On a dark stormy night on All Hallow's Eve, family and friends were gathered at the Watsons' residence. Sherlock Holmes was in attendance but he did not care for social calls. He did, however enjoy the holiday. Everything about it reeled him in.
"Holmes, I didn't think you would make it," John greeted him.
"Yes, well, it is obviously important to you," Sherlock replied flippantly. "Though I'd much rather be at home, I suppose it is a sacrifice I must make."
"Sherlock," Mary smiled, "I have someone to intro—where did that girl go?" She looked around and spotted her. "I'll only be a moment."
Molly Hooper slipped away from Mary, too nervous to approach the man she was to be introduced to.
"Molly, dear, whatever is the matter?" Mary asked.
"I know you think we would have a connection, but Mary, look at him," Molly replied. "He is much too posh and looks extremely disinterested. Why ever would he even give me a passing glance?"
"Now, now, I know Mister Holmes quite well, Molly. I think he would be very much interested in you. I would not attempt this arranged courting if I did not think you two were suitably matched," Mary explained. "Come along and meet him. He can be abrasive at times, but I've seen him be sweet before."
"Okay," she agreed meekly.
"Ah, Lestrade, anything interesting come up?" Sherlock asked.
"Surprisingly, no," he replied, "though the night is still young."
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Mary cut in.
"Not at all," Sherlock replied.
"Well, as I was saying before, I would like to introduce you to my cousin, Margaret," Mary encouraged Molly to approach him. Sherlock did well to keep his wits about him, as Miss Hooper was a vision in her pinstriped dress and black corset. She was about to open her mouth before he stopped her.
"No, do not say a word," Sherlock instructed. "Your name is Margaret, but you prefer Molly. You are, most impressively, a pathologist in training, soon to be starting at St. Bartholomew's. Quite a magnificent feat considering how awful society is to women. You are above average in intelligence, quite close to being a genius; possibly a prodigy of your career field. You own a cat and will be staying here at the Watsons considering your father recently passed. Sorry for your loss, Miss…"
"Hooper," Molly provided. "That was quite amazing, Mister Holmes."
"Undoubtedly," he remarked.
"Would you care for a game of Halloween pudding?" Mary asked the both of them. They answered her simultaneously.
"I do not believe in those superstitious frivolities."
"I'd love to!"
"Actually, I suppose one game would not hurt," Sherlock changed his mind. There was something about Molly that intrigued him. She was quite becoming, and though soft-spoken, had a confident strength about her.
"Gather around all of you," Mary announced. "We need three more people for Halloween pudding." Miss Janine Hawkins, Mister Philip Anderson and Doctor Watson joined Sherlock and Molly in the sitting room. "Just to reiterate the rules, there are five objects hidden in this cake; a ring, a coin, a thimble, a button and a key. The first words spoken after the cake is cut are prophetic for the year. Each item has a different prophecy attached; marriage, wealth, becoming an old maid or bachelor, finding your true love and going on a journey. The oldest person playing has to cut the cake."
John stood and carefully cut the cake in five different slices and served a plate to each person including himself.
"Interesting," Sherlock spoke. Everyone looked at him, as he spoke the first words since the cake had been cut. So now, according to the rules, it was prophesized to be an interesting year.
"I found my object," Janine spoke up, holding a coin. "If it is to be true, I would love to have a cottage in Sussex." Anderson ended up with the thimble, doomed to be a bachelor forever.
"Well?" Mary asked Molly, "go on."
"It is just a game, Miss Hooper," Sherlock encouraged. Molly picked out the glittering object and held a ring between her fingers.
"Marriage," she spoke in disbelief.
"Ah, well, if the so-called prophecies of this inane game are to be true, I shall congratulate you now. Any upstanding gentleman would be lucky to have you," Sherlock told her. Molly felt herself blush underneath his gaze. "I have a button in mine…what does that mean?"
"You will meet your true love," Molly answered.
