My contribution to Sherlollyween! It's not quite what I wanted BUT IT'S FINISHED. This messes with the time lines a little, so bear with. Set after TAB, pre- Mary death. Posted on Tumblr in time for Halloween, a little late here, sorry.
Z is for Zombies
The pathology departments of London took it in turns to host the annual Halloween party fundraiser for Great Ormond Street Hospital, and this year the honour fell to St Bart's, whose parties were the thing of legend. This reputation was well deserved, as Molly Hooper spent 10 months of the year preparing the festivities, along with a supernatural murder mystery based around the cases of one Sherlock Holmes himself. Her meticulous planning, however, often left little time for costume preparation, and as a result, she normally ended up going as either a witch, Sherlock, or John. People didn't need to know that it was the hat, or the coat (or that he'd just left those at her flat for convenience), nor that Sherlock had once cleared out John's wardrobe without his permission, and dumped all of the jumpers that he happened to dislike in her flat. So she'd kept a couple and bought a wig, one year she'd even done the moustache. Mary had howled with laughter at the photo.
This year was a little different, and Molly was equally excited and apprehensive about her choice of costume. She'd never had an issue before, knowing Sherlock had no interest in attending, and John would not attend without him. To commiserate the end of her engagement, and for her own amusement, Molly had made the decision to go as a zombie bride, in the dress that she'd bought to marry Tom in. She'd doused it in real blood, added some torn lace on the top, and would paint her face accordingly. The potential for comments, however, was high. Her costumes were always realistic, but people would never have thought that she would actually have Sherlock's coat, whereas some of the nurses she was friends with had seen pictures of this dress. Meena would be there, and was adamant that Molly should sell the thing, not ruin it. She didn't want a scene, especially not now John had said he was dragging along 'his nibs'.
Molly, Sherlock and parties weren't the greatest of combinations, as they inevitably ended with one of them getting hurt, and the other issuing apologies- ones that were always grovelling in Molly's case. The first (and last) of these parties that Sherlock had attended had resulted in a fracas that landed him with a broken nose, two other men with a trip to A&E, and Molly with a sternly worded letter from her boss, and the owner of the venue involved. She had almost lost her job, and Greg had sworn Mycroft had interfered somehow when the GBH charges against Sherlock had miraculously disappeared over night. It was not an experience she was keen to revisit. Then there was that disastrous Christmas party, Sherlock's funeral (she shuddered at the thought of that day), and the Watson's wedding. She hoped that if he did turn up then Mary could keep him under control.
Sherlock skulked into the party, his eyes scanning the room, disapproval radiating from his face. He was only there to appease John, who was insistent that they should go and support Molly. The thought of her needing their support had made Sherlock snort rather inelegantly, she'd been doing these for years and was more than proficient at it. Watching people try to solve the murder mystery, however, was worth the face paint Mary had attacked him with. She'd been most insistent that as it was her first night out 'in forever', he would have to dress up and 'not ruin it for her', and as he had no intention of being maimed this evening, he would simply be his delightfully grumpy self in a quiet corner somewhere.
Molly was pleasantly tipsy by the time she found the three of them seated around an amusingly small table in the corner of the room. Sherlock and Mary were enjoying watching John attempt to solve the puzzles she'd set, which got progressively funnier as his alcohol intake increased. Mary was the first to spot Molly making her way over to them, and waved furiously in her direction, making sure that both Sherlock and John noticed her. Molly gave an enthusiastic wave back, and hurried over to the trio, trying not to trip over the bottom of the dress in the process. It was a stunning mass of silk, organza and tulle, which sat off the shoulder, with a corseted bodice that gave way to a full skirt.
The sight before him made Sherlock feel a little ill, and not only because it reminded him that she nearly married an incompetent fool. He was instantly transported back to Victorian London, and another woman in a wedding dress who rose from the dead. Despite the make-up on his face, he must have visibly paled, as Mary kicked his shin (a little more forcibly than necessary), and brought his thoughts crashing back down to Earth. He ignored the questioning look from Mary, and gave Molly a shaky smile instead, hoping that she would be too preoccupied to notice.
Thankfully for him, she was, and she spent the next fifteen minutes ranting about how Meena didn't appreciate her genius upcycling of her dress, much to Mary and John's amusement.
"Maybe I should have done that with mine," Mary said, a wicked grin on her face. John choked on his drink
"With the amount we paid for it?!" John wheezed, he wasn't aware that something worn for so little time could cost so much!
"Quiet John, you're starting to sound like Meena." Mary teased, laughing at his offended expression
"-But less scouse," Molly added, as if that, and not the deeper, masculine voice was the issue with his unwitting impression.
"Thankfully," Sherlock muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs for his contribution. John shook his head and left the table to fetch more drinks, dragging the detective up along with him.
Once the men had left, Molly took a long look at the suspicious Cheshire cat like grin on Mary's face. The woman was scheming, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what her goal was. She'd encouraged Molly to wear the dress, to zombify her face, and then turned up with Sherlock looking utterly edible in a morning suit, and equally undead make-up. She wondered if Mary had pair of rings and a marriage certificate hidden on her person somewhere – it wouldn't surprise her. The two talked of men, and their stereotypical approach to wedding planning, until Sherlock and John made it back with two very large, colourful cocktails, and two pints of ale. John put the two pints down in front of himself and Mary, leaving the two zombies with the lurid concoctions, complete with floating eyeball and umbrella.
Two drinks, four dances, and a large plate of nachos later, and it was approaching 11 pm. The crowds were thinning, off home or to continue the party elsewhere, and Molly had found herself propped up against Sherlock, perilously close to falling asleep. He smelt good, he was warm, and she was not far off drunk, it was a dangerous combination.
"You deserve a proper dance in that dress," Sherlock said quietly, his breath hot against her ear.
"To the monster mash?" She replied, supressing a shiver. She could feel his chuckle more than hear it, before he scooped her up on to her feet, dragging her towards the dancefloor. They cut a wide path across the floor as Sherlock lead her in a waltz, her shoeless feet on top of his, their painted faces with matching grins. The song came to an end, and he dipped her with all the magic of a fairy tale, her head spinning with alcohol and adrenaline. The two made their way out of the building, without so much as a backward glance for the pair they'd left behind.
Mary adjusted her witches hat and smirked at her husband, the magic of Halloween indeed.