Molly Hooper was spending her Friday evening very productively - cleaning her bathroom. While it wasn't something that she looked forward to with gusto, it did serve to pass the time and give her something to do now that she was between boyfriends. She had been between boyfriends for just over a year now, in fact. It seemed to Molly that the periods in her life when she was "between boyfriends" far outnumbered the periods when she HAD a boyfriend. This last stretch started when she had, finally, dumped a perfectly nice/sweet man named Tom, her erstwhile fiance, merely because he was not Sherlock Holmes. If one looked at the evidence, Molly had to concede, that was the reason for all of her failed relationships in the past six or seven years. With a heavy sigh she went back to cleaning her toilet. Of course, as she bent over the toilet, brush in one rubber gloved hand, smelly deodorizing cleaner in the other, Sherlock himself made an appearance.
"Molly, what on earth are you doing?"
"Cleaning my bathroom, Sherlock. What does it look like I'm doing? Cleaning my bathroom on a bloody Friday night!"
"Does it get particularly dirty on a Friday night for some reason?"
"Shouldn't you be somewhere else? Out solving a crime? Torturing John and Mary? Annoying Mrs. Hudson?"
"Really, Molly," Sherlock said with half a smile, "You underestimate me. I've already accomplished those tasks. It's now your turn. Aren't you going to offer me tea? You always offer me tea!"
Molly looked at the corrosive toilet cleaner in her left hand, wondering how it would taste in tea. Dismissing the thought, she rose, snapped the gloves from her hands, and walked past him into her kitchen. It had taken them years to get to this stage of their relationship. The stage of easy banter and shared jokes. They were, indeed, good friends. Had been since Sherlock had admitted that he had always counted on her, that she did matter to him. He had long since given up on using her crush on him to his advantage, understanding now that all he had to do was ask, and knowing, in return, that he would do the same for her. He had never acknowledged the fact that she was truly in love with him. Sentiment seemed to be the one mystery that Sherlock Holmes couldn't solve, perhaps because he had never fully investigated it.
"Molly, I need you to attend a wedding with me." Sherlock said over a cup of tea.
"For a case?"
"No. A family affair."
"Explain, please."
"It's my cousin George's wedding. A rather large affair, and I have a rather large family. Everyone is expected to attend. Mummy was very clear on the matter. And I am expected to bring a guest. The last time I had to go to one of the things, a few years ago, I brought John as my plus one…"
Molly tried to suppress a giggle, but couldn't.
"...yes, well that didn't go over too well. Some family members assumed we were a couple…"
"John must have loved that!"
Sherlock laughed a bit, and continued, "As it turned out, we were not the only same sex couple at the affair. My cousin Hildy was there with her lover, and tried to talk John into a threesome, with the object of producing a child, as their union was not, biologically speaking, viable. He may, perhaps, have been up, so to speak, for the threesome. They flirted quite a bit that evening. I presume he objected to the sperm donor part. It didn't end well. Then, sensing that my feelings may be hurt by my cousin's attempts at seducing my presumed partner, one of the groomsmen approached me! I turned him down, of course. But later I saw him heading toward a utility closet of the hallway with a rather attractive waiter."
Molly was now laughing out loud.
"Wait, it gets better. As they approached said closet, the door opened and two rather rumpled bridesmaids tumbled out." Molly now looked at him in glee. "Thats right, Molly. Out of the closet both literally and figuratively! They are now living together in the south of France, running a vineyard. They produce rather excellent wine, by the way. You've had it often at Baker Street."
Molly was shaking her head. Only in the life of the world's only consulting detective could such a story seem plausible!
"So, Mary won't let John accompany me to this one. It seems she's afraid Hildy wants another child. Besides, I wouldn't want a repeat of any part of that debacle!"
"Sherlock, you're joking?!"
"Of course I am, Molly. But only about asking John. The rest is absolutely true. Besides, my mother is expecting you."
"Why would your mother be expecting me?"
"My mother adores you. Since you accompanied her to that show in the West End…"
"You tricked me into that so you wouldn't have to go!"
"Only fair, since Mycroft tricked me into it. Anyway, mummy was very explicit about having you accompany me to the wedding. So I need this favor, Molly. Please."
Molly was lost as soon as he said "please". Sherlock never used the "p" word unless he was truly desperate.
"Okay, you prat, when's the wedding?"
"Sunday afternoon. I'll pick you up a three."
"This Sunday! You bastard! How long…"
Molly was still shouting as he beat a hasty retreat.
Molly spent Saturday, with Mary Watson in tow, shopping for appropriate attire for a Holmes family wedding. She had no idea what to wear, Sherlock having told her simply that the affair was not formal but would require something "dressy". She settled for a lovely red dress, fitted at the top with just a low enough cut to accentuate her long neck and the gentle curve of her breasts. The skirt was flared a bit for easy dancing. She knew Sherlock loved to dance, as did she. If she was going to keep him occupied and out of trouble, she had to be prepared to dance quite a bit.
