A smile pursed its way on Molly's rosy and thin lips looking at the grinning couple across the ballroom. John Watson had swung one arm across Mary's back and a hand held her hip tenderly. They were chatting with people Molly didn't recognized, but occasionally she had the pleasure to see the happy newlywed couple simply staring at each other's eyes. A smile plastered on their mouths, sometimes gently pressing foreheads together and giggling in delight.
The wedding was lovely. Wasn't too much, no matching dresses bridesmaids, not matching anything really. Molly liked that, simple.
You'd think Molly would be the type of woman that fanaticized of the happy, enormous and expensive wedding, yet that wasn't the case. She grew up at a good home, very loving parents that had a good successful marriage. They fought a lot though, but it was always about silly things.
"That's how it should be..." Molly's Mother spoke from a distant memory, where she was young, holding an old black and white picture of her parent's wedding "... marrying your best friend." She said.
"A cat?" Molly murmured into the palm she held up to rest on, elbow pressing against the soft fabric covering a table. She sat and stared at the celebration, appreciating John's invitation; a little time away from the morgue is always cherished.
"Dull isn't it?" a hollow voice complained behind her. She turned around in her chair and looked up to see Sherlock Holmes. "The wedding." He explained.
She scanned the people and objects around her, both to make sure he was actually talking to her and he was actually talking about the wedding.
"Dull?" She asked.
"Yes." He said. Hands behind him, stepping closer to her in his tux. He narrowed his eyes at her waiting for either an agreement or disagreement.
She didn't know how to respond, so he continued "not much color coordination. No theme. Clearly no wedding planner, John's sister was in charge judging by the lace on the table clothes." He looked at Molly again. Then looked at what she wore.
Out of all the dresses he'd seen tonight, hers was clearly the best. Smooth, childish yellow. No lace, no bows. Simple pastel pink shoes, strawberry brown hair pulled back in an organized half ponytail and very simple silver jewelry. All the other females chose a much too revealing dress, deliberately attempting to steal the attention from the bride.
"I don't think it's dull," Molly disagreed. She saw Sherlock's eye brows knit together "...Look." she turned her head and nodded at the couple.
Sherlock fixed his eyes on his friend in the distance. Laughing and sweetly kissing his wife. The edge of Sherlock's lip curved upwards.
"I see..." he said. Molly's attention returned to the man behind her. "...so you aren't the perfect wedding planner psychopath."
Her head dropped with a chuckle "No thankfully, no."
"'Thankfully?'" asked the man.
"What can you deduct about my parents, Sherlock?" She raised an eyebrow hesitantly. Sherlock liked Molly for that. She wasn't terrified of him deducting her, she accepted the fact she wasn't perfect.
"Good parents I see," he began "Quiet early marriage. Very caring, you especially got a lot of attention from them for you were the only girl after a much older brother. Your mother was a bit disappointed at you because of the subject you chose to pursue as your career but after your father's death you two became much closer."
Molly smiled. She did love her mother but it was a struggle to argue with her on getting a job that did not involve so much gore and death.
"Fantastic marriage," she made it clear for Sherlock "they were so, so happy together. And their wedding was like this," she raised a palm to point out the wedding "simple, no wedding planner. Around 20 people came, my mother told me. They were smart, they didn't want to spend half the money people make in their life time on something like a wedding. I mean, it's just a wedding, not the ... "she stumbled upon the last word "l-love."
As he looked at her intensely the music changed. From fast, joyful tune it became a slow-tempo, silky smooth melody. Couples began gathering on the dance floor, wrapping arms over each other and swinging from side to side, round and round.
Oh what the hell. Sherlock thought extending his arm to the woman in the seat in front of him. "Care to dance?"
She froze. Butterflies flattering their wings and tickling her inside. Blood rushing to her cheeks. "Uh... erm..." she saw him frowning at her mumbling "Y-yes. Yes of course."
Her small hand slipped into his firm palm and his fingers wrapped around hers swiftly. She was pulled from the chair and dragged behind him toward an open spot in the crowd.
She drew a sharp breath when he planted his hand on the fabric above her hip. His skin prickled where her hand rested on his shoulder. Finally their free hands met, folding together. Then, Sherlock and Molly began pacing lightly to the romantic beat of the music, back and forth. Back and forth.