Hi guys! Just one note on this one since it's the Warstan wedding chapter. The whole wedding scene was so very different from how we know it today. So for anyone who was hoping for a big wedding with a reception involving a bunch of dancing and stuff...it won't be like that. But I just wanted you to know that it's only because I was a good girl and actually did the research haha! So it's not my fault the wedding isn't thrilling, it's history's fault. ;P Now get to readin! ;)
"Do relax, Watson," Sherlock muttered to his friend as they stood at the alter in the front of the church. "Continually straightening your jacket will do nothing to make the ceremony progress."
"Sorry," he whispered back as he continued to fidget with his regiment uniform. "I did not think I would be this nervous. I'll feel better once she is here."
Sherlock straightened his stance again and both men patiently waited for the bride to arrive and the ceremony to begin. They did not have to wait much longer. A moment later, the doors opened, and there stood Mycroft with Mary on his arm.
The mid-morning sun came streaming in, illuminating Mary like some sort of angel. She wore a white silk gown with lace overlay, and had a matching bonnet on her head. Little gold ringlets of her hair peeked out from underneath, which made her appear even more heavenly to her waiting groom.
Sherlock watched as John's shoulders fell a little and he clearly relaxed at the sight of Mary progressing down the aisle toward him. Mycroft handed her off to John and she took his arm. The two of them gazed at each other for just a moment before turning their attention to the minister.
The ceremony began and everyone was quiet. Sherlock stood statuesque beside his best friend and cousin. He allowed his mind to wander though, and wasn't terribly interested in focusing on the words being spoken. He was thinking about the next day...and the many days to come after that.
He had planned his course carefully. He took into account where the highest crime rates were, and where a criminal like Moriarty would consider it productive to be. He planned check points, and people that he would stop to question. The past few days had afforded him plenty of opportunity to take everything into account. He felt prepared...and yet so completely lost.
Sherlock's mind came back inside the walls of the church as John and Mary repeated their vows. He found it difficult to listen though. At this point, with what was looming ahead of him, it was easier to distance himself from feeling. He wished he was more like he had been before this summer.
Before he knew it though, the couple had been pronounced man and wife, and the ceremony was over. The party left the church, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Watson climbed into the open carriage that would take them back to Seaborne for the wedding breakfast. Sherlock had brought his horse, preferring to ride on his own.
He took a leisurely route back to the estate, wanting to reduce as much time spent at the wedding breakfast as possible. No matter how pleased he was for John and Mary, that did not change the fact that he didn't enjoy mingling in society.
When he finally returned to Seaborne, there were already some guests enjoying the food and speaking to the happy couple. Sherlock caught John's eye and they exchanged a smile, but he ducked into the dining room to get himself a cup of tea. He ran into his mother as he walked out into the hall again.
"Oh, darling, there you are!" She touched his face for a moment with a concerned motherly expression that he didn't see very often anymore. "Are you quite all right? I cannot imagine you are looking forward to searching for that horrid man!"
Lady Holmes had never gotten used to the fact that this was exactly the sort of thing that made the blood pump through her son's veins. But Sherlock knew that in this case he might be giving off an air of unhappiness. It had nothing to do with his being about to embark on a dangerous quest for justice, but more to do with what he was leaving behind.
"I will do what must be done, Mother," he said simply.
"Can you not have others search? There's the whole of Scotland Yard at your beck and call!"
Sherlock smiled at his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It needs to be done quickly and correctly. That means it is I who should do it." He smiled at his mother and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.
She did not look comforted. She was not a constantly affectionate and doting mother. But in reality, her deepest love and concern was always focused on her children, even if she didn't express it in words. She watched her younger son walk away toward the bride and groom, and she sighed to herself.
"Between the two of those boys...I do not know how I sleep at night."
John reached out as Sherlock came over to them and the two men shook hands.
"You leave in the morning?" John asked.
"Yes, I do. And the two of you?"
"We leave in a little while. We will stay at an inn about an hour west, and then travel to Bath in another couple of days. And is...everything settled before your journey?" John asked, looking as if there was something he wasn't saying.
Sherlock gazed back at his friend, understanding his unspoken question. "Everything is settled, Watson. It is as settled as it ever will be," he replied in a calculated and controlled tone.
Mary reached over and grasped her cousin's hand. "Sherlock, I know you think the rest of us don't understand everything sometimes...a lot of the time, actually...but I hope you realize that we just want you to be happy. It is difficult for us to stand by and watch as you deny yourself a happiness that you do deserve."
