"Thank you," Molly mumbled with her mouth still full of a few hair pins as Sherlock stepped away from lacing her up. She secured the last couple of strands of hair and then began working at the rest of her outfit. "I'll just get the tea started for us when I'm done."
"Excellent," Sherlock stated as he stared out the window while finishing with his necktie.
Molly continued fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of her blouse as she left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. She was still getting used to the fact that it was so much quieter here at Baker Street now that it was just her and Sherlock. She'd become accustomed to having her family around as well, and this felt so different. Almost as if it made the whole thing much more real.
It was a lovely sort of reality though. Molly smiled to herself as she filled the kettle. These simple little morning routines had quickly become pleasant moments for the two of them. They would wash and dress, Sherlock assisting her when needed, they would have tea or coffee together and perhaps a bit of breakfast if Molly could persuade him. It was often times rather quiet. There wasn't always lively chatter between them, but there didn't need to be. They were easily in tune, without the need for many words.
Not that there was never conversation. Molly and Sherlock certainly both enjoyed similar activities and topics. Sometimes Sherlock wanted to discuss a case, either one he'd just solved or one he was currently working out. And sometimes Molly would share the notes she'd taken on a recent lecture offered at Bart's, or perhaps an interesting medical study she'd read. The truth was, the two of them were able to coexist quite easily and happily.
In fact, some things hadn't even changed from when Molly's family was there. Once they were gone, Molly had asked if they should begin moving her things upstairs. Sherlock's response surprised her. He had said it would be silly to go to all that trouble. Molly was settled in his room and perfectly comfortable. He insisted that he barely slept a full night, and when he did require sleep he would be perfectly comfortable on the couch. She tried to argue that surely he'd like his private space back, but he absolutely insisted that this is how it should be.
Molly dropped one sugar into his cup and slid it toward him as he emerged from the bedroom, still straightening his suit jacket and looking devastatingly handsome as usual. He lifted the cup to his perfectly contoured lips, sipped, and then emitted a satisfied sigh.
"Perfect, thank you," he said softly and went to take a seat by the fireplace.
"No problem," Molly answered in her own soft tone. She prepared her own cup and went to take a seat.
"And where are you off to today?" Molly asked after a couple minutes of silence.
"Just a favor for Inspector Lestrade. Taking a look at a crime scene for him," Sherlock answered while scanning the paper.
"Ah, good. I'll be stopping by the Watson's at midday and bringing Mary some of that soup she likes. It'll be good for her, and I hate to think of her having to stand in the kitchen to prepare anything for Dr. Watson's dinner."
"Why can't he simply go without a full dinner till the baby is born?" Sherlock scoffed.
"Some people actually like to eat every day," Molly reminded him with a laugh.
"And clearly he does. Watson has gone up seven pounds since he and Mary were wed!"
Molly chuckled again, despite herself, clearly picturing the perturbed look on the doctor's face if he were present to hear the remark.
Soon Sherlock was up and readying himself to leave the flat. She supposed that their rituals when leaving weren't purely those of flatmates. They'd follow each other to the door, making sure the other person had whatever they'd need with them. Molly had insisted that Sherlock specify what time he thought he'd return home, just as he had done while her family was there. She couldn't help blushing when she explained that if she didn't know when he would come back and therefore if he was safe, she'd worry terribly. And to Sherlock's credit, he did do his best to keep her abreast of his whereabouts and schedule.
Molly strolled over to the door as Sherlock pulled his coat over his shoulders, holding his hat and gloves in her hands. He smiled as she silently handed the items over.
"I shall be back by this evening, I'm sure."
"Alright, I'll see you then. I'm sure I'll be back from the Watson's by then as well."
There was, as usual, a brief moment of hesitation, the age old indecision in a farewell between friends. But of course there was nothing else to be done except to exchange a few words when parting, and they both knew it. Another smile and "good morning" later, and Sherlock was out the door, leaving Molly alone in the flat.
