Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.

Chapter Fifty

By the next morning, as if by osmosis, news of the engagement seemed to have spread to the whole household. When Molly and Sherlock brought the boys down to breakfast, Andrew was first to offer his congratulations, when their paths crossed in the front hall. As the family entered the breakfast room, Sara and Michele looked up, smiling, from the task of supervising Katy and Charlie with their porridge, and gave their congratulations, too.

Fortunately, the 'happy couple' had already explained to William and Freddie, when the two boys burst into their room, that morning, that Mummy and Daddy were going to 'get married'. Freddie had never been to a wedding and William had only been to one – that of John and Mary – but he had been very young at the time and did not remember it at all.

'What does 'married' mean?' William had asked.

'It's when two people decide they love each other so much they want to spend the rest of their lives together,' Molly had explained. 'So they go to church, or sometimes to a Registry Office or even to a hotel or some other place,' – this was getting complicated, she thought – 'and they stand up, in front of everyone and make promises to each other, that they will stay together for the rest of their lives. And they sign a register and are given a piece of paper that says that they are married. And then they have a party.'

William thought about that for a while then nodded and said,

'Will Daddy go to the party? He doesn't really like parties.'

'On this occasion,' Sherlock replied, 'Daddy will go to the party.'

'And he will make a speech,' added Molly, which caused Sherlock to close his eyes and grimace, 'and he will dance with Mummy,' at which he opened his eyes and gave a half smile. Now, the dancing he could do. Both he and Mycroft had been taught to dance for the purpose of attending debutante balls, hunt balls and charity events. Their mother had insisted on it. And he actually quite enjoyed dancing. It was one of the few social activities that he did enjoy.

At Harrow, it being an all-boys school, social events had been arranged with a nearby girls' school and Sherlock's dance card was always full – partly because he was an excellent dancer but also because – unlike many of the other boys – he was not a groper. The young ladies appreciated that. That he never spoke to them, except to say 'thank you' at the end of each dance, was less appreciated, as was the fact that he never asked to see any of them outside of the formal social setting.

Some of them assumed he was gay, some thought he must have a girlfriend, somewhere, to whom he was totally committed, some thought he must have had his heart broken at some point and was still recovering from that and others thought he was a weirdo who just happened to be able to dance. Either way, they accepted he was off the market and didn't press the issue – except for one young lady, at a debutante's ball, when he was nineteen, who had tried to seduce him and then run from the room in tears when he had listed the names of all the other young men in the room with whom she had been intimate and suggested she visit a GUM clinic at her earliest convenience.

'That part I will look forward to,' he said, with relish.

'Really?' Molly exclaimed.

'Yes, really. I can dance, you know.'

'Oh, I can't!' she replied.

'Really?' he asked.

'Yes, really,' she mimicked him. 'It wasn't on the curriculum at my local comprehensive.'

'Then I'll teach you,' he replied, and kissed the end of her nose.

After breakfast, with Molly pushing Freddie in the buggy and William holding Sherlock's hand, they walked down to the village, arriving just as the four bells in the tower of St Mary the Virgin, began to ring, summoning the congregation to the service.

St Mary's was, essentially, a Norman church, as evidenced by the square tower, dating from the Eleventh Century. The cedar-shingled 'splay-foot' or chamfered' spire had been added later. The church was built from stone, flint and brick, which was partly rendered, and had a tiled roof. The layout consisted of a nave with a south aisle, which had four narrow, stained glass windows, a timber-framed north porch, the chancel, with a three-light window, depicting the Virgin Mary surrounded by cherubim, and the west tower. The nave windows had trefoil heads. It was a pretty little church and Molly could not imagine a nicer place to get married.

The front three rows, either side of the aisle, were box pews and Sherlock walked down the nave, straight to the one at the front, which was vacant. He opened the little gate and stood back for Molly and the boys to enter ahead of him, then sat down himself and closed the gate. As Molly looked around, she noticed the cartouche, on the wall, alongside this pew. It was the Holmes coat of arms. This was the family pew. It had probably been the family pew for as long as the family had lived here, which was several hundred years.

As the tiny church gradually filled up with worshipers, the locals all looked at her and Sherlock and, when they caught his or her eye, nodded respectfully. He tried to avoid eye contact by staring straight ahead, at the altar and the ornate window in the chancel. The organ played quietly in the background until, following some subtle signal, it began to play the processing hymn and everyone rose to their feet, as the vicar, the verger and the members of the choir processed up the aisle and took their places in the quire and before the altar.

Molly recognised the vicar and the verger from the bonfire party, the night before, but being dressed in mufti, she hadn't known who they were. They were, in fact, two of the people who had tried to engage Sherlock in conversation, in the queue for the roast chestnuts and baked potatoes. She hoped his rudeness didn't jeopardise their chances of getting married here.

The service proceeded, with the usual prayers and hymns and a mercifully short sermon and, after forty-five minutes, came to a close with the officials processing back down the aisle. The parishioners filed out of the pews and followed the members of the choir, who then peeled off into the vestry, to divest themselves, whilst everyone else left the building through the main door.

Sherlock hung back until everyone else had left, then he stood and opened the gate to their pew, once more, holding it open for Molly and the boys to step out then closing it again. They made their way to the exit, where the vicar was just saying goodbye to the last of the congregation. He turned to greet the Hooper-Holmes party.

'Mr Holmes, how nice to see you and your lovely family again so soon,' he gushed. 'It has been a while since the Holmes family pew was occupied on a Sunday morning.'

