Happy early Christmas, lovelies! I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season, whatever you celebrate!
This is really more of a filler chapter, as far as plot goes, but it's still one of my favorites!
After parting with Sherlock, Molly scurried through the palace halls, desperate to return to the room she shared with Sally. She did not fail to notice, however, the trail of whispers and curious glances she left in her wake.
It seemed the news of her engagement had spread more quickly than she thought it would. Ignoring the stares of the other servants, Molly finally reached her destination, slamming the door shut and falling back onto her bed. She was not regretting her decision to help Sherlock (heaven knew she would never be able to refuse him anything), but she was just beginning to realize the consequences of such an arrangement.
When (if?) the entire engagement was called off, what would happen to her? Sherlock certainly would be fine. His agreeing to marry anyone would be more surprising than him abruptly ending it. No one in the entirety of the kingdom would be startled to learn that the youngest member of the royal family had decided not to wed after all.
As a woman in her position, however, her reputation was likely to be irrevocably damaged following a terminated betrothal. No one in their right mind would dare approach the prince's jilted bride-to-be. Lucky for her, then, that the only man with whom she wanted to spend her life was the one man determined never to marry anyone.
She was pulled from her melancholy thoughts by the bedroom door sliding open. She glanced up only to find the pitying glances of Greg and Sally focused on her. Molly hated being pitied, especially when her problems were the result of her own decisions.
"Y-yes?" she asked nonchalantly, resolved to force one of them bring up the elephant in the room. She certainly would not be opening up that particular topic of conversation.
"It's decided, then?" Sally questioned, her voice a mixture of resignation and disappointment. "News travels fast. You've agreed."
"I have," Molly replied resolutely, sitting up and straightening her shoulders. She kept her hands steady by her sides, refusing to show any outward sign of her turmoil.
Sally shared a look with Greg. Molly had seen that expression many times, always when she did something (usually concerning the prince in question) of which they did not approve, but knew she could not be swayed.
They sauntered through the open doorway, each plopping down on one side of her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I really hope you know what you're doing, Molly," Greg muttered, squeezing her lightly in comfort.
Molly reached a hand up to rest on his arm. "Me too, Greg."
They sat there together for several minutes, before Sally spoke up. "Well, on the bright side, no more chores for you, Miss Hooper."
The trio broke out into loud chuckles, the tense atmosphere effectively shattered.
XXXXX
Molly jolted awake, a bright stream of sunlight filtering through the dirty window above her head, causing her to groan. Usually, she woke before the sun even considered coming out of hiding. However, she had been unable to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, too consumed with thoughts of what was to happen today. When she did finally drift off, it was into an uneasy slumber interspersed with dreams that left her sweating and on edge.
Sally must have left some time ago, as the bed beside her was cool to the touch. Molly silently thanked the other woman; she really was a remarkably selfless friend.
A thump on her door broke her out of her reverie, alerting her to what had awakened her in the first place. How she had managed to overlook the loud knocking was a mystery likely never to be solved. Molly considered ignoring the intruder and going back to sleep, but the longer she laid there, the more insistent the banging became. Grumbling to herself, Molly stumbled out of bed and over to the door.
She knew of only one person in the entire kingdom who would dare rouse her so callously.
"What do you want, Sherlock?" she griped irritably, opening the door to find him pacing outside. Moving aside to allow him entry, she staggered over to her wardrobe, still too tired to worry about gracelessness, and began looking for something appropriate to wear.
Sherlock was officially introducing her to his family today, and Molly was certain she had never been more nervous in her life.
Muttering under his breath, Sherlock strode up beside her, hastily sifting through her (admittedly meager) selection of dresses and pulling one out at random.
"This one," he said, tossing it to her.
Molly desperately wanted to tell him that she could dress herself, thank you very much, but, when she glanced down at the garment in her arms, she begrudgingly had to agree with his selection. It was inarguably the nicest frock she owned, even if it was a far cry from the over-the-top ensembles favored by the ladies of the court.
"Is there something else, Sherlock?" Molly asked when Sherlock made no move to leave the room. They might be technically engaged now, but there was absolutely no way Molly was undressing in front of him.
"Hmm? Oh! Yes." Sherlock fumbled through his coat pocket. At any other time, Molly would have loved watching the man in such a jittery state. Something in his eyes, however, told her that this was an important moment, and she ought not to squander it with an inappropriately-timed giggle.
Molly gasped when he pulled out a small, gold ring. The central, moderately-sized diamond was surrounded on all sides by smaller gemstones of every color. They sparkled as the ring caught a beam of sunshine, decorating the room with spots of vibrant light.
