Sitting in the carriage on the way back to Baskerville, Mary kept to herself while Molly worried herself sick over the mess she had created. Lestrade, pent up in the middle of a drama he didn't even realize was happening, did his best to cheer the girls up, but failed miserably.
"So, we'll pack your things tomorrow morning, then - we should arrive in time for luncheon," he said brightly, but received only distracted nods in return. "Don't worry about Lady Holmes; despite what Sherlock says, she really is lovely. Excellent manners, for sure."
"I trust your judgement," Molly muttered to herself, her chest tightening as the carriage slowed to a stop.
After a quick goodnight and thank you, both girls hurried upstairs to their rooms, leaving a worried Greg behind in the foyer. Honestly, the DI was still annoyed with himself for not remembering to check whether John had asked Sarah to come, but he was more concerned about the accepted invitation to Netherfield. Attempting to separate Molly from her sister was dangerous; attempting to re-introduce her to Sherlock would be suicidal, but it had to be done.
Really, those two were beginning to get on his nerves.
ooooo
"Molly, it's fine; I promise I'm not mad."
"It is not fine! She wasn't supposed to be there, and I thought it would be a good idea for you to see each other again - oh, when I get my hands on Sherlock -"
"Molly!" Mary said sternly, and her sister's tone surprised her so much that Molly instantly fell silent. "I'm not mad, and I know it wasn't your fault. You should have told me John would be there; you know I would have gone anyway, but I know Sarah was never supposed to have come. Now, whether Sherlock had anything to do with it, I'm not sure, but I absolutely forbid you to discuss the subject at Netherfield. John invited us to his estate; you can't just go around accusing the others for things they may or may not have done."
"Do you suppose Janine forced her to come?"
"If you're going to gossip about everyone in the entire house, then I'll stay behind."
Molly rolled her eyes. "If you insist."
"Thank you," Mary smiled; victory was hers yet again. "And promise me you'll make an effort to be nice to Sherlock. I know you don't believe me, but you'll break his heart, if you're not careful."
"Heart? He doesn't have a heart," Molly scoffed. "His ego swallowed it up years ago."
Mary sighed. "Greg was right," she muttered under her breath, and a curious Molly asked her what she had said. "Nothing, just that it's been a long night. If you need any help packing tomorrow, you know where to find me."
"I do; thank you. Goodnight," Molly said, frowning as she closed her sister's door. Why did she feel as if she was missing something?
ooooo
"Sherlock! Get down here now."
"I can't, John, not until the acid comes to a boil!" The detective called over his shoulder, running from one side of the makeshift lab to the other, his ragged lab coat trailing behind.
"Why is there acid in my attic? I told you, you can do whatever you like up here but no fire, no corpses and absolutely no acid!"
"Calm down, it's a new, weaker concentration I've discovered; shouldn't dissolve through more than two inches of metal."
"The attic isn't made of two inches of solid metal, you git!" John paused, taking a deep breath. "Why don't you put the acid away and come downstairs; Lestrade is here with the Hudsons."
"Lestrade can wait," the detective muttered, yanking his goggles down over his forehead as he reached for a beaker.
"Sure, Lestrade can wait, but did you hear me? Mary and Molly are here!"
"John, acid," Sherlock reminded his friend impatiently.
"Do I need to get your brother?"
"He does so appreciate it when I singe his ties," Sherlock mused, pouring the acid into the beaker, which shattered on contact. As the entire bottom half of the glass vessel crashed into the larger cauldron beneath it, John sighed. "Are you finished now?"
Sherlock threw his coat and glasses onto the nearest available table and turned to face the doctor, utterly disheveled. "What is so very important that it could not wait for acid?"
"Sherlock, you've got to fix that tunnel vision," John said, shaking his head. "Give yourself ten minutes to look presentable, then come downstairs. Mary and Molly are here with Lestrade, and we're all waiting for you."
Sherlock glanced down at himself, wrenched his jacket and shirt collar straight, ran a hand though his hair, and started down the stairs in thirty seconds flat. "Come on, John," he called over his shoulder, making his way down the hall. "You know how very cranky my brother gets." John rolled his eyes, straightening his own jacket before following after the detective.
Downstairs, Lestrade struggled to heft both Mary's and Molly's trunks up the stairs simultaneously, refusing any help (which says a lot, really, as even Mycroft offered his services after watching the DI for a mere five minutes). Molly tried demanding, threatening, pleading; not even Mary could get him to admit defeat, and she tried flat-out begging.
Of course, the detective currently trying to pass Lestrade on the staircase thought the entire matter was quite the spectacle. As he approached the scene, he opened his mouth to comment on the lack of forethought involved, but John intervened before he could say anything.
"One word, and I'll give the skull to Mycroft."
"Are you in need of any assistance, Inspector?" The question sounded pained, and John grinned smugly.
