He eyed him up and down, trying to find ... something.

Two sisters.

Engaged. (obviously)

Awkward.

Not very wealthy family.

Decent education. (but not clever enough to impress Sherlock Holmes)

One ... Two cats.

NOTHING!

"Hi, I'm Tom," he smiled nicely and shook Sherlock's hand.

Ah, a smoker!

You're a smoker too.

Damn John's voice in his head. Sherlock thought it has disappeared after he and John made up again.

Of course, Tom (Ha, Tom is short for Thomas – a little embarrassed of our longer name, aren't we? It's like I would be introducing myself as Sherl – ridiculous!) looked a lot like him, with a long coat, scarf and curly hair.

"The one person he thought didn't matter at all to me, was the one person, who mattered the most."

His own words echoed in his mind as he and John walked down the stairs. Only then Sherlock realized how sentimental they sounded. But ... Were they meant that way?

"Does he ..."

"Mhm."

"Will you ..."

"I won't say a word," Sherlock promised John on the topic of Thomas. And he kept that word ...


... Until it was unbearable.

"So, what are you planning? A wedding in June? Or a nice spring wedding? Though Mary and John got caught on that idea already," Sherlock commented. Molly looked up and at him across the lab. She blushed as she was noticed eyeing her ring once again.

"Actually, I'm hoping it will be in autumn," she smiled meekly. "Tom doesn't seem thrilled by the idea, but I think ..."

"Autumn is a second spring, when every leaf is a flower," Sherlock cut her off.

"What?"

"Albert Camus," he explained. "Not really my preferred style of writing, but I imagine you would enjoy it."

"As always, you're right," Molly giggled. "I actually know the quote, I have it written below my father's painting of a landscape in autumn. He looked up to Camus and got me hooked up on him as well. Before he died, it was nice to talk to someone who understands Albert Camus."

Her smiled faded, but just a little, as she was unable to hide the sadness that crept up on her. And Sherlock immediately understood it wasn't because of her father.

She always smiles even more brightly at the mention of her father.

"Tom doesn't," he stated. Molly sighed and smiled again. One could not just simply hide something from Sherlock Holmes.

"No," she said. "When my argument to an autumn wedding was this quote, he said I needed a better excuse if I don't want to get married in August the sixth."

Sherlock looked at her in confusion, which has hidden the hurt of his heart dropping very efficiently. They already set the date?

"Why August the sixth?" he asked.

"His parents got married on that date. And his father's parents before that and his father's parents before that." She sighed again. "He doesn't want to break the family tradition."

How could someone restrain himself from breaking anything for this girl? he thought. Just one word from her and I would break laws and bones!

He stopped at the sentimental thinking and in ridiculous paranoia he looked towards her again, just in case he said it out loud or she could, because of some insane theory he couldn't think of, read his mind.

"So," she concluded. "To answer your question, it will be a summer wedding, in August next year. You're invited, of course."

"Hm," Sherlock murmured, getting back to his experiment. "Pity. If it was an autumn wedding, I'd maybe be thrilled to come."

"Will you come?" Molly asked, bitting her lip. She knew it was hard for him to accept John's wedding invitation. It was probably stupid to hope he will actually show up at hers.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked and smirked at her once more, making her knees go weak, which didn't go unnoticed by him. "It would be a disaster to skip the most important day in a life of the person that counts most to me."

He stood up and picked up his coat.

"I'll be leaving now," he said. "Say hello to Bill for me, will you?"

He left before she could correct him on his (intentional) mistake. She smiled and looked around the lab, as the memories of her fantasies (the ones that had to be ignored once Tom barged into her life with a ring) of her and him together, even if just talking in a pleasant way. She could cross of the second pleasant talk with him, along with the talk about Albert Camus. But the fantasies of passionate kissing, him taking her on the lab counter, them having a romantic dinner and him jumping from through a window and kissing her before setting off stayed safe and sound at the back of her mind.

Damn it, she thought. Why is it just my luck for me to be engaged just in time I start crossing off things on my fantasy list?


Sherlock was leaving St. Bart's just in time to see Tom walking in, sending a big smile in his way instead of a hello and the world's only consulting detective couldn't help deducing him once more.

Still has two sisters.

Still engaged.

Still awkward.

Still librarian.

Still a smoker.

Still has two cats.

There's still a faint smell from Molly's perfume on ...

Processing data ...

NOT Molly's perfume!

He was quick enough to grab Tom's arm, while typing away furiously on his phone.

"I sincerely hope you're going there to break up with her," he growled in his ear. "Or you will just tell her of the affair you're having."

"Affair?" Tom stuttered, obviously scared because of the deduction.

"Molly's perfume," Sherlock explained in a quick mutter, "has always been the same. Vanilla and apples. She never changed it. It's certainly an unusual mixture of scents, but unusual enough for me to acknowledge when her fiance smells like a woman and that woman is not my pathologist."

Tom's eyes widened in fear.

"I ... I ..." he tried explaining himself, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth.

"Don't try to deny it, you stench of another woman," Sherlock growled. "So I repeat: I sincerely hope that Molly won't be wearing that ring anymore when I see her again."

He started walking away, when Tom's arm grabbed him and pulled him back.

"You really care for her, don't you?" Tom asked with bewilderment written all over his face. Sherlock didn't have enough time to compose himself and hide behind his cold mask, so Tom laughed. "Unbelievable! Sherlock Holmes likes my Molly Hooper? After all you put her through? I was the one to pick up the pieces when you ripped ripped her apart on that Christmas and I was the one, who was alive for two years in which I got the guts to ask her to marry me."

Sherlock glared. It was all he could do at this point.

"And as for the woman's perfume? My sister is in town and she is a hugger," Tom said, his tone getting darker. He let go of Sherlock. "I would never cheat on Molly. But then again, as far as I know, there's always something."

With that he left, walking down to the morgue so proudly, because he managed to tell off Sherlock Holmes.

Oh, the naive bastard, Sherlock laughed to himself. Did he really not think I wouldn't check for that?

He looked at his phone, which had an answer to his own doubt of his sister written all over.

Nope. No sister.

Thank god for the homeless network.

(A/N: HOLY FUCK! Only the first three minutes satisfied all my needs of Sherlock Holmes until Lestrade, of course, ruined it! THE KISS WAS FANTASTIC! And then one engagement ring crushed all my dreams into the broke glass Sherlock broke in Anderson's version of Sherlock's survival plan -.- but there's still hope! There is NO. BLOODY. WAY that Sherlock didn't show any signs of deeper affection for Molly when they were together! The way he lingered and smiled when she pointed out how that hat guy said "carriage" instead of "cart" and how he told the she counted the most (I almost teared up when I realized those words weren't meant for when Sherlock explained John how he did it) – GAH, AND THE KISS!

Anyways, sorry for the long post, but I had to open up to someone :P and, btw, I hate Tom (which should be something every sherlolly fan would have say some time in the near future), so I'm making this fic to let you all know my version of proving he is indeed a bad guy – ooohh, I hope he will turn out to be a new villain on the series ...)