II
Molly sat on a swivel chair, her hair tied in a tight bun, her face devoid of any make up. Her neighbour, Marie, loomed over her with a thick makeup brush poised over her cheekbones. She looked at Molly with half-lidded eyes before dabbing the brush in some rouge and brushing Molly's cheekbones with it.
"Marie! Light makeup, remember? I have to keep it casual." Molly managed to cough out while Marie fidgeted about with the makeup.
"Relax Molly, I know you want to remain casual, but the rouge will help in making your cheekbones look distinctive." Marie replied, before reaching over to her makeup table and grabbing some eye-makeup. Molly sighed and was chastised almost immediately. She didn't know so much makeup was required to look 'natural'.
After a couple of fights and extensive use of the makeup remover, Molly managed to get into the simple, royal blue coloured sun-dress she had borrowed from Marie. Her eyes were lightly shaded and her cheeks had a pinkish hue about them, and apart from some minimalistic lipstick, she had stopped Marie from applying anything else on her face. She looked decent enough to gain entry into an elite club, and yet not overdone. Damnit, why couldn't I have gone like this to that damned Christmas party? She shook her head at the thought; she knew why she had [over]dressed herself like that. She wanted to make an impression, garner some reaction out of the usually stone cold detective. She had gotten a reaction alright.
Molly often tried not to think about that party, but it seemed to be more and more impossible to do so. She found herself revisiting that party many times in the dead of the night, lying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, mostly almost drunk out of her wits. She had tried so hard so suppress it to the darkest recesses of her mind; however it crept up to her, always reminding her of her subsequent mortification and embarrassment. However, she knew it was futile to keep revisiting the past and that sometimes we need to move on. She acknowledged the fact and waited in her room, Tobias looking at her as she anxiously paced the room, then sat still, before getting up and pacing the room yet again. Sherlock had instructed her to wait in her apartment, and that he would send a taxi for her to take her to Claridge's, even though she had stated that she would rather walk. And as the minutes ticked by, the waiting did nothing more than make her even more anxious about the task at hand. Why couldn't have John just said yes and pretended for just one night, instead of dragging her into this thing. Heavens knew she wasn't at all ready for anything concerning Sherlock or his clients. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and walked past her bedroom, before stopping in front of the mirror.
Marie had helped her curl her hair so that it fell in soft curls around her face. She was wearing a pair of pearl teardrop earrings, something she had bought a few months ago when she felt like indulging herself but had not gotten an opportunity to wear. She was wearing a pair of sandals that were neither too ridiculously high nor simple flats-they were just right. She felt right; as though the pieces of a puzzle had finally come together and just fit, in every way possible. She checked herself; when had she started to become so vain and admiring herself in the mirror? And yet, was admiring herself such a crime? After all she did have a right to feel wonderful about herself, there were rare opportunities she actually did do that. Before she could contemplate on that more, however, her phone dinged. She took it out of a tiny handbag she was carrying for today, and saw a text message waiting for her.
A taxi is waiting outside. Get in.-SH
The taxi halted in front of Claridge's and Molly stepped out, careful not to step on the hem of the dress accidently. That would've been the icing on top of the cake; to not only ruin the dress by stepping on it and possibly ripping it, but also tripping in front of the elite London crowd near the hotel. It looked as though there was a big event being organised, that's when Molly remembered that there was a charity event being organised by one of the many aristocratic families in London, and anyone who was prominent in the London society would be there. Molly was more nervous than she had been during her job interview. She could feel a few drops of sweat forming on the top of her forehead and wondered how that was possible in the chilled weather. Her nervousness was acting up badly and she needed to calm down. What would he think? Will he like the dress? The makeup? Or will he be just as nasty as he was when she had tried the last time? Molly banished any such thoughts from her head. She was here for a case and she would be completely professional about it. She was helping out a friend [or so she hoped] and she would completely focus on that.
Molly took in a shaky breath and adjusted the breezy hem of the dress, before grabbing her clutch and walking swiftly towards the pavement in front of the hotel. She saw John's back and started to walk towards it, when she saw Greg looking towards her. He didn't seem to recognize her as she saw his gaze go from her face to her sandals, and his mouth fell open. John, who had been talking to a man with a suit and an umbrella, turned and looked at her himself, his eyes going wide and his posture becoming stiff. The man with the umbrella, who had started to look a little annoyed, looked at her and smiled appreciatively. Molly felt flustered and hurried to the group, standing next to John and smiling softly at the men staring at her. But where was Sherlock?
"He'll be here shortly." John replied after some time, not removing his eyes from her face; or rather, her body. "Wow, Molly, you look...You look absolutely lovely." He smiled softly and she smiled back, feeling her cheeks warm up.
