When someone first mentioned the invitation she was in the lab doing some blood tests, checking if it was in fact Mr Harold's diabetes that kicked in the last minute, but suddenly Mike Stamford fluttered in the lab smirking at her, "Good morning!" he said cheerily, arms crossed as he stood surveying her for a minute.
She blinked up at him, giving him a grin in return, "Oh – hello – Mike – morning yourself."
He just continued to grin, which made Molly wait expectantly for him to continue, "I suppose congratulations are in order, then?" he said with a brief nod.
"Congratulations?" she said properly bewildered.
If her engagement ring was on her finger it would have reminded her, but it was safely stored inside her locker so it wouldn't be drenched in death. Instead her mind instantly went to the other reason why Mike Stamford would find himself inclined to congratulate her, which almost made her half-dizzy.
Had Sherlock told everyone?
Of course he didn't want to actually be the maid of honour, of course he'd snap, of course he'd do - "Your engagement to Michael, I'll be glad to come Friday, I suppose you want to have the day off, then?"
"Oh – right – that's – right – it's this Friday," she said hands on her thighs, as she blinked hurriedly trying to recover.
Mike looked confused for a second, until he gave to laugh, "Don't pretend you don't know – you're probably very excited!" Excited was not exactly the word she was looking for, as she'd managed to forget it. Not because it was her engagement party, but because, "So, it's at Sherlock's flat, then? A bit weird, but interesting I suppose," said Mike.
She liked to think that bit had never been mentioned really, as it had been a hysterical suggestion at the best. The sheer idea that Sherlock would willingly open the doors to his home to a load of strangers – for a party celebrating her nuptials - for a wedding he was primarily trying to stop from happening was beyond mad.
She'd convinced herself it was some rubbish he'd thrown out to impress Michael, to convince him that he was serious, and that he deserved the honorary title he acquired from her, sweeping the rug underneath her feet. A fact that she knew would have to be known to all, especially the round-faced Mike who looked excited by the premise of being invited to see Sherlock's flat too, "Oh, yes – his flat is just larger than mine." It really wasn't, but it was a lie she could cope with. She was going to celebrate her engagement in his flat, her husbands flat – the lie was nothing compared to that fact.
"It really is? I almost thought it was a misprint," said Mike in slight disbelief, "Well, then I'll sort out the work schedule, so you'll have the day properly off. You need your sleep after all." With that Mike disappeared, but after his visit several more people came pouring in.
Everyone with the same question, "Why is at Sherlock Holmes' flat?" She too wondered.
221B Baker Street had become infamous, a mysterious place, which none had seen the inside of, but the press had a tendency to clamour outside of. Despite it all, everyone at Bart's were terribly eager, since they only ever saw him preoccupy the corridors, before disappearing into her lab or the morgue.
None of them knew him personally, some had met him, and of course thought of him, "As a nasty piece of work," which at this very point Molly felt inclined to agree with, except she felt that their reasoning was not as well-thought as hers.
She had all reason to be angry with the man, and believe it she was – for - everyone important in her life had received an invitation – all except her. They said that the invitations were very pretty, and that, "I suppose it's your maid of honour who's done it, then? – Very smart, I've got to say," said Sheila from the reception.
No one had exactly brought any of theirs in, as they all supposed she'd seen them, and she found herself nodding with them at how lovely the invitation was.
This did nothing to diminish her ever-growing curiosity, really, as people continued to line up chatting away about it. For a blissful second she remained hopeful that her mum hadn't received one, except it was probably the fact that her camera phone was on silent-mode that made that belief at all exist.
That idea stopped existing the minute several enraged voice-mails appeared, "Why on earth is Sherlock Holmes hosting your engagement party? You could have called me – of course - I'd have it – I would have assumed you'd like having it at your childhood home, but instead you want to be cooped up in his most likely dingy little flat?" Though there was a great deal more cursing involved, which made her certainly wary of answering her father, but she did in the end, "Hello," she said more quietly than she wanted.
"Soooo," said her father chuckling, "He's hosting the party, then?"
"Yeah."
"Still on-going with the evaluation?"
"Yeah..."
"Right, is there more you wouldn't like to tell me?"
"He's my maid of honour, actually."
Molly bit her lip nervously, listening to her dad breathing deeply, before he said, "Well, then – have you told your mother yet?"
"No."
"That's all right, I'll tell her."
"You will?"
"At the party, where she can't wreck havoc, and will have to smile." It was a phone-call that certainly eased her mind, but it didn't make her less curious.
"So dad, how smart is this invitation, actually?"
"Why are you asking? Haven't you got one?"
"Yes – of course – I have – ok - no, he didn't send me one."
"Oh, now that's funny – why wouldn't he do that?"
"I've got no idea, even Michael's got one. He texted me about it."
"I wouldn't read too much into it love," said her dad, and she supposed it was to reassure her. However why was she left in the dark after all? It was her wedding to be had, her engagement party, and it might be hosted by her hopefully soon-to-be-ex-husband, but she had some rights. It wasn't exactly surprising that she hounded Mary into coming into Bart's with it after work, which Mary did grudgingly, after Molly pleaded with her a couple of times.
The minute Mary walked in, Molly sprang towards her clapping her hands together, "Excited, are we?" her friend said smugly.
Molly calmed down at that, glaring slightly at her friend, "I'm just curious, it's after all – him – he's done it all on his own."
"You've been worried, then?"
"No," said Molly, until she hurriedly added, "Of course I have – just – give it to me, Mary."
Mary smirked, bringing forth from her handbag a deep purple envelope, which she handed to her. The texture of the envelope itself felt expensive, the hand-written text on the front was certainly not done by Sherlock, as his own was absolutely atrocious.
"You are sure this is it?" she said holding it in her hands, turning it over, until she slid out the white hard thick parchment, that bore similar hand-writing, besides engraved text, all in deep purple.
Hers and Michael's names were even made into a fashionable logo; M&M. There was also the scent of lavender lingering on the invitation; she frowned, as she found that the envelope was still a bit heavy, even without the parchment. Within the purple envelope was a piece of white orchid, the flower perfectly pressed, and still fresh.
She loved orchids.
"Oh," she said gaping at it horrified, as she held it between her fingertips.
A/N: You're probably mad, yes, you're entitled. I was supposed to update once a week, I know - I really do know, but stuff came in the way. Now, I am quite back. And I certainly promise it won't be long to next.
Now, I could have written this longer, even different, but it didn't work. I just hope you too are excited for the engagement-party. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, the follows - the everything! And thank you for not badgering me to death, though with every right to do so!