A/N: Thank you beta AussieMaelstrom, for telling me when to stop, and generally having patience.
He liked to think for a minute he'd been sensible wanting to meet her in the middle of the night to confess, but the second he looked up at the building seeing only the dim light inside the flat he knew she wasn't home. It did not stop from him from entering the building, walking up the familiar steps, until he stood outside the door - his shoes threading onto the "welcome mat". He wasn't welcome, he knew that, and there was certainly no point to be standing there with ragged breath either, as he put his palm upon the door touching the wood for a second.
Sherlock hadn't been there since that night, there had been no occasions for it, no moments for him to walk in on, no purpose for him to be there, really, and there was certainly none now. The desire that had coursed through him the minute he left Mycroft were certainly diminished now, as there would only be one place she'd be at the moment – at Michael's.
His brother had divulged the fact that he'd contributed in keeping Michael busy, which didn't exactly make Sherlock anything but annoyed by his interference, though how secretly pleased he was. Nevertheless, the fact that Molly wasn't home now, was probably to steal a single moment with her fiancé who had no time for her otherwise, and that was certainly no comfort.
He tore his hand away from the door, "Idiot," he said to himself, his feet soon taking to run down the steps, only to stop when he heard the soft whining sound that came from the flat. Sherlock turned around surprised, as the sound strengthened into loud mewling that now had started clawing at the front door.
The blasted cat recognised his voice obviously, and he found himself smirking, rather pleased over that fact. He had hated that cat, when he first stepped into her flat for shelter. It persisted in trying to sit on his things, whether it was his laptop or his lap, though the latter was a great deal more convenient.
Sherlock reached into the inner pocket of his coat, bringing forth the one object he wasn't entirely certain he still had, but there he was turning the spare key in his fingers. He slipped it in the door- half-surprised that she hadn't changed the locks- and got inside. Toby was soon mewing by his ankles, circling around him with such speed and ferocity, as he started to purr.
"Feeling neglected then?" he said, while the cat continued to hang about him, until he finally managed to shut the door behind him softly, before heading towards the kitchen cupboard to fetch a tin of cat food.
He felt like being busy, for he was certainly not a welcomed guest in this flat, especially when she wasn't around, and he barely dared taking a proper look about, as he would see signs of her fiancé having been there, or her for that matter.
He got the tin promptly placing it on the floor, while the cat Toby sprang upon it clearly delighted over the extra feeding. Sherlock supposed that was why he recalled him at all really; as he'd been quite careless with the amount of tuna he gave him. Molly had despaired over the fact that her cat had certainly grown, when he'd stayed, but he'd only said it was her imagination.
He had only done it so the cat wouldn't paw at him so much, when she wasn't around. Toby had the sense of being much more annoying without his owner present, even taking to practically screeching in terror if he took a shower in Molly's flat.
Sherlock finally allowed himself a look, finding that not much had changed really, a few pot plants looked less kept than usual, several books were laying about, but seemed forgotten. There were a scandalous amount of bridal magazines on the coffee table in front of the sofa, but not much to remark.
Everything was still the same, the only real difference in the room was him, for he found himself staring longer than needed taking everything in - knowing very well that he was trespassing at best - but he excused himself for it, after all - his mother knew.
His mother knew he'd been married, and it was enough to make his skin crawl at the idea. Mycroft had handed him a cigarette a second after his announcement, which he hastened to light inside the car to his brother's annoyance, but Mycroft did not make any scandalized remarks on the subject.
Instead he had explained the whole situation to him, which had forced him to divulge as to why Sherlock had suddenly felt the need to buy a wedding dress for a woman. He wasn't pleased that his mother knew, and he was certainly not at all comforted by the fact that his brother understood any of it either.
He had hoped it would go undetected, but he should have known that considering the high circles his mother moved in, it wasn't surprising she kept an eye open if either of her sons were ever going to step into a bridal shop.