Sherlock reached out and slid the band onto her finger, prompting Molly to look up at him. "Sherlock, what…?"
"I retrieved it from the family vault this morning. We have more elaborate rings if you would prefer, but I thought you would like this one. It reminded me of you."
Molly pulled her hand back, twisting it every which way to examine the ring. The lights on the walls danced in response.
"It's beautiful."
It truly was the most exquisite piece of jewelry she had ever seen up close. Its cool perfection contrasted drastically with her hand, dry and calloused from years of manual labor. Something so stunning had no place on the finger of a servant, no matter how it came to be there.
"There is not a finger in the world it belongs on more than yours, Molly Hooper," Sherlock stated quietly, reading her thoughts in that annoying habit of his. He reached out and cupped her hand in his, lightly stroking her knuckle above the ring with his thumb.
"And look, Molly. It is a perfect fit."
Molly grinned in spite of her reservations; the ring hugged her finger as though it was designed for her.
Sensing her compliance, Sherlock stepped back, dropping her hand with a final squeeze.
"I will leave you to get changed now. Meet me outside the Queen's Parlor in twenty minutes, in front of that ridiculous portrait of King Frederick the Flamboyant?"
Molly nodded, still too stunned by the turn of events to speak.
It was not until she heard the door slam behind him that she realized what he had said. She began getting dressed in earnest, hoping that she would be able to endure the next hour or so without embarrassing herself in front of the entire royal family.
XXXXX
The meeting went surprisingly well, all things considered.
Prompt as always, Molly was already standing by the painting when Sherlock arrived at the designated location. Her lower lip had marks from where she had bitten it in her nervousness.
As he pulled her towards the parlor, Sherlock reached out and interlaced their fingers. The action was undertaken to remind Molly of his presence, and possibly to help sell their story. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way her hand felt, fitting seamlessly within his.
Sherlock pushed open the door without knocking, revealing three sets of eyes staring intently at the pair of them in the entryway. Gripping Molly's hand tighter, he dragged her into the room alongside him.
His mother, seated in the center of the plush sofa, glanced back and forth between himself and Molly with an almost-giddy expression on her wrinkled face. Her lively, blue eyes danced in merriment as she said, "Sherlock, is this her?!"
Sherlock was rather amazed that she was not clapping her hands and hopping around in excitement. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mother's antics.
"Obviously."
Molly nudged him. When he peeked down at her, she leveled him with a glare with which he was quite familiar – the one that translated to "Don't be rude, Sherlock!" in silent, Molly Hooper language.
"Sorry, Mummy," he mumbled, staring down at his feet. His next words were much louder. "Yes, this is Miss Molly Hooper. My fiancée."
A scoff from the corner prompted Sherlock's gaze to shoot over to where Mycroft was standing with a skeptical look.
"Something you would like to add, brother mine?"
The crown prince pushed himself off the wall against which he was propped, examining his sibling with a calculating stare.
"You honestly expect us to believe that you, of all people, have not only managed to find some poor girl that you are willing to marry, but that you have also done so with seven days to spare?" he asked incredulously.
Sherlock felt Molly stiffen beside him, and spoke up before she could.
As much as he would enjoy watching the tiny woman verbally annihilate his brother, now was not the time. Maybe later.
"Molly has been one of my closest friends since we were both children. She is intelligent, kind, and remarkably perceptive. There is no one I trust more to assist with my experiments, nor is there anyone more knowledgeable upon the subjects of biology and anatomy. Is it really so inconceivable that I would wish to spend the rest of my life with her? The only reason that I did not name her prior to this moment was solely due to the fact that I was unsure as to whether she would agree to marry me."
Mycroft's gob smacked expression would have thrilled Sherlock if he was not certain a similar one could be found on his own face. He had not meant to reveal that much; however, once he had begun spouting all of Molly's attributes, he could not seem to stop himself.
"Sherlock – marry a servant, of all people? Father, surely you are not going to allow this?!"
The king considered his youngest son for a long moment, his keen eyes analyzing everything. Mummy always said her children received their probing natures from their father.
Finally meeting Sherlock's gaze, the older man tilted his head. "Do you love her?"
For such a seemingly simple question, the answer was anything but.
Sherlock had been expecting the question – anticipated it even – but it still gave him pause. The future of this entire endeavor hinged upon the next words out of his mouth. He tried to recall the reply he had rehearsed endlessly, but, when he opened his mouth, only three words streamed out.
"Yes. I do."
