A/N: I first let AussieMaelstrom beta the first draft of this chapter, only to re-write it a bit, so it's probably riddled with mistakes, but I found myself so terribly impatient to let it be beta-ed. Every fault on this is my own.

"Thank you," Molly said breaking the silence all of a sudden.

"For what?" he said fully knowing the answer, but he felt at least he could turn his head towards her in mock-surprise.

"The dress, of course. I don't know of many maids of honours who'd do that exactly."

"You've thanked me enough, Molly. Anyway they should," he said turning his face away from hers once more, "I suspect Michael wouldn't be overjoyed to know that particular fact."

"He wanted to pay for my dress himself, actually."

"Did he now?" said Sherlock who's tone conveyed enough of his feelings on the subject and the man, though he tried to keep it as casual as he could.

"I turned him down, though – I wouldn't have let-,"

"You don't like having favours done for you, which is why I bought it without asking."

"That's quite rude, you know – what if I didn't like it?"

"The expression on your face seemed otherwise, of course if I misread the look of pleasure, there is still time to return it."

"Oh no you don't," she said with a grin, her eyes soon fixed on her lap.

"Are you nervous?" he said.

"What – to meet your friend?" she said looking up.

"No – getting married."

"Considering it's my second time, I think I'll be fine." she said, and he allowed himself to laugh.

She had thought the bridal shop was posh, but this was to the point of laughable – a bridal consultant. Molly didn't even know there were jobs like these really, or that people could give themselves these sorts of titles, as they entered a glass building riddled with women bustling about.

Sherlock had given himself the consulting detective moniker, so she supposed if he could – why wasn't it possible for others? Though this seemed like a much more lucrative business, as the women were being followed about by various couples. The men in said couples looked more agitated than the women Molly suspected were brides to be. She was suddenly thrown over by how calm she was regarding the whole thing, which in turn scared her, so she supposed her facial expression for once fit her.

It was less intimidating than the bridal shop, despite the masses of 'bridal consultants' walking about, whether they were sitting behind shiny desks, or talking on phones.

She supposed it had all to do with the fact that the smiles were genuine for once, which was good. Sherlock strode off to the reception, with her in tow, taking in the sight of the alabaster words that popped out of the wall, each letter the height of Sherlock himself – Bride co.

"Sherlock Holmes," he announced to the woman who had a phone pressed to her ear.

She looked up, "The office with the red door at the end of the hallway – you can't miss it, it's the largest one," the woman said returning rather quickly to her phone call.

Sherlock didn't seem unnerved, while Molly walked slowly behind him, taking the place in unabashedly, for some of the couples she saw entered rooms that certainly looked more like hotel rooms, than any office. They had beige carpets, luscious crème sofas, fresh flowers in painted vases, and landscape paintings – all before a simple glass desk.

She collided into his back gaping at the scenery, hearing him disguising his snort of amusement over her silliness with a clearing of the throat – this was obviously ordinary to him, but she found it unsettling at best. Even more so, when she saw the red door they were stood before. It didn't need the door to be distinguishable; the glass walls spoke volumes by themselves.

One couldn't miss it really, or the bareness of the room. Instead of adorning it with a seating area, or placing anything that made it seem at all cosy it only had a large glass desk, and two white chairs in front of it. Behind the desk itself, a woman with silvery shoulder-length hair was sat looking over some papers, the wall behind her was covered with photographs of what Molly assumed were other brides she'd taken care of.

She recognised many of the faces, for all of those faces were ones that covered any magazine she could find in the office of her dentist. She didn't exactly fit the profile, though Sherlock did not seem irked by this like she was upon opening the red door, only gesturing for her to walk inside.

She did, ever so hesitantly.

"This will only take a minute," said the woman behind the desk waving a manicured hand towards the chairs.

Molly sat down feeling she should have dressed up - rather than down, as she saw the woman's immaculate attire. The older woman was dressed in what seemed to be a wrinkle free white two-piece suit, rather daring for a woman who worked with weddings, as all the others working there were wearing black.

She could only suppose that this woman was their boss, for her expression was certainly relaxed compared to the others who sprang about, and her mouth was riddled with lines, that spoke of a great deal of laughter. At least at that she felt better, perhaps not when the woman tutted loudly, exclaiming some annoyance over her papers, until she finally looked up.

Her blue eyes swept quickly from Sherlock who'd seated himself looking everywhere else but at the woman, before landing on Molly who felt herself physically shrinking in her seat. She was being measured, she could feel that, it felt like the look Sherlock had given her the first time they'd met, and it certainly did not feel the same. There was however something she felt like she was missing, whatever it was – it caused her stomach to lurch quite spectacularly, and she was sure the woman heard it for a smile broke out on her face.

