A.N: Hey guys!

I really hope you're going to like this chapter as it was one of my favorite to write! Please leave me a little review I really want to know what you thought of this chapter. Also note i 'borrowed' from Sherlock original speech as I think that integrating some actual dialogue makes the story more...'cannon'.

Steffy

Chapter 13:

Molly was adjusting her yellow bow when she heard the bell.

"I'll be right down," she shouted, knowing it was Greg Lestrade here to pick her up for the wedding. She sighed, looking at her reflection. She felt a bit silly in her bright yellow dress and yellow bow. It had seemed a good idea at the time because Tom was supposed to be wearing a matching tie and pocket handkerchief, but he wasn't here today.

Tom would be back tomorrow for an answer and after a week she still had no idea of what she wanted to do… Leave or stay? She knew what her dad would have said to her. "Having no answer is an answer, pumpkin. If you aren't sure you want to move, are you sure you're ready to commit to a marriage?"

"Oh dad, if only you were still here" she whispered, before reaching for her bag, plastering a big fake smile on her face and opening the door.

Greg smiled. "Molly you look…"

"Ridiculous?" She asked, seeing his facial expression.

He shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no! You looked very…sunny."

"Sunny? Really? Of all the things you could have said, 'sunny' is the first word that came to mind?"

Greg blushed lightly. "I…yeah… Come on, let's go, we don't want Mrs. Hudson to wait for too long." He said before rushing to the car.

Molly shook her head with an honest half smile. Teasing Greg Lestrade was fun.

They made it to the church almost late and as they walked in Molly locked eyes with Sherlock who gave her a tentative half smile.

"Isn't he dashing?" asked Mrs. Hudson, as they sat down.

"Who is?" Molly whispered, sitting beside her.

"Well our Sherlock, of course! Look at him, standing all tall and proud. "

"This is John's wedding, Mrs. Hudson, it's his day." Molly told the old lady.

"Of course dear, of course." Mrs. Hudson said, patting Molly's hand. "I was just saying out loud what I'm sure you were thinking." She added, just as Pachelbel's Canon started to play announcing Mary's arrival.

The ceremony has been quite fast, probably due to the fact that neither John nor Mary were really religious.

As Molly lined up to congratulate the new couple her stomach twisted with apprehension at the idea of facing Sherlock again after what had happened between them.

"John, Mary I'm so happy for you." She said sincerely, giving them both a kiss on the cheek.

"Molly," Sherlock said, bowing his head toward her. "I'm glad you're well; you were missing for a while," he said and she didn't miss the underlying 'why did you ignore me?'

"Yes, well, thank you."

Molly was to be seated on one of the first tables with Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and two single cousins of Johns'. Oh yeah - they put her on the 'single table'.

Molly cringed as Sherlock stood to do his Best Man speech and crossed her fingers under the table. Please Sherlock, for John and Mary, don't screw this up!

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends ... And ... others. Also ..."

Molly winced, quite a shaky start indeed.

"I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions, in particular love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honour the death watch beetle that is the doom of our society and in time, one feels certain, our entire species." Sherlock was looking around the dead silent room

Greg leaned toward Molly, "It's like watching a train wreck," he whispered.

"Shhhh, it'll get better."

"The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend, and certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But as I am apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion. Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss. So sorry again about that last one. So know this. Today, you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved. In short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

Molly dabbed her eyes to dry her tears, thanking god for wearing waterproof mascara. She knew Sherlock did feel, but never thought he would be able to share such a deep level of feelings. Maybe not everything was lost for him, maybe one day he could learn to love.

She shook her head and took a big sip of champagne. Don't be an idiot Molly.

John and Mary's first dance was a waltz written by Sherlock. They were so beautiful dancing that Molly forgot her own issues for a few minutes and smiled.

After the traditional first dance, the best man was supposed to join the bride and groom in a dance with the maid of honour, so Molly was more than surprised to see Sherlock standing in front of her, one arm behind his back and a hand extended towards her.