She lingered in the sitting room for a while, pouring herself another cup of tea and sipping it slowly. Eventually, she got up and made her way back into the bedroom, sitting at her little study desk and picking up the anatomy textbook she had planned to look over while making soup for the Watsons. As soon as she opened to the last page she'd marked, she laughed aloud.
Molly happily took out a little note left by Sherlock, the now familiar cyphr covering the small slip of paper. She bit her lip and smiled, deciding she'd definitely reward herself after her chores by reading this. And then she smiled even wider as she thought about Sherlock finding the note she'd left for him in his trouser pocket.
Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back as he paced the burgled shop floor while Watson and Lestrade looked on. He knelt down for a moment, examined something on the floor, and then glanced around some more. He chuckled to himself a little before letting out a little sigh and looking over at the awaiting Inspector.
"Did absolutely none of you manage to notice the very obvious and very telling shoe prints that this individual left behind? He works in masonry! He is also approximately two hundred and ten pounds, six foot one, and slightly favors the right leg. That should give you a rather good start."
Lestrade cleared his throat and looked a bit sheepish. "Any chance you'd believe I was just testing you?"
"None at all, but if so, it was a rather clever test...especially for you lot." Sherlock grinned and stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. His expression shifted as he did, and a second later, he pulled his hand back out to produce a small folded piece of paper. This produced another grin.
Sherlock unfolded the note and scanned the page. "Well played," he murmured while scanning the page. Finally he looked up to see both Watson and Lestrade staring at him in question.
"Find something amusing in your pocket, did you?" Watson asked.
Sherlock gave them a self-satisfied smile while folding the paper back up and returning it to his pocket. "Oh, just a clever little game that Mrs. Holmes and I have taken to playing this past week. Nothing you gentlemen would understand.
Watson grinned teasingly. "Surely it's meant for your eyes only, eh, Holmes?"
Sherlock almost shot back a biting comment about how they were all medical and scientific messages and of the utmost professionalism but then he remembered that Lestrade was present. Besides, he supposed the message he'd left for her today wasn't all business. He and Molly had been exchanging coded messages to each other for day, spending the evenings they had together confirming the decoding. Molly had only beaten him twice thus far, but she was improving quickly.
His lips lifted in what looked like a secret smile. "Ah yes, well, I'm sure you'd agree that a bit of intrigue can do wonders for a marriage."
"Intriguing indeed," Watson said under his breath.
Sherlock gave his friend a covert glare before turning to Lestrade and getting back to the crime scene at hand.
Though, he had to admit, he was more than a little excited to get in the carriage and begin decoding Molly's latest note.
Molly had just finished setting up some cheese and bread and apple slices when Sherlock came through the door. She was pleased to see his smile upon entering the kitchen.
"Ah, this'll be just the thing. I could use a little something in my stomach." He sat down and began picking at the pieces of bread right away.
"Oh good! I was hoping you'd want some. I was just going to make some tea and settle in by the fire. Would you like a cup?"
"You have to ask?" Sherlock said with a mouth full of bread.
And thus began another almost picturesquely pleasant evening at 221B Baker Street. Molly changed into a tea gown, and Sherlock into his dressing gown. They sat by the fire munching and sipping and each reading something quietly. After fifteen or twenty minutes, Molly set her cup down and spoke excitedly.
"Oh! So how long did it take you today?" she asked with a glimmer in her eyes.
Sherlock set his paper aside while grinning confidently. "Seven minutes."
"Ugh!" Molly gave her leg a little slap in frustration. "Blast, I was so close today!"
"How long?"
"Eight minutes. But I probably would have beaten you if you hadn't given me a message in another language!" She laughed.
Sherlock nodded slowly. "Ah yes…and what was my message exactly?" He touched his fingertips together, steepling them in front of his lips.
Molly's brow rose as she crossed her arms in pride. "Lyrics from La Boheme, of course. How could I mistake that?" She paused, looking down before smiling at him again. "I rather enjoyed that actually. I'm a bit sorry that I chose something so mundane!"
