A/N: (insert apology) (insert gracious thanks) (insert wink wink smiley face)
John snorted in disbelief over his phone. He wasn't really surprised Sherlock had hung up on him, though he really did need a laugh. Changing nappies constantly did take a bit out of him, despite his attempt at constantly soldering on.
"So…how much is he going to cock it up, then?" a familiar voice said, and he turned to see his wife leaning against the doorframe.
"A lot," he said chuckling, "But he'll learn – I hope."
She grinned at him, "Can't neglect our other child, I suppose. Speaking of which – she needs a bit of a change…" he tried not to frown, "- kidding…it's my turn."
"Don't – umm – talk too much," she'd said that about five times the last hour. There were supposed to be rules, but she didn't have the time to bother him about it.
Her nerves about lunch had certainly started to blossom, as the charade was apparently something she'd just have to live with, that and the fact that she wasn't going to learn much more about the case he was working on, if one ignored his short answer - "Not related to the wedding."
Molly didn't exactly see how he'd have enough time to pretend to be her boyfriend and work on his case, but Sherlock had assured her, "It's barely an eight."
She neglected to point out that she felt it was rather silly of him to fly over to Italy for less than an eight, especially since he often let John fly ahead of him for some inane reason or the other, but she suspected that babies probably made that idea impossible. Not that she didn't think that John wouldn't love a brief high-adrenaline vacation considering dirty nappies and screaming children, but even he had his limit.
"Yes, I know," said Sherlock eyeing her in the lift, giving a weary sigh, obviously already tired of her constantly having to remind him of how to behave like a human being, but frankly, he did have the fantastic ability of deducing people to weeping messes.
In most cases she'd stand admiring in the safe distance, but in this particular party of people she'd rather not make too much of a public blunder. She'd already brought along the very factor to why Tom and her didn't really properly work out, more or less rubbing it under his nose, and so it was important they didn't really stand out. Of course she knew she'd not exactly chosen the best dress for the occasion, opting for a bright red, which Sherlock had briefly blinked at when she'd appeared from the bathroom.
It didn't feel right to be wearing trainers and her beige trousers for something that she suspected would be laden with people in extravagant clothing from the get-go, especially considering the fact that Sherlock's style of dress was immaculate. After all it wouldn't seem convincing if she opted for a t-shirt bought at the airport, since they were already a very unlikely pair.
"You look well, Molly," said Sherlock all of a sudden, forcing her to look at him, but he wasn't staring at her.
"Thank you?" she said baffled.
He was eyeing the solid elevator doors, until they were barred open and the pair of them were back on the ground floor, facing another of what she could only suspect would be an excruciating event from beginning to end.
It didn't exactly help that Sherlock seemed rather exceptionally cold even for him, stiff and unsure for some odd reason, though she understood that he hated social occasions, and regularly kept his distance if it was remotely possible, but she'd think he'd manage to play the part. All of this of course prompted her to do something rather mad.
For someone in a relationship it would have been absolutely normal, but actually holding Sherlock's hand was threading into rather dangerous waters. The second she did it, sliding hers into his, she wanted to pull back.
She could feel the visible tension in his hand and see the familiar arched brow of his. But instead of hunching down about it, she calmly walked out of the lift with him, her smaller hand enfolded in his.
Their relationship or well friendship or well – 'something' - didn't involve hugs or brief kisses on the cheek, so it was difficult for her not to feel rather hysterical on the inside. Molly almost felt like laughing at her bravery, despite the fact that kids at the age of thirteen probably did more than hold hands these days, but this was amazing – even for him.
She thought he'd wrench his hand away, at least, but he didn't. Quickly, before her mind started to overthink his willingness to the physical contact she reminded herself that he'd managed to pretend to be in a relationship a while back, so holding her hand shouldn't in fact be challenging for either of them. Despite her hand pushing out sweat, almost forcing her to wipe her hand on her dress, but she persisted, feeling her hand almost visibly throb in his very large one.
"Is this okay?" she said in a low voice, while they headed over to the portion of the hotel, which was the restaurant.
She knew it was a pointless question really. If he didn't approve he'd certainly back away quickly, but she didn't want to occupy his space more than necessary.
"It's fine," he said, and she was grateful to see the tension that had appeared in him earlier clear off, briefly taken aback when he cleared his throat and tangled their fingers together properly. They finally reached their table where people smiled at her, before several of their smiles dropped at the sight of him, their mouths turning into large gaping holes.
Oh Christ.
Ideally he'd rather administrate himself a sedative than be the celebrity, which considering the astonished expressions on people's faces he was, and from the way Molly quickly pulled her hand hand from his, she certainly didn't want it to play out like this.
"Oh my God - are you dating Sherlock Holmes?" said one woman, gaping like some red-lipped fish, exhibiting a lack of decorum, while she ogled Molly in disbelief.
Single. Revealing deep cut dress. Apparently seeking attention from this venture, assuming it'll follow the traditional path of finding someone as a bridesmaid. Too easy, he thought.
Sherlock raised a brow, "Yes," he said coolly, unable to keep away the smirk at the sight of the woman's eyes turning downwards, her cheeks flushing, and he realised, "Did I say that out loud?" Several of the people at the table blinked up at him in bewilderment, though none of them seemed keen on blurting any outright remarks or hurtling anything in Molly's way, "Oh."
Slowly he turned to look at Molly's face, her expression was rather unreadable, as she was furiously biting at her lips, making the blood surge to them, like she would when she was thinking, but he caught the hint of amusement in her eyes. At least he assumed it was, since he often saw her give that same expression in his presence, when he'd done something funny. "Not good?" he questioned, trying to look a semblance of guilty, but she averted her eyes instead, leading them to a pair of vacant chairs at the long table.