'Well, we do have an ulterior motive,' Sherlock replied, rather unhelpfully.

'Yes,' Molly intervened, as the poor clergyman's face fell, 'we rather wanted to have a little chat with you.'

The reverend looked to Molly and smiled.

'Of course, I would be delighted to have a chat although, unfortunately, I am in rather a hurry, right at this moment.' It was Molly's turn to look disappointed.

'Yes, unfortunately, this is one of three churches that are in my care and I have to dash over to the next village to conduct the Eucharist. And, later, I'll be presiding over Evensong in my third church.'

'Oh, dear, you are a very busy man,' Molly remarked, lamely.

'Perhaps you'd like to come to lunch, at the house, today,' Sherlock interjected, with an imperious wave of his hand. 'We could chat before – or after.'

The young cleric looked surprised but not displeased to be invited to lunch at the big house.

'I would be delighted,' he replied. 'What time would you like me to arrive?'

'Would one o'clock be OK?' Molly asked, smiling apologetically at the poor man.

'I would have to come straight from Eucharist,' he replied, looking apprehensive.

'That will be absolutely fine,' she replied. 'We are very informal.'

'Then I shall look forward to it,' he smiled and hurried back inside the church to divest himself before dashing off to his next gig.

Sherlock was putting Freddie back in his buggy for the walk home when Molly accosted him.

'Do you have to be so rude?' she hissed.

He looked round, surprised and a little hurt.

'I wasn't rude! I invited him to lunch, didn't I?'

'It wasn't what you said but the way you said it,' she admonished him. 'You made him feel uncomfortable.'

Sherlock splayed his hands, in a gesture of bewilderment.

'That is the person who is probably going to marry us. You can't go around belittling him!'

'In what way did I belittle him?' Sherlock rebutted.

Molly shook her head, in exasperation, and taking William's hand, began to walk away, leaving him to push the buggy – an activity he loathed. He stared after her, in shock and amazement, then, with a huff of resignation, he took hold of the buggy handles and followed in her wake.

'Thanks for your support, Freddie,' he muttered, as his youngest son began to chortle, loudly, at the novelty of being pushed by Daddy. 'Just wait 'til you have a hormonal, pregnant woman in your life. You won't be laughing then.'

ooOoo

By the time they reached the end of the drive to the house, Sherlock had promised to be charm personified to the vicar, over lunch, and Molly had relented and taken charge of the buggy.

'You'd better go and tell Mrs Orgreave that there will be one extra for lunch,' Molly huffed, as they entered the house through the front door.

Molly,' Sherlock said, 'I am sorry if I was rude to the vicar but he did seem about to tell us his entire work schedule for the whole parish. I just brought him back on task. I will go and tell the cook that we have one extra for lunch and I will tell Mycroft, too. Why don't you go and have a lie down? I'll take care of the boys.'

Molly stared at him, bristling with indignation at his inference that she was only annoyed because she was over-tired or perhaps that she was being unreasonable, due to some hormonal imbalance associated with pregnancy. But rather than have a full-blown argument, in front of the boys, she just said,

'Fine,' and stalked off up the stairs.

Sherlock took Freddie out of the buggy and stowed it under the stairs. He took off all their outdoor clothing and hung them on the hall stand, then took the boys into the kitchen. Mrs Orgreave was there, in her apron, peeling and chopping vegetables, at the kitchen table.

'Oh, good morning, Mr Sherlock!' she effused. 'May I offer my congratulations to you and Miss Hooper, on your forthcoming nuptials?'

'Yes, thank you, Mrs O, that is very kind of you. I have taken the liberty of inviting the vicar to lunch, so we can discuss a date for the wedding. I'm sorry it's such short notice.'

'Not a problem, sir,' she insisted. 'I can always stretch to one more mouth. That is absolutely fine. Would you and the little ones like a midmorning snack?'

'I would love a cup of tea, thank you, and the boys would love some thing, too, I'm sure,' he replied.

'What about some hot chocolate? And I'm sure I have some apple cake in the cupboard. Would you like some of that?' the cook addressed her question to the two boys.

William nodded, enthusiastically, and said,

'Yes, please, Mrs O,' as Sherlock pulled out two chairs from under the table, one for William and one for himself, with Freddie in his lap. Freddie just eyed the colourful selection of raw vegetables – the orange carrots, the green broccoli, the red potatoes and the creamy coloured parsnips – with fascination.

'Will Miss Hooper be joining you for a cup of tea?' the cook asked.

'No, thank you. she's a little tired and has gone to lie down.'

'All this excitement, especially in her condition, that will take it out of you,' the cook added, nodding knowingly.

Sherlock wondered how the cook could possibly know that Molly was pregnant, since her stomach was still completely flat, but he didn't even try to fathom it. Women, he had come to realise, have powers of deduction to rival his own, when it came to anything to do with interpersonal relationships – which included reproduction, apparently. He just smiled his thanks to the lady, as she placed a mug of steaming tea in front of him and two mugs of foaming hot chocolate in front of the boys, along with a plate, bearing three slices of apple cake.

His life had suddenly become transparent. He was engaged to be married, everyone seemed to know Molly was pregnant and he was going to have to be especially nice to the vicar. The sooner this wedding was over and done with the better, he thought. then, perhaps, life could get back to normal.

ooOoo

My sincere thanks to Fordwich Church, in Kent, for doubling as St Mary the Virgin in this story. I have altered the details a little but it is, essentially, the same place - a beautiful little Norman church with a fascinating history. If you ever are in the vicinity, pay it a visit. It is open to the public every Saturday.