"Alright, everyone, let's settle in the drawing room," he suggested. "Luncheon will be ready soon."
ooooo
Molly had to admit, it was nice to have everyone in the same place again. She missed having next-door neighbors to talk to and parties to attend, and something told her Mary felt the same way. Between Anthea and John, her sister was constantly occupied with some conversation or another, and Molly breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.
Molly figured it would be best to keep to herself; she didn't want anything to distract her from keeping an eye on Mary. She pulled a book at random off of the towering bookshelves which lined one wall of the cozy drawing room and made herself comfortable on the window seat, the only point in the room from which one could observe everything. Pretending to read the medical textbook (titled The Wonders of Pathology: Discovering the Human Anatomy), Molly examined both John and Mary closely, ready to intervene should things get out of hand.
As the minutes passed, Molly began to shift her attention to the others; months of separation had made her curious. Janine was exactly as she had been back at Scotland Yard, overdressed and trying desperately to impress a stony Sherlock, who politely refused to indulge his unwanted admirer. John was as bright and happy as Molly had ever seen him, though the extra lines in his forehead were visible even from her position across the room. Anthea seemed as pretty and kind as ever, and Molly couldn't help but compare her own unrefined manners and plain wardrobe and feel a little envy. Finally, she turned her attention to Mycroft, where she found little, if any, difference, excepting one small expression. Every now and then, particularly when she would address him directly, he smiled at Anthea, but only when he was sure she wasn't looking. Molly decided that those two deserved further study, but for now she needed to return her focus to Mary.
Ten more minutes went by, and eventually Molly became so absorbed in her sister that she didn't even notice Sherlock sit down on the other side of the window seat.
"Do you study in the field?" He asked quietly, and she jumped.
"Excuse me?"
"My apologies; your book caught my attention. Do you practice?"
Molly glanced down at the thick, green volume. "Oh, no. I thought it looked interesting."
"And do you frequently read medical texts for pleasure?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. Molly's shoulders slumped in response, and he rushed to clarify. "I also prefer literature over people. People can tend to be quite dull, while books... Books are much better company."
"Sometimes, yes," Molly sighed. "Then again, people are usually more interesting than 'the anatomy of the average male frontal lobe.' "
"Lateral, polar, orbital, and medial," Sherlock supplied, and Molly stared at him in confusion.
"John's the doctor; not you," she said, and Sherlock grinned.
"With all due respect, John isn't the genius."
"Is that so?" Molly asked, closing the heavy text and placing it beside her. "He seems fairly competent to me."
"Competent, yes, but could he tell you that that particular edition was printed in Germany, or that it's thirty years old?"
"Sherlock Holmes: The Famous Detective; I see it now," Molly said, cracking open the book's cover to check the publication information. "Anything else?"
"Personally, chapter twenty two is one of my favorites; the prefrontal cortex is something I find most fascinating."
"Are you quite sure you didn't enroll in medical school by mistake?"
Before Sherlock could reply, Mary approached, her arms piled high with coats and scarves. "I apologize for interrupting; some of us were going for a walk in the garden, would you like to come?"
"Please," Molly said quickly, standing. She tried not to roll her eyes as Sherlock nodded and stood, too - couldn't he tell an excuse when he saw one?
As Mary tried to locate Molly's navy peacoat in the pile, it swayed precariously left, then right, then toppled over - right into Sherlock's outstretched arms. "Allow me."
Molly eyed the detective suspiciously as she neatly plucked her coat from his arms. "Thank you."
Creases from sitting, matching perfume, relatively new. Sherlock easily pulled Mary's cream-colored coat from the bottom and handed it to her. Draping John's army green jacket over one arm, he offered Janine her cloak and gave Lestrade his wool overcoat before finally slipping his signature black coat and blue scarf on.
Mary insisted Molly wait for everyone else, and Molly smiled when she and John paired up immediately. Janine, as usual, refused to give up her prized space beside Sherlock, so Molly chose to walk next to Lestrade.
Upon entering the garden, Molly realized that the path was wide enough for only five, and she, being at the back of the procession, became the extra sixth. Sherlock, who (now, more than ever) deeply wished Janine had decided to stay inside, tried to initiate conversation, but his efforts were either compromised by the cumbersome manner of walking with his head turned the other way or by Janine herself, who refused to let Molly answer a single question without sharing her own (obviously better) opinion.
"Sherlock, why are you - Molly!" John had been so occupied with Mary that he hadn't realized who was trailing behind them, and Molly now saw the perfect excuse to leave. "Have you been back there this entire time?"
"It's nothing, John, really; I was about to prepare for dinner, anyway."
"No, I insist! Here, the path splits up ahead; will you be alright until then?"
