Molly sat at her desk downstairs. She appeared to be glaring with hatred at the paperwork piled in front of her, but she was really just staring off into space, deep in thought and seeing nothing.
She hadn't been fair to Sherlock, she knew. He hadn't done anything wrong, really, but she truly wasn't in the mood to get ordered around. She was, quite frankly, simply in a very bad mood. But she had an excuse to be.
Her mother had called last night. Now, that in itself generally wasn't enough to put her in a bad mood. She loved her mother, as much as any daughter should, but that didn't mean that she was happy to hear the news her mother had called to announce; she, as well as Molly's younger sister, would be coming to London to visit in two days. And they had a "surprise" for her; a well-meaning, good-hearted surprise that was going to unintentionally humiliate Molly.
It was evident to anyone who spent time with her that Molly was very self-conscious. She knew this herself, and viewed it as a personal fault, but it seemed to be so deeply ingrained in her that she could not help feeling this way around everyone, and her family was no exception. It didn't help that her mother and younger sister lived ideal lives. They both lived in the wealthy village of Alderley Edge as well-respected members of the community, admired for everything from their charity to their choices in clothing. Molly herself had been raised in this community. Growing up, she and her family had never wanted for anything, and had never had to worry about the future. She and her sister, Evelyn, had had their lifetimes planned out ahead of them; they would graduate from private school, attend an affluent university for a few years (simply to pursue a subject of interest, not from any concern with future job prospects), then marry a wealthy baker or lawyer and move to Beaconsfield or Marlow or some other prosperous village. There, they would begin a family and have happy rosy-cheeked little children, who would begin the cycle again.
Of course, this was never stated in so many words, but it was the distinct impression that Molly formed. And, in fact, Evelyn had conformed to this very pattern, with the one exception of deciding to remain in Alderley Edge rather than moving to an affluent London suburb. Growing up, Evelyn had been the pride and joy of the Hooper family. She had grown from a chubby, joyous child with flaxen hair and a sweet demeanor into a beautiful young woman, successful in all of her endeavors. She did very well in school, graduating second in her class, and excelled even more at the violin (Molly, on the other hand, was completely tone-deaf, and any attempts to educate her in the musical arts met with complete and utter failure). Evelyn had been the star of many successful musical performances for charity and the like, and had only abandoned her considerable talent at ballet to pursue her instrumental interests further. Evelyn's smile could light up a room, and she had the unusual ability to make anyone feel immediately at ease. With her flowing blonde hair, full lips, and liquid brown eyes, it was no surprise that she was never lacking a boyfriend throughout her teenage years, and had barely entered her twenties when she married a wealthy executive of a contracting business. She was now the mother of two boys, still deeply in love with her handsome husband Charles, and never seemed to age a day. Molly had never been exceptionally close to her sister, and viewed her as somewhat of a miracle of humanity; was it truly possible for someone to be that beautiful, that successful, that happy?
It was this stark contrast to her sister that made Molly just as self-conscious around her mother, Elizabeth. Growing up, the only area in which Molly had surpassed her sister was in academic endeavors, although being able to say that she came in first in her class, while Evelyn "only" came in second, seemed to be a small consolation for Molly. In other areas, she had always felt second-rate. When her sister excelled at music and dance, Molly's parents patiently encouraged Molly to pursue some extra-curricular hobbies so that she could find her own "niche." Everything ended in disaster. She hated trying to learn to play musical instruments; her parents finally agreed to let her quit after her instructor politely insinuated that it was hopeless. Dancing ended in nothing but embarrassment (and occasional physical injury), and her artistic pursuits were, without exception, failures. As soon as she was old enough, Molly decided to take full advantage of the one talent she did have, immediately enrolling in Cambridge to pursue her interest in the natural sciences, and pathology in particular. Her mother (her father had passed away when she was sixteen) offered as much support to Molly's decision as she could muster. It was obvious, however, that her "support" was insincere; she viewed Molly's interests as peculiar, and expected her daughter to abandon these studies or change interests within a couple of years. Surely her daughter, raised in a wealthy, spotless household in a meticulously manicured neighborhood in a village impressively well-known for its affluence, would not decide to spend her life in some old, hectic hospital, cutting open corpses? Molly and her sister had inherited plenty of money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives with minimal effort. Really, academic success and, even more so, a hard-earned degree would be like attaching propellers to a bird; completely superfluous. And to live in a small, mediocre flat on a crowded street in the middle of London? The one time her mother had visited her flat, Molly could tell that she was trying to find something nice to say, but that the words stuck in her throat. She was too busy trying not to be caught scowling at her tattered furniture, scattered books and papers, or the cat hair floating in the air (her mother was strongly opposed to the idea of indoor pets).