A shadow of sadness crept back over Sherlock's serious expression. "Perhaps, Mary...it is not completely about what I deserve," he said quietly.
Mary looked discouraged by his answer. But she smiled, and said, "Please be careful on your hunt, cousin. We shall want to see you when we return to London. And we hope you'll be in one piece!" She gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it.
"I look forward to seeing you both again." He gave them both a smile, and walked off in the direction of the library, clearly not wanting to mingle among the rest of the guests.
Mary watched him go with a worried expression. "I just want him to be all right."
"He will be, I'm sure of it. We know Sherlock. He always seems to find a way to survive," John said as he slipped an arm around his new wife's waist.
Mary looked up at John sadly. "I'm not talking of surviving. I want him to live and be happy. He should have that."
A smile made John's lips creep up a bit as he lowered his face closer to Mary's. "Happy like I am right now, you mean?" he whispered softly.
Mary couldn't help but smile back at him. "Are you selfishly turning the conversation back to us now?"
John shrugged. "It cannot be helped. I did just marry the most perfect woman in the world, so it is a bit difficult to stop speaking about us."
Mary couldn't resist the urge to tilt her head up just a bit and lightly touch her lips to his.
When John opened his eyes again after closing them for a moment in bliss, he murmured, "When exactly are we taking our leave, Mrs. Watson?"
Mary smiled and bit her lip as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Not nearly soon enough, Dr. Watson."
John shook his head slowly as he smiled back at her, as if to say that he could barely believe this was the woman he would leave with very shortly. He leaned down again and touched his forehead to hers. "Mary," he breathed out.
But the lovely moment ended when Lady Holmes marched over to introduce more guests to them. John and Mary put on smiling faces, but they had both become all the more anxious to get out of this house full of people.
It was time to begin their new life together.
Sherlock woke early the next morning, finishing what little he had left to do. He had one very large project that he'd worked on completing in the past couple of days, and he wanted to make sure that he had a certain something to bring with him when he went to take Redbeard to Molly.
Sherlock mounted his horse after kissing his mother and Mrs. Hudson on the cheek. Mycroft came over to the horse and extended his hand. Sherlock took it and they shook hands for a moment.
"God speed, Sherlock," Mycroft said very seriously. "I shall return to London shortly, and I will be watching for any developments."
Sherlock nodded. "Till London then."
"Yes, till London," Mycroft agreed. Anyone who was watching the elder Holmes' face could see that in the moment, his concern lay more with his brother than with the outcome of the search for Moriarty.
But he also knew that Sherlock would come through. As he watched his younger brother ride off with Redbeard trotting along behind, he knew that this was for the best. And there was absolutely nobody better for the job.
Sherlock dismounted and tied his horse up, but he stood there for a moment, hesitating before beginning to walk toward her door. This would be difficult, and he knew it. Even Redbeard seemed on edge and uneasy. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths. He considered the possibility that, in the worst case scenario, this would be the last time he would see Molly Hooper. And at the very least, it could be a very long while before they would meet again.
Finally, Sherlock turned away from his horse and went to the house, carrying a jar in his hand. He knew she would be expecting him, as he had sent a letter the day before, and he wondered if she was anywhere near as apprehensive.
Molly came to open the door, instead of the usual Mrs. Hart.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she said with a small smile, and Sherlock could see that she was indeed a little nervous.
"Morning, Miss Hooper."
Molly backed further inside the house, making way for Sherlock, as she accepted Redbeard's excited greetings. He followed her into the sitting room where there was already some tea and biscuits waiting.
"You didn't need to go to any trouble," he said as he took a seat.
"Oh, it was nothing. Mrs. Hart had been baking anyway and, well, you are leaving, so..." Her words trailed off and her eyes fell to Redbeard who sat almost protectively by his master's feet.
"He's a bit on edge," Sherlock said, seeing her observing the dog.
"Poor thing," she said sadly.
Sherlock and Molly distracted themselves with tea for a few minutes, and Sherlock explained about some of the places he planned to go after leaving the country. She listened with great interest, though all she could think was how far away he would be and how very long this journey was sounding to her.
"Oh yes," Sherlock said, remembering something. He reached down to the floor, picking up the jar he'd brought with him, and held it out to Molly. "This is for you. It hardly makes up for taking care of someone else's pet for an extended period of time, but I thought it right to give you some."
A smile spread on Molly's face as she took the jar and examined the amber contents. "This is honey. Oh my goodness! It's from your bees, isn't it?"
