A/N: The first fic I imagined writing during Season 3. "Listen," about Sherlock and Redbeard, got written first—give it a read if you so desire (and a review, if you are kind—it's been a poor little reviewless orphan for many days now ;))—but when I saw Molly's face at the end of the wedding, I knew this would have to be written.
She's happy, very happy, and there is so much to do and say and smile at that she has no time—no time at all to think of him.
It's accidental, then, when her eyes fall on him—a lean, enigmatic figure in his formal garb, which has not the familiarity of his usual spare elegance, but whose stilted ceremoniousness reminds her of the grandeur of his brother and the family name…high-brow, high-class. Everything he's always rejected.
She doesn't mean to meet his eyes (bluer than any others here) across the room, but it happens often. Swift stolen glances that she knows she ought not take.
(They are in close quarters, that is all. There is nothing here to worry about).
Is it really a surprise, after all, when she observes him slip away into the darkness?
She is happy, and she does not care. There is too much to do and say and smile at that she has no time to feel her heart pound high and painful, to bite her lips and hold herself back from running after him.
She notices that he has his coat again. He's himself once more. And she's here—she's happy here—
He leaves, she stays.
They're both alone.