The Hilton, Uttar Predesh
"I'm sorry, we appear to be full," the receptionist spoke through his nose, looking at John and Mary and Lucia as if they'd crawled out from under a rock. John and Mary glanced sidelong at eachother. This one must have just been promoted from intern.
"We have a room," John insisted, holding the confirmation print-out.
"Are you certain you have the right hotel? There is a Holiday Inn Express not far from here-" heels across the marble floor echoed across the foyer, the receptionist straightened visibly, touching his tie.
"Miss Anthea, so good to see you again, I trust your accommodations are to your liking?"
"Oh yes, indeed," she nodded. "But I'd be much more comfortable if you had Mr. Holmes' friends settled in their suite as well."
The ginger receptionist paled considerably.
"I- um…Mr. Holmes?" Mary leaned over, looking to Anthea.
"He said they were booked," she said, bouncing Lucia on her hip. Anthea turned to the receptionist frowning.
"The Watson's are guests of Mr. Mycroft Holmes," the man seemed to tremble at this.
"Oh, yes, um, you are right, as always, Miss, um, a room, king size bed and-"
"I think you'll find it was a suite," Anthea interrupted.
"Uh- well, oh, yes, yes you are correct." Trembling hands attacked the keyboard and then two room keys were handed over. "Please, don't hesitate to call if you need anything, anything at all," he stuttered, palms sweating.
"Hm," Anthea raised an eyebrow before turning to John and Mary."Now, Mr. Watson, of course accommodations have been made for your daughter, there will be a trusted source to mind her during tonight's festivities, I have arranged for you to both to meet with her this afternoon." Anthea led them the elevator as she spoke, not even bothering to look after the bags; the receptionist snapped his fingers for a bellboy to fetch a luggage cart.
In short order, the hotel manager was leading them to their upgraded suite, apologizing profusely. Lucia babbled happily in her mother's arms. John and Mary exchanged gleeful smiles as the staff fairly tripped over themselves to see that everything was perfect for "Mr. Holmes' guests". Anthea winked at the Watson's as she left, the hotel Manager following after her, still trying to smooth over any misunderstanding.
"I still don't know what we're doing here," John said, stretching out on the bed in the master bedroom. Mary set Lucia in the playpen that had been brought up, having thoroughly inspected that it was clean (one can never be too careful).
"Just relax," she crawled up beside him, sighing deeply.
"What if it's a case?" he mumbled sleepily. Her finger came over his mouth.
"Shh. Just go to sleep. Babies and wife want to sleep." His hand came over her belly, soothing circles under her shirt, over her skin.
"Sherlock knows our flight got in."
"And he'll know that as I am five months pregnant I'm irritated and tired."
"I wouldn't count on it."
John's phone buzzed and he rolled his eyes.
"Told you so," he grumbled, squinting at the bright screen. Mary groaned, weary. Incessant pounding on the door made them both sit up quickly.
"Sherlock!"
John beat Mary to the door, yanking it open as Sherlock raised his hand again to knock. Molly stood beside him, out of breath from hurrying.
"Sorry, I told him to let you rest," she started but Sherlock pushed past John, patting the good doctor on his shoulder.
"Rest? What do they need rest for? They slept on the plane, obviously." Sherlock strode into the suite, smiling at Mary who offered her cheek in greeting. He pressed it before turning to the playpen where Lucia was standing. The door shut behind Molly, and she set her bags down as Sherlock lowered the gate of the pen.
"I see her motor skills have improved over the past four months," he picked her up swinging her above his head, beaming as she squealed in delight.
"She remembers you," Mary nodded.
"Aren't you going to say hello to Molly?" Sherlock queried, allowing Lucia to chew on his fingers.
"Don't rush her," Molly said but Mary was already turning to her, hugging her tightly. "You look beautiful," she gushed, hands cradling Mary's belly. "Ohh, is it a boy or a girl? Do you know yet?"
"Boy," John said, leaning over beside Mary and Molly laughed, drawing him close.
"Ohhhh, I missed you both."
"We missed you too,"
"Yes, yes, we all missed everyone; can we get down to business?" Sherlock interrupted them. "I expect John is wondering why I extended an invitation to the both of you, as well as Mycroft and Anthea to join Molly and I on our holiday." Mary, biting her lip, squeezed John's hand, trying to hide her smile. Molly seemed to share her smile. "As you know, there are few we regard as family, and as such, we wanted you here." John looked from the women to Sherlock, frowning.