"Would you dance with me, Molly Hooper?"

"No, Sherlock, you're supposed to dance with Janine. She's the maid of honour."

Sherlock snorted. "She's a silly idiot. Come on Molly, it's getting awkward now - just stand up and dance."

The song "I don't love you" by Ron Pope started as Sherlock pulled her onto the dance floor.

"You're dancing quite well," said Molly honestly.

Sherlock smiled, making her twirl. "I know. Let me tell you a secret. I love to dance and I always have."

Once the new song started the other guests started to dance. Molly separated herself from Sherlock.

"Go take care of your Best Man duties. Thanks for the dance." She removed his hands from her hips and walked back to her table.

It took less than an hour for Molly to be alone at the table. Mrs. Hudson went to bed when she drank one too many and Greg was off flirting with one of the depressed cousins.

Sherlock sat beside her. "He's not right for you, you know that, right? He's not good enough. He doesn't understand how brilliant and dedicated you are, what makes you special."

"Where did that come from?" She asked, realising that he was slightly drunk.

"You should let him go, Molly, because him being with you; it's not really fair."

"What isn't?"

"He wants you and yet he can have whomever he wants, but me… Me, I can only have you."

Molly's anger flared. "What's that supposed to mean? That my standards are so low that I'm the only one who can want you?"

Sherlock snorted. It was so not a sound Molly was accustomed from him. "Hardly! Many women wanted to thank me with sexual favours. I am both famous and a genius. Of course women want me."

Even drunk Sherlock was as cocky as they came. "I'm confused."

Sherlock shook his head, looking at the dancing couples. "Molly, Molly, Molly. I have never been much for relationship or even for people in general. This-" he said pointing to the dancing couples, "is for me a complete waste of time and yet…"

"And yet?" She encouraged, her heart stammering in her chest.

"And yet sometimes I let myself think I could do that, that I could …" He stopped and shook his head, "Nobody ever showed even a remote desire for this simulacra of fulfillment, but you, sometimes... I just never saw you that way, not really. You were always Molly Hooper and with your terrible tastes in men I thought you would always be my spinster. But now there is Tim and maybe, I thought… Maybe if I ever wanted to experience this I can only imagine it being with you."

Molly was conflicted. "So what you're saying right now is that I should break up with Tom because you don't want a relationship, you don't believe in them and yet in the minuscule possibility you would ever want one, it would be with me?"

Sherlock nodded.

Molly let out a small hysterical laugh. He was breaking her beyond words, her eyes starting to burn with unshed tears. "How could you even say this to me?! When you know how I felt for you for so long. Do you know how unfair it is?"

Sherlock turned around and met her eyes. "I know I'm not fair, I know I'm selfish." He grabbed her wine glass and drank it in one go. "But it's the way it is, it's the way it has always been." Sherlock sighed and stood up. "I have to go now. If you decide to be with Tom I wish you all the happiness in the world in Cambridge."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You could never love me as much as he loves me." She tried.

"Possibly," he admitted and her heart sank. What did she expect? A declaration of love from Sherlock Holmes? That had as much chance of happening as pigs starting to fly.

Sherlock leaned down, resting his hands on the back of her chair, trapping her. He leaned so closed that the tip of his nose was touching hers. Molly tried not to wince at his alcoholic breath on her face. "But Molly Hooper, we both know you could never love him as much as you love me."

This had the effect of a bucket of cold water on Molly. She pushed him away and stood. "I might love you, but I never hated anyone the way I hate you right now." She reached for her bag. "Good night Sherlock."

Sherlock sat on her chair and watched her walk briskly to the table where John and Mary were sitting. Even in his alcoholic haze he knew he shouldn't have told her all of that, but the alcohol had untied his tongue. Sherlock growled as his vision starting to go blurry. Maybe he had enough, he thought before resting his head on the table and closing his eyes for what he thought was a minute.