"And that's a wrap!"
The audience was clearly divided. One group that was whooping and cheering, the visitors. And the silent, wistful smiles of the locals.
After all it wasn't everyday that a major Hollywood production unit moved to your small Scottish village and took it over for two months.
"Its been a pleasure Molly. And I apologise for any untoward behavior-"
Molly cut John by kissing him on his cheek, "No apologies needed John. It's good to have tough customers once in a while, keeps us on our toes."
John grinned and hugged her tightly.
"I hope you've done with goodbyes John, we are leaving in five."
The haughty tones of Sherlock's voice interrupted the moment.
John gave Molly an apologetic look, narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and moved out of the inn.
Molly chuckled and returned to arranging the keys back onto their pegs on the wall behind her.
Sensing someone, she turned to find Sherlock standing near her, looking at her with an indecipherable expression. No, he looked unsure, and a tad bit uncomfortable.
"If you…travel…" he cleared his throat.
Words suddenly seemed difficult for him. Him.
He grabbed her hand, slapped a card and covered her fingers over it, dropped her hand, got his usual haughty look and swept out of the room.
Molly was left blinking. The obviously expensive piece of stationary simply stated his name and a mobile number.
He had left a link behind!
"Molly…Molly. Wake up…Molly, wake up!"
Molly groggily rolled onto her back, but her eyes refused to heed to the 'open' command.
"Molly, have you seen the papers? They are going to shoot a movie near our village. Our village. Oh, of all the things in my time of life!...Wake up lassie!"
"Mrs Hudson, are they shooting the movie today?"
"No girl! Mid March."
"Then wake me up when its Feb end."
"It's got your favourite actor, tall bloke, curly hair; he starred in that recent movie you don't shut up about."
That got Molly's attention. Finally able to pry her eyelids apart, she peered at her elderly housekeeper. Mrs Hudson was sharper than she was given credit for.
Wiping off the drool from her chin, she tried to put two thoughts together.
"Tom Hiddleston is going to shoot in Glenrowle, of all the places?"
"Tom Hid…no, Sherlock Holmes! Wasn't he the star-"
"Don't care much for him. I watched the movie for the villain, not the hero! Definitely wake me when it's mid Feb….no, make that Feb end." Molly rolled over and fell asleep immediately. The journey from London had been exhausting and no way was she getting up to celebrate the arrival of a haughty, ill-tempered movie star in her village. If only it were Tom…
But celebrate she did, when she saw the numbers her calculator threw up. Oh, she would do a welcome jig for Sherlock Holmes, if it meant a full occupancy in an otherwise lean season.
She almost had second thoughts though, when the actor's support team descended on her inn, to check out the accommodation and other facilities. A special fridge was installed to separately store the organic food ingredients that Sherlock's personal chef would use. They put in special blowers and fans to improve the air circulation in all the rooms. The mattress was replaced. She was also moved from her personal room to the tiniest room she had, to accommodate the hair and makeup people. But she stood her ground about the colour of her rooms; she loved the pale yellow walls. (She did acknowledge that she got the easy end of the stick; Mrs Hardy was hosting the lead actress and she had to replace the old tub that her late husband had fit in the bathroom, God bless his soul!)
It was no fun being at the receiving end of the actor's team, but the blow was softened by Sherlock's manager, John Watson. The man had enough charm to sell her green grass! He also had Mrs Hudson blushing like a young girl and squawking around him like a mother hen, at the same time.
Soon the technical teams started moving in, followed by the actors. Shooting had already started, involving the support cast, who proved to be pretty easy going people. Molly was part of the crowd who watched the initial days of shooting, but soon got bored. It was monotonous and same scenes were being shot again and again. Film making was definitely not as glamorous and exciting as she had perceived.
The day before Sherlock arrived, his chef, personal trainer, makeup artist and manager came and settled into the Glenrowle Inn. They were taking over her home and sending out orders right, left and centre. She started dreading the moment the actor himself arrived. His reputation for being difficult and having a sharp tongue preceded him.
It was a pristine white Range Rover Evoque (of course it was) that screeched to halt on her driveway, narrowly missing the flowerbeds. Sherlock Holmes got out of the car, threw the keys to a waiting John and sauntered into the lobby. He was very handsome, tall, though not as tall as he looked in the movies. His hair was longish, curly and black. And he had the most amazing blue-green eyes.
Now only if there was some warmth there.
Nodding curtly at Molly and Mrs Hudson, he followed John to his room. John had assured Molly that they had made the most with what her inn offered and they had no complaints. But she had a feeling that she would be hearing more from the actor, and not compliments either.
Molly was at the front desk, reading the papers. She would've been going thru the list of items in the kitchen or store room or managing the numbers, but since everything was looked after by Sherlock's team, she had time on her hands.
Hands slammed on the wood, making her jump.
"The least you could do is make sure those bloody windows are actually closed when you close them."
"What? What windo-"
"Lovely attention to detail. I thought that with a small property to manage, things would run relatively smooth. Aaah, the wakeup call of reality!" the sarcastic tones were grating on Molly's nerves.
It had been a week that the lead stars had come in and shooting was in full flow. She had seen Sherlock only when he left or arrived at the Inn. He did not interact at all with them, preferring to get things done through John.
And she had no complaints against that arrangement.
"Mr Holmes, John has never said anythi-"
"Look at the window and have the draught problem resolved by evening, I am sure you can squeeze in some time in your otherwise very busy schedule."
He turned, walked out to his car, leaving a stunned Molly still trying to process what had happened.
Oh would she resolve the draught issue before that evening!
And when the errant factor made itself obvious, she couldn't feel more vindicated.
"It's your blower system causing the draught! The windows are fine. I don't know how that system functions, so may-"
"Don't care. And I don't like company when I am eating. Shut the door on your way out."
Molly almost jumped when the deep voice spoke from the high chair facing the window. She had been talking to John in the room the team used as a common area and hadn't seen Sherlock sitting nearby.
"Sherlock!" John admonished.
Molly gaped at the chair's back, her mouth open.
"Wow he really is rude! His PR team must be real gems. He is lucky to have you John, you-"
"I am still in the room," Sherlock interrupted.
"Mrs Hudson has made her special Sheppard's pie for her friends. I was wondering if you would want to have some?" she ignored Sherlock's jab and extended the invitation to John.
She left as John heartily agreed to join her for dinner, smug in the knowledge that at least a some of them were going to have an amazing meal, not restricted to boiled vegetables and grains she had not even heard of.
John took further care to ensure that Sherlock did not antagonize his host any more. He knew how it could all blow out of proportion, having handled quite a few situations and soothed more than a few frayed nerves, thank you very much.
So it was a surprise when Molly saw Mrs Hudson get out of the Range Rover a few days later, been given a lift by Sherlock on his way back from the shoot. He gave her a fond smile as she kissed him on his cheeks and went inside the inn, leaving a stunned Molly staring at the actor, who simply ignored her and went to his rooms.
Their interaction continued in a similar vein till one evening, after heavy rains, Molly found Sherlock in his car, stuck in a ditch. The powerful vehicle was proving ineffective against the sticky mud. She passed the car just as he was about to open the door and wade through the mulch, when she cried out, "I wouldn't do that. Sit inside, I will send help".
It took farmer Maloney three attempts before his sturdy tractor pulled the car out. Seemed that Sherlock had swerved to avoid running over a rabbit and eventually slipped into the ditch. Seemingly unhurt, though she did not include his pride, the actor drove his undamaged but totally muddy vehicle to the village garage to get cleaned, and was left to walk to the inn.
That warranted interaction with the locals. And visiting fans. And autograph hunters. And photographs. John walked with him, like a shadow, ensuring that the actor's infamous temper was kept at bay. Molly observed from afar the increasing tightness to Sherlock's mouth and giggled a bit. His glare landed on her as she did so and his lips thinned even more, if that was possible. Her mirth seemed to bubble over and she turned away to walk home, laughing openly.
"You must either be too bored in this little place, to find a troubled man funny. Or maybe your little mind does not have the capacity to process what is, in fact, a total invasion of privacy and personal space!"
It was one of those evenings when the weather was just cool (or warm) enough to warrant a drink out under the stars. With a cup of steaming hot coffee in her hand, Molly sat with Mrs Hudson in their backyard, joined by John and Mary, who managed Sherlock's hair amongst things. Molly found the blonde to be vivacious, witty and extremely likeable.
It was Sherlock's tirade that disturbed the peaceful evening.
"Sherlock!" both Mary and John gasped.
"What?" Molly frowned up at the actor, half turning in her chair.
"John, you have to negotiate a change in schedule. I need to get out of this godforsaken place and at least spend some time in Edinburgh, if not London. Get me out of here!" He huffed, his voice rising as he finished venting.
"You're amazing Mr Holmes. One interaction, one, with people who admire you, or atleast your persona, and its making you run…to places where you would meet even more of them!" Molly shook her head unbelievably.
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a look over. Molly bristled at his action but he seemed unaffected by her displeasure.
"You're not a local, your accent itself is enough to tell anyone that. But you carry yourself with a straight back, that says that you are used to having responsibilities and fulfilling them. Only child, orphaned. So the pseudo family around you and the need to keep them around and happy. You are meticulous in your activities, following procedures to the T, and showing dedication. All pointing to a job of responsibility held not too long ago."
"Sherlock-"
He ignored John and carried on.
"Your clothes, your language, the way you speak, the ease with which you interact with the production team shows that the job you held meant interaction with people in places of…high responsibility. Your accent suggests London, the cuts on your hands, old scars, suggest working with instruments. You are obviously intelligent, empathizing with people around. You worked as a doctor, a surgeon. The high intensity of the job finally got to you, along with the broken engagement. You were wearing a ring, now you fiddle at its place unconsciously, as you are doing right now. The fiancé broke it off, left you heartbroken and too tired to deal with the fast pace of city life. So this inn. A refuge. A last remaining, thread to sanity."
Sherlock paused and moved a step closer to Molly, who had frozen at his words.
"A woman, herself finding refuge, hiding in the middle of nowhere, is hardly the right person to tell me off for staying away from people."
His voice had been low, almost a whisper, but the viciousness of his words was not lost on anyone.
There it was, finally. The legendary prowess of Sherlock Holmes. The factor that made him such a phenomenal actor. His powers of observation. There were a more than a few articles floating around the internet about it. But watching it in person was breathtakingly terrifying.
And being at the receiving end was totally horrifying.
He smirked at Molly and was about to turn away, when her words stopped him.
He had half expected her to start crying, so had John and Mary, as seen from their faces. So it was his turn to be surprised when her steady voice addressed him.
"That was a great display, but mean, Sherlock Holmes. Your legend precedes you, but to be on the receiving end is horrible. And a few corrections. Not a surgeon, but a pathologist. And a very good one, preferred by Scotland Yard's best. I helped with murders and arson attacks and have helped put more than a few criminals behind bars. Yes, I have seen the underbelly of the world Mr Holmes, and its effects. Also, my fiancé didn't break it off, he died. Helmand district. He was an army doctor. And no, not hiding away Mr Holmes, but fulfilling his last wishes. We bought this inn from Mrs Hudson before his last tour, we retained her as a housekeeper. Both of us being orphans, we liked a motherly figure around us."
She moved a step closer, her words steady as her gaze.
"I don't hide or seek refuge in places, Mr Holmes. I found solace and support amongst people I care for, and in the memory of those whom I loved and lost. I am at peace, Mr Holmes, can't say the same about you."
She moved inside, leaving behind the stunned actor who had been thrown off his high horse in front of an audience.
Mrs Hudson was the next to move inside, muttering "I can see why she fancies Tom Hiddleston" under her breath.
"If I wasn't with you Mary, I would have kissed the life out of Molly right now!" John said out.
"Me too John, me too." Mary grinned at John, raised her brows at an affronted Sherlock and went inside.
The next morning a visibly uncomfortable Sherlock, approached Molly before leaving for the set. He hid his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted uncomfortably looking anywhere but at the former pathologist.
"Uh….about last night,…I…it was…I mean…I was out of line. As John frequently reminds me, my words would lead to my murder one of these days-"
"In that case, I will surely lend the NSY a helping hand in finding the perpetrator, Mr Holmes." Molly had a smile on her face. "Your death will be avenged," she whispered conspiratorially.
Her anger at being publicly confronted had disappeared when she had done talking last night. She saw that the proud and haughty demeanour was just a front for a lonely man. And she didn't have the heart to hold it against him.
Life was too short, as she painfully knew.
Things improved marginally between them since 'the outburst', as they called it. As in, he nodded at her when leaving for the set, instead of ignoring her as he used to do earlier, though his interactions with Mrs Hudson improved by leaps and bounds.
Molly smiled as she thought of this. Mrs Hudson had that effect on people.
Then came Easter. It was a holiday for the movie team, who had been shooting non stop in all weather. And the weather gods actually smiled down on them, presenting them with a sunny day. The annual feast the village hosted was in full attendance, with the visitors mingling freely. For once, Sherlock and the other members of the cast were much more approachable which surprisingly made it easier for them to move about later in the day, without getting mobbed.
Then the dances started and the cast joined in, Sherlock included. He did look affronted when asked by one of the ladies, but had no support from John to avoid it. It drew the biggest roar and encouraged the others to join in as well. The event ended, with the group walking home happy but bone tired. Mrs Hudson, of course, travelled with Sherlock in his car.
The next morning, Molly was up at dawn and set out to fetch eggs for them all (except Sherlock; only organic for him, you see!).
She was surprised to see the said man, holding a bag in his hand and standing at the road end of the lane leading to her inn.
"Good morning, Mr Holmes. You're an early bird today! Doubt if any worms are awake though!"
He frowned slightly at her poor joke, which made her chuckle.
"Sherlock."
"Sorry?"
"Sherlock. Mr Holmes is my older brother…too early in the day to be reminded of him."
She grinned. "Ok, Sherlock, where are you off to this early?"
"This man lend me his wellies before the feast. For the life of me, I can't remember where he said his place is."
"Name?"
"John Smythe."
"You are in luck. Fancy a walk? I will pass his home on my way, you can come along. But be prepared to get some mud on those fancy jeans of yours. I prefer short cuts."
"After you."
She was a bit surprised at the ease with which they conversed. He asked her about her time as a pathologist, she asked him about his movies. Life as a Hollywood star wasn't all that was made to be, with the long hours, killer competition and bane of the stars, social media.
She spoke of her work, detailing the case where she met her fiancé, how they bonded over morbid jokes and their shared interest in medical mysteries.
She was able to talk about Tom, the familiar feeling of heaviness in her heart having reduced with time. It had been two long and tough years and she had worked hard to live with a smile, the way they had promised each other before his tours.
Sherlock was reticent about his personal life, and she didn't probe him. They reached the Smythe residence and Molly turned to say bye. She was surprised to see Sherlock already running to the house, handing over the shoes and running back.
"I am contractually not allowed to eat local food, but I can definitely fetch it." He gave her a boyish grin, his blue green eyes lighting up, the first open smile he gave her. And she suddenly saw why he was so popular, the charm flowing when he was relaxed.
They spoke more, easy rapport making the distance disappear. Though he became quieter as they walked towards the Inn.
"You are a good listener…I only hope that what I shared doesn't appear in any rag in a few days."
She was shocked into silence, not knowing if she should be insulted or if he was joking.
But he was serious, dead serious. "Once bitten, always shy, Molly," he shrugged at the look on her face.
"Sherlock, you didn't tell me anything that was a secret or that I hadn't guessed. Do you want me to sign a paper where it says I will keep my trap shut?"
Trust. His main issue. The main reason for his loneliness.
She realized it now, could see it, also understand his point of view; but that didn't make it any less insulting.
"Sherlock, I have battled loneliness alone, with no support, till Mrs Hudson took me in. You have John, Mary, you have your family. Don't isolate yourself. I don't know and I don't want to know what happened to make you this way, but you are lonely because you refuse to let them in. Hold the people dear to you close, you never know when they might just disappear."
Suddenly the enjoyable walk became stifling, so she excused herself and took off in another direction, before tuning around and adding,"You may not even get to say goodbye."
She didn't see his sad face, even though he was glad and relieved that she could actually see him and not the movie star persona he wore like a second skin.