Sherlock arrived at her flat just before three on Sunday afternoon, resplendent in a beautifully tailored black suit and white dress shirt. He had actually worn a tie, for a change, a red one, seemingly to match her dress. His dark curls were tame. His eyes seemed to smile as well as his lips when he saw his pathologist. "Well done, Molly!" was perhaps the nicest thing he had ever said to her. "Shall we go?"
They had arrived at the church in North London just before four o'clock, and were promptly seated in a pew next to Sherlock's parents. Violet Holmes was a lovely woman, inside and out. She had an easy charm, and a wicked sense of humor. Sherlock had inherited her sense of humor, as anyone truly close to him knew, but not, it seems, her charm. Mycroft would, reversely, and only when it suited him, display his mother's charm, but seemed to lack any sense of humor whatsoever. She and her husband were also brilliant, and both of their sons were similarly endowed. The elder Holmes greeted them warmly, Sigur, Sherlock's father, patting Molly's hand as she sat down next to them. Mycroft arrived a short time later, his assistant Anthea, in tow.
The reception was held at a charming estate a short distance from the church. A large hall easily accommodated the four hundred plus attendees. It seemed Sherlock did, indeed, have a large family, but they were not at all what Molly expected. Judging from the two Holmes men with him she was so closely acquainted, Molly was half expecting a convention of anti-social scientific types, but such was not the case. She was amazed to find that Sherlock and Mycroft were definitely in the minority, referred to by the rest of the family as "Vi's boys", albeit with great affection. It also amazed her how Sherlock and his brother fit in so easily, smiling and laughing with their relatives, each side understanding and tolerating their differences. It was a real family, a concept that Molly had never really associated with the Holmes men. Violet had taken great delight in introducing her to all and sundry as Sherlock's "friend" (wink,wink!), and Molly was surprised that many already seemed to know all about her.
"So you're our Sherlock's pathologist!"
"I've heard so much about you!"
"Sherlock doesn't deserve you, luv, but we're glad he has you!"
"Don't be such a stranger, dear."
At one point during the evening, Anthea leaned over to Molly, and, smiling kindly, spoke to her. "It can be rather overwhelming at first, can't it. The family is not what you'd expect, knowing Mycroft and Sherlock! Their normality can be shocking. But I've come to realize that Mycroft is a lot more 'normal' than he allows people to believe. As is his little brother! All one has to do is puncture that facade of arrogance, ego, and detachment." She took another sip of the excellent wine, probably from cousin Hildy's vineyard, "I love to see Mycroft like this. It seems to be the only time he really smiles!"
Molly looked over to where the brothers were, indeed, smiling sincerely as they looked at cousin Hildy's latest crop of baby pictures. Sherlock gestured at her to join him, and when she did he slipped an arm around her waist and made the introductions.
"You've already met Hildy, but I'd like to introduce you to her grandfather, my great-uncle Mike. Uncle Mike, this is Molly."
The elderly gentleman looked down at her with affection as he said, "I hope you're keeping young Sherlock here on his toes?" Mycroft snickered, but surprisingly, with an affectionate undertone. The man continued, "Please excuse my namesake for interrupting."
"Oh, so your name is Mycroft, too? I don't suppose there's an Uncle Sherlock, is there?" Molly inquired of her escort.
"There is actually, but he's rather the black sheep of the family."
"No surprise there, given the name," muttered Mycroft.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked!"
"Not a problem! My brother Sherlock went into finance and made a fortune in the City, and then moved out of the U.K. to parts unknown," Uncle Mike explained
"That makes him a black sheep?"
"It was somebody else's fortune, Molly!" Mycroft laughed outright, and the rest of the family joined in.
"And nobody knows where he is?"
"Not officially," Sherlock whispered in her ear, "But Uncle Mike does occasionally get a shipment of some lovely Caribbean rum from time to time!"
"Excellent stuff!" Mycroft agreed, and meandered back to the table to join Anthea, with Sherlock and Molly taking their leave join the others on the dance floor. Neither of them were at any loss for partners. If Molly had been been concerned about Sherlock being on his best behavior, she needn't have been. He twirled his cousin the bride around the floor, laughing easily with her at her slight fumble. He danced a foxtrot with an elderly aunt, and some weird gyration with a teenage in-law. Molly joined Sherlock and his parents in a country line dance, and Mycroft eventually allowed Anthea to drag him onto the floor. In this crowd he and his brother were not the famous boffin detective and the high ranking civil servant. They were just "Vi's boys".
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, and when it was time to depart, Molly was not at all surprised to see Mycroft take Anthea's hand and gently kiss it. She was a bit taken aback, however, when he leaned in to kiss her own cheek, and wish her a good evening. Both of "Vi's boys" hugged their mother affectionately, and clapped their father on the shoulder as they clasped his hand. Sigur Holmes hugged her while saying "Good night", and Violet pulled her aside for a short conversation.