Their mother had always lived on the hope that at least one of them would go through matrimony, and now she was certainly not pleased over the fact that she was kept in the dark that one had. This would have to be altered of course, so while he swept up the empty tin of cat food from the now distracted cat he brought up his phone –
When is the next meeting? - SH
Molly wouldn't answer before the morning, but he was going to do this – on his terms not his mothers, he thought, before stepping out of the flat he was guaranteed not to set eyes upon again. For, he was certain no Molly Hooper would be living there by next year.
Molly had always assumed that all of her wants would come naturally, that she would know off the bat what she hoped for, but that was wishful thinking obviously. Instead she found herself throwing aside bridal magazines with a flurry of aggravation, though she knew what was bothering her really.
She hadn't exactly informed Michael of Sherlock helping her – or – of him buying the wedding dress.
The whole concept was so foreign to her that she almost thought she imagined it, and it certainly felt that way when Sherlock suddenly stopped turning up to their meetings.
He gave no word – but she hadn't heard anything from him since he'd bought the dress. He hadn't shown up at Bart's either, which made her wonder since John's blog was drowning in new cases almost every day.
It wasn't exactly surprising, but it made her a bit startled to find them doing the domestic approach. She'd always thought they'd take the glamorous over-complicated ones, but nowadays everything was a ten, apparently.
Mary suggested that maybe he'd been scared off, which she didn't find entirely unlikely. He hadn't exactly been keen when they'd mentioned shopping to begin with, but now things were merrily being planned after all.
They were planning a wedding with about two hundred people.
Two hundred.
The sheer number made her stomach drop, giving her a headache, just as much as her mulling over Sherlock's purchase.
She had enough with thinking of how to tell Michael about his involvement, but the fact that Sherlock wasn't showing up was certainly buying her time. Though she couldn't exactly put off telling Michael that she'd re-invited him to the actual ceremony itself, after all, Sherlock was to stand by her side along with the rest of her bridesmaids.
The sole imagery that was conjured up on that thought made her feel dizzy really, as she didn't feel it right of him to stand there, but she couldn't imagine him sitting down with the other guests either. At this rate he'd probably not appear at all, since he seemed too busy anyway. In some ways it was a relief, but it didn't exactly make her or Mary any better at the planning bit.
Mary had suggested bringing the other bridesmaids in on it, but Molly knew that some of them already had binders filled to the brim with ridiculous ideas – that prompted the pair of them to settle down with their own binder filling it with all kinds of things they loathed, while cackling loudly sharing a bottle of wine. Molly had ended up spending the night at Mary's, since she could barely stand without wobbling, only to find herself woken up by her phone vibrating.
"Who the bloody hell is texting you in the middle of the night?" muttered Mary out of the corner of her mouth, still fully clothed, as the pair of them lay in her bed.
When's the next meeting? – SH
"Sher-lock," she said, only to have Mary sit upright in the bed peering over her shoulder.
"What does it say?" she said squinting at the screen.
"He's just asking about the planning meeting," she said yawning loudly laying down again.
"In the middle of the night? That's not usually what men text women in the middle of the night," said Mary.
"He's the great detective, you know, and – I don't think he'd ever ask me or anyone about what I'm wearing," said Molly who started to giggle on the thought.
"If he ever asks, please say wedding dress," said Mary, causing both the women to laugh for a very long time.
She hated herself for not being one of those women who had everything imagined – she only knew she wanted it in winter, at a great big house, preferably with a mausoleum, and that was it – she didn't think of what she was going to eat, or the colours of the napkins. That wasn't important, really. Of course she'd been idly doodling her name Molly Jane…though the last time she'd done that, the last name had been one she could legally take.
Mary had laughed for a full five minutes when she informed her of that fact, and she knew that it would probably never stop being amusing for her friend. The only person who took it dead seriously was Michael, and for some time her. Now it was just an assortment of odd things that coexisted with her relationship with Sherlock – that and black with two sugars.