Sherlock smiled and nodded. "It had to be done before I left. There would be nobody else willing to shoulder the responsibility. I am glad it was somewhat of a success. Though it is a messy business to collect the honey. I am not sure I'm cut out for the hobby...not now at least. Perhaps later in life I'll give it another go."
Molly held the jar lovingly in her palms and kept smiling at the golden thick liquid that was shining back at her. "I love it, thank you. It was lovely of you to share some with me." She looked over at him and gave him a radiant smile.
Sherlock hoped his face didn't look as warm and red as it felt to him. He cleared his throat. "Well, again, it seemed the least I could do, considering the favor you are doing for Redbeard and myself."
"I couldn't be any happier to do it. Well, that is not to say I am happy you must go..." It was Molly's turn to become a little red now. She set the honey down on the table next to the tea. "So, you will be gone for quite some time?"
"It will surely be some weeks, possibly months. It's difficult to say exactly. There is the small chance this will all go rather quickly. But if I have accurately deduced James Moriarty, I do not believe he will be an easy man to catch."
"And you will...send word when you'll be coming back?" She wondered if she had the right to ask such a thing.
Sherlock hesitated. "I, um, I will certainly make sure to collect Redbeard as soon as possible. And if I cannot come myself...I will be sure to send someone."
Molly looked shocked by his words, even though she tried to conceal it. He felt a pain in his chest at her expression, but he felt it was only fair to warn her that he was possibly not going to be the one returning for his pet. He wasn't sure he could bear it, considering what her life would likely be. And he wasn't sure it would be all that easy for her either.
"I see," she said, putting on a smile again. "Well of course you will be awfully busy. That is understandable. You've been away from London for so long."
He nodded in agreement, but looked down at Redbeard who was watching him. He felt it unwise to stay too long and make this parting even more difficult. Better to do it quickly, and be done. Finish it while he still had some sense left.
Sherlock stood, making Molly follow suit. "I should not stay long. I must be on my way."
"Of course," she said immediately. "I would not want to delay you at all."
The two of them and Redbeard walked back to the entry way, and stopped near the door. Sherlock crouched down, ruffling his pet's fur and scratching behind his ears.
"You be a good dog. You listen to Miss Hooper now, all right? She'll take good care of you, I promise."
Molly pressed her lips together as she watched Sherlock saying goodbye to the animal that he'd clearly come to love with all his heart. If it was this difficult to watch him bid the dog farewell, she prayed for strength to control herself as they finally parted.
Sherlock lingered with the dog for a moment before reluctantly standing. He kept looking down at Redbeard for a bit, before turning his gaze to Molly. He gave her a little half smile. "Suppose this is it then."
"Yes," was all she could manage to get out.
Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back as he faced her a few feet away. "This has been a most interesting summer. I've been glad to...make your acquaintance. My summer has been better for it."
"And mine, Mr. Holmes," she answered quietly, trying very hard to control her voice.
"Your father was also a friend to me, and I will not forget him. It was a privilege to have known him."
Molly wasn't sure she would be able to conceal all emotion if he was to be speaking about her father. She quickly reached up and touched her eye, wiping away some gathering moisture as Sherlock continued.
"He was an excellent sort of man, and he was the sort of father that any child should wish to have...he very much wanted for you to be happy," he said pointedly.
Molly could feel her heart pounding against her chest, but she didn't want to let on. She didn't want to break down completely and give away the turmoil that she was experiencing inside. She wanted to be strong.
"I find that I feel the same. I want that for you," he said, looking down for a moment, but then meeting her gaze intensely once again. "I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Hooper...you deserve it."
Molly couldn't move now, and could barely even breathe as her eyes remained locked onto his. His voice was so low and soft that she could feel the vibrations of his words in the air.
Sherlock looked down at her, thinking, this is it. I'm saying goodbye, when all I really want is to spend eternity with her. Without thinking, his feet advanced a couple more steps. He stood closer to her now, and he wondered if it was possible that her eyes had literally drawn his body in. What exactly did he think he could do in this moment besides simply saying goodbye and walking away?
And yet, putting aside all the rules of propriety that hung heavily around them, he couldn't help feeling that saying goodbye just wasn't enough. Despite the fact that he was making the conscious decision to let her go, he was still afraid of the small chance that this would be the last time he would see her. And if it was...if it was...
With a somber ghost of a smile on his lips, he leaned down, examining her face closely as he did. Her pupils were blown wide and she looked almost afraid of what he was about to do.
The reality was, Molly was terrified. She was terrified of what she was feeling, terrified of that she would be left to feel...all alone.
Sherlock tilted his head just a bit and his lips reached their destination on the smooth skin of her cheek.
