"Do you think it would ever work to try and set him up with someone?" John asked Mary one night as they sat in front of the tellie.
"Perhaps," she adjusted her dressing gown over her pregnancy bulge, "I might have a friend we could try."
"Janine wasn't a good fit. Is this other just as crazy as you are?"
"More, I'm afraid."
"Well, that might just do the trick for Sherlock. Who is she?"
"Lauren Murtagh."
John froze in the middle of raising a cup of tea to his mouth. He gently set it and saucer down on the table and turned toward Mary
"Living with Sherlock for the better part of two years taught me a thing or two about observations and recognizing patterns. Is Murtagh…?" Mary cut him off mid-sentence,
"Lauren changed her name after the bit of bad publicity, but it is no coincidence. It is derived from the same root as Moriarty."
John sat quietly for a moment, working through the thought of his wife setting Sherlock up with the sister of a man who tried to ruin his life, and tried to think through the delicious irony of it all. In the end, the only response he could formulate was,
"My therapist would have a field day with this."
"I think I have just the way to manage it, too. We convince them to get married."
"I… umm…," John coughed, "don't you think that's a bit hasty? I mean, don't they have to do the setting up and everything before they get married?"
"Not if we convince Sherlock that getting married really is in his best interest, the cost of living and all that. I'm sure Lauren would agree to it, it's not like she hasn't done it before."
"Done what?"
"Gotten married as a matter of convenience. Must have done it fifty times now. Made a tidy little profit out of it too."
John sat staring at Mary with his mouth slightly agape as he did when he couldn't believe the words that just came from someone's lips.
"You know, I'm not even going to ask about that one. I'll just let that slide by."
Lauren Murtagh shuffled papers on her desk into orderly stacks, moved a pile of them over to the shelf by the shredding machine, then slid a few glossy, printed postcards behind crisscross ribbon accents on a board on the opposite side of her office.
They were engagement shots, save-the-date cards with her three newest fiancés. One lived in a small flat in London he could barely afford, another in Chiswick, and the last was from Dublin. They were planning a destination wedding to Spain.
She heard the buzz of the mobile from her desk before the ringtone started, and she picked it up without looking at who was calling.
"Murtagh Event Services, how may I help you this… evening?" She spared a split second to glance at the window of her office and check how much ambient light filtered through the shades, and whether afternoon or evening was the proper word.
"Yes, I'm hoping you can help me. I'm in need of…" he trailed off and Lauren rolled her eyes, the men who called her always got so ashamed, "actually, you know what, nevermind."
"Bet, Inheritance, or deception?" she replied, examining one manicured nail
"I beg your pardon?"
"You hesitated, so you didn't call to ask about my ordinary event planning services. That means you are in need of a partner and quickly, which means either a mate of yours bet you couldn't get a girl, you need to be married in order to receive an inheritance, or you are gay but for some reason are hiding it from your friends and family, and the only way you can get them to believe you is to get married. To a girl. So which is it?"
"I… who…?"
"I am a professional wife of convenience, there is no need to be stuffy. Meet me tonight at 8 o'clock for dinner, I will send you the directions, I assume this is your mobile? Best not be late. Oh, and I charge a 50 pound consultation fee."
The line was silent for a moment, then he replied,
"I will see you at 8."
She hung up without saying goodbye, then murmured to herself,
"I thought you might."
With a few taps, Lauren copied and pasted the paragraph of text she sent to prospective clients about their meeting place, then hit 'send' as she walked over to the mirror by the door to her office.
She touched up her lipstick, red, to make a dramatic contrast with her pale Irish skin and dark brown hair. She pulled the pins out of the stiff twist she kept it in for work, she couldn't bear loose strands hanging in her face as she worked on the computer or wrote out name cards. The hours spent coiled up left her hair wavy as it tumbled over her shoulders and a short way down her back.
A touch of eyeliner just at the outer corners refreshed her face and drew attention to her brown eyes; she and Jim had both gotten their looks from their father.
Lauren picked up her purse, clicked the lights off and walked out, turning the lock in the door behind her. It was not an ideal part of town, but she didn't feel the need to move her shop to a more central location. She hardly made any of her money planning other people's weddings anyway, though with the connections she had, they would be stunning.
