Happy Friday! Little summary: John has asked Sherlock to be his best man. Meanwhile, someone has informed Molly that they know her dirty little secret, one she thought she had buried years ago. Enjoy the story. I do not own anything from Sherlock.
"And what exactly are you planning to do with Molly Hooper?" Mycroft asked the man seated across from him.
"I don't plan to do anything. I just want her to know that I have the information."
Mycroft leaned forward in his seat. "And what is it, exactly, that you have on her?'
The man with spectacles laughed drily. "That, my dear Mycroft, is for me to know, and for you to find out."
After Molly left Sherlock at the café, he closed his eyes and resumed his thoughts. He opened his eyes a few moments later, and was surprised to find that what he thought had only been mere moments was actually hours. It was bright daylight when Molly left him, but now the world was the cold blue-gray shade that meant that the sun was about to go down.
Sherlock got up from his table and walked a few blocks to the alleyway where he bumped into Molly earlier that day. He strided over to the dumpster and looked around for anything Molly might have thrown away. He looked quickly, for the sun was going down and it would be more difficult to find what he was searching for without light. He picked something up in the gloom. A broken vase filled with red peonies. Sherlock picked up a flower curiously. The vase must have smashed when she tossed it in the trash. The reason he suspected that this was what she threw away was because judging from the tracks in the alleyway, no one had been here since Molly and him were here. The flowers were also relatively fresh, so they must have been recently thrown out.
Sherlock threw the poppy back into the dumpster and left the alleyway. Poppies. Why poppies? And why was Molly so nervous about throwing flowers away? And the fact that she had to throw them away in a dumpster in a remote alleyway was also suspicious. Sherlock still had one more thing to do to be one hundred percent sure that the poppies were hers.
Sherlock went to Molly's apartment in the middle of the night. He picked at her window until it was finally unlocked, and he quietly climbed inside. As he was descending, he knocked over a nearby vase sitting on a table. Sherlock quickly caught it before it could hit the floor, but not before some of the water in it fell out. Oh well. Perhaps Toby would get blamed for that. Sherlock stood still for a moment, assessing whether his intrusion was noticed. Sherlock's eyes roamed the room until they found another pair staring at him. It was just Toby. Sherlock made his way over to Molly's living room table and he crouched beside it. He swept a lone finger across the surface of the glass and held it to his eyes in the moonlight. Dust and pollen resided on his finger. Sherlock stood up, satisfied that he got the answer he was looking for. He climbed back out the window and carefully shut it.
Every day since the red poppy incident, Molly always approached her front door after work on high alert. The process would never change. She would almost silently unlock her door, and then gently open it. She would cautiously go inside and just stand, barely even stepping foot in her own home. She would stay still, looking all around her apartment for signs that anything was changed. After her assessment, she would then take off her shoes and close the front door. Molly was even more on edge for the fact that one morning, Molly stepped into her living room and found a wet spot in her carpet near the window. That meant that someone had broken in the previous night through that particular window and knocked over the vase. That day, Molly ran around her home frantically trying to find any sign of the person who had broken in, but nothing seemed to have changed. Even so, finding that wet spot unnerved her, and she was sure to always better lock her windows.
Molly's routine didn't change much. She would usually just go to the kitchen and set Toby's dinner and then make tea. She drank a lot of tea nowadays. She found that the only things that could calm her jumbled nerves were tea, her cat, and Sherlock.
Molly lay in bed awake this particular night, thinking deeply. She spent years trying to bury this little secret in the back of her mind, and she was even sure that nobody knew about it or would ever find out. The day she found those red poppies in her living room changed her life. Molly lived in constant fear, afraid that her secret would be revealed to everyone she knew. Everyone would hate her, and she would even go to jail. Molly gulped at the thought. That's right; she would go to jail if people knew what she had done.
Feeling a tingling sensation in her bladder, Molly got up to go to the bathroom. She had to do this quite often because of all the tea she consumed in an attempt to relax. Molly finished her business in the bathroom, and while she was up, she went to recheck that the doors and windows were locked. One could never be too sure.
Molly crawled back in her bed and resumed her train of thought. With the reemergence of the secret, her guilt also came back. Guilt that carved a hole in her chest and branded shame on Molly's conscience. Molly whispered into the darkness of the air, hoping that the dead could hear her.
"I'm sorry dad. I should have never done it."
John, Mary, and Sherlock all sat in the living room of 221b Baker Street, busily making preparations for the wedding. Sherlock shuffled through the guest list.
"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin."
Mary smiled at him. "Ah, orphan's lot. Friends, that's all I have. Lots of friends."
Sherlock nodded and scribbled something down. "Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48."
"But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down," Mary said.
"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm," Sherlock replied, clearly showing that he was, in fact, not calm.
"Let's get back to the reception, come on."
They walked back to the table, scoured with invitations and cards. Mary handed Sherlock one. "John's cousin. Top table?"
Sherlock glanced down at the RSVP card. "Hmm. Hates you. Can't even bear to think about you."
Mary looked up at him. "Seriously?"
"Second class post, cheap card." He sniffed it and grimaced. "Bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."
"Ah." Mary looked over her shoulder to John. "Let's stick her by the toilets."
"Oh yes," Sherlock agreed.
A buzz sounded from Mary's pocket. She took it out and slightly frowned when she saw who it was from: Janine Hawkins.
JH: So how's the wedding planning going? I get to be maid-of-honor, right?
Mary's eyebrow twitched as she read the message. She quickly texted a reply.
