your mother and I doubted that this day would ever come, but we are no less happy for you! And we hope that we will see her…um…soon." He finished somewhat awkwardly, for everyone's eyes had fallen on the still-empty extra place beside Sherlock.
But Sherlock did not appear at all ruffled or anxious. He replied easily, "Do not worry, Father, she will be here." He patted the place next to him.
Since Sherlock did not appear at all worried, everybody relaxed and raised their glasses to conclude the toast jovially. With that, Molly took her cue and began to serve the meal.
Nearly an hour later, Sherlock's mysterious bride had yet to arrive. The starting salad course passed in pleasant conversation, but everybody remained on alert for an arrival. The soup was consumed in even more tension, the waiting becoming somewhat impatient for almost everybody. Only Sherlock seemed to remain completely at ease and relaxed.
Finally, just after Molly had finished serving the main course, Lord Holmes looked to his younger son with a worried expression. "My son, I fear something may have happened. Surely she would have come by now."
Then, Sherlock surprised everybody with his response: he laughed, laughed some more, and told them all: "She's here!"
Molly, who had been piling up the now empty soup bowls to take down to the kitchens, froze in surprise and complete confusion. She was very tempted to turn around to see just what was going on, but remembering that this was none of her affair, kept her back to the family and face to her work. Her confusion only rose when she heard a chair being pushed back, footsteps approaching her, and a few soft gasps. She even heard Mycroft mutter a soft, "Oh, dear lord…"
Then, hands that could only be Sherlock's appeared in her view, taking the bowls from her hands, setting them down, and then cradling her own hands with them. She could now feel how close he was standing beside her, his warmth seeming to radiate from him. Now thoroughly confused and quite warm, Molly raised her eyes from their hands to his face.
Her breath caught in her throat, and Molly could have sworn that her pounding heart had stopped. Never before had Sherlock – anybody – looked at her like that.
"Come and join the table, Molly, right by me," he said, his deep voice rich and soft, just like the expression in his eyes. "Because it's you I love best in all the world, and I want you for my bride."
Molly was one hundred percent certain that, were it not for his intense gaze holding her own, she would have fainted dead away.
Keeping one of Molly's hands securely in his own, Sherlock led her to the table without hesitation. Molly, who had gone into shock (and quite convinced that one of her more outlandish daydreams had taken over her brain), blindly allowed herself to be led. The sound of a spoon falling to the table and another falling to the floor made her jump a bit. The perpetrators – John and Mary – were staring at them in complete and undisguised shock. Mycroft did not look shocked, per se, but more exasperated, his eyes on his little brother. Anthea appeared the most composed of the younger four still at the table, and while there was certainly surprise in her eyes, it was a happy kind.
Lord Holmes had gotten up from his chair and held out his hand, looking pale in his shock. "Sherlock, son, wait!"
The two young people stopped before the table.
Lady Holmes, who was actually shaking in her shock, could barely get her words out, her usually elegant throaty voice high-pitched. "What is – William Sherlock Scott Holmes what – is this some kind of – what are you th–, are you playing a joke?!"
Sherlock, his hand still holding Molly's, looked quite affronted. "Of course not, Mummy! I am being perfectly serious! This is the woman I intend to marry."
Lady Holmes's gaze turned to Molly, and went from shocked to furious. "And just how long has this been going on in my home?" she growled.
"Mummy, how dare you!" Sherlock snarled, his grip on Molly's hand now very tight in his anger.
"Alright, let's everybody calm down," said Lord Holmes, both hands raised now in order to calm the situation (he hated confrontation). "Let's all sit down and discuss this, please."
"Of course nothing untoward has been going on, Mummy," said Mycroft calmly, still looking at his brother in annoyed exasperation. "Look how shocked the little maid is! You know how Sherlock has an unhealthy flair for the dramatic. I imagine he thought this the perfect romantic gesture, considering how long she's been pathetically infatuated with him like that dumb dog that used to shadow him before it died."
Poor Molly finally felt herself come out of shock and crash to reality. The words and implications that had been spoken in the last minute felt like stabs straight to the gut: a joke being played…untoward behavior between herself and Sherlock…pathetically infatuated…no better than a dog…
Her face and eyes burning in humiliation, she managed to choke out a tiny, "Please excuse me," before her throat closed up. With that, she tore her hand from Sherlock's and ran from the room. She thought she heard someone, probably Sherlock, call after her, but she didn't stop or care.
All Molly cared about now, as the first tears fell from her eyes, was to get as far away and alone as possible.
To be continued...