"For…what?" Sherlock rocked on his heels, almost apprehensive. He looked at Molly, as if asking her permission and she nodded.
"There's been a murder, John-"
Mary let loose a string of curses, (Molly was sure there was some foreign words thrown in). Sherlock frowned.
"Was that wrong?" he looked at Molly who seemed just as confused.
"We uh, were expecting something less…usual," John said with a shrug. "But that's fine, it's been ages since we've had a good case, so come on, what's going on, who was killed?"
"Sanjeev Bassi."
"The polo player?" John frowned.
"Mm. His father is quite famous here, breeding race horses, pureblood Arabians, a lineage can be traced back down several hundred years."
Molly stepped forward, lifting the shopping bags she'd set by the door earlier.
"He hated the fact that Sanjeev didn't follow in his footsteps," she said. From her bags she pulled out files, audio tapes and photographs, laying them out on the coffee table. Mary, interest piqued, came to sit by her, sifting through the paperwork.
"Mr. Bassi is extremely old fashioned, arranged marriage for his son, had his entire life arranged. When Sanjeev decided he didn't want to breed horses, he'd rather play sport, Bassi was furious, very public altercation between the two of them."
"What about his wife?" John tapped a photograph of a beautiful young woman. "This is who Sanjeev was married to?"
Sherlock shook his head in response.
"Never married. They were engaged. Her name is Lalitamohana Goswami, but Sanjeev kept delaying and delaying as his career took him further from home, until finally, this past spring he broke it off entirely, now that his career was firmly established around the world." Mary was studying the picture of Lalitamohana, frowning.
"What do we know about her?" she asked.
"Not much. Traditional family, very wealthy," Sherlock replied. "She has a large dowry, it would have been a healthy match for both families. Her family sort of bid her dowry out, she's very sought after."
"Mr. Bassi was the one they approved of, then," Mary finished. Sherlock nodded in response. "How did she feel about Sanjeev?"
"I don't think she felt one way or the other about him," Molly shrugged. "She wasn't given the choice to accept or refuse, the parents made the choice for them."
John studied the picture of the young woman. She was very beautiful, dark eyes and smooth skin. Her choice of dress was traditional, or at least it appeared to be. Perhaps she wasn't as traditional as her parents either.
"But Sanjeev broke it off, any reason why? He's not as traditional as his father, did he not approve of her?" John asked.
"He didn't want an arranged marriage," Sherlock answered. "Hence the delay for so long. He hoped the Goswami's would get fed up with the constant delays and break it off."
"Did they disapprove of Sanjeev's career like his father?" Mary asked.
"They seemed comfortable with it, not thrilled, but not as offended as Mr. Bassi," Molly answered.
Setting the files aside, John sat back, lacing his fingers together.
"So where do we come in? Why are we here? If Mr. Bassi is concerned about a scandal, why hire an English detective?" Sherlock looked smug.
"I am the world' only Consulting Detective." Molly rolled her eyes, turning to Watson.
"Lalitamohana's family is very political, she's got at least three who are based in England as MPs, Mr. Bassi is an extremely influential man, and he's greatly respected. Each hold very prominent positions here and often correspond with royalty from around the world. There are rumors that someone, either Bassi or Goswami does not approve the match and aimed to kill both Sanjeev and Lalitamohana."
"They've already succeeded in one death," Sherlock said, tapping the photograph of Sanjeev's body (polo club between his temples). "An attempt was made on Lalitamohana a week ago. I was called upon yesterday to look into the case. Tonight there is a ball held in her parents honor, naturally, with all the extra guests, they have reason to be suspicious. As the Goswami's are political, it would only be natural that Mycroft and Anthea are here, his security detail is looking after Lalitamohana. Between the four of us, we should be able to track down her attacker and stop the second attempt."
"Have you seen the guest list?" John asked, holding up the stapled sheets of paper. "There must be over five hundred people here!"
"Hmm. All the more reason for us to be extra careful. And just as well there's four of us."
"We'll leave you two to sort out the details," Mary said. "I still need a dress for tonight, so Molly and I are going shopping." She grabbed the pathologist's hand, tugging her towards the door. "John, you have Lucia till I get back!"
"Yep," he kissed his wife goodbye before turning back to the papers spread out over the coffee table.
Anthea met Molly and Mary in the hallway.
"Didn't think I'd let you go shopping without me, did you?" she asked, and Mary was pleased to see a teasing smile gracing the PA's face.