As the words slipped off his tongue, they did not feel quite like the lie they were supposed to be.
XXXXX
The next several days flew by for Molly in a whirlwind of dress fittings, etiquette lessons, and elaborate dinners. For someone used to performing manual labor from sunrise to sunset, Molly doubted she had ever been so exhausted in her entire life. Who knew playing princess would be so demanding?
The only person who outwardly protested her engagement was Crown Prince Mycroft. However, since both the king and queen had accepted Sherlock's chosen bride, he was less vocal about his dissent than he would have been otherwise. He had always maintained that Sherlock should stay away from people he deemed beneath them, which was likely one of the reasons Sherlock sought her out so often.
On the few occasions she had been forced to interact with the stern eldest prince, he and Molly had effectively ignored each other, both content to pretend the other did not exist. Thus, the system worked well for all involved.
The first order of business after the nerve-wracking introduction to the royal family was Molly's relocation to a new room – one which, to quote the queen, "was more befitting a prince's fiancée." The room was bedecked in autumnal hues of yellow, red, and orange, and Molly supposed she could fit the entirety of the quarters she had shared with Sally into her new wardrobe alone.
Sally, for her part, had begun training with Lestrade and his soldiers, and had thus moved into lodgings on the opposite side of the palace. Due to their hectic schedules, the two women had not seen much of each other since the night Molly accepted Sherlock's proposal. Although she missed her friend dearly, Molly was glad that Sally's dreams were finally coming to fruition.
Unfortunately, that meant she had no one to commiserate with about her current situation.
"Step on three, Miss Hooper. Three!"
"I'm trying!" she shouted to the frazzled dance instructor, whose upbeat demeanor had steadily declined over the past hour.
"Let us try it again."
The man signaled to his assistant to start the music and pulled Molly into his embrace. They had only been waltzing for a few seconds, however, when Molly accidentally (or so she would swear until her dying breath) trod on the man's foot. He yelped in pain, jumping wildly about on one foot.
He glared at Molly's muttered, "Oops."
"Problem?" a much deeper baritone voice called out from the other side of the ballroom. Shivers ran down Molly's spine at his tone, and she hated that he could still affect her like that after all of these years.
"This is hopeless!" the instructor exclaimed, throwing his arms up as he gingerly set his injured limb back on the ground. Molly silently agreed with him.
"Perhaps she just needs a better partner," Sherlock remarked wryly, not sparing the sputtering man another glance as he took Molly in his arms and spun her around effortlessly.
"I think he might be right, Sherlock," Molly whispered to her new dance partner. "I cannot seem to get the hang of this – See?" she added apologetically as she tripped over her own feet.
"I will let you in on a secret my mother told me when I was five, and seemingly as inept at this as you. 'If you are going to dance, at least pretend you can dance well,'" he mimicked in a startlingly accurate portrayal of the queen. "Act like you know what you are doing, Molly, and no one else will be able to tell otherwise."
"No one except the hundred or so nobles who actually know what they are doing, you mean."
"Insecurity does not suit you, Molly," Sherlock pronounced knowingly.
He tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing Molly to meet his gaze. "Look at me, and remember what I said."
Sherlock motioned with his free hand, and music filled the room in an instant. Molly stumbled along at first, but, as she focused on Sherlock and his advice instead of the intricate motions of the dance, her confidence began to grow.
After a while, the pair were weaving and twirling around the room as though they had done this a million times. Molly laughed when Sherlock spun her theatrically, his answering smile warming her heart.
As the music came to a dramatic end, Sherlock dipped her, causing all the air to leave Molly's lungs. He hauled her back up, the motion bringing her mouth a hairsbreadth from Sherlock's.
She had not been this close to him since that youthful (and wonderful) kiss they had shared on her fifteenth birthday. Molly found herself wondering if his lips still tasted the same, a strange combination of tobacco, peppermint, and something else uniquely Sherlock.
Alas, she would not be discovering the solution to that query today, as loud applause echoed from their left. They hastily pulled away from each other, glancing at the other once more before turning and taking a bow.
"I will see you at the ball tomorrow, Molly?" Sherlock asked uncertainly after their audience had dispersed to return to their chores. Both were shuffling uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact.
"Yes, of course. I can't wait." She offered him a small smile before scampering off to her final fitting for her ball gown. It was set to begin in ten minutes, and the seamstress was notoriously persnickety about punctuality.
Neither Sherlock nor Molly noticed the inconspicuous, brunette man hovering in the corner, who had been avidly watching their interaction since Sherlock had first taken over as Molly's dance partner.
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