"Perhaps I already have," he smiled. Mary was thrilled at how well Sherlock and Molly were getting along.
"What journey could I possibly be going on?" John asked, holding up the key.
"Perhaps a fantastical land with dragons and gollums," Mary joked.
Molly mingled with the other party guests as Sherlock stood on the sidelines, admiring her. She had a glow about her that made him want to kiss her. Her happiness and enthusiasm rubbed off on you even if you were in a foul mood beforehand. He left for the kitchen to have a drink with John, but when he came back to the sitting room, there was a new game being played. Sherlock joined the circle forming around Molly who was now blindfolded.
"The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch; who's got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?" She twirled around and her fingers came in contact with a pair of beautifully chiseled cheekbones. "You." It was spoken in a whisper.
Sherlock held still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Molly reached up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek but he turned his head last minute, their lips pressing together in sweet surrender.
"Mm," they sounded in unison, but quickly broke the kiss, realizing it was quite inappropriate to carry on for much longer. He watched as her breasts rose and fell with the heavy breaths she was taking. John, along with the rest of the guests, looked on in shock. Sherlock Holmes did not do romantic entanglements, but yet, here he was, obviously wanting to kiss her again. Mary had a smug smile on her face, as she knew those two were meant for one another. The crowd soon dispersed and moved on from the scene.
"Thank you, Miss Hooper," Sherlock spoke suddenly.
"You are quite welcome," Molly giggled. "Though there is no need to thank me, Mister Holmes."
"Oh?"
"I very much wanted to kiss you," she admitted. "I hope that is not too audacious of me."
"No, not at all, Miss—"
"Molly; you can call me Molly," she told him.
"Well, Molly, shall we join the others for the ghost stories?" he asked.
"I thought you did not believe in such things," Molly pointed out.
"I don't, but you enjoy them, do you not?" Sherlock questioned rhetorically.
"I do," she answered.
"Then we shall see if John would tell the one about a ghost case we were on," he smiled.
"Really? How fascinating!" Molly exclaimed. With a kiss on her cheek, Sherlock led her to the parlor room.
"This is the story of The Abominable Bride," John nodded towards Sherlock. "Holmes and I were approached by Detective Inspector Lestrade…" As he recounted the events, Molly was entranced by the story. The fact it was true intrigued her even more. Sherlock felt her grab for his hand when John talked about coming face to face with the bride.
Afterwards, the musicians started up the music and Sherlock took Molly's hand in his, silently asking her to dance. He found that she was very light on her feet, as he was. Sherlock was enamored by her.
"You're thinking too loudly, Mister Holmes," Molly smirked. "What is it that has your mind in a tizzy?"
"You," he replied simply. "I have only spent one lovely evening with you, and yet, I am besotted with you. It is most illogical."
"What's wrong with being a little illogical every now and then? I must say I feel the same way," she told him.
"May I kiss you again?" he asked, his face softened and he looked almost like a nervous puppy.
"You may," she answered, tilting her head up to meet his lips.
Exactly a year later, Sherlock carried his new bride over the threshold of 221B, her arms around his neck. They were laughing together in between kisses as he continued on toward the bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed and kissed her firmly.
"Welcome home, my darling," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her neck. They lost themselves in each other for the night with immense passion. As he held her in his arms afterwards, her head on his chest, he asked her a question reminiscent of their first Halloween together.
"Do I get a kiss from the pickety witch?" he smirked cheekily. Molly laughed softly before pressing her lips to his. Sherlock was in pure bliss with his wife. Thank heavens that John and Mary practically forced him to go to their party.
"Guess what?" Molly asked.
"Hm?"
"Our prophecies came true," she smiled. "I did get married."
"And I met my true love," he added. They fell asleep quickly, peaceful in their slumber. All Hallow's Eve would always be celebrated together now.
Author's Note: Yes, the Halloween Pudding game was a real Halloween party game played in the Victorian era! As for the Pickety Witch, I got that from Sleepy Hollow.