A/N: Many, many thanks to Nocturnias for hand-holding and general supportiveness as this story baked through my brain. I went back and tidied up a few "uh-ohs" in the previous chapters (Molly's hair and makeup got fixed TWICE! Whoops!). There should be one more chapter after this, entitled "Payoff". Enjoy, and as always, thanks for the many lovely reviews!
After Mary and Molly reemerged from the ladies, they made their way back to the table where John was still waiting – alone, Mary noted gleefully, careful to keep her expression caring and concerned. Since Molly's eyes were lowered to the floor – her face half-hidden by her hair so that her peripheral vision was no doubt compromised, all to the good – Mary carefully scanned the crowd, looking for a particular head of dark curls…aha! There, sitting…
She paused. Sitting between the very women whose hair she most wanted to rip out by the roots at the moment. What the hell was he up to? Had he not gotten her very pointed message…
Her lips curled up in a smile as she saw him turning to give Veronica his biggest, fakest smile before lowering his eyes to ogle her (fake, so freaking FAKE) tits. So that was his plan, was it? Her grin widened as she subtly began to steer the oblivious Molly in that direction, taking a path that would allow Sherlock to see them and do whatever it was he was going to do to make this right for Molly.
oOo
Sherlock kept a weather eye on Molly and Mary, noting with a bit of lurch to his heart that Molly had undone her hair and was now wearing it in loose waves that tumbled down her back and shoulders in a way he most definitely approved of. Chastising himself for his momentary loss of focus (really, though, her hair was lovely, he'd always thought so and whenever she wore it down it emphasized her delicate features and pale skin and he REALLY needed to focus, dammit), he continued to laugh at whatever inane thing the Mortimer woman was saying, while at the same time continuously darting his eyes toward Nurse Richards' cleavage every chance he could get. He could see the storm brewing in the brunette's eyes and inwardly chortled.
Then Mary and Molly were brushing past the table, Molly's head down as she focused on the floor and undoubtedly feeling as miserable as her body language showed, and his fury nearly boiled over into cutting words and devastating deductions…but he held back.
That wasn't the plan.
This, however, was…He abruptly rose to his feet, his entire focus on Molly, knowing his body radiated an eagerness and energy that hadn't been there before. Even dullards like Mortimer and Richards should be able to observe something that obvious. "Molly!" he called out, making sure to sound as joyful as he could – knowing that it was an expression of his actual feelings certainly helped with its authenticity. "There you are, I've been looking for you!"
Mary shot him a nasty look as she eyed the company he'd been keeping, but he knew that she knew why he was there, and approved her obvious disapproval.
Ignoring the two women he'd practically been fawning over only moments earlier, he kicked aside his chair and rushed over to take Molly's hands in his. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, taking advantage of their closeness to murmur: "Molly, I'll explain, I promise, but for now just go along with me, please?"
She gave him a startled look, but it was immediately followed by a tiny nod as she raised her head and offered him a bright smile. "Sherlock! Sorry, Mary and I were in the loo, fixing our hair and makeup."
He offered her an admiring look that was in no way an act as he said: "Your hair looks much lovelier when you wear it down, Molly. But you know how much I like it that way."
Molly blushed and stared at him, completely at a loss for words if the evidence was to be believed. Good. This part of the plan didn't require her to speak, just listen.
As he'd anticipated, Shirene had risen to her feet, unwilling to just be abandoned…and undoubtedly eager to dig her claws in a bit more now that she erroneously believed Sherlock was interested in her questionable charms. "Molly, your eyes are red, poor dear," she said in falsely sympathetic tones. "You might want to splash some more water on your face." She glanced down at the other woman's dress. "Oh, maybe it's just that color, it does wash you out a bit. Sorry!" She pasted an insincere smile on her lips and turned back to Sherlock, placing a propriety hand on his arm. "Mystery solved, Sherlock, Molly's safe and sound with her friend," she flicked a hostile but ultimately dismissive glance over Mary's figure, "so why don't you sit back down with us? You can finish telling Veronica and I about that fascinating case we were discussing."
The look Sherlock bestowed upon her was pure frost. He glanced down at the hand she'd laid on his arm, which she removed as if he'd suddenly turned white hot, then back at her face. "No, I don't think so," he said, his tone as cold and dismissive as it had ever been. "I was simply passing the time while I waited for Molly to reappear, and you and Nurse Richards were at least decorative to look at while I did so."
Then he deliberately stepped away from her, still holding Molly's hands, actively dismissing the other woman and her dumbfounded 'friend' as he smiled at Mary. "You don't mind if I steal her away for a dance, do you, Mary? John must be missing you by now, nearly as much as I was missing my Molly."
Mary, as quick on the uptake as she'd been all night – yes, definitely destined to be Mrs. John Watson within a year, less if they decided to elope – gave him a cheerful smile in response, also ignoring the gaping woman who'd stumbled back a step as if his words had been physical missiles aimed at her feet. "Of course, Sherlock, any time! Goodness, you two danced so much the last time we were out together I was surprised you waited this long to ask her!" She made shooing motions with her hands. "Have fun you two!" Then she turned and headed back to their own table, still ignoring the other woman, who was visibly fuming.
"Sherlock!" Shirene's shrill voice cut through the ambient noise, even silencing the people at the nearest table and the friends who were standing next to it, drawing everyone's attention. Mary paused and looked over at her, as did Sherlock and Molly. The other pathologist looked furious, red-faced, fists clenched by her sides. Veronica Richards had risen to her feet and hurried over by her side, was murmuring something in her friend's ear and tugging at her arm, but she shrugged her off, her eyes zeroing in on Sherlock. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?"
He could hardly contain his glee; really? She was actually going to confront him about his admittedly caddish behavior? It was too good to be true!
Maintaining a bored expression, he met her gaze squarely. "Honestly, Dr. Mortimer, I have no idea what you're whinging about. You've been attempting to gain my exclusive attention ever since our first meeting, and when I finally felt bored enough to indulge you, you act as if I've insulted you somehow!" He cast his glance over at Nurse Richards. "Even your so-called friend, the woman whose addiction to plastic surgery you've spent so much time spreading rumors about, understands that that was all the attention I was ever going to give you!" He rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently for added effect.
He turned his back again, but not before hearing a gasp from the blonde's lips. "That was you? You started those rumors?"
Ignoring the now-quarreling women, he placed his hand firmly at the small of Molly's back and escorted her onto the dance floor.
