"Wait!" Molly called frantically. "Don't go yet!" She yanked a strand of pearls off of the tiny dressing table and dashed out into the hallway, stopping her sister just as she was about to descend the stairs.
"Molly, I'm going to be late!" Mary said in playful exasperation, turning around with her hands planted firmly on her hips. "What is it?"
Molly quickly clasped the necklace around Mary's neck, stepping back to admire her work. "Perfect," she said decisively. "Now you can go."
Mary reached up to weigh the necklace in her hands. "Pearls? Molly, it's only -"
"Go, go, John is waiting for you!" Molly said, shooing her down the steps. "I'll see you at lunch!"
Mary sighed, making her way down to the first floor and stopping to give Molly a wave before heading in the direction of the library. "Save me a seat!" She called as she disappeared down the main hallway.
Molly smiled to herself. For whatever reason, she had a sneaking feeling she wouldn't have to.
ooooo
Sherlock had locked himself in John's study, away from the noise and the distractions and the horribly awful people that refused to let him think. Since he had arrived at Scotland Yard, he'd had barely any time to visit his mind palace, and it was beginning to annoy him. If he didn't visit regularly, things grew dark and dirty, and Sherlock absolutely hated 'spring cleaning'.
But today's trip was more than just scheduled maintenance or memory practice - it was data sorting, the kind that took hours on end and was therefore typically done during John's occasional shift at the London clinic. More specifically, the detective wanted to organize the room devoted to Molly Hudson, which was currently filled with heaps and piles of mismatched pieces of information.
He settled himself in an armchair by the fire, paying no mind to the clock, which tried in vain to remind him how rapidly lunch was approaching. He wasn't hungry, anyway, not that he usually was.
Pressing his palms together under his chin, Sherlock immersed himself in Molly's room. The first items to catch his attention belonged to a collection of her physical attributes: Her hair, her eyes, her height, her perfume, her shoe size. He placed them in a drawer and tried to move on, but for some reason her eyes begged more attention. He didn't understand why, as they didn't seem anything special at first. A warm shade of brown; he'd seen much more attractive specimens before. Somehow, though, hers were different, and he found himself spending far more time examining them than was entirely necessary. Moving on, he thought hurriedly, forcing the image into its drawer.
Next, he came across her conversation file; things she had said either to him or to others. He unearthed the very first conversation he had had with her, when she had played cards with him as his partner. Replaying her voice from his memory, he recalled how she had surprised him with her sudden wit that seemed to have come from nowhere. Originally labeling her as a shy girl with no backbone or intelligence, the detective had been even more unsettled when she had stood up for herself against Mycroft, literally parroting his own mind palace/hard drive philosophy to the entire room. For one thing, challenging a seasoned politician (especially one as aggravating as his older brother) was not something people normally did, at least, not over things like poorly-aimed insults. And, even so, to find somebody who understood the way his mind worked, somebody who followed his same principles and who actually thought, was... Incredible.
Finally, his thoughts turned to their most recent meeting, his declined invitation to dance. Somehow, the scathing rejection had made him admire Molly all the more - Wait. Go back.
...had made him admire Molly all the more.
Admire.
That was definitely the wrong word. He did not admire anybody; least of all a woman who quite clearly could not even stand to be in the same room as him. No, he must be getting hungry after all, causing his mind to slip.
He removed himself from his palace and opened his eyes to stare at the offending clock. Despite his efforts, it still managed to tell him that lunch was mere minutes away, and why wasn't he downstairs yet?
Against his will (and better judgement), Sherlock unlocked the study door and made his way to the dining room, dimly aware of a new thought beginning to form in the back of his mind. He pulled it out, took one look at it, and shoved it far into the dark recesses of the basement.
He was not apologizing to Molly Hudson. Not now, not ever.
He couldn't.
ooooo
Molly arrived at the lunch table fairly early, seating herself next to Janine with a smile. "Will your brother be joining us today?" She asked, gesturing towards the empty seat at the head of the table. "I believe he is usually seated by now, isn't he?"
"I thought so," Janine replied politely. "But he seems to have disappeared into the library."
