Twelve year old Molly sat expectantly in front of her full length mirror while her mother sat behind her on a wooden stool braiding the an intricate braid down her spine. The little girl gripped the white satin of her dress in both terror and barely contained excitement as the braid was easily finished and a small silver tiara was placed upon her brunette hair. Molly grinned up at her beautiful mother, the Queen of Conan, with all the love a small child could ever possess.
"Now, do you remember what I told you, my love?" Her mother asked softly, her perfect, red lips quirking prettily as she smiled.
Molly nodded quickly and shyly, causing her crown to dip slightly. "A Queen is always polite and to the point, never dawdling in word or context. Her first priority is to her people and husband, the King. She must be honest and virtuous in all things, and… and…" She paused and scrunched her face up in confusion. "I've forgotten." She admitted at last catching her mother's eyes apologetically.
The Queen laughed and placed a gentle kiss upon her daughter's head. "But above all else, a Queen must remain true to herself and what she believes, even when she stands alone." She finished quickly and fixed the falling tiara.
"Now, I believe we have a party in need of our presence." The Queen stated her smile still in place upon her perfect face. She smoothed her emerald gown and stood straightening her back and raising her chin she transformed from Molly's mother into the rightful Queen of Conan. Molly mirrored her mother as she'd been taught since her royal birth and straitened her shoulders and neck. Both walked with ease into the ivory hallway where they were greeted by Mrs. Hudson, the Queen's personal maidservant and secret friend, who was a woman not much older than Her Majesty. Her white collar was starched flat while her black dress was without wrinkles.
"Maladies'," She said politely nodding and sending a wink at Molly while her mother wasn't looking. Molly quickly stifled her giggles and the trio made their way to the grand staircase where an orchestra's music wafted up to Molly's ears. She felt her heart pick up pace and steeled one last deep breath before walking down the steps after her mother's announced arrival.
"Presenting her Royal Majesty, Princess Margaret, daughter of our beloved King and Queen of Conan," Molly fought the rush of blood to her head as the subjects of her parents all turned to face her as she entered. Swallowing the rising bile she forced a smile onto her face and quickly followed her parents to the throne room where other men and women were dancing together. She sat poised on her own seat while her Father took her Mother's hands and led her into a waltz across the cream colored marble floor.
Molly resisted the urge to slouch and rest her head on one hand as the extravaganza grew on.
"It's honestly boring, isn't it." The statement, rather than a question, startled Molly out of her stupor and she fastened her eyes on the shadowy figure leaning against the wall near her chair. He was a boy, perhaps a year or two her senior, with curly black hair that hung wild and loose on his head. The clothes he wore were simple though not common and fit his young long-limbed body well enough; she suspected he must at least be the son of a noble or visiting diplomat. His slightly slanted blue eyes briefly met Molly's for a split second before returning to the celebrations around them.
"May I ask who you are?" Said Molly, slightly taken aback by this mysterious boy's sudden appearance.
"Who is never the important question but as to why would be better. Names mean nothing except pointless titles and letters. Idiotic in my opinion." He muttered a deep frown forming on his porcelain features.
"Names are important, or else we'd all refer to each other as mister and missus without and there'd be nothing to separate us as individuals." Molly snapped both intrigued and infuriated by the boy's lack of manners.
"Oh please, look, here I'll show you." He quickly scanned the room before pointing to wear a few noblemen and women stood chatting.
"See that woman with the black mole on her left cheek? She's having an affair with the Duke of Crenton to her left, all unbeknownst to her husband on the right." The boy saw Molly about to protest and quickly silenced her with another spout of fast sentences.
"How do I know, you ask? Well she's been trying to get away from her husband for the past hour from what I've seen and while she's been not so subtly touching the Duke's arm every few minutes, she has avoided all possible contact with her husband unless absolutely necessary. Not to mention the Duke accidently brushing against her breasts while reaching for a passing platter of drinks. Honestly their just groping each other in public, it's just disgusting." He wrinkled his nose while Molly was left speechless and could only stare between him and the dignitaries in shock.