"You must be Molly," she said.

Molly wondered if she should confirm this, but the woman reached for her hand, and Molly shook it briefly in return. Her eyes had gone to Molly's engagement ring, seeming almost to narrow with mild disbelief, "I'm Violet - Molly. It has come to my attention that you might be in need of some help?" Violet's eyes turned to Sherlock briefly, but he seemed more interested in the office space.

Even if his mind was elsewhere he said, "You volunteered," and Molly would have thought it was said confidently, but he seemed to be rather uncomfortable where he was seated.

He almost seemed like he was expecting to be chastised at his remark, and she half-believed he would.

Violet only continued to smile, her eyes solely fixed on her face, "You haven't chosen a venue yet – I suppose – the prices might vary of course, and Sherlock told me that the budget isn't exactly one to boast about – when is it you're getting married again?"

She felt stupid, her hands clinging to her handbag, "December," she said.

Violet didn't look pleased, "That isn't very long to – I would have thought you would have had all planned by then, since November is almost upon us."

Oh God.

"I've – it's been a bit difficult, really."

"I see," said Violet her hands folded on top of the desk, as she stared for a long time at Molly, "Well, that's why you have me-," Molly felt a rush of relief at Violet's overwhelming confidence, "If this had been a spring wedding, we might have run into some trouble, of course, but most venues are luckily available during this time. Even if it a rather rushed wedding, I think there won't be any problems at hand, really, do you – Sherlock?"

Sherlock eyes were narrowed staring at Violet's desk; his lips almost didn't seem to move, as he uttered, "No."

Violet seemed pleased at that answer, turning round to Molly, "I am usually not available at such short notice, so you should consider yourself lucky – but I would like to hear about your fiancé? Sherlock has only told me that his name is Michael, I must confess I'm surprised that he is not here with us, and Sherlock is."

"Well – he's rather busy with work."

Violet frowned, "That's a pity," she sighed, "I would have liked to meet him. We like to meet both the bride and the grooms needs, for we cannot overlook the other."

"He doesn't really want anything – he just wants to marry me," said Molly with a tiny smile.

Violet quieted down for a minute, eyes flickering between Sherlock and Molly, "He does sound like a nice young man, letting you have whatever you want, but you must want a fairy-tale wedding, even if just a little?"

"No, I don't want that. I just want a wedding I'll remember, really."

"Something outside the city? Perhaps on the country side?"

"I don't think I can afford that, though."

Violet's eyes turned to Sherlock, "I am sure Sherlock showed you some pictures of a specific venue, did you not?"

He gave no answer.

"He did, but he never gave the price," said Molly answering for him.

"I don't think the price will be any problem," said Violet with a wave of her hands.

"Oh, why not?" said Molly bemused.

"It's my home."

Molly didn't know where to look really, "Your – it's your – house?"

"I wouldn't call it a house exactly, but yes it is indeed mine. Sherlock is aware of that fact, which is most likely why he suggested it to begin with – now I know it is rather irregular, but I am willing to let you borrow it."

"Borrow? But… it's… I can pay," said Molly feeling dizzy with surprise.

"It is a place barely used in all honesty, I spend much more time in the city, than I ever do at home."

Sherlock snorted at that, while Molly tried to protest, "But – I can find another place, it doesn't seem right, to take yours-,"

"It's absolutely fine dear, I'd be delighted to help you really, and I think I have everything I need to know now."

"Wait – that's it?"

"I just needed a good look at you Molly - to know your needs. It's not very tricky, you want something simple, not over-stated, but elegant none the less. My home will fit that mould perfectly, and I have just the thing," said the woman bringing out a massive folder that was so well stocked Molly's eyes became saucers. "In here is everything you need, more or less, and most of it is already ordered - all just within your price limit in fact, thanks to Sherlock here, who was very helpful. If you do wish to do this on your own, that'll be fine, of course – in the end it is your choice."

Molly's eyes were fixed on the folder, "I think – I think I'll need all the help I can get, thank you," she said her words rushing out rather desperate.

"Well, now - you don't need to worry about a thing," said Violet smiling, as Molly felt comforted by the sheer idea that she didn't need to think anymore about the final details concerning her wedding.

In the boulder of a file were both his and his mother's suggestions - of course the actual staff at the company had assisted them throughout the whole, but most of it had been done with little anxiety from either party. That was if he chose to ignore the onslaught of commentary that his mother poