'Well wasn't that just her luck.' Molly thought bitterly. 'Stood up again.'
She was beginning to wonder why she bothered.
She'd been hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes from the moment Mike Stamford first introduced her to him.
But he had made it absolutely clear that he didn't return her feelings in anyway whatsoever. That hadn't stopped her loving him though.
In an attempt to move on from her doomed infatuation she had started dating Jim from IT. She still shuddered to think about it. Then there had been Tom. He was kind and decent. She really thought she could have settled down with him.
But then Sherlock had returned.
And her engagement had ended.
Since then she'd been on one disastrous date after another. They all started off well enough. That was until they found out what she did for a living. She understood that people felt uncomfortable about dead bodies. But it wasn't as though she was a grave robber, though she of course knew of the tainted history that plagued her profession.
But at least the others had bothered to turn up.
A tear fell unbidden down her pale cheek.
She had hoped that by attending the masque ball, things would be different. She had dressed with such care. Her short little yellow dress with its flared skirt matched her delicate mask.
But the result had been the same.
Deciding it was pointless staying Molly turned to leave.
The ball was held in the centre of an enormous hedge maze. Molly made her way through the numerous twists and turns. The further through the maze she went the fainter the sound of the party became.
Molly turned suddenly when she heard the sound of footsteps coming up swiftly behind her.
A man dressed all in black approached her. Black boots, trousers, shirt, gloves, cape, hat and mask.
Zorro.
He walked right up to her, glancing briefly behind him before turning back to her and taking her in his arms.
Molly gasped. She looked into the man's surprisingly familiar eyes. She reached up to remove his hat. "Sherlock, what…"
But as the hat and mask fell away, it was soon clear that the man before her was not the world's only consulting detective.
This man had slicked back black hair. His body though slim was muscular. And although his eyes had the same unusual colouring as Sherlock's, there was an authority, evened out by a pain that instantly caught and pulled at Molly's heartstrings.
Before she could ask any of the questions that raced through her befuddled mind, the stranger had leaned down and was kissing her passionately over and over again.
They broke apart only when startled by the sound of firecrackers being set off in the distance.
"Who are you?" Molly asked still holding on to the man, reluctant to let him go.
"My name is Khan," he replied.
Molly couldn't suppress the shiver of excitement that raced through her body.
"I'm Molly Hooper," she responded.
"I know," he said softly.
He stepped back. But just as Molly thought her bad luck was set to continue, she was surprised and relieved when he reached out his hand towards her.
"Come with me, Molly Hooper."
Khan's voice was compelling, but with a hint of uncertainty. And it was that that had Molly taking his offered hand.
They looked at each other and smiled.
Then they headed off into the night.
Together.