Molly had already situated herself on the sofa with a book when Mycroft & Sherlock came back. They were arguing about something, & Molly looked up from her station quizzically.
"I'm not going to pursue this subject any longer, Mycroft. It's tiresome. If you say you read it in that volume, so be it."
Mycroft spotted Molly & approached her. "Molly, you read poetry, yes?"
"A little," she replied.
"Is poetry the food of love?"
Molly's mouth opened a moment. "Ah, well, I suppose."
"Is that the adage? Mycroft is insisting that I am in error, though he clearly misspoke as well. I can't imagine why. If there's food involved, he almost never errs."
Mycroft laughed at Sherlock's jab.
"Oh! You mean Shakespeare." Molly exclaimed.
"Was that the fellow?" Mycroft considered the possibility.
"I believe it's, "If music be the food of love, play on." Molly smiled. She felt like she was being useful.
"Ah, well. Sherlock must have love on his mind, then. It was his answer to the puzzle."
Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously as he exited to his bedroom. He looked at Molly. "I am sorry. Mycroft can be so very...temperamental."
"Don't bother apologizing. I rather like him," she smiled at Sherlock, whose face had fallen.
"Like him? Whatever for?"
"Dunno. He's...serene." She looked at Sherlock, expecting assent. She wasn't appeased. Mary interrupted the pair & seized on the opportunity.
"Oh! Sherlock. How was your day?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Do convince Molly to join John & I for dinner tomorrow evening. She insists she won't go."
Sherlock was still standing, hands in pockets. "Well, Mary. If Molly had rather not, I can't see any occasion for her to go."
"But there's only one week left of our holiday! We need to get her out of this villa," Mary was in earnest. John entered the sitting room.
"John...good. Tell Molly she must join us tomorrow."
"Ah, Mary? Why would I do that? Does she want to go?"
Molly was sick of being treated as though she wasn't in the room. "No, actually. It's your date. I'm perfectly content here."
"But she has a beautiful new dress & everything. Shame to waste it."
Sherlock looked at Molly. He considered the dress factor. "Have you a new frock?"
"Yes. I have."
"And do you have reason to wear it in London?"
"None than I can think of."
"Then you should go." He was smug in his reply.
Mary was jubilant. "See? Just come, for god sake Molly! John shan't mind. Do you, John?"
John Watson looked at the floor. "No. No, I suppose not." He did mind, but he didn't want to upset Mary. He briefly toyed with the idea of letting Sherlock know of the ministrations being leveled against him & Molly, but he also thought his friend needed laid in the worst way.
"What if..." Mary began. "Suppose Sherlock came along? As a...date of sorts? Would that entice you?"
Molly swallowed hard. "I..uh...I mean..."
"Excuse me, Mary. Did I hear you correctly? Are you suggesting that I take Molly out on a date?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.
"For want of a better term. Yes." She considered him a moment. There was a seed there. Mycroft had done his job.
"Well then. What do you say, Molly?" He was surprisingly accommodating.
"I...guess so." Molly just wanted this to be over with. Whatever it took to shut everyone up & leave her alone was fine by her.
Mary clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! It's settled, then. See you in the morning. Coming, love?"
And John followed along in her wake.
Sherlock took his leave. He thought about what had just transpired. He thought about Mycroft. About poetry. About the small smile of Molly's when she looked at him. This place, this paradise was transforming him, & he felt compelled to relent.