MM: It's going fine. And yes, of course.
JH: Great. It's only right, seeing as I'm your best friend, and I'm the only one who knows all your secrets. Good luck with planning ;)
Mary roughly shoved her phone back into her pocket. Sherlock noticed her foul mood after she checked the messages, but decided not to pry. Mary stepped back over to Sherlock.
"Who else hates me?" she asked.
Sherlock instantly handed her a sheet of paper with a long list of names on it.
"Oh great, thanks."
John sat in his usual chair, looking through his phone. He read aloud, "Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting."
Mary looked down at the paperwork before her and mumbled, "Table four…"
"Done," Sherlock said to her.
John chuckled at something on his screen. "My husband is three people."
"Table five," Mary instructed.
Sherlock looked at a list. "Major James Sholto. Who is he?"
"Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming."
"He'll be there," John assured.
"Well, he needs to RSVP then."
"He'll be there."
"Mmm," Mary replied.
John read from his phone again. "My husband is three people. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.
Sherlock stood up. "Identical triplets, one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat," he quick-fired. "Now, serviettes."
Sherlock crouched down beside the coffee table, reached under it, and pulled out a tray with two serviettes folded into different shapes. He gestured at them as he looked up at Mary.
"Swan or Sydney Opera House?"
"Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary exclaimed.
"Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation…"
"Fibbing, Sherlock."
"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of-"
"I'm not John. I can tell when you're fibbing."
Sherlock sighed in defeat. "Okay, I learned it on YouTube."
Mary laughed. "Opera House, please."
She leaned over to one side and reached into her trouser pocket. "Ooh, hang on. I'm buzzing." She took out her phone and lifted it to her ear.
"Hello? Oh, hi Beth!"
John lifted his eyes from his phone as Mary walked into the kitchen. "Yeah, I don't see why not," she spoke into the phone.
John stood up and looked at Sherlock. "Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too. Hang on." He headed towards the kitchen while Sherlock sat on the floor, cross-legged and facing the coffee table.
In the kitchen, John walked over to Mary. "He knows we don't have a friend called Beth. He's going to figure out that it's code."
"He's YouTubing serviettes."
"He's thorough," John suggested.
"He's terrified."
"Course he's not!"
"Right, you know when you're scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That's what he's doing."
"Why would he be scared that we're getting married? It's not going to change anything. We'll still do stuff."
"Well, you need to prove it to him. I told you to find him a new case."
"I'm trying."
"You need to run him, okay? Show him it's still the good old days." Mary nodded encouragingly at John and gestured towards the living room. She put her hands on his back and shoved him forward.
Sherlock briefly glanced up as John entered the room. There were dozens of serviettes scattered around him, folded in Sydney Opera House shapes.
"That just sort of…happened," Sherlock explained.
John walked forward to his friend sitting on the floor. "Sherlock, um…mate." Sherlock stood up, and John continued. "I…I've smelled eighteen different perfumes; I've sampled," he paused to think. "Nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple-"
"Lilac," Sherlock corrected.
"Lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decisions that we have made. I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting, so please, before she comes back…" John glanced toward the kitchen, where Mary was still "talking" to Beth. He activated his phone, and slid it across the table to Sherlock. The screen showed Sherlock's Science of Deduction website. "…pick something."
Sherlock eyes flickered down to the screen a few times.
"Anything. Pick one," John pleaded.
"Pick what?"
John blinked a few times and then laughed. "A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just, get me out of here."
Sherlock leaned in to whisper to John. "You want to go out on a case. N-now?"
"Please, Sherlock, for me."
Sherlock took the phone. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this." He flicked through the messages on his website. "Oh," he said, finding something of interest.
"Let's go and investigate. Please?"
"Elite Guard," Sherlock read.
"Forty enlisted men and officers."
"Why this particular Grenadier? Curious."
"Now you're talking."
Sherlock handed the phone back. "Okay."
They stood up and started walking towards the doors just as Mary came back into the room with her phone at her ear. "Bye," she said to the phone.
"Er, we're just going to…" John said. "I need, um, Sherlock to help me choose some, er, socks." Sherlock said "Ties" as the same moment John said "socks."
Mary looked form one man to the other. "Why don't we go with socks?"
"Yeah," John agreed.
"I mean, you've got to get the right ones," she pointed out.
"Exactly. To go with my…outfit." John said "outfit" the moment Sherlock blurted out "tie."
"That'll take a while, right?" Mary asked.
John pointed toward the kitchen. "My coat in there?"
"Yes!" Mary said a little too excitedly.
Sherlock moved over to Mary. "Just going to take him out for a bit. Run him."
She smiled. "I know. You said you'd find him a case!"
"Mm."
"Come on, Sherlock," John called.
"Coming."
Sherlock stepped over to the stairway. Both men were now in different rooms and could not see each other. They simultaneously gave Mary a big thumbs up. She grinned at them and did the same. Sherlock and John then both headed down the stairs.
As Sherlock finished putting on his coat and walked out the door, he called out, "Taxi!"
Mary returned to her wedding planning, happy that both her boys were off on an adventure. She walked over to her list of bridesmaids and crossed off Janine's name.
"You won't be attending my wedding. And you certainly won't be my maid-of-honor," Mary whispered to the air.
Things heat up! Janine appears to be blackmailing Mary with knowledge of Mary's dark past, and Molly is turning into a nervous wreck. Please review, I love reading what the readers have to say. Also, polite, constructive criticism would always be welcome.