"Mycroft being difficult?"
"Actually, he gave me time off," Anthea beamed.
"Our rooms aren't bugged are they?" Mary asked, suddenly realizing Anthea's timing, meeting them in the hall was rather exacting.
"Only the living room, sorry," Anthea shrugged. Mary rolled her eyes.
"Could be worse," Molly said. "You could have a very petulant consulting detective insisting on sharing a suite for the case."
"As if you mind," Anthea hit the button for the lift, smirking. Molly didn't answer, but her blush was telling.
Four boutique's later…
"So, tell me," Mary wriggled into another dress, already making a face at it. "How's Sherlock been?"
"What do you mean?" Molly frowned at the zipper, which was refusing to budge. "This one is no good Mary; you're not so little any more, why not just wear a sari?"
"I suppose," she sighed. Anthea smiled knowingly and hurried off to find something spectacular for Mrs. Watson. "You know what I mean," she said, once the PA was gone. "How are 'things'?"
"Things?" Molly tried to scoff. "I- w-well I mean- things are fine, wonderful, really, he's lovely- not- I mean he's been especially lovely since last year, since he got back, really, well not- I mean after he swore off getting high but-"
"Ugh," Mary rolled her eyes. "Molly, he kissed you!"
"Oh, well, I mean, I'd turned my head at the last minute so I'm sure he didn't mean to kiss me as long as he did-"
"Wait-wait-wait, I'm talking about the picture he sent us, with the invitation to join you two in India," Mary said, and narrowed her eyes, a suspecting smile growing. "He kissed you? Full on, lips and all?" Molly flushed red, realizing her error.
"Oh, uh, well I mean- like I said, I turned my head, so I'm sure it was just a coincidence that-"
"Sherlock Holmes doesn't believe in coincidences, something about the 'universe rarely being so lazy'," Mary waved her hand. "The thing is how do we get him to kiss you again?"
"What?!" Molly gasped. "No! I mean-"
"Don't you want to kiss him again?" Anthea returned, pushing all three of them into the family-size changing room with an armful of saris.
"Of course I do but-"
"Well then-"
"You need something smashing," Anthea said, helping Mary into one of the colorful frocks. "Something he isn't expecting," both turned to the PA, confused. "What? We are talking about Sherlock making a proper move, aren't we?"
"Well, hold on, what if he doesn't want to?!" Molly protested.
"Oh of course he does- not this color, I look like an aubergine, God," Mary wrinkled her nose at the dress.
"He's afraid to do anything definite because of what happened to you," Anthea said briskly, unwinding another frock for Mary. "Mycroft was the same way."
"He was? I mean, Sherlock, he is?" Molly echoed.
"Of course," Mary said. "He doesn't want to hurt you,"
"Hurt me?" Molly was confused.
"He doesn't want to go too fast, considering…" Anthea waved her hand. Molly was surprised. Suddenly shy, she folded her arms over herself. "It's rather insightful of him, really, and he's not wrong to take things slow, but it seems like you wouldn't mind a step or two in the right direction."
"I- I don't even know if he'd want me after what happened," Molly said. "I- my feelings, which have always been pretty obvious regarding him, they haven't changed I just…I don't-" she dropped her hands limply to her sides. "Why would he want me after everything?"
"Because you're still you," Anthea said firmly.
"But- I'm not- I'm not who I was," tears pricked Molly's eyes. The PA stopped helping Mary, moving to take Molly's hands.
"You're right, you're not," she squeezed her fingers. "You are stronger than you were before, these things tend to do that to us, but they don't change who we truly are, and you, Molly Hooper, still wear your silly sweaters, and you leave all your laundry in the dryer all week and pack the most ridiculous things for lunch. You've always been strong, Molly, and Sherlock's always admired that, I think what happened to you simply made you prove it to yourself." Anthea smiled warmly at her then. "If you love him, don't think that this tarnishes you, or makes you less-worthy of him. If anything, it means he has to work twice as hard to earn you, and you are worth every effort, don't doubt that." Sniffling, Molly's mouth pulled downward as she tried to stifle her tears.
"Hey, hey," Mary stepped down off the little stool in front of the mirror. "Come on," squeezing Molly's shoulder, she smiled brightly. "You're okay, so what do you say we find something that puts The World's Only Consulting Detective's jaw on the floor tonight?"
Lifting her head, Molly smiled through her tears, her face aglow.
"Yes," she nodded, laughing a little. "Hell, what have I got to lose?"