She slid into a seat at the café, noting the water stains on the waiter's vest, the sloppily folded serviette, and the unnatural flush in his cheeks despite the cold.
"Next time you sneak off for a shag during work, prepare the table first."
His mouth hung open, but before he could ask how she knew, she dismissed him with a request for a glass of wine, and opened the menu to look through it.
They raised their prices. Again. She didn't know why she looked at the selections, she knew she would end up getting what she always did. A nervous-looking man entered at the door of the café and she waved him over.
She pulled a laminated card from her purse with a listing of her services, both a la carte and in deals, and set it on the table.
"Good evening," she said as he sat down, "so what kind of experience are you looking for?" She gave a half-smile to the waiter as he set down her glass of white and departed quickly again.
"Nothing too lavish, I'm guessing. You don't want your family to think you've married into money, and anyway you won't be able to afford the higher end."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Just take it for what it is, how about the Wedding in the Country?" Lauren pointed to one of the deals on the left side of the sheet.
"For up to 50 guests, accommodations provided at the venue, charming little spot with plenty of open fields for some lovely photographs, you get to put on the production you want for the small crop of family and friends."
"Yes, I suppose that will work. I see you've done this before?"
"Oh, many times. Shall we discuss method of payment? Will you be doing card or check? I require half the fee upfront for reservations and the other half at the end of the event for my services rendered."
"Card, I imagine."
"Excellent." Lauren reached into her bag again and pulled out a small gray device with several numbered buttons on the front, then opened her phone and tapped the screen. She turned it to face him and show a total amount of £4250, and watched his eyes widen.
"As you can see, the fee for the quaint country wedding is £8000, plus the £50 consultation, plus a £200 deposit which will guarantee my services for the day of your choosing, aside from those that are already booked. Marriage is a rather expensive investment."
"How is it that you've been married so many times?" Was his only question as he handed over his card and she slid it into the base of the Intuit Pay machine. She took down his email and sent him the receipt, then packed both devices away as the waiter came back around.
"I'll have the chicken." She handed the menu back
"I'm not hungry, thank you," the man said and handed his menu to the waiter as well.
"He'll have the shrimp bisque and a lemonade, with a side of chips."
He gaped at her and she sighed,
"Suffice it to say I am good at reading people. As for how many times I have "gotten married", the unions have never been legally registered, so I essentially just throw large parties."
The man said little else during the course of their dinner, but he did greatly enjoy his meal. She bid him farewell with the assurance that she would update him with the course of the plans. She asked if he preferred any particular colors, and he replied that he did not.
Clients like him did not bring in particularly good money. She folded her profit into the amount they paid for the experience, and there were plenty enough men, and women, who needed to put on a fake wedding for some reason or another.
Her mobile rang in her purse and she recognized who was calling by the specialized tone.
"Mary, how are you doing, love?"
"I've been doing quite well. Thank you for the fantastic job you did planning the ceremony."
"Oh come now, I know you didn't call just to thank your wedding planner."
"You always could see right through me, Lauren. I have a proposal for you."
"Oh if I could recall the number of times I heard those words." Lauren replied with a slight laugh as she walked down the stairs to the tube.
"I'd like to fix you up with someone, but the catch is that you'd have to marry him first."
"I get married for a living, why is that a catch?"
Mary's end of the phone was quiet for a moment
"This man isn't like other men, Lauren, and he isn't a client. You get married as a convenience, but this time, you would actually have to get married as a matter of convenience, for the medical decision rights, the shared income for renting a flat, all of it."
Lauren stopped in the middle of the tube station, phone to her ear, and asked incredulously,
"You want me to actually, properly get married to a man I have never met or heard of before, in the hope we will eventually get along?"
"Essentially… yes."
"You're bloody insane, Mary." She replied and started to walk again.
"You're one to talk." She could hear the smile in the blonde's voice from the other end of the phone
"I'll think about it."
"That means you'll do it."
"Who's the bloke?"
"I'll leave that as a surprise for now. Suffice to say, there will never be a dull moment."
"I'll hold you to that, Mary... you know how easily I get bored." Lauren's voice rose in pitch and trailed off as she reached the end of her sentence.
The line went dead and Mary looked at the receiver for a moment before setting it back in the cradle.
"Now," she said, "the hard part will be convincing Sherlock."