Molly's eyes shut tight, her lips parted, and her hands gripped the fabric of her dress, desperate to hold onto something. Although his lips felt cool on her skin, they did nothing but spread a burning warmth. It was all too quick though, and before she was ready he pulled back again.
The intensity was overwhelming for Sherlock as well. So when he pulled away, he didn't linger, standing there to gaze down at her again. Instead, he walked past her and opened the door. He paused in the doorway, only turning halfway around to speak again.
"Goodbye, Molly Hooper," he whispered softly.
Molly whispered her own, "goodbye," in return, just barely loud enough for him to hear. She thought she saw him hesitate for a moment as he continued through the door...but then he left. He walked out, shut the door behind him, and she saw him walk the path back to his horse.
Molly felt her eyes begin filling the moment the door shut. She felt the first tear slip down her still burning cheek as Redbeard rushed to the closed door and began whining a bit. She sunk heavily to the floor and cradled the dog as she wept softly.
"You'll see him again, I promise. It's all right, it's all right," she murmured between sniffles. "Don't cry...don't cry." Her voice broke and a sob ripped through her as she tried to comfort the poor animal who couldn't begin to understand the complexity of emotion that swirled around him. The two of them stayed there on the floor for quite some time, both of them suffering in their own way. For Redbeard, it was because he didn't understand.
And for Molly...it was because she thought she did.
As Sherlock rode away that day, having parted from more than one thing that he held dear, he had never been more convinced of one thing. He knew that he never had, and most likely never again would, love another woman the way that he'd fallen in love with Molly Hooper.
Molly still felt like she was walking around in a daze for the next few days. It was difficult to find enjoyment in much of anything, and she was left to wonder how long she would be forced to suffer in this way. As if it wasn't enough that she was still grieving for the loss of her father, she now had the pain of losing Sherlock.
Although having Redbeard was a bit of a painful reminder, she wasn't sorry she'd taken him in. It gave her the benefit of occupying her mind and distracting her from wallowing in negative thoughts. The sweet dog had recovered from missing his master and had made himself at home relatively quickly. His presence was comforting.
Molly took off the apron she'd had on as she helped Mrs. Hart in the kitchen. "I'd better keep an eye out," she said to the older woman. "Dr. Charles should be here any moment."
She left the kitchen, stopping at the mirror in the hallway to make sure she hadn't completely made a mess of herself, and then continued on to the sitting room.
Tom had sent a letter two days ago, requesting a visit this afternoon. She was no fool, and she knew this was significant. He had been casually dropping by till now, always making the excuse of being in the area. But today felt so formal, and it was clear that his intention was to speak plainly of his feelings. She had expected this. It wasn't a shock. Though the timing made things all the more difficult to process.
Not long after, she sat across from Tom in the sunny little room, sipping her tea and giving him an occasional smile. He was a good man, a kind man, and she didn't have one bad thing to say about him...
"Miss Hooper," he said, setting down his tea. "I have something I would like to ask you."
Molly decided to set her tea down as well. Nothing good would come of dropping it all over herself. "Yes, Dr. Charles, what is it?" she asked in as relaxed a tone as she could manage.
"I hope you will not think me rude," he said with a small chuckle. "I would not normally trouble you with such a question, but of course, I have only you to ask." He looked embarrassed, having made reference to her being without a parent.
Molly began to wonder if this was going in a different direction than she thought.
"But I feel I must ask this before...anything else. People do talk of course, and I would not want to be without all the facts. What I want to ask you is whether your father's connection with Mr. Sherlock Holmes was anything to do with...you." He clasped his hands nervously in his lap as he looked at her across the space between the two couches.
Molly blinked a couple of times and looked mildly confused. "Oh, are you referring to Mr. Holmes being the reason Dr. Watson assisted my father in his practice over this summer, because that-"
"Oh no, not that," Tom said quickly. "I was speaking of their financial connection. The payment of his debts."
Molly suddenly felt a chill rush through her body. It was as if she'd been doused with cold water, and the shock was paralyzing. Tom went on.
"Again, forgive me for touching on such a personal matter of your father's, but I did not want to gullibly believe idle gossip. I felt it best to go directly to you instead. I only wish to know because, as you may have gathered by now, it is important to me." He finished his words with a soft smile.
Molly Hooper was clever, especially when she most needed to be. And this was one of those moments. The last thing she wanted to do was to give the impression that she knew nothing of this, or that she was trying to cover anything up. She took a breath and made her lips smile a little.
