Summary: Mycroft decides Sherlock needs a bit of a push.
Chapter 7: Tempus Fugit
"I've brought you something you'll need, brother mine," declared Mycroft as he blithely strode into 221B.
Sherlock resolutely kept his eyes on his laptop screen. "Do you ever knock?" he grumbled.
"I find it counterproductive, since you never seem to want to let me in."
"And why would that be, I wonder."
"Focus, Sherlock." Mycroft produced a small ring box from his jacket pocket and held it under Sherlock's nose. "Here is Grandmother's engagement ring. I've taken the liberty of having it cleaned and resized to fit Molly's finger."
Shutting his laptop and laying it aside, Sherlock took the box and opened it, revealing a gleaming antique ring of yellow gold, featuring a medium-sized oval Colombian emerald set off with smaller white diamonds. Art Deco period, Sherlock deduced, probably 1920 or 1925.
"Aren't you jumping the gun? I haven't proposed to Molly, yet."
"Not yet, but you will soon. And when you do, you'll need this."
Once again, Sherlock was torn between appreciation for and annoyance at his brother's interference in his affairs. "I don't want it," he said, snapping the box closed and handing it back to Mycroft. "Give it to Lady Smallwood when you propose, assuming that's still your plan. I'll get Molly a new ring. I'm not as wedded to tradition as you, Mycroft."
Mycroft noted smugly that his brother had not denied his intention to propose. Got you, Sherlock!
"Very well then, Alicia will have it." he replied, although he did not replace the ring box back in his pocket but rather continued to hold it in his hand. "I will be asking her tomorrow. I should point out, however, that she comes from money herself and has many fine pieces of vintage jewelry, whereas Molly has a more modest background and might particularly enjoy owning something of this caliber. Furthermore, Molly wearing Grandmother's ring, which, as you know, was also Mummy's ring, would foster a stronger familial bond with her new mother-in-law."
Sherlock regarded his brother closely. "You're being awfully solicitous of Molly, Mycroft."
"Does that surprise you? She is going to be my sister-in-law, after all. I also happen to like her, to the extent I like anybody. She is an intelligent woman, her inexplicable attachment to you notwithstanding, excels at her work, and has many fine personal qualities." While none of that was untrue, Mycroft knew he would have tolerated a far less extraordinary person for the sake of his brother. Despite their cool demeanor towards one another, Mycroft worried a great deal about Sherlock, and firmly believed the marital – and ideally the parental – state would be a strong motivator against him taking on high-risk cases or turning to self-destructive behaviors when he got bored.
Speaking of the parental state… "There is one other good reason for Molly to have Grandmother's ring. If in future you should be blessed with a daughter or daughter-in-law, Molly can pass the ring on to her."
"You're making a lot of assumptions. That we'll have children. That we'll marry at all."
"Balance of probability, little brother. Marriage is the logical conclusion to the road which you are now on. I believe the term for your mutual sentiments is 'besotted.' You've known each other for years, dated for months, family and friends on all sides approve. You are in the happy circumstance of having financial wherewithal and living space, not to mention complementary occupations. As to offspring, you have a healthy sex life, which is essent-"
Sherlock saw red. He shot out of his chair and advanced on the elder Holmes. "Don't! How dare you put cameras in my bedroom! Or Molly's!"
"Please," Mycroft scoffed, standing his ground. "As if I have time or inclination for such voyeuristic pursuits. One has merely to observe the level of physicality you display in public to guess what must go on behind closed doors."
"Do you ever get tired of spying on me?" Sherlock asked angrily, knowing full well it was a rhetorical question.
"I could ask you the same question," Mycroft fired back. They stared sharply at each other for a few minutes, then Sherlock put on a mask of insouciance and flopping back into his chair. Mycroft also decided to let the matter drop. "But we digress. Will you take Grandmother's ring for Molly or won't you? I think you should." He held out the box to Sherlock once again.
Sherlock reexamined the ring. It was exquisitely crafted and would look lovely on Molly's delicate little hand. He imagined the two of them snuggled up here by the fire, sharing a bottle of wine. He'd get down on one knee, take her hand in his, stare deep into her mahogany eyes, and say… and say…
"What should I say?" He wondered aloud.
"Why, that she won your heart even before you knew you had one, of course. That the sun rises and sets by her smile. That she's the kindest, cleverest, most lovely creature – the fulfillment your every dream. She is Beauty and you are the Beast, unworthy but nevertheless transformed by her love, and if she'll have you, you'll dedicate each day you remain on this earth to making her happy." Sherlock regarded his brother with astonishment. Mycroft looked slightly embarrassed. "Something of that sort," he finished brusquely, trying to sound dismissive.
"You've been reading romance novels, haven't you?"
"Not at all," Mycroft asserted coldly, but Sherlock knew he was lying.
"Is that what you're going to say to Lady Smallwood?"
"Please call her Alicia. And no, Alicia is a woman of rare beauty and grace, but my relationship with her is more cerebral, more companionable. We don't move each other to the heights of passion, so an over-the-top amorous speech would be quite out of place."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Sherlock said sincerely.
"Don't be," replied Mycroft, unperturbed. "Alicia and I are perfectly suited in temperament; we share the same interests, loath the same people, and keep each other's secrets. We shall be very happy together."
Sherlock smirked. "Oh yes," he said dryly, "that speech sounds much more romantic."
Mycroft gave a faint smile. "To each his own, brother mine."
Sherlock stood and placed the ring box on the mantle next to his skull. "So if I'm to give Molly Grandmother's ring, what will you give Alicia?"
"She is partial to sapphires. I'm having a pair of earrings custom made and they will be finished later this afternoon. Hence the timing of my declaration."
"Well, I wish you the best. Despite the fact she wanted to send me on a suicide mission, Alicia seems like a very fine woman. Her inexplicable attachment to you notwithstanding," Sherlock added, grinning. Suddenly, the grin skittered away as a horrific thought occurred to him. "Please tell me you don't intend to make me the best man."
"I'm afraid the role is yours by default. Unlike you, I do not possess a school of goldfish," said Mycroft, adjusting his cuffs. "But don't worry. I think I can persuade Alicia to forgo a lavish public display in favor of a small, private ceremony, so you needn't make a spectacle of yourself as you did at John's wedding." Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "We can also dispense with the so-called 'bachelor party'," he added with obvious distaste.
"Probably best for all concerned," Sherlock agreed, although he secretly delighted in the image of his repressed brother getting drunk and cutting loose in a pub, perhaps singing bad karaoke or challenging some burly footballer to a duel with his umbrella.
His errand accomplished, Mycroft turned to exit. "Don't put it off too long, Sherlock," he called as he descended the stairs. "Tempus fugit."
His hands steepled under his chin, Sherlock contemplated the ring box on the mantle for a while. Then he contemplated the skull. Then he pulled the mobile from his pocket.
"Hello darling. Would you like to come over Friday night?"
Tempus fugit (Latin) = time flies