More recently, however, the most sensitive topic to Molly had been that of romantic relationships. She had been embarrassed by the fact that she had not dated at all until she was nearly twenty; her sister, although two years younger, had always caught the eye of all of Molly's potential love interests. It was not that Molly was ugly in any way, and even she realized this; she was simply too awkward, and whenever any men did show interest, she had the habit of retreating into herself in discomfort, even when she was interested in return. Although she had overcome this to some extent, for the past several years she had passed through a series of rapidly-ending and disastrous relationships. There had been Robert, charming and tall and seemingly perfect until she found out he was married. Then there had been Ethan, who Molly had originally been attracted to because of his compassion for animals, children, and the elderly, but had ended the relationship after visiting his house and decided that sixteen cats were perhaps a bit too many. And then, well . . . she tried to avoid even thinking about how the "Jim from IT" situation had ended. The list of such failures was embarrassingly long, and made the comparison to her happily-married sister all the more embarrassing.
She had felt much more optimistic last fall, when she met an attractive, slightly older man working in surgery who had shown interest in her. She was ecstatic when he asked her on a date, and then another and another. Molly would spend each Friday evening perfecting her makeup, picking out the perfect outfit and accessories for the occasion, and would meet Brandon at her doorstep at 8:30. With his nice suit and tie, dark wavy hair, and winning smile, he took her breath away every time. They visited a number of London's finest restaurant; over candlelight, with a single rose between them, she experienced the changes in their conversations. Early on, they talked about work, interesting patients and shared knowledge, laughs and complaints about management. As time went on, their discussions deepened as they discussed their childhoods, families, and hopes for the future. He had even taken her out dancing on a couple of occasions. As her feelings for Brandon deepened, Molly excitedly told her sister about her good fortune, proud of finally being as happy with someone as her sister was with her husband. Her mother's enthusiasm had been obvious; a surgeon was a relatively respectable job, and he sounded like an upright citizen. Molly knew that she always worried that her eldest daughter would end up an old spinster. Her constant comments that Molly needed to "get out more," and her thinly veiled insinuations that she should update her clothing or hair, came to a temporary end. Molly knew that her mother worried she would end up an old spinster, or perhaps an aging cat-lady, chopping on dead bodies for a living.
When her relationship with Brandon ended abruptly, her disappointment was just as strong as her pain, and the half-hearted consolation that Evelyn and her mother offered only worsened the whole situation. She hated it when people felt sorry for her. Although she knew it was irrational, she felt embarrassed; she felt like a disappointment.
Which all led up to her dishonesty yesterday.
Her mother had called that evening, sounding even more chipper than usual. She told Molly about her new neighbors, the novel she was reading, and other mundane aspects of her daily life. As always, she had plenty of amusing anecdotes about Evelyn's children. Molly expressed interest as best she could, and when asked about how she was faring, launched into a story about one of her more interesting recent autopsies, involving a surprising finding in the contents of an elderly woman's stomach. A long silence from her mother made her quickly end the story and attempt to change the subject.