"I appreciate your concern, but the chill really is starting to get to me - I think I'll warm myself up inside," Molly said gleefully, eager to escape. For a moment, she caught Greg's eye, and he seemed... Pained?
"Would you prefer an escort?" Sherlock intervened suddenly, and Janine tightened her hold on his arm by a tiny fraction.
"Thank you, but I'll be quite alright by myself. Have a lovely afternoon!" She called over her shoulder as she started back towards the house, smiling at her own sheer brilliance.
Break his heart? Fracture his narcissism, maybe.
ooooo
Mycroft values peace and quiet. In his line of work, there isn't much of that; the elections and political warfare often take over before he can breathe, let alone think. He doesn't usually find it at home, either, wherever home may be; there's always people, and people make too much noise. And then there's Sherlock, the only man Mycroft has ever met who violently abhors anything and everything that doesn't involve adrenaline, danger, criminals, or all three combined. Therefore, it makes sense that Mycroft would be a very happy man, seeing as the garden party had left him all alone in the large, empty drawing room.
Well, almost empty.
Mycroft may as well have been by his lonesome; Anthea made no noise except the occasional rustling of the pages in her book. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appreciative, even grateful for the silence, but instead he felt restless. He left his chair to contemplate the view from one of the floor to ceiling windows, then grew tired and chose to peruse the nearest bookshelf. There were textbooks, scientific and medical journals, and a few fiction pieces scattered throughout, but nothing Mycroft considered worth his time, and so he reluctantly returned to his armchair.
"Can't sit still?" Anthea asked without looking up.
Mycroft sighed. He was being ridiculous; no better than Sherlock when in a fit. "It would seem so."
"What's bothering you?" She asked, closing her own book and resting it on the side table next to her chair. "Is it Paris? Of all things to worry about, that should be last on your list. You've dealt with worse - but just in case, don't hesitate to send for help if necessary. I'll be happy to make them see reason!"
Mycroft grinned. Should he ask her now, or after dinner? Of course, he'd rather ask next week or even next month, but he had to do it today, before it was too late. How many times had he gone over exactly what he wanted to say, and now he couldn't even find a single word? "An interesting suggestion, but those imbeciles are hardly worth your time."
Anthea laughed. "You just don't want me around to ruin the negotiation - what a drag I'd be, can you imagine? Sailing into the big, boring meeting to rescue you on my way to the Eiffel Tower, how utterly dreadful!"
"The Eiffel Tower? I'm surprised. Not Notre Dame?"
"Silly Mycroft - the Queen of Versailles does not have time for simple pigeons!" Anthea exclaimed, standing with a royal curtsy.
"And what does Her Majesty think of the Catacombs?
"Ghastly graves and hideous skulls - how terrifying!" She shrieked, pretending to swoon. Mycroft, who had attended one too many stressful dinner parties in his lifetime, mistook the actress for an actual damsel in distress and instinctually thrust an arm out, neatly catching her around the waist.
"See? Look at us - wouldn't we be perfect at all the Parisian balls?" She grinned.
"Those things?" Mycroft said with disdain. "Those balls are no place for you - you'd be bored to pieces within fifteen minutes. No, you'll enjoy yourself at Versailles, I'm sure."
"Versailles? Are you going to tell me the King of Versailles knew your great grandfather?"
"An acquaintance of my mother's, actually - we use the palace for parties from time to time."
"You use the palace?" Anthea asked in awe. "Is it really as pretty as the books say it is?"
"Prettier, if encyclopedias are anything to go by - they never do the curtains justice. Versailles it is, then; I'll make the reservations tomorrow," he said, and Anthea frowned.
"Mycroft, for a moment I thought you were sincere."
"I am. Shall I request a table for dinner, as well?"
Anthea disentangled herself, still confused. "I don't understand."
"If you happen to be available, I am requesting your presence in Paris. There is a ticket and an itinerary for you, should you choose to accept, and -"
"Me? You're not saying you want me to come to Paris with you?" Anthea asked, eyes wide.
Mycroft frowned. "That is exactly what I'm saying. Is something wrong?"
"You really do mean Paris?" Anthea grew quiet, and Mycroft grew worried. She was supposed to say either 'yes' or 'absolutely not' and as far as he was concerned, there was no in-between, so why did she look so... pale?
He waited for what felt like an eternity before attempting to fix the situation. "I understand if the prospect seems insipid, considering it is still a professional venture, and if you would prefer spending the time at home, arrangements can be made."
A pause.
"Mycroft Holmes, you are the most utterly impossible human being ever to walk this earth!"
Mycroft blinked, slightly stunned. "I apologize -" he began, but Anthea shook her head and so he stopped, bracing himself for a tirade.
"To think that of all things, I would decline an offer like that - honestly, sometimes I wonder whether all those politics are rotting the brain right out of that enormously dense head of yours!"