"Yes, Dr. Hooper cleans up pretty well." The man with the umbrella spoke up who, as Molly was informed later, was the Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock had talked about this elusive elder brother of his but whenever she had tried to ask any questions, he had brushed her off and so she had stopped. She looked at the man and while he seemed harmless, she knew he was the British Government, and she found herself wondering how it felt like to own and know that you have such power in your hands. All this time Greg had said nothing, merely staring at her with a dumbfounded expression. John shook his shoulder and he snapped out of his expression, before smiling goofily at her. She smiled back at him, and he stepped forward. Before he could say anything, however, she saw Sherlock get out of a taxi and stride towards them. She felt herself freeze as she took in what he was wearing; his trademark Belstaff and his scarf; but underneath the scarf she saw the remnants of a wine purple shirt that clung to his chest [just the way she liked it] and her heart sped out of control. He just had to wear the purple shirt of death tonight, when she was already so flustered from the attention she had been getting from the general male population around her, and for some reason her hormones were all out of control.
He strode to them and went past her muttering a low 'Pardon me, ma'am' and walking straight to where John was standing, not very far from where she was.
"John, where is Molly? She should've been here by now."
"Um, Sherlock, you just went by her."
'Went by her? What are you even...?" And his voice trailed away as he turned, swiftly, and looked at her.
Molly knew she looked like a ripe tomato in a blue coloured cocktail dress, as she stood there beside Greg Lestrade [who still hadn't stopped looking at her] and staring right in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
There are only a few times Sherlock Holmes is out of words. One of those times had been when he had been with The Woman and she had appeared in her 'battle dress' to talk to him. And this was another time he was rendered speechless, and for Molly this was the first time she had seen him like this. He blinked once, then twice, and yet once again before clearing his throat and turning to John. John smiled at Sherlock smugly and laughed a bit at his puzzled expression.
"Well? Don't you think she did a good job, Sherlock?" John asked Sherlock, beginning to laugh louder at the way Sherlock was looking at him.
"Yes, Sherlock, Dr. Hooper looks absolutely wonderful tonight." Mycroft chimed in and gave a small smile to the flustered pathologist, before checking his watch for the umpteenth time.
"Well I can't keep standing around, I have some binding things to attend to. Now, brother of mine," he smiled at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and promptly looked the other way "As I was saying, Sherlock, you have to behave yourself. It is with quite difficulty that I was able to arrange an invite for you, therefore behave."
"Oh don't worry Mycroft; I won't slander your name in the process of solving a murder and saving a British MP from unnecessary slander." Sherlock ran a hand through his curls and started to walk towards the club entrance. Mycroft looked at Molly and the other men sheepishly before leaving, and Molly found herself adjusting the dress and realizing that Sherlock was nowhere around.
"John, where is Sherlock? Isn't he supposed to, um, escort me?" She asked and John sighed.
"I don't know Molly, he disappeared in the crowd. Let me go and look for him. You stay right here, Lestrade stay with Molly." John said and went into the crowd, and his form was gradually swallowed by the crowd teeming towards the club entrance.
"So, why are you here Greg?" she turned to the inspector and he smiled.
"It is my investigation, to be honest. So I have to be here. The Yard's men are stationed in different positions around the club and the street; all I need to do is give one command and the culprit will be caught without any obstacles." Greg smiled and patted the walkie-talkie in his coat pocket.
"Oh that's nice, very nice."
"If this weren't an investigation I would've escorted you myself, but you know," He nodded slightly, smiling good-naturedly at her "someone has to stay back to do the groundwork. I did say that Sherlock could stay back and instruct me and I could go in, but he was insistent and well, he is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade sighed.
"I know, you cannot argue with him." Molly looked down on the ground herself before feeling a warm hand on her lower back. She saw Greg smiling at her kindly, and she smiled back just the same. At least for tonight she could enjoy the attention she was getting and not over think about it.
"If you would've gone in Lestrade the operation would've been a bust." A deep, reverberating voice spoke up from behind them. Molly and Greg turned, to see Sherlock standing behind them. He was holding a tiny package in his hands and his eyes were fixed on Greg.
"These people can recognize a Scotland Yard man from afar, chances are they might've already spotted you so you should go now Graham, unless you want to cancel this investigation,. Besides, its not like you are dressed for the occasion." Sherlock's eyes swept over Greg's work clothes and Molly felt Greg's shoulders droop a bit, before he stepped away from her.
"Right-o. Well, I'll um, I'll go to the surveillance van. Well, you know what to do." Lestrade nodded before walking away from them.
Sherlock took Molly's hand and escorted her to the club entrance. He stepped forward and talked to the bellman and the various guards, who promptly let them in. He took off his Belstaff and scarf, depositing it in the coat counter before offering her his arm. She held his arm and gulped. Molly didn't know what to expect, and being this close to Sherlock was wreaking havoc with her heart.
She just hoped she would be able to play her part well. He looked down at her and she composed herself, before smiling up at Sherlock. He smiled back, much to her surprise, before they started walking to the ballroom.
"The game, Molly, is on!" Sherlock said, in a low voice, before entering the ballroom, Molly at his side.