As always, her mother asked if she was seeing anybody. Molly hesitated, as she always did. What was the point in telling her that, no, she spent all of her evenings off in her flat, reading a combination of Jane Austen and medical journals? That the only man she felt any interest in was a rude, arrogant consulting detective who had no interest in other human beings whatsoever and was "married to his work"? She didn't want sympathy, or a lecture on becoming more sociable. So, she lied. She told her mother that yes, she was seeing someone from work. Yes, he took her out on dates several times a week to nice restaurants. He was kind and intelligent and handsome. No, he was definitely not married. But other than this, she remained as vague on the subject as she could, hoping the subject would soon change before she buried herself into a hole, or before she was asked a question that she couldn't improvise an answer to quickly enough.
But her mother's next words froze her in place.
"Oh, what perfect timing! I'll be delighted to meet him!"
Molly's voice seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere in her throat as her mother explained that she, Evelyn, and Evelyn's family were coming to visit in a few days. It would be a "short visit"; Molly didn't need to worry about taking time off of work or anything, and they would stay in a hotel in order to avoid inconveniencing her (or so they said; Molly knew they just didn't want to stay in her dingy flat). And even better; they would be in London for Valentine's Day, and had a surprise for Molly and her new boyfriend.
Molly listened in horror as her mother explained in more detail. Elizabeth, Evelyn, and Evelyn's husband had bought five tickets to a benefit ball at the Dorchester hotel in London, both for themselves and for a couple that they enjoyed spending time with. Unfortunately, their friends' son had developed a bad case of the flu, and they would be unable to arrange a trip to London. Which, Elizabeth exclaimed, would provide the perfect opportunity for Molly and her new beau to have a romantic Valentine's evening out at one of the finest establishments in London.
And so, Molly accepted the invitation. She didn't have time to think, to disagree or come up with an excuse. She, in her deer-in-the-headlights alarm, agreed to attend a Valentine's ball with her nonexistent boyfriend, sickeningly perfect sister, and overbearing mother.
After hanging up the phone, Molly realized that she really only had two options. Coming up with an excuse wasn't one of them; there was really no way she could claim that her boyfriend was out of town for the week. Her mother would be very disapproving of the fact that he would abandon her daughter for Valentine's day, not to mention that they would probably be interested in seeing pictures of him, or hearing more about him. Such as his name; Molly distinctly recalled from the conversation that she had not specified a name, simply identified him as "someone from work." Molly knew she couldn't keep up the lie in that way, and that doing so would just create more problems.
So, she could either admit her lie, or find a date by Valentine's day. Which was on Friday, only four days away. The thought of admitting her lie made her feel slightly ill. How pathetic would that look? It would be like confessing her insecurity to her mother and sister, acknowledging that she was so incapable of finding a boyfriend that she had had to invent one. It would be watching the rest of her pride go down the drain.
So that just left the option of finding a date within the next few days. Even this could be a problem; her dishonesty could be revealed if, perhaps, her mother asked him how long they had been seeing each other. Plus, getting up the courage to actually ask a man out would be an ordeal in itself. And who would she ask? The only option that came up in her mind was Anthony, a broad-shouldered, slightly lumbering man who worked in the filing department. She had caught him staring at her a few times, and he occasionally tried to make small talk (which, she got the impression, was the only talk he was capable of). It was likely that he would accept her invitation. He was good-looking enough, but still, the thought of actually attending a romantic outing with him turned her stomach slightly. He was exceedingly dull; their few exchanges usually involved the relative merit of sports teams (a difficult subject for Molly to discuss considering her ignorance in that area) or complaints about the weather.
So, today, after a sleepless night of debating her options, Molly had still not come to a conclusion. Focusing on her work was impossible. Twice she had considering marching down to filing and asking Anthony to the ball, simply so that she would not have to agonize over her decision anymore. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She knew that asking him out would involve not only the ball itself, but most likely several get-togethers between the two of them and her visiting family, which would be agonizing to say the least. She wondered if a boring boyfriend who worked in filing would be any better in her mother's mind than no boyfriend at all, but surely it would be better than admitting her lie . . .
And it was already Tuesday. They were coming tomorrow evening. Molly moaned again, and dropped her head to the desk.