"It was nothing to do with me, of course," she answered casually. "Mr. Holmes and my father were friends. And my father had cared for their family for many years. It was all simply business dealings between friends. I know little of the details, naturally."
Tom appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. "Naturally," he answered with a smile. "I thought as much, but as I said, people do talk. I know Mr. Holmes was a friend, so...well, no matter. We needn't dwell on such things any longer. In fact, there is something of a different nature that I had hoped to speak to you about now."
Molly felt herself screaming inside at what she knew was coming. She needed a moment, needed to think.
Molly stood abruptly, and Tom followed. "Excuse me for just a moment, Dr. Charles."
"Is something the matter?" he asked, looking concerned.
"Not at all. I just...I wanted to ask Mrs. Hart if she would bring some of that bread she had just baked this morning. I'll only be a moment."
Molly rushed from the room, leaving Tom to sit back down and try to wait patiently. Redbeard had been waiting outside the sitting room and he followed her excitedly into her father's office. Molly shut the door quietly and let her back rest against the wall as she continued gripping the knob tightly.
Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't slow her breathing. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she continued putting all the pieces together. It all made sense now.
She had recently met with her father's accountant, and when she saw the state of their finances, she was pleasantly surprised...very pleasantly surprised. She had drawn her own conclusions about how bad things were, based on things her father had said in the past couple of years. So when she saw that there were funds left in his account, including a separate sum set aside for her dowry, and no debt whatsoever, she had to wonder how things were as good as they were. She was hardly left as a wealthy woman, but she was in no immediate danger either. It almost seemed suspicious to her.
The reality of the situation came crashing down on her and she felt like she might burst. She was here, safe, in her home, with the chance for a future...all because of him. Sherlock had made sure she would be all right. And if she knew her father at all, it was not difficult to understand that Sherlock did this of his own accord. Never in a million years would her father have requested such a thing. In fact, she could very well imagine him fighting the idea at first.
She felt pressure closing in on her. Now what? There was a man sitting in the other room, a wonderful man, who was most likely about to propose. And somewhere, far away...was the man that she wished was in the other room.
Molly battled in her mind, going over about a million different things. She thought of all the lovely things about Tom, and what a good husband he would be. She felt very sure of that. She was a good judge of character, and he was obviously a man that could be the making of a happy wife. And he would take care of her, making sure they were comfortable enough.
She thought about Sherlock. Not just about the truth she'd just learned, but about all the time she'd spent in his company this summer. She tried to analyze how he'd acted, and what he'd said, and done. Had there been anything to it? Anything at all? Or did he simply see her as a trusted friend? Something in his demeanor, and the look in his eyes when he'd left her a few days before, made her think that perhaps there was more...something he wasn't saying.
Molly let out a small groan and ran her hand over her eyes. That was nothing to go on! He'd said nothing, given her no promises, no hope at all. In fact, he even said he might not personally return to collect Redbeard, but instead send someone else! How could she even imagine that Sherlock's affections were a possibility?
Redbeard stood and placed his paws on her legs, looking up at her and giving a small whimper. She sighed and gave him some affection while trying to sort everything out. How could she make a decision with so many factors involved?
But all at once, it hit her like a lead weight. All she had to do was make it simple. There didn't have to be so many factors. Making the decision at hand became incredibly easy when she removed all those other things she'd been weighing in her mind. This was a decision about her own life. It was time to stop thinking about how Sherlock might feel, or Tom, or anyone else. All she needed to make this decision...was herself.
She knew exactly what she needed to do then. There was no more confusion. She closed her eyes. "Heaven help me do what I must," she whispered.
Molly opened the office door, took a deep breath, and went back down the hall to join Tom...
*tiptoes over cautiously* Hi...yeah, I know, another angsty ending. But take heart! I'm almost positive that this is the last chapter with an ending like this. I think you'll enjoy what I have in store! :D
Another little research note- From what I could see online, honey harvesting is something that's done in September. At this point in my plot, it's mid August. So in case anyone was planning on telling me that I was wrong to have him harvest the honey now...yeah, I know I was. I cheated. I felt I had to, given how the timing worked out. I also knew from the beginning that I didn't want to dwell too much on the whole process of honey harvesting as it was done back then anyway, cuz it was pretty grim. Let's just say, people hadn't been clued in yet about how vital bees were. :/ Would have been a complex thing to write about overall.
Anyway, here we are, and I would venture to say there's a couple of chapters left after this. Thanks so much to MizJoely for beta reading for this one, much appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this latest. Talk to me on here, or under the same name on Tumblr! ;)