Stare. Blink. Process. Mycroft froze for a solid minute, utterly confused.
After another minute had gone by, Anthea smiled. "Yes," she said. "Of course I'll come."
Another blink, and Mycroft remembered how to form sentences. "You will."
"Yes," Anthea nodded. "I will." A flash outside caught her eye, and she turned to the window just as Molly approached the side door. Figuring Mycroft wouldn't know what to do with himself should anyone interrupt, and wanting to preserve his dignity, she decided to leave the rest of the matter until after dinner. "Thank you," she added, and with a quick peck on the cheek, she was out of the room and down the hall before Mycroft could think to stop her.
ooooo
Lady Amelia arrived half an hour before dinner, which vexed Sherlock no end. Was the woman ever late? And furthermore, why did she need a welcoming in advance? After saying hello and ushering her inside, John had dragged both boys downstairs to greet their mother under a pre-established collection of colorfully worded threats, sending Sherlock into a sulk and Mycroft into an eye-rolling, sighing frenzy.
And to make matters worse, it seemed that she was here solely to embarrass both of her boys, which, while entertaining when the subject is your brother, becomes mildly less so when she turns on you. (Of course, if you're John Watson, stories of tiny Sherlock and tiny Mycroft fighting over who would be the first to try the new cuff links are nothing short of priceless.)
As they waited for the others to come downstairs for dinner, John suddenly realized he'd forgotten to mention Molly and Mary. Lady Amelia had met Anthea and Janine a few times before, but the Hudsons... Well, there was no telling how she might react.
"Amelia," he began nervously. "I'm afraid I neglected to inform you earlier of -"
He was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. "John, do let me see your sisters first; it's been proper ages since I've called."
Sherlock listened to the pair of feet coming down the steps. He'd been here long enough with the Watsons to know their treads, and that was not one of them. It was light, lighter than even Anthea's, and sounded steady and even... Most likely Mary. Then came another, this one lighter still - Molly.
"Of course, but this might cause a bit of a problem -" John tried again, but Lady Amelia wouldn't listen.
"You worry too much, John! Just like Mycroft; whether it was Sherlock's tie or the entire nation, you always did worry excessively, dear. It makes wrinkles, which are unsightly and particularly undesirable when one is wife-shopping, you know."
"I intend to look out for the wrinkles, Mother," Mycroft sighed, cringing at the term 'wife-shopping'.
Thankfully (or unfortunately; Sherlock was torn), Mary and Molly chose that moment to enter the room, Anthea and Janine close behind them. The three quickly chose their seats, leaving Molly the most terrifying spot in the entire room: Across from Sherlock, between Mycroft and Lady Amelia.
Given her dire situation, Molly thought it might be best to keep as quiet as possible and speak only when spoken to, as being surrounded by two Holmes was enough; she'd have to wait and see how she liked their mother.
Alas, Lady Amelia had different ideas.
"John? Why was I not informed you had other guests?" She asked, sounding somewhere between surprised and annoyed.
John sighed. "Amelia, these are the Hudsons; Mary and Molly. Mary and Molly, Lady Amelia Holmes of Bennet Estate."
"Charmed," she said icily, slightly inclining her head towards Mary, who smiled sweetly in return.
Molly was reminded of Greg's words earlier; stories of threats centered around the very woman sitting next to her came flooding back.
The man might be on to something.
ooooo
Lady Holmes and our darling Mythea, at last! I do hope it was worth the wait.
In response to previous reviews:
Black Night: Lovely to have you back, dear! About Janine; well, I suppose every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain, and if I'm being completely honest with you a matchmaking Lestrade is absolutely one of my most favorite characters to write! (As is a clueless Sherlock, but you already knew that.) I'm picturing my Lady Holmes as snobby to a certain degree; more on that next chapter. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise!
FreakishlyGeekilyMe: Mythea at last! There's plenty more on the way, mind you, but I made sure to extend that part especially for you! I'll leave Mummy Holmes to your own judgement; she'll have a starring role in the next chapter, and I think we'll be seeing more of Janine before Netherfield is over... Moriarty is coming, too, though I haven't yet decided whether he's next chapter or the one after.
The-Scorpio-Holmes-Sister-221B: John and Mary may be off to a bit of a rocky start, but they'll get there, I promise! (Lestrade will take care of that, thank you very much.)
CloudCuckooLandHasAQueen: More nerves are on the way, I assure you! (And some embarrassment, but that's part of the package.)
Pipsis: Thank you so much! More Mummy Holmes to come!
OpalSkyLoveDivine: Thank you! There will absolutely be more awkward Molly and Sherlock, and he will (eventually) find out about the letter, though I haven't exactly worked out how yet. I do try to use Sherlock's experimental mentality towards Molly as a similarity between him and Darcy, thank you for that also!
Until next chapter,
~London Belle