Sherlock was still evaluating how to approach his adversary when the news of Charles Augustus Magnussen's death hit him like a bolt from the blue. For the briefest of moments he even suspected that his client had suddenly decided to take matters into her own hands, but then Lady Elizabeth Smallwood wasn't the kind of woman who would break into Magnussen's office and shoot a bullet through his head.
He talked his way into the crime scene, no matter how reluctant Lestrade was to have him there. There was something he was missing, something he had to figure out.
Then he caught the faintest trace of perfume in the air, and everything fell into place at last.
Clair de la Lune. He knew that fragrance, knew a very specific someone that used it.
A woman who could recognize a skip code on sight, and possessed an extraordinarily retentive memory too.
If she was what he thought she was, then she had been careful enough not to leave any clue whatsoever that could link the murder back to her; however, he had to make sure that that was the case.
He had to do it, for John.
The fact that his dear brother had not so subtly warned him to stay away from Magnussen's body didn't bother him in the slightest. Not when he knew exactly who was going to conduct the post-mortem examination.
xxx
"Go away. You know I can't let you in."
"Molly, please."
"Your brother has made it quite clear what's going to happen if I don't follow his instructions to the letter."
"I can handle Mycroft, trust me."
"I said no, Sherlock."
"Don't make me do that here."
"Do what?"
He extracted a small box from his coat pocket, opened it before Molly's nervous eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Most people know exactly what that's supposed to mean."
"You shouldn't do this if you don't mean it."
"I do. Now, would you please let me in?"
Molly shot a wistful look at the solitaire ring, then bit at her lower lip and proceeded to unlock the door. Everything was going according to his plans, he thought as he strode into the mortuary.
xxx
It wasn't until a few days later that he finally managed to have a word with Mary.
"Your secret's safe with me," he murmured, studying her eyes for a silent moment.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she all but shrugged, and he couldn't help admiring her nerves of steel when it came to protecting her loved ones.
"You're safe now. This is all that matters."
John chose that moment to barge into the room, giving him that disbelieving stare he'd got to know so well.
"Tell me you didn't get engaged in order to break into the mortuary."
It was his turn to shrug. "I'm not going to marry her, if that's what you're worried about."
"Sherlock, she loves you. You can't do this to her."
"She'll get over it. Find another bloke, or something."
"No, she won't. You proposed to her, and now you have to keep your promise."
He was about to tell him how utterly unreasonable this sounded, but the murderous look on John's face warned him otherwise.
Mary offered him a small smile as he grabbed his coat and bolted for the door.
xxx
Three months. Three months had passed since the beginning of this poor excuse for an engagement, and all the time he'd been waiting for Molly to eventually grow tired of his stunts and leave.
He'd taken her to dinner a couple of times, endured interminable evenings curled up together on the sofa while watching the telly. And while he didn't really regret the company, he still hated being trapped into the sort of arrangement he despised completely.
In the end Molly took pity of him, offered him that sad smile of hers as she handed back the engagement ring.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, and he meant it for once. He wasn't proud of using her for his purposes; he wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been about Mary and John, the two – soon to be three – people he'd vowed he would always be there for.
"It's okay. I've always known it was just a ruse on your part. John and I decided to keep up the act in order to teach you a lesson."
He paused, momentarily baffled. "Did you really?"
"We've done it for you, Sherlock. You can't play with other people's feelings, it's wrong."
"Fair enough, I guess."
The ring weighed strangely in his palm, and he wondered whether he'd just lost her friendship as well. He hadn't been surprised in the slightest when she'd broken her engagement with Tom, but part of him actually marvelled that she'd found the courage to break her not-quite engagement with him.
She still loved him, he could tell that. The thought felt uncomfortable enough for some reason now.
Molly brushed her lips on his cheek and silently made for the door. That was when he instinctively reached for her wrist, anxious brown eyes meeting his at last.
xxx
"It's been Christmas for a week now," his brother whined, and he almost smirked in response.
Mummy ignored her eldest son's complaints, turned a look around the room instead. "Is your girlfriend still upstairs, Sherlock?"
He rolled his eyes. "Her name's Molly, and she's not my girlfriend."
"Oh, she isn't, is she?" Mycroft cut in wryly. "I wonder why the two of you are sharing a bed then."
"I need some fresh air," he announced, not bothering to acknowledge the pert remark. He had just lit himself a cigarette when his brother joined him.
"Mummy won't be pleased if she finds out," Mycroft murmured as he fished for his pack of cigarettes.
"She's too busy fussing over John and Mary. And Molly too."
"I'm afraid she's quite hoping that you decide to follow your friend's example, provide her with the grandchildren I'm never going to give her."
"Oh, please."
"You know, I never thought you were capable of this."
"Capable of – what?"
"Ordinary love. It suits you, brother mine."
"Shut up."
They smoked in silence for a while, blowing puffs of smoke in the crisp winter air.
"You should have a word with Harry's employer, talk her into giving him the next Christmas off. Mummy would be delighted to meet him."
Mycroft's attention was entirely focused on his cigarette now, but he could see the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Maybe his brother knew a thing or two about ordinary love too.