Just as Molly said, Sherlock's news did not affect her day-to-day routine. In fact, she did not 'officially' hear of it until John stopped by St. Barts to tell her so, three weeks after Mycroft told her.

"You okay?" John asked, having broken the news to her.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Molly asked, glancing up from weighing a liver. It was easier to put aside her feelings, having known about it.

"Well because you…" John gestured limply, then shifted, uncomfortable. "You did fancy him,"

"I did- do," Molly said. She looked at John steadily. "I do love Sherlock." The admission of her feelings nearly broke her, but something flared up inside her, some iron will not to let John see her cry. She could not take the doctor's pitying gaze any longer. "But my feelings don't matter in this instance. They never have, to Sherlock, and I am used to it. I hope you'll give Sherlock my congratulations, I'm sure you'll see him before I will." She turned her back to him then, busying herself with checking the scale.

"Molly," John began, shocked at her coldness.

"I'm busy, today, John, or else I'd chat. I'm sure Sherlock's got loads of errands for you to run," she said over her shoulder.

She saw less of John after that. Sherlock still made frequent stops to the morgue, still enlisting Molly's help for parts. She heard nothing of wedding plans, noted no particular spring in his step. She did mention it once to him (apparently she liked to torture herself).

"You've set a date then?"

He glanced up from the microscope.

"Hmm?"

"A date. For your wedding?"

"Oh. Yes. Janine is planning all that," he waved his hand. "Stuff."

"Oh."

"What?" he looked up, hearing the confusion in her voice. "Don't brides normally plan the wedding?"

"Yes but for John and Mary you-" she gestured to him. "You were the one who…did everything…I thought for your own you'd be…well…a bit of a bridezilla, or groomzilla at any rate."

"No I…I'm not," he answered, though he was frowning, as if she'd stated something he had not even thought of.

"Well, anyway," she put on her smile that Sherlock had come to recognize as forced. "Let me know if you need anything, you know I'm always here for you."

"Yes," he said, watching her leave. "Yes you are."

Months later…Ede and Ravenscroft Tailors

"I don't see why I have to be here, isn't this something that you and Sherlock should be doing together?" Molly asked, watching as Mycroft was fitted one last time in the morning suit.

"I expect so, but as it was either you come with me for my fitting, or join the bride and Mrs. Watson lingerie shopping, I thought you might prefer the former, dull as it may be."

Molly shrugged, studying the elder Holmes reflection in the mirror. "Thank you," she said, and meant it. While she had yet to have a conversation beyond polite greetings with Janine, Molly still felt her heart drop at the thought of having to spend any sort of extended time with the bride-to-be. The thought of Sherlock being married still made her chest ache, but she was able to hide it better.

"There," Mycroft turned to face her. "I expect this is more than enough fuss for this sham of a wedding."

"Don't say that," Molly got to her feet, straightening the cravat before stepping back. "You look very nice. I'm sure you'll do very well at the wedding; Anthea will look very fetching on your arm."

"Hmm, yes, about that," Mycroft said slowly, fiddling with his cufflinks. "Anthea won't be able to make it, she's going to be out of town at a conference, quite unable to come, leaving me without anyone to fend off the meddling older ladies and their daughters-"

"No," Molly answered immediately. "No, Mycroft, I am not attending this wedding, I told you-"

"He's going to ask you to come," Mycroft interrupted. "I thought my asking might make it easier, sort of a favor to me, and an excuse for you to leave early too. You know my phone is never silent for longer than thirty minutes. Sufficient time to wish them well and be on our way."

"I don't want to go,"

"I know you don't," Mycroft answered her gently. "But it won't do any good to stay away either. Will your not witnessing it make it any less true?"

"It isn't a matter of it being true or not!" Molly burst out. "It's a question of how much I hate myself to watch him go through with it!" After a moment, she gathered herself, mouth still pulling at the corners, wincing as if she were pained.

"You're more a Holmes than you give yourself credit for," Mycroft said, and she opened her bleary eyes, realizing he was quite near her.

"Stop saying that," she insisted. "I'm not a Holmes, I never will be, I don't know why you feel like you must be nice to me, or- or do favors for me when I've done nothing for you."

Mycroft was silent for a long while. "I apologize if my actions have caused you any pain," he said at last. "I'm not very good at showing affection." Finally, he looked up at her. "I've never had a sister, you see, and…it is always a surprise to me how much I should like for you to be my sister."

Molly sniffled, wiping her nose. "Well I don't have to marry your brother to be your sister, you clot."

Mycroft had no response to this, but his cheeks were rosy, and his eyes twinkled.

Despite Mycroft's high regard and obvious favoritism for Molly, he would brook no refusals when it came to Molly staying behind. Molly would attend the wedding on his arm. He'd even had Anthea take her shopping. It turned out the PA had a rather wicked streak in her, choosing provocatively cut dresses. With an infectious laugh, she'd whip a gown from the rack.

"If you're going to be forced to go, why not go in something that will make them all drop dead?" she asked brightly.

"I don't want to be something I'm not," Molly replied.

"No, but it never hurts to give him a good heaping dose of what he's missing," Anthea said, flicking through a rack.

"He's not missing any- oh I give up- Anthea I am not wearing that." Molly interrupted herself to draw line at a frock that the PA held up.

"Why not?"

"It's slit up to my pelvis, for one,"

"Fine," Anthea huffed. "But with legs like yours, why you don't show them off more, I'll never know."

Molly smiled inwardly. Well, it certainly wouldn't do any harm to look her best at this event. At any rate, the PA was doing her very best to boost her ego to the highest hills.

"You've got to absolutely blow everyone's socks off," Anthea said, Molly jogging to keep up with her long strides. How Anthea managed to walk at such a pace, in those stilettos, in a pencil skirt, Molly would never know.

"I don't want to attend and look vindictive," Molly insisted. "I don't even want to go at all,"

"I know," Anthea slowed. "That's why I asked Mycroft that I be the one to go shopping with you. I want you to go in there with your head held high, showing everyone that you don't need anyone, you stand on your own two feet, Molly Hooper, as you always have. You make it known that your attendance is a favor to Mycroft only, and that if Sherlock Holmes is going to marry the wrong girl, then he's free to do so, but he's going to bloody well know about it without you having to say a word."

"He's…he's not…" Molly answered weakly.

"Don't," Anthea pointed a manicured finger at the pathologist. "Stop lying to yourself. To you, Janine is the wrong girl, and that's okay to say to yourself. That's what you believe,"

Molly was startled by the ferocity of the PA. "It's not right to say that," Molly said, at last wavering.

"It doesn't make it any less true," Anthea replied.

"Every day is a fight," Molly admitted, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, sniffling.

"Yes it is," Anthea squeezed her hand. "It hurts, seeing the one you love, the one you know you ought to be with completely ignore you, or go with someone else. Every day is a fight, so what do we do?"

Molly shook her head in response, unsure. Anthea smiled gently.

"We dress for battle."