Okay! Hello there everyone who has decided to click on Chapter Two! Thank you so much for all your kind reviews, you don't know how much I appreciate them.

I can't just let this story line end where I left it in the first chapter - so this one-shot has now become a multi-chaptered event! Hope you enjoy!


"Molly!" he calls out from his spot in the sitting room, frustration coursing through his voice.

He's been calling after her for a good five minutes now; he knows she's in her bedroom, and has been for the past half hour. Doesn't she understand that he needs her to bring him the fingers from the beaker in the refrigerator? Why on earth won't she answer?

Finally too annoyed to deal with his impatience at her non-response any longer, he stands up in one fluid motion and moves towards the bedroom, stepping onto the coffee table, even more annoyed that the furniture had the nerve to get in his way. He brushes his hair back and forth angrily; doesn't she know how important this experiment is? The rate of decomposition of human skin in specific liquids is of great interest to him; god knows when (and it is a most definite when) he returns to his former career, the knowledge obtained from these experiments will only serve to improve his techniques.

He bursts through the threshold, shoving open the door with the palm of his hand, and glares down at Molly Hooper –

Who is lying flat on her back, eyes closed in consternation as she holds her mobile up to her right ear, nodding periodically in silent response to someone on the other end of the line.

He stops for a moment, taking in the sight. Interesting, he thinks to himself, and then proceeds to analyse the situation before him. Tension in the shoulders, consternation and frustration in the facial features, nervous tapping of her left fingers along the side of her hip – very interesting, indeed. He comes up to the side of the bed, where a discarded piece of paper is resting near the edge of her right foot. No, not a just a piece of paper – a wedding invitation.

You are cordially invited

To celebrate with Ms. Moira Davis & Mr. Harold Littleton

As they join together in holy matrimony...

The invitation itself was all pink with cream undertones, a little bow tied in the top corner, with just a splash of something… lavender on top of it all. There are dates mentioned, and a little tacky RSVP card, with a little empty space next to where the name of Molly's chosen guest would go. He grimaces at it, at the conventionality and conformity of it all, but then a clever little idea pops into his head, as he realizes just who Molly must be talking to.

He leans forward then, looming over the dejected little pathologist, and snatches the phone right out of her grasp. Her eyes fly open and she gasps at his sudden movement, pushing herself up on her elbows in complete and utter surprise.

"What are you doing?" she hisses at him, but he shushes her with a snap of his fingers, and she falls mute, mostly out of shock.

He grins to himself as he places the phone against his ear. "Hello?" he calls out, affecting a much more chipper voice than his usual self (wouldn't John be impressed?). "Madeleine, is that you?"

There is pause at the other end, then a quick recovery. "Edmund!" replies the elder Hooper, thinly veiled surprise evident in her tones. "Molly hadn't mentioned that you were… around."

He glances down at the doctor beside him. She shifts her eyes away, not quite meeting his gaze. Sherlock smirks to himself, realizing that Molly had probably let her mother come to the gradual assumption that her daughter and that 'nice fellow' had split up. "She must be simply trying to keep you all to herself," he says jovially, and the expression of incredulity on Molly's face towards his feigned sycophantism makes him want to laugh out loud.

But he can't – he has a part to play, and a delicious one at that. "I'm really looking forward to attending the wedding, Madeleine – I can't believe that it's coming up this weekend already."

"So you will be joining us then?" Molly's mother answers over the line, joyful surprise evident in her voice.

He looks down at Molly, meeting her dead in the eyes, and then winking at her, almost brutally. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Madeleine."


Molly is not entirely sure what to think about her current situation.

As she watches Sherlock speak to her mother (her mother!) over the phone, she can't help but think that about the fact that this is a major, major mistake. It was one thing for him to have faked being her boyfriend on that one occasion several months ago in order to (among other things) help her save face in front of her mother, but for him to venture out with her into the public, out of London, for a wedding? Absolutely out of the question.

And then he's winking at her – winking! – as he tells her mother goodbye, flipping her mobile shut as he tosses it down on the bed beside her.

"A-are you crazy?" she exclaims, bringing her knees up to her chest as she hugs them close. What is he thinking? What is he playing at? Oh dear god…

"Oh, come now, Molly. Everything will be fine. My disguise will be perfect, I assure you. And what great fun! Weddings truly are the greatest social event to attend, if one must attend social events," he tells her authoritatively, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and grinning madly to himself in eager anticipation. "That's when you get all the fun! All the drama – everyone is so deliciously devious at weddings. Does the bride know the groom's been stealing money from her? Does the best man know his girlfriend's shagged the groom's sister? Does the organist know the priest's got a wife up north that he just hasn't told her about? All fun little facts to glean, little tiny puzzles to put together," he tells her, his eyes lighting up at the mere prospect.

She tips her face down into her hands and groans.

He looks down at her and frowns. "What, Molly?"

She mumbles her response straight into her palms, and she swears she can hear him roll his eyes in frustration.

"Out with it, Molly," he commands, using his I'm the detective here, and you'd better listen, voice.

She pulls back up and looks over to him. "Why are you doing this?" she asks him, almost plaintively.

He cocks his head to the side, as if confused that she doesn't already know the answer. "For several reasons, Molly, I thought that would be obvious. Firstly, I have been cooped up in this hellish, hermetically sealed environment for nearly four months now, save for the occasional twilight escapade that I have undertaken whenever you fall asleep watching X Factor."

She opens her mouth to respond, indignant, but he ignores her and continues talking.

"Secondly, I have grown even more bored than usual. I cannot, for obvious reasons, take on any cases while in my current situation. The fare on the midday television menu has become grotesquely repetitive, and I simply cannot stomach any of it, any more. My experiments, while intellectually engaging, can only take up so much of my time. And you, Molly, are simply too boring to remedy my current state of boredom."

She knows that from anyone else she might find that offensive, but from Sherlock, it's probably about the most neutral of a statement she's heard from him in regards to herself in a very long time.

"Finally, Molly," he says, quite nearly patronizingly, "you are in need of a date. Preferably, a male date. Even more preferably, a male date that might impress the other guests of this wedding, guests that will presumably include old friends, distant relatives, and past schoolmates. I feel that my past performance can attest to my skills in this arena, and rest assuredly, my repertoire of dance skills are certainly up to par."

He looks at her then, expectantly, and she realizes that he's waiting for her to say yes, to acquiesce to this absolutely insane plan. Doesn't he know that he's supposed to be dead? Doesn't he know that just his leaving the house will attract exactly the type of attention that they've been trying so hard for him to avoid?

But then she thinks (stupidly) about how good he looked in that lavender shirt, and how well he did with her mother, and how much Penny Pritchard would be so jealous of her now, with a posh doctor boyfriend on her arm…

So she meets his gaze then, and against all better judgement and against all rational thought, she opens her mouth and tells him just one word:

"Okay."