A/N: "The Wise Old Man" may be more of a general literary trope than a fandom trope, but I thought it fit this chapter. Let's see if you agree!
Molly sighed as she carefully applied a bit of powder to her forehead. How had she gotten herself into this mess? What madness had overtaken her?
Not madness, she reminded herself as she turned to freshening her lipstick. Necessity. Her father's untimely passing had left the entire family in disarray, both emotionally and financially; her mother's position as a lady's maid barely paid the basic necessities, there were her three younger siblings to consider, her medical studies had come to a halt before they had barely started, and their mounting debt had forced these desperate, rather despicable measures on her.
She had come to the Criterion with only one goal in mind: to snag herself a rich husband, hopefully one not too horrible, and ensure her family's future well-being.
Desperate measures, indeed.
And yet, she mused as she snapped her compact shut, it hadn't turned out entirely awful, not now that she'd come to an agreement with Sherlock Holmes. Or rather, now that she'd reached a pre-agreement with him. Once she confirmed he was who he claimed to be, then the agreement would truly begin.
The question was, was she actually going to go through with his proposition?
"Yes," she murmured to her reflection as she returned the compact and lip-stick to her clutch. "I rather think I am."
The door to the powder-room opened; Molly turned to leave, only to find her way blocked by the imposing figure of an older woman she immediately recognized: Lady Elizabeth Smallwood.
"Lady Smallwood!" she blurted out, confusedly wanting the other woman to know that she, Molly, knew who she was. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm -"
"My dear, Sherlock has already informed me of your identity, and requested that I assure you as to his." She peered down her nose at Molly, critically taking her in from black-slippered feet to feather-crowned head of artfully curled and rolled hair. "Yes, you'll do," she murmured cryptically. "I can assure you, Miss Hooper, that I have known the entire Holmes family since both Sherlock and Mycroft were in short pants, and whatever hare-brained scheme he has in mind for you, you can rest assured that he is not attempting to bamboozle you, if that is the correct term, for illicit purposes."
"He, that is, we - we just met," Molly murmured, in some confusion as to whether Lady Smallwood had been told the entire scheme or if she was simply acting as a rather unorthodox character reference.
"Yes, and you've apparently made quite the impression on him," the older woman conceded. "Speaking of impressions, let me be quite blunt with you: I am fully aware that the younger Mr. Holmes believes that he has completely pulled the wool over my eyes regarding his purported 'peculiarities', and that I am interested only in protecting the family name. But of course, that is not correct."
"And, and what is correct, if I might ask?" Molly ventured, still uncertain as to how much she might reveal without giving too much away. Not to mention how off-stride she was feeling at Lady Smallwood's revelations. Clearly Sherlock had underestimated the woman's shrewdness!
Lady Smallwood offered her a pitying smile. "That I do indeed wish to keep him out of trouble, although not for the reasons he believes. If he would simply bow to the inevitable and fulfill the terms of his grandmother Vernet's will - to put it succinctly, if he were simply to find a suitable girl and marry her - then he'd have no need to continue playing the gigolo. Tonight he informed me, much to my surprise, that he's actually considering doing so - and requested my assistance in, how did he put it, 'correcting some misapprehensions Miss Hooper has about me'."
"Uh," was the best Molly could do. Clearly Lady Smallwood had no idea of what Sherlock had actually proposed, and she was very glad that she hadn't given anything away!
"My dear, it's obvious you come from a good family. Not a titled family, of course but Sherlock couldn't care less about such things. Nor will his family," she added, answering Molly's unspoken question.
The older woman pulled out a compact and delicately patted at the powder on her nose and cheeks, giving her forehead a critical stare before speaking again. "It's very clear he wishes to impress you, thus sending me here to pretend that no, he wasn't acting as a paid escort. However," she finished thoughtfully, "I feel it only fair to offer you the honest truth and allow you to make of it what you will. Sherlock has spent much of his life avoiding family duties and finding ways in which to ruffle his brother's feathers - as well as those of his parents, of whom I am very fond - so any girl in whom he expresses an interest must be made aware of those facets of his character immediately. It will save time down the road," she finished, not unkindly, "if you know from the start exactly with whom you are dealing."
"I, um, well. Thank you very much, Lady Smallwood," Molly finally managed. She bobbed a bit of a curtsey, not sure if that was too much or too little in the way of courtesy under such peculiar circumstances. "I appreciate you taking the time to share your insights with me."
"Only time will tell if you will actually thank me for aiding that young rogue in his romantic endeavors," Lady Smallwooed replied crisply. "Having done as he requested, I believe I will retire for the evening. Do be good enough to have Sherlock send for my car, will you?"
Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Molly murmured something in the affirmative and exited the powder-room. She was once again in something of a daze, but Lady Smallwood's word was not something to be ignored; if she said Sherlock was who he said he was, then, well, he was who he said he was.
As to whether this hare-brained scheme he'd proposed would actually get them both what they most ardently desired?
That remained to be seen.
"I see my message has been delivered."
Molly blinked a few times, and Sherlock's face came into sharp focus. He had the self-satisfied air of a man who has gotten exactly what he wanted. "So, Miss Hooper? Or do you require further guarantees that I am who I claim to be?"
"No, no, Lady Smallwood was quite - she asked that you send for her car," Molly replied, obediently repeating the request - demand! - that had been made of her. "She's very…"
"Yes, isn't she?" Sherlock said, sounding genuinely admiring. "So. I am who I say I am. You are…not who you claimed to be but exactly who I need you to be." He gave her a charming smile and cocked an elbow. "Shall we seal the bargain with another dance?"
Looking up at his smiling face, unsure if she was about to make the best decision of her life, or the worst, Molly nodded and took his arm.
For good or ill, the die was cast.
End note: Thank you for your lovely, encouraging comments on this story so far. I appreciate them very much!
