"Mary I don't even have a dress yet, why are we shopping for underthings?"
An excited Mary Watson and a very confused Molly Hooper had been wandering through Harrods a good part of the afternoon. The pair now found themselves in the Agent Provocateur section, even though Molly had been trying to steer them toward the cocktail dresses for the better part of the hour.
Mary never lifted her eyes from the pair of red satin panties she'd picked up.
"Of course you have a dress, Molly."
The brunette wrinkled her brow. "No, I don't. That's the reason I called to you help me shop today. I don't have a dress for the ball, and I need to find something special. It has to be perfect." Her voice trailed off a bit wistfully.
Molly was trying hard to keep level-headed about Yarder's Ball, but every time she thought about Sherlock and replayed his last visit to her, she couldn't keep her heart from swelling. It was the most romantic moment of her life and it was given to her by the man she thought would never love her back.
And if the ball went well tomorrow night, Molly might be treated to a few more romantic moments.
She was pulled from her daydream when Mary shoved a sheer lace corset in her hands. Molly felt her cheeks blush as she looked over the piece. It was a gorgeous creation of black Leavers lace with satin stays on each side and had garters attached as well. It was easily the sexiest piece of lingerie she'd ever seen.
"What are you waiting for? Go try it on and see if you don't feel like an absolute bombshell." Mary was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
Molly looked at her friend with wide eyes. "I'm not sure I can pull this off."
"Try it on. It suits a particular black dress you already own." And with that Mary turned away, heading for a display of silk stockings.
The black dress. Molly wandered into the dressing room, and considered both the dress and the corset while she disrobed. The garment in her hand was a perfect combination of pretty and scandalous. Although it had intricate satin laces, she was relieved to see it also had very subtle hook-and-eye closures so she needed no help getting the piece on.
But perhaps I could have a certain someone's help getting out of it...
The devilish thought crossed Molly's mind and struck her with a bit of inspiration. Before she turned to see her reflection in the three-panel mirror, she dug tall black pumps out of her striped bag. She'd planned on wearing them to try on dresses, but maybe they would help her feel a little sexier. She slipped them on and whipped her long hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. Biting her lip, she turned to face the mirror.
Oh.
Oh, my...
When Molly exited the dressing room, Mary couldn't help but notice her friend was now wearing black heels.
The car will arrive for you at 8pm. See you tonight, Molly.
-SH
The rhinestone accents of the dress glowed warmly as they reflected the light from the candles Molly had lit earlier that evening. The woman herself sat perched on the end of her bed, a glass of white wine in her hand. She was once again considering her dress. But for the first time it wasn't upsetting her.
On the contrary, Molly was starting to see some possibility in that little black dress.
She had curled her hair, more for volume than any careful style, and it fell in wide, loose waves over her shoulders. She had applied makeup but it was fairly simple: she played up her eyes with dark liner and mascara, but left her lips with only a touch of soft pink gloss.
After taking the last sip from her wineglass, she placed it on her nightstand.
It was the moment of truth: time to put on the black dress of the Baker Street Christmas Disaster.
She took off her rarely-worn black satin robe and admired herself in her new purchases. The corset had put a healthy dent in her bank account but looking at herself in the candlelight Molly was absolutely certain it was worth it. She'd also purchased matching panties and pair of sheer black silk stockings, and the completed look was more than Molly expected.
Even if no one else saw this particular part of her ensemble tonight, Molly felt wonderfully sexy. Perhaps knowing that Sherlock actually wanted her company at the ball tonight added a bit of confidence. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach but they were tinged with a sweet anticipation, not fear.
The front door buzzed just as Molly reached for her dress, and she jumped a bit in surprise.
Sherlock had said the car would arrive at 8pm, and it was barely 7.
Molly reached for her satin robe, but thought better of it, reaching instead for her well-worn cotton dressing gown. After covering herself as well as she could, she headed to the door.
Well, this was... unexpected...
"Good evening, Dr. Hooper. May I have a moment of your time?" He may have posed it as a question, but Mycroft Holmes was not waiting for an answer. He swept past Molly, as she gripped the collar of her dressing gown closed in confusion, and perhaps a bit of protection.
Mycroft scanned her small flat, and Molly could almost see the deductions going on in his mind. When he was done, he met her eye with a blatantly insincere smile.