Molly tried very hard not to indicate that she knew of any such engagement, but she was fit to burst. So she had been right after all; John and Mary were off to a perfect start! She had to say, she'd never seen a more perfect couple, and the two seemed to have been truly made for each other.
Janine, however, was in a slightly rotten mood. She still didn't approve of the Hudson family; their social connections and economic situation were simply horrid, not to mention the family itself. With a mother who refused to stop talking and three girls who were nowhere close to any standards of beauty or accomplishment, Janine was beginning to despise the Hudsons more and more. To make matters worse, she felt upstaged by all of them, particularly Molly, who was proving herself to be Sherlock's chief object of interest. The only thing exciting enough to pull her out of her misery was the arrival of Mycroft and Anthea. She watched as they descended the stairs together arm in arm, the former smiling affectionately down at the latter, who was laughing gaily.
"Oh, this is terrible of me," Anthea sighed as she sat down next to Janine, Mycroft in turn sitting across from her. "We really shouldn't laugh, Mycroft, it isn't decent."
"I believe, given the situation, decency can be overlooked," the diplomat replied with a mischievous grin, sending Anthea into another peal of laughter.
The next to arrive was Sherlock, who seated himself across from Molly to avoid being stuck next to his brother. It was not where he wanted to be, given his newfound discovery of his infatuation with her, but he had no choice if the next major crisis was to be avoided. Anyway, whether he liked it or not, he didn't want to spoil Mycroft's mood, lest his brother begin to tear at the detective out of spite.
Lunch began without either John or Mary, and was fifteen minutes begun when they both rushed in to take the only available seats left - he at the head of the table and she between the two Homes brothers.
"Oh, please forgive us, everyone," Mary began. "We were simply having a discussion and -"
"And we lost track of time," John finished for her. "Our sincerest apologies for deserting the luncheon table at such an hour." Mary flushed slightly in embarrassment, but John nodded with a smile to reassure her.
"It's perfectly alright with me," Janine declared. "Seeing as the guests of honor have only a few hours left to spend in our company."
"Indeed," Mycroft added, and Anthea nodded in agreement. Sherlock remained sullenly silent.
Lunch passed rather quickly, filled with interesting conversation and lively debates on behalf of everyone but Sherlock, who was still trying to come to terms with himself. At last, it was time to separate again, and the party dispersed as quickly as it had reconvened. Mycroft and Anthea left for the gardens, Mary and John returned to the library, and Janine and Molly retired to the parlor for casual conversation before the Hudsons left for home. Still in a sour mood, Sherlock locked himself in the study again to brood.
A short while later, the carriage was prepared and loaded, and Molly was sent to fetch her sister. She quietly knocked on the library door, pushing the huge oak panels open gently when she heard a "Come in," from inside.
John and Mary were seated next to each other on the sofa, a large medical encyclopedia spread out across their laps, featuring a detailed diagram of the brain. "Oh, hello, Molly," both said at once, prompting a flush to spread across both countenances.
Molly smiled awkwardly. "Mary, the carriage is ready for us, it's time to say goodbye."
"Oh! I'd almost forgotten," Mary cried, setting the book aside and leaping up from her seat. John followed hastily, wishing the two a safe journey home and expressing his delight in their stay. He escorted them into the foyer, where the rest of the group was gathered to say their goodbyes as well.
Molly and Mary said their goodbyes, too, relieved to be heading home. John, ever the gracious host, accompanied them down the drive to the carriage, and Molly was rendered speechless as she watched Mary give him a quick peck on the cheek before closing the carriage door. She waved to him as the coach pulled out of the driveway, and to her sister's delight, the doctor waved back, a huge grin stretched across his features.
"Oh, I do so hope we'll see them again soon," Mary sighed.
"Me, too," Molly said quietly, and she found she meant the words wholeheartedly.
ooooo
After the girls had left, Mycroft and Anthea again returned to the garden path, content to simply wander until it was time for tea. The pair lapsed in and out of conversation, occasionally choosing to enjoy each other's company in comfortable silence, a luxury not usually afforded to either individual. One such period had just begun when they heard John calling them from a distance behind them.
