The next morning, Sherlock was gone. Molly knew by the silence of the flat he'd left. Sighing with disappointment yet relief, Molly looked at her clock. Fuck. The wedding was in two hours. Fleeing to the bathroom, she was a blur getting ready, cursing Sherlock for not waking her earlier as he left. He left.
The ceremony went without a hitch, tears were shed and everyone wore a smile. Molly knew she'd made the right choice to decline being bridesmaids. Fuchsia was definitely not her colour. Sat a few rows from the front, Molly consciously made the biggest effort not to look at Sherlock, or his arse for that matter in the best-man tuxedo. She desperately tried not to think of last night, she had thought about that enough this morning as she got ready for the wedding.
A couple of hours passed, and Molly was making small talk with a relative of John's when Sherlock approached her.
"Molly, you look-" he began, hands behind his back, stooping slightly. Was that a blush?
"Stunning! What a fabulous dress sweetheart!" Mary brushed passed Sherlock, embracing Molly in her arms. Happiness suited Mary's pixie face.
"Mary, don't be silly. You look beautiful, it was a wonderful ceremony." Molly replied, noticing another glass of Chardonnay thrust into her hand by a merry Mary.
"You're not being an arrogant twat again, are you Sherlock?" Mary looked at him, her arm thrown around Molly, looking at him expectantly.
"I was complimenting Molly. Although, if I were to be picky, the shade of dress Molly. Black? Hardly appropriate for a wedding. Your skin looks pasty it accentuates the shallowness of your cheeks rather than the intention to accentuate your curves." He eyed her, taking a glass of champagne from one of the dinner servers and sipping it tentatively. Still aware of the headache that accompanied the hangover this morning.
Mary marched off to, no doubt, attack John with the comments Sherlock had passed over Molly. Trying to hold back a sob, anger filling every inch of her reddening face, Molly stared daggers back into Sherlock's eyes.
"How dare you" left her lips, barely more than a whisper. She stalked off towards the bar, and threw back the glass of wine before shamelessly ordering another.
Several hours later, along with a couple of bottles, Molly had successfully worked herself up. Angry, tired and alone, she gazed at the dissipating dance floor. Mary's head slumped on John's shoulder, as they barely swayed on the dance floor. Allowing herself to look for Sherlock, she quickly dismissed him to have left earlier, probably claiming it the wedding was dull.
Grabbing her glass, she swayed and stepped outside onto the veranda. The cold, sharpe air cutting her airways. Looking into the dark, cloud filled sky, Molly felt an overwhelming feeling of being alone. Alone.