'I'm so glad you finally came along to one of these occasions, dear. From now on, I'll sent the invitation right to you. That's how Anthea and I manage it. I know how obstinate my son can be. Mycroft is the same way. I'm only glad you have such patience with him!" And with that, she kissed Molly on the cheek and wished her a good evening.
Molly started the conversation in the car on the way home. "Sherlock, your family is not at all what I expected."
"You've met my parents before, Molly. And you know my brother quite well. Why would you expect them to be any different?"
"Not your immediate family, you git. Your extended family. They're so…"
"Is 'normal' the word you're searching for Molly?"
"I suppose so…"
"Thereby implying that I am not 'normal'..."
"Yes, Sherlock. 'Normal' is not a term that I would usually use to describe you!"
"'Normal' is by definition a relative term, Molly. It means corresponding to the norms within given parameters…"
"I know what it means. And given the parameters of this particular society, your family is resoundingly normal. You, however, are definitely not!"
"In what way?"
"When was the last time you had a social interaction? Gone to a film? Engaged in meaningful conversation? "
"Maybe I'm just shy?" Sherlock grinned. "But I do with you. All the time."
"Besides me, Sherlock. I don't count."
"I thought we had resolved that question a long time ago!"
"Don't change the subject. When have you ever done your own shopping? Or laundry? Cleaned your toilet on a Friday night?"
"Perhaps I'm just lazy?"
"You have nemeses, Sherlock. Normal people don't have nemesis!"
"What about your cousin Betty. You always said she hated you. Maybe she could be your nemesis?"
"I don't want a nemesis, you bloody git. Dealing with you is enough of a problem!"
"By the way, what did mummy have to say to you as we were leaving? I bet it had something to do with dealing with me."
"She informed me that all invitations were now being sent to me. Am I now your social secretary?"
"She needs someone to nag me into going to these things. How do you suppose she gets Mycroft to attend?"
"From what I observed, and yes, I do observe, Sherlock, Anthea is much more than a social secretary to Mycroft."
"Of course she is. They've been married for years. Mycroft just doesn't believe that 'the British Government' should be seen as caring for anything else other than itself!"
Molly sat in silence, trying to assimilate this new information. Mycroft married? To Anthea! She was beginning to see the Holmes brothers in a whole other light. By the time they had arrived at her flat her head was spinning with possibilities.
Sherlock followed her up the stairs to her door, probably expecting her to make tea. He always wanted tea. He didn't wait for an invitation, merely followed her into her sitting room. He flopped himself down on her couch, propping his legs on her coffee table, looking entirely at ease.
"Dr. Hooper, you've been awfully quiet for some time now. Much as I am loathe to say it, I have become quite entranced by your usually constant prattle, and the silence is becoming oppressive. Do say something!"
"Tea?"
"Yes, please."
Molly busied herself in the kitchen, while Sherlock studied her from his position on the couch. She couldn't see how he smiled as she moved about, gathering everything she needed. She couldn't bring herself to say anything until she finally returned to the sitting room, two cups in hand.
"Sherlock, why would your mother want me to handle all your invitations?"
"Surely you can deduce the situation, Molly. Try."
"I'm a bit too afraid to try, Sherlock. Tell me."
"Because she has always assumed that we would marry. I'm afraid she's been getting a little impatient lately, impatient enough to tip her hand. Leading, inevitably, to this conversation."
"Is this the one where you explain to me that you're married to your work, Sherlock?"
"No. This is the where I explain to youthat I am perfectly willing to commit bigamy, Molly." Sherlock was now smiling with a combination of hope, apprehension, and a smattering of desire.
Molly put down her cup of tea, and approaching the couch, took Sherlock's cup from his hand and placed it on the coffee table. She then placed herself on his lap! His smile was quickly becoming a lascivious grin, which she quickly demolished with a passionate kiss. Her intent was not lost on Sherlock, him being, after all, the world's most brilliant detective, at least in his own eyes. The snogging continued enthusiastically until they were forced to break for air, and Molly took this chance to say, rather firmly, 'Mr. Holmes, I insist that we be at least a little more normal than your brother…"
"Considering that's Mycroft, I don't believe that would be too difficult…"
"I would prefer that everyone know that I'm your wife. Secrecy may work for Mycroft and Anthea but…"
"Of course. I'll make sure the next invitation Anthea receives will be to our wedding. I'm sure she'll have some rather pointed remarks to make to Mycroft when she passes it along!" Sherlock then picked her up in his arms, and proceeded to carry her into the bedroom. "By the way, since you are now, evidently, my social secretary, please make a note to send my mother an especially nice mother's day gift this year. She certainly deserves it!"