Neither Tom nor his fiancé Polly were present, which made it less likely for Molly to lash out towards his behaviour, at which John would have pointedly made him apologize (poorly). However, he was pleasantly surprised to find Molly chose a completely different tactic.
"Sorry, it's his kind of humour, Iris. Don't mind him," she said shrugging at their sitting companion, who turned out to be the offended woman in question.
"Didn't mean to be rude," said Iris with wide eyes, sending him a lopsided grin, "You're quite right…it's a bit of a tight-fitting dress, really – thanks for noticing. No one else has."
Sherlock blinked, "Thank you?" he said with furrowed brows.
"I've noticed!" said a man outraged at the table, face red, and his glass filled to the brim with white wine, "I've been-," Sherlock immediately ignored the conversation, eyeing the man, intending to give his negative comment on Iris pursuing him, when he felt a soft hand on his thigh, "Don't," whispered Molly, her brown eyes searching his, "She can-,"
"Oh shut up Peter – you fancy everything with legs," said Iris in response to the man's advances, and Sherlock was pleasantly surprised by the exchange.
"- take care of herself," he finished off, aware that Molly's hand was certainly lingering on his thigh, though she didn't seem to be aware it was still presently there, or at all embarrassed by her action.
"You might be able to know what people are planning, but it doesn't mean you know what they want," she said with a small smile, her hand disappearing from his thigh and his confidence evaporating. He had already done the opposite of good, not that he expected to excel in everything he put his head into ('well'), though he hardly expected to have already managed to insult someone – "And thank you," he heard her whisper, though her hand did not land on his thigh this time.
"What?" he said mildly caught off guard by Molly's sudden outburst.
She did that constantly, always putting him out of his comfort zone so to speak, constantly making him question himself. However, for once she seemed to be rather confused by his lack of understanding, "For coming to my defence… You didn't really need to and I didn't really expect-,"
"Why wouldn't I?" he said, slightly affronted, but before she could answer they were interrupted by the table jeering loudly.
The bride and groom had arrived.
Not very long ago, seconds in fact, if she was keeping score, she'd sworn that this entire thing wouldn't turn out so badly after all. All of those hopes dashed off the second Tom reared his not-curly head at their table, with his Polly dangling at his side again with her sparkly smile.
"Lovely to see you all!" said Polly, giving a tiny wave, swooping soon down to several at the table, giving them quick kisses on the cheeks, without leaving her lipstick on anyone's cheek, and consciously avoiding Molly's seat.
Not that Polly opted to give Sherlock a bear hug either, but Molly knew that Sherlock certainly noticed this action, and so did the others around the table.
"Having drinks already?" said Tom who'd settled in his chair instead of greeting everyone with hugs, a nervous sort of energy hovering over him, and Molly didn't need to be an consulting detective to figure out that the couple had just had a row. And she was rather certain she knew what about, considering the fact that Polly threw her a glare when she got seated, before putting on another dazzling smile.
People raised their glasses however, the instant the sound of cutlery hit glass and Molly was happy about the distraction. "Tom," said Marcus, his best mate bearing a huge grin, "I know this isn't the dinner before the wedding, and it's probably not the time for a speech either, but I'm glad to see you happy. Honestly, I've never seen you so happy-," she agreed – "Obviously you've chosen the right girl this time-," people were staring at her – "To Tom and Moll – I mean Polly – Polly-," the laughter that came was loud, almost unbearable, and Molly kept her eyes fixed on her plate, not wanting to see if Polly herself was looking at her, but her eyes suddenly swung upwards when she felt a firm hand on her hands folded on her lap.
"We're supposed to be a couple, aren't we?" Sherlock murmured into her ear, causing her to stare at him, but she was rather glad he'd managed to see her discomfort.
If only he'd picked up on that years before, really, and she grinned, before she slowly slid out of his grip. Knowing him he was probably still on the edge that she'd touched his thigh without thinking, and she gave a slight nod in return.
Another tinkle of the glass happened.
This time it was Iris who slowly stood up and Molly clapped her hands together approvingly. She'd known her for years and considering how different the pair of them was in some ways, it was remarkable how they'd managed to stay as friends.
"I know I might not be one of the lads, but I think you can all thank me for this. If I hadn't introduced Molly to Tom none of this would have happened -," she felt like groaning – wondering where on earth Iris was going with this – " – since then she'd never dump him, and he'd never have met Polly. Everyone ended up with who they should have, and after all – shag-a-lot Holmes might actually keep up with Molly for once-," Molly should never have worried about Sherlock cocking anything up really. Honestly, her friends did well enough on their own, " – but Tom – jokes aside – I do mean that - really I do – here's to the bride and groom!"
She wondered why her glass was still empty; honestly it should have been long since full and she searched the restaurant beseechingly for a waiter, but one more round of that doomed cutlery began, except from a completely different source, mainly the one sat besides her. Her eyes could not be any wider at the sight, recalling that very instant who'd done the same, except for a very different reason. A pair of eyes were fixed on her the very instant Sherlock's chair scraped against the floor, his expression the one of severity and she wanted nothing more than to force him to sit down. There was nothing he could really say that would in fact help the situation, since it would certainly only worsen the afternoon. But despite her wordless stare, he seemed to be rather confident in his abilities, "I don't know any of you."
It wasn't exactly a lie, "Neither am I good at speeches, but I will say one thing -," he looked pointedly at Iris, an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes, "I do keep up."
Of all things she thought he'd say – that - certainly wasn't it.