Two empty bottles of wine were sitting on Molly's coffee table by the time the movie credits rolled. They were flanked by empty Chinese food containers and a large half-finished bag of popcorn. Mary was sprawled out on the floral print couch while Molly lay sideways along her beat-up yellow armchair. Neither looked like they had plans to move anytime soon.
"Molly dear, how many times have you watched this movie?"
"Lost count," she replied, "but it's my favorite."
"I'm sure it is, you have it practically memorized." Mary couldn't help but smile at the brunette. "I watched you mouth along to more than a few scenes."
Molly shrugged lazily.
"Does Mister Darcy remind you of anyone we know?"
Molly just glared at her. Mary noticed, but was not swayed from her train of thought.
"Hmmm, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a consulting detective in possession of a mind palace must be in want of a pathologist."
Molly couldn't help but laugh.
"If you know that line off the top of your head, I'm not the only one here obsessed with Pride and Prejudice."
Mary just gave a mysterious smile and a wink before sitting up.
Molly mused for a while. "Well, if we decide Sherlock is Darcy, that means John is Bingley. And you get to be Jane Bennett." Molly beamed at her friend.
"And you are Lizzie."
Molly's bright smile dropped a bit before she pasted on a less enthusiastic smile.
"No, Mary. I'm just Charlotte. Waiting for a very practical romance, and hoping for a slightly less dopey Mr. Collins than we just watched." Molly attempted a light smile, but the blonde's raised eyebrow was not encouraging.
"How about some ice cream?" the pathologist said flatly before throwing back the last of the wine in her glass, almost running into her kitchen.
Sherlock Holmes is a bloody idiot, thought Mary as she watched her friend rummage around her freezer.
How could Molly Hooper think herself a Charlotte, some supporting character in their lives?
Here stood a beautiful woman who had put her heart and career on the line time and time again for the consulting git. She has stitched his wounds, snuck him body parts from the morgue- hell, the man even commandeers her bed whenever he likes!
And in return?
Cold politeness. Sherlock was protective of her, chasing away her dates and making sure no one bothered his pathologist- excepting himself of course. But it was obvious that his treatment of Molly hurt her deeply.
Mary's reverie was broken when Molly returned with two bowls of ice cream, her genuine smile back in place.
"I never had sleepovers growing up, but I'm certain they're supposed to involve ice cream sundaes," she said, proudly handing one to Mary as she joined her on the sofa.
"All good things in life do, Dr. Hooper. I'll be taking Ella out for ice cream tomorrow too, after I pick her up from Mrs. Hudson. She's a saint to take her for the night."
"So when do your boys get back from Scotland?" asked Molly.
"Hah, my boys. Have I adopted Sherlock, then? Or did I accidentally marry them both?"
"Pretty sure they're a package deal, Mary. You should know that by now," giggled Molly.
"I'm willing to share the consulting headache with you."
Molly became visibly uncomfortable.
"Mary, I know you mean well, but..." she refused to look up from her tight grip on the ice cream bowl. "It hurts to think about it. I know Sherlock doesn't feel the same way, and- I'm really, really trying to get over him."
She finally met Mary's eyes. "I have to. I will always love Sherlock Holmes, but I can't make him love me."
How many jumpers could one person need? Mary knew a little something about jumper collections- she was married to John Watson, for God's sake- but this... this was crazy. Where did she find all of these monstrosities?
Molly had offered up her closet in case Mary got chilly, before the brunette slipped into the bathroom to get ready for bed. So it was the perfect opportunity for Mrs. Watson to nose about her friend's wardrobe.
"Oh, what do we have here...?" murmured Mary, as she pulled a little black dress from the closet. Rhinestones lined the straps and bust. It was easily the sexiest item in this wardrobe.
"Hooper, what have you been hiding here?" teased Mary, as Molly returned to the room.
But all jokes were pushed aside when she saw all the color drain from Molly's face.
"I-oh-I... I haven't looked at that dress in a long time." She took the dress from her friend and looked at it very carefully. Running her hand over the fabric and sighing, she hung it on wall hook and stepped back from it, still assessing.
"Do you think it's a pretty dress, Mary?" asked Molly, sadly.
"It's gorgeous. That's why I pulled it out of the closet. I didn't mean to upset you, sweetie, I really didn't."
"I know, it's alright."
Mary took her friend by the hand, and they both sat on the end of Molly's bed. Both of them stared at the dress in silence for a while, before Mary wrapped her arm around her friend.
"Tell me the story of your dress, Molly Hooper," she whispered.