"My time is limited, Dr. Hooper, but it was time we had this little chat, particularly as you are amidst your...preparations for an evening with my brother." The fake smile dropped with a tilt of his head, as he gestured for her to sit.
Molly obliged, but Mycroft remained standing. The sweet butterflies of earlier had given way to anxious, churning knots in her stomach. Gone was the confidence she'd had just moments ago.
He paced the small living room, swinging his umbrella slightly as he moved.
"In light of romantic overtures Sherlock seems to be making, I thought it imperative to come and see you. My brother does not indulge in sentiment, and certainly not in anything resembling love. You would do well to discourage any romantic attachment before one or both of you are hurt in this farce. "
"To be frank, Dr. Hooper," he said as he stopped moving and met her eyes, "you are smart enough to have known this by now."
The condescension in his tone pulled Molly from her pensive state, and for the first time since he'd entered her flat, she gave him her own deductive look. After all, if she could read one Holmes, she might be able to read the other.
Mycroft usually had a very easy confidence about him; the sort of confidence that sprung from knowing just about everything about everyone. But tonight he seemed to be trying too hard. His pacing was out of character and his fingers refused to remain still on the curve of his umbrella handle.
He looks worried. Worried about Sherlock?
Shaking off her nerves, Molly relaxed the tight grip on her dressing gown and sat up a bit taller.
"Mycroft, you seem concerned about your brother, but I'm not sure why you've come to me with all of this. Perhaps you should speak with him directly."
He snorted in response, seeming agitated. "Do you think Sherlock would listen to a word I say on the matter? No, you need to be the one to end this nonsense before it begins. I need your word that you will not further encourage this behavior."
Her temper flared up, but she knew getting angry would accomplish nothing. Molly calmly stood up.
"I will do no such thing. And I haven't encouraged him. Quite the opposite, actually- I've tried hard to get over him. But Sherlock says he loves me and I believe him- obviously you believe it as well. Otherwise you wouldn't have bothered to come here."
As the words left her mouth, a quote of text ran through her mind.
"Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.''
"If you believed it impossible to be true,'' said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"
Oh my God. Mycroft Holmes is my Lady Catherine.
He would look stunning in a large floral hat and gown. The umbrella would only complement the outfit.
Images began to flood her mind and in trying to hold back her giggle, Molly snorted.
Mycroft's face, previously furrowed in frustration with the small doctor, now begin to turn red with fury. It should have been frightening, but it only made the pathologist laugh a little harder.
"Do you find humor in inevitable heartbreak, Dr. Hooper?"
"I'm sorry, but you just- reminded me of someone. Didn't mean to laugh." She composed herself, and softly addressed the angry man before her.
"Mycroft, smart or not, I love Sherlock. And he seems to have figured out that he loves me. I'm a bit scared for the both of us, to be honest. But I can promise you, I will do my best not to hurt him."
Her gentle tone seemed to relax him a bit but his blue eyes remained angry. He gave her a hard look up and down, no doubt deducing her, looking for any information he could use against the pathologist.
A week ago it would have terrified her to be on the receiving end of a Mycroft Holmes deduction. But Molly had nothing to hide. She stood calmly and allowed him to come to his own conclusions. She watched the anger in his eyes dissipate, and his face lost its furious flush. His shoulders lowered a tiny bit and he sighed, shaking his head.
Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it. He stood and headed toward the door and paused just as he reached it. Molly noticed a subtle relaxation in his demeanor, although his back remained ramrod straight as he turned toward her.
"I still believe this is an awful idea," he chastised. The words held less vitriol than any of his previous admonishments. "However, it's very clear to me that you truly love him."
"I do, Mycroft. I have for a long time."
He spoke slowly and quietly. "You've been nothing but loyal to my brother, so if he insists on dabbling in sentiment, I'm glad he's doing so with someone as trustworthy as you, Dr. Hooper."
"I know that's high praise coming from you, Mycroft. And you can just call me Molly."
Mycroft's face remained neutral, but his eyes twinkled a bit."I have already been threatened with bodily harm should I refer to you by any name other than the title you've earned. You'll forgive me if I insist on 'Dr. Hooper.'"
With that, the British government swept out of her flat. Molly remained frozen for a moment, the shock of the strange meeting finally setting in. She blinked rapidly, then turned in a bit of a panic toward the clock hanging on the wall behind her.
7:38pm.
Molly jumped up nearly running to her bedroom to finish getting ready for the Yarder's ball.
And her first date with Sherlock Holmes.