"Mundane?" Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Oh I wouldn't say that. Chemical combinations that are deadly when inhaled? I find that to be rather invigorating! Right on par with lyrics from La Boheme, I should say."
They both laughed for a moment before silence settled again. There was even something like a shy smile that formed on Sherlock's lips just briefly after he took another sip of tea. He set the cup down again and drew breath before speaking again.
"On another note, I thought I should make you aware of an upcoming event. It is a few months off and surely a bit of a bore, but we'll be obligated to attend. My brother will be hosting a rather lavish party for our parents fortieth wedding anniversary."
"Oh, how lovely," Molly said, smiling happily at the prospect, despite it being rather far off.
"Yes, well I'll more than likely delete the information between now and then and my brother will come breaking down my door the night of! Best if you keep track of the date and plan for our attending." He acted as if he couldn't be bothered, but there was also something peeking through in his tone. Something hidden between the lines. Anticipation perhaps?
"I'm very glad you told me," Molly said genuinely. "I'll very much look forward to attending. And of course I'll come up with a thoughtful gift as well."
"Our presence isn't the gift?" Sherlock asked.
Molly chuckled. "Perhaps it will have to be, seeing as you may not be able to fit your ego and a gift through the door!"
He narrowed his eyes with a playful smirk. "Hopefully your gift will be to have improved your dancing abilities since the last time I witnessed them."
Molly's jaw dropped in amused indignation. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Holmes! My dancing was perfectly fine, thank you!"
"Perfectly fine, hm? Yes, perfectly fine is a rather lofty standard to have reached. Surely there's no need for improvement once one has reached such a level!" Sherlock drawled sarcastically.
"Alright alright!" Molly said, unable to hold back some of her laughter. "I admit I wasn't perfect back then. But I'll have you know that I have improved vastly! I practiced since you were last in the country." She held her chin up a bit in pride.
Sherlock chuckled low as he had a puff of his pipe. "I'm sure you have, Miss Hooper, seeing as there were such frequent balls and parties for you to hone your skills!"
Molly rolled her eyes. "I didn't need balls to practice!" She chewed her lip for a moment, realizing that she was less than thrilled to admit her methods. "I had um...my imaginary dance partner."
"Practicing without a partner?" Sherlock laughed again. "Oh yes, I can imagine the difference that has made!"
"I am much better!"
"I can't say I'm convinced."
"Well I am!"
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely!"
"Prove it."
Molly and Sherlock stared at each other for a moment before Molly finally opened her mouth again. "Pardon?"
Instead of answering right away, Sherlock got up from where he sat and walked over to his gramophone. He carefully got it set and started it playing a very simple waltz. He turned and walked back toward Molly and gave her a half smile as he extended his hand.
"I said, prove it," he repeated softly.
"Oh um," Molly began hesitantly. "Well, I suppose..."
She took his hand and got up from her seat, and quickly found her senses to be overtaken by him. His hand around her waist, the other holding her's tightly, her hand grasping his shoulder, and his face so close that she could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes. Molly had to swallow hard as those blue green eyes met her brown ones.
Before she could consider whether it was wise, she opened her mouth and voiced her thoughts aloud. "The last time we did this was...well, not such a pleasant occasion."
There was no mistaking the brief flash of realization in his eyes when he heard this mention of the past. "Yes well...we needn't worry about all that now." He cleared his throat and put on a small smile. "Let us see just how much you have improved, Miss Hooper." His tone was challenging but playful.
"And you consider yourself to be the expert?" Molly retorted with a smile as their feet began to move.
"I think there's little point in false modesty in regards to my dancing abilities."
Molly very much wished she could tease him further about his ego...but heaven help her, she was far too wrapped up in the moment. Because he was indeed like a dream to dance with. She'd never have said it out loud, seeing as his head might explode, but he had improved as well. He was an even more skilled partner than the last time they'd danced, many years ago. And even then, she had wished to stay in his arms forever.