The boy finally turned to face Molly when she hadn't spoken after a moment and sighed.
"Fine then, I suppose you wish me to leave." He turned abruptly and started to walk away until Molly finally found her voice and called him back.
"Wait! Please don't leave, you're the first person I've actually held a conversation with all night. It was getting boring until you showed up." She admitted bashfully. Sherlock looked down for a moment looking almost bothered, but when he regarded her again he held a wary smile on his face.
"You're the first person who hasn't told me to piss off tonight." He relented. His use of profanity stunned Molly for a second before she burst into a fit of giggles.
"Do you think you could do that trick again?" Molly asked trying not to sound too eager. He smirked and shrugged his shoulders.
"Thinking and observing is what it requires, but to answer your question, no I don't think I can, I know I can." And with that, the two spent the rest of the evening with Molly pointing at different couples and the mystery boy finding their weaknesses and darkest secrets.
"Sherlock!" Someone cried out instigating both Molly and the boy to look around to where a young man in his late teen years came striding towards them. The boy groaned and rolled his eyes at Molly and she gave him a confused smile.
"Sherlock, I thought I told you to stay put? You're not even allowed to be here." The teenager caught sight of Molly and he instantly became stark white and pointed a shaking finger down at the boy, whether it was trembling from fear or rage, Molly didn't know. "Sherlock, I swear if you've upset her majesty in any way-"
"Oh, please Mycroft. I was just showing her who these pompous idiots were." The boy, Sherlock, grumbled slouching even lower where he sat on the throne steps next to Molly. Mycroft became even more livid and his face began to pucker. Had she not felt in trouble, Molly would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Mycroft reached down and pulled on Sherlock's ear, compelling him to stand.
"You are in trouble, Sherlock. You nearly gave mum a heart attack!" The elder brother exclaimed.
"Oh for God's sake, Mycroft, I was only having a bit of fun." Sherlock cried in exasperation. Mycroft threw his hand back and clouted Sherlock across the cheek. The sound reverberated between the three of them and Molly winced as she felt sympathetic pain stretch across her own cheek. Sherlock glanced down to bite his lip, but not before Molly saw the tears well up in his beautiful eyes. Mycroft looked beside himself, torn between guilt and doing what was expected of him. Finally he let out a long sigh and lowered his head into his hands, displaying a barely noticeable thinning hairline.
"Just-just come along, Sherlock. We need to be leaving." With that said Mycroft turned and bowed to Molly before turning on his heal and marching away. Sherlock followed stoically, albeit a trifle teary, as well.
"Goodbye, Sherlock." Molly said mournfully, expecting the lanky, dark haired boy to ignore her and move on, but he paused and twirled to face her one last time. An expression mixed between bitterness and resolve screwed up his face until he looked like he might cry again. With an exhalation he relaxed and became nonchalant and cool.
"Goodbye, Molly." He said, and if his voice had not broken slightly, she would have thought him angry at her, but instead he was just as sad at their parting as she was. For a moment he was standing in front of her and the second she blinked he was nothing more than a retreating figure amidst the swirling crowd.
"Well that was melodramatic, wasn't it?" Molly nearly jumped out of her skin and wondered what it was with boys and just appearing without invitation.
"Hello, cousin." Molly said becoming tranquil once more an offered a civil smile at her older cousin and arranged fiancée, though she did not personally approve of the latter. James Moriarty grinned and bowed in an almost mocking manner, his sneer staying in place throughout the action.
"I believe it would be proper for us to dance, if you're not too busy playing with peasants." Moriarty smirked and Molly had to fight the disgust she felt not to show on her face.
"Thank you for the offer, James, that is very gracious of you." She spat out.
"Then you accept." Said Moriarty, already grabbing her arm and pulling her roughly and unwillingly onto the marble flooring and into the sway-like music. He talked during the entire evening about this and that and all Molly could do was be pulled along in his iron grip. She suddenly couldn't wait for the evening to be over.