Luckily since Sherlock was yet again involved, she felt it important that she take the planning seriously, giving herself the week off more or less to plan with him and Mary, of course the fact that neither was at the teashop didn't exactly make her confidence soar. It was just so very typical that both were late, when she'd even brought a notebook, which she felt was a step into the right direction (though she suspected she just wanted a new notebook).
Her phone went off – there could only be one reason as to that – one of them wasn't coming, and so she picked it up automatically frowning, before bringing it to her ear, "Mary?"
"Oh God – you're probably not going to be happy hearing this."
She was quite right at that.
"I'm stuck at work-," Mary added guiltily, before hastily adding why, "Some idiot brought a knife to school, of course, and as I am his teacher I've got to have a discussion with the police, before meeting his parents."
"Oh my god – really?" said Molly gaping.
"So, I don't think I'll make it today - I don't know how long this will go on exactly, but I'm sure they'll blame me for it."
"Why would they do that?"
Mary gave a hollow laugh, "We read through Hamlet, which is in the curriculum of course – has been for how long I don't know, but somehow the boy in question thinks he can say that motivated him."
"Hamlet? Really?" said Molly trying hard not to laugh.
"I'm somehow a bit glad he's been paying attention, as usually they'd say – it's the violence in video games, or that dreadful pop music. No, this time he was passionate about literature," said Mary with a sigh, "I don't know if I should laugh or cry, but I am definitively stuck at work to teach him why that's a stupid idea. He seems at least to know it now, don't you Simon?"
Molly could hear a solemn "Yes, Miss Morstan," crackling in the background.
"You'll be OK, though, I suspect?" said Mary.
"Of course, it's – it's fine."
"Have you spoken to him face to face, since he texted you?"
"No," said Molly biting her lip.
"You'd think that with the case load he's been having lately with John he'd actually pop round Bart's – yes – I am talking about Sherlock Holmes, Simon, and he would frown upon your stupidity," snapped Mary to whoever the poor Simon was, "Gods – I've got to go – his parents are here already, and his dad doesn't look spectacularly happy. I suspect it's his knife, I'm so sorry Molly."
"Don't worry, it's not your fault - just call me later on to tell me how it went?"
"Most likely, but it'll be fine. Simon however won't be that fine-," said Mary, before adding, "Good luck – bye!" and with that Molly ended up staring at her phone for a full minute in contemplative silence.
Brilliant, she was now entirely alone with Sherlock.
Not that it wasn't fine of course, since they'd been technically alone together loads of times now, but it just seemed – it had been rather – difficult actually - "Mary not coming then?" said a the deep familiar voice making the hairs on her neck stand up in shock.
He was eyeing the phone in her hand, which she quickly put on the table trying to seem like she wasn't at all nervous in his presence. She wasn't nervous in his presence, what on earth was she even thinking about? Molly did however despair over the fact that he didn't exactly say hello like ordinary people.
"No, she was caught up at work," she said trying to smile, before adding, "Hello."
"Ah," he said eyes fixed above her head and to their surroundings.
She was starting to wonder if he was purposely avoiding her eye, that or he was fascinated by the interior design, and a small part of her wondered if there was something dodgy going on in the cafe, but by his uninterested expression – maybe not.
"Would you like to sit down?" she said staring up at him with pursed lips, but his blue eyes kept still darting above her head.
"I suspect under the circumstances that it is better she not be here," he said obviously not listening.
A/N: Thank for reading! Hah. Sorry. I would like to thank those who always take the time reviewing - you are absolutely lovely, and I'm sorry if I don't answer everyone of you. If it comforts you I spend a great deal writing anyway, still am for that matter, and my beta AussieMaelstrom is currently looking on the next two chapters (poor woman). Have a nice Wednesday (?). Time difference is such a complicated thing, since for some I'm in the future, for others I am in the past. I'll shut up now.