"Hmm," he hummed as they floated around the small space available to them. "Smoother steps I suppose."
"Rather high praise," Molly said with a wag of her head.
"But as I recall, the spin used to give you a bit of trouble." Without warning, he pushed a bit on her waist and spun her outward with his other hand.
Molly almost kept in step, but when he drew her back in she returned with a bit too much force and she stumbled a bit, her weight leaning into his chest for a moment. She pulled back and righted herself, clearing her throat and feeling her face heat to a boiling point.
"I suppose the spin still trips me up a bit," she said with a brief glance up into his eyes.
Sherlock seemed to hesitate, and she thought his cheeks were a bit pink as well. "Yes, well, I imagine your invisible partner was less than cooperative with practicing the spin...the simple fool!"
Molly was put at ease again and they both laughed as Sherlock led them around the little room with a bit more enthusiasm.
"He couldn't possibly have had my wit or intelligence!" Sherlock added a bit breathlessly.
"Nothing like!"
"And surely he lacked my coordination as well!"
"Oh he was monstrously clumsy!" Molly said through giggles. "It was a disgrace, really!"
"And therefore it is wonder that you were able to progress even this far, to be dancing with such a partner all these years!"
Molly's laughter continued as the song slowed and their feet followed suit. They stayed there, still in their dancing stance as the room became completely free of the notes that had filled the air moments before, both of them breathing rapidly and staring at the other.
"Well," Sherlock finally breathed out. "I do hope at least this partner you were stuck with had his looks to recommend him, if not his talents."
Somehow their expressions had become serious, and Molly had to gulp another breath before licking her lips and answering softly. "Unfortunately for him, in that he fell short as well...particularly in comparison." Her eyes scanned his face as she spoke, drinking it in as he watched her with what seemed to be equal intensity.
They seemed locked like that, hands fused in place and eyes invisibly tethered to each other. Molly couldn't hear anything except the breaths they were both taking and the pounding of her own heart.
That is, until there came a pounding on the door of the flat.
Sherlock let go and was at the door in a flash, leaving Molly to perch her little hand on her hips and breath deeply, hoping to clear her head. A moment later Sherlock shut the door and walked back over.
"That was one of my irregulars delivering a message from Lestrade. It seems he's currently on the trail of a suspect and would like my assistance." The voice of Sherlock the detective had returned, and he seemed all business as he read the scribbled note in his hand.
"Ah, I see. Well, you'd better be off then," Molly said, with an added smile.
He looked up from the note and back at her. "Mrs. Hudson is home in case you should feel-"
"No no, I'll be fine, don't be silly!" Molly said, waving him off.
Sherlock nodded and then started to walk off, but then turned back. "Oh and the party for my parents, the invitation is..." He walked over to his desk and gestured to a haphazard pile. "It is definitely in here. Perhaps you could find it and keep track of the date and arrangements. I don't have time for such trifles."
"Of course. I'll find it, it's no trouble."
Sherlock barely waited for her to finish talking before giving her a quick smile and "thank you" and heading down the hall to change. Once the bedroom door shut, Molly turned to the pile of papers and chuckled to herself at the mess as she began thumbing through one by one.
There were seemingly endless case notes and experiment results, but finally, Molly caught sight of a smaller sheet of paper with some specially printed gold lettering. Sure enough, this was the invitation he'd spoken of. Once she'd lifted it off the pile though, what lay beneath it also stood out a bit.
She couldn't help picking up the thick envelope that bore the return address of a solicitor's office. It was already opened, so the sheets of paper that it contained were all too easy to pull out and take a peek at. Molly tugged them out just enough to read the bold words at the top- In Her Majesty's Court for Divorce and Matrimonial Causes.
Molly's head whirled around instinctively to make sure she was still alone, and then her widened eyes returned to the page. She gingerly removed them fully from the envelope and her eyes scanned the words. The details were all there, some of them all too familiar. Her eyes fell to her name, written neatly just after her husband's. the location of the marriage, the reason for dissolving the union. Molly could feel her heart pounding. It was almost like looking upon the face of a corpse in her likeness...like looking into the grim face of the future. She tried to remind herself to be a grown woman as she turned to the second page. But that was when her jaw truly dropped.
There, at the bottom of the second page, in the handwriting that was so familiar to her...was Sherlock's signature.
She stared and stared at the page, the swirling letters which were written in what looked like his usual lightning speed, almost as if he wanted to get it done quickly and move on to more important matters. Molly pressed her lips together as she felt an uncomfortable pressure building in her chest and throat.
Thankfully, the sound of Sherlock opening the bedroom door frightened her into a more sound mind. She quickly shoved the divorce papers under the pile and turned with the invitation in her hand.
"Ah good, you've found it among the chaos," he stated casually, and then went for his coat and hat.
"Yes, I've got it now and I'll take care of it," Molly said, giving him what she hoped was a convincing smile.
"Excellent. Now, I wouldn't advise waiting up, in case you were thinking of it. I may be rather late, considering that it is already half past eight."
"I wasn't planning on it actually," she answered quite honestly. "I think I'd very much like to get some rest."
"Right, well then, good night and I'll see you first thing, Miss Hooper." Sherlock smiled and gave his hat a little tip before quickly exiting.
Molly waited, rooted in that spot as she listened for his footsteps and subsequent opening and shutting of the door. After that, she peeked out the window to confirm that he was indeed walking briskly down the darkened street. Once she knew she was completely alone, Molly went back to the pile of papers and pulled out the ominous documents once again.
She took them and sat in Sherlock's chair, desperate for some sort of comfort that he could at least indirectly offer. She looked down in her lap and stared at the two items she held. There, on the left, was the elegant stationary with glittering letters that cordially invited Mr. and Mrs. Holmes to a fine evening of dining and dancing. And on the right was the document that promised to destroy everything about the existence of a Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.
Molly hadn't even become aware that her eyes had filled with tears until they began pouring out. Ironically, they fell upon the party invitation. This only added to her emotions and she began furiously wiping the moisture away with her sleeve while trying to sniff away any further tears from falling. She held up the now slightly soiled invitation and clasped her other hand over her mouth as she began to sob uncontrollably. She set both the invitation and divorce document aside on the desk behind her and laid her head on the arm of the chair...the chair that smelled so intoxicatingly of her husband's soap.
A fresh sob erupted and eventually Molly was forced to lift her head up again, lest she soak Sherlock's chair. She wiped at her face as she stared off into space for a moment, breathing heavily and feeling like she couldn't lift this suffocating weight from her chest. It was the weight of what was to come, and she'd been a fool to ignore it of late. Molly shook her head, thinking about how only minutes before she'd been blissfully waltzing with Sherlock and enjoying the feel of his hands upon her. The constant closeness and ease she'd settled into with him, it had to stop. Because the moment would come all too soon, when her entire life here with this man would come to a violent halt. And then she would truly be left with nothing. And had she really begun to fool herself into believing that there was something there beneath the surface in Sherlock's mind and heart? How could she have let herself be so deluded? She had literally seen the proof in the palm of her hand. He'd already willingly signed away his life with her. He had no doubts now, and obviously didn't anticipate having any in the future.
Grief very slowly began to turn to determination. Molly's tears gradually dried and her breathing became easier. Finally, she got up and carefully placed the divorce document back into its envelope and put it back in it's place among the pile of papers. She took the fancy invitation in hand and placed it where it would be visible on the mantel, right alongside Sherlock's skull.
After extinguishing the lamps in the sitting room and kitchen, she trudged down the hall to the bedroom that she'd quickly come to love. A few minutes later, as Molly settled in for the night and snuggled under the covers that didn't only smell of Sherlock now, but of her as well, she prayed for strength. She prayed for the strength to do what would hurt now, but be a kindness to herself in the months and years to come.
Tomorrow, a number of things would have to change.