"Mycroft!" He summoned from the front steps of the house. "There's a letter for you!"
Now, Mycroft was not a social man by nature, and as such letters addressed to him typically involved broken treaties, assassination threats, and other such mishaps that commonly occurred within the British government. These matters required large amounts of paperwork and... shall we say... persuasion to fix, which in turn meant hours of sitting at a desk surrounded by countless files. Ever the diplomat, Mycroft would never complain, but he simply despised his work sometimes, especially when he had to work long into the night, which was more often than he'd care to admit. Furthermore, the thought of spending such a night when he was supposed to be on temporary leave was appalling, and the realization that he would have to leave Anthea's company for an empty, lonely study was even more so.
All of this contributed to the scowl that now darkened the government official's face as he led Anthea back towards the front steps. When they reached John, Mycroft took the letter, opened it, scanned the first few lines, and sighed.
"Is everything alright?" Anthea asked.
"I'm afraid I shall have to retire early," Mycroft began. "It seems there is a problem back in London that requires my immediate attention. Thank you, Dr. Watson, for the post. Good day, Anthea." Reluctantly, he slipped the letter into his pocket and started for the study, resigning himself to a very, very long afternoon. Really, must the Prime Minister displease so many assassins? He was finding the cleanup quite tiresome.
Anthea watched him go, wishing she might help but knowing he would never allow her to do so. Instead, she turned to John, saying, "Brother dear, remember that discussion we had in the kitchen this morning? A bottle of Vintage Marquis, if you don't mind."
John began to make his way to the kitchen with his eldest sister in tow, calling over his shoulder, "Please tell me it isn't for yourself, Thea."
Anthea laughed. "Me? A brandy drinker? I don't think so, John. You've nothing to worry about!"
John sighed, shaking his head. When at last they arrived, he asked one of the resident chefs if he would procure the bottle, and it was brought up within minutes. The doctor handed it to Anthea suspiciously, unsure as to what she might need it for if not for herself.
"Thank you, John," she gave him her best smile. "I'll take care of the rest."
John muttered something and shook his head again before turning in the direction of the sitting room, leaving Anthea alone amidst the flurry of activity. When he was out of earshot, she turned to the nearest maid and asked if she might have access to a decanter. The maid gave her an odd look, but complied, bringing a small crystal model to her. Anthea thanked her and found herself a small spot of countertop in the corner, pouring some of the brandy into the container. She swirled it around a bit, then requested a glass, into which she transferred a healthy amount. Then, she placed the items back onto the counter and carried the glass with her upstairs to her room, where she sat at her desk and proceeded to write a note. She brought both items with her to the closed door of the study, setting them down in front of the threshold gently, so as not to make any noise. Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly on the wood twice, escaping up the stairs again before the door opened. When she was safely back in her room again, Anthea smiled to herself. It was the least she could do, and besides, she hated paperwork, too.
ooooo
Mycroft held his head in his hands, elbows leaning on the edge of the oak desk. He had been working for only an hour, yet he was already feeling the effects of sitting for too long. So when he heard a knock reverberate through the stale air of the study, it was with relief that he excused himself from his chair to cross the room and answer the door. However, it was with great confusion that he welcomed himself to the sight of an empty hallway. He examined the hallway throughly, even peering up the stairs, but saw no one, and was about to close the door again when he noticed a small cup sitting at his feet, a note pinned under it.
Grinning, he picked up the cup and the note, bringing them back inside the study to the desk where he sat. He didn't have to read the note to know who the brandy was from, but he found himself reading the small slip of paper anyway.
A little something to help you restore balance to the universe. -Anthea
He took a sip of the drink, suddenly feeling a little more motivated than before. He figured if he hurried, he might be able to finish in time to join the others in the drawing room after dinner - oh, who was he kidding, really? He'd rush to see her again before she retired for the night.
Under any other circumstances, this realization would have upset him greatly. It was sentimental, it was petty, and it clearly went against half of what he believed himself.
This time, if he was to be quite honest with himself, he didn't care.
ooooo
Thank you, my loyal readers, for your patience!
I do so love to hear from you, so please, by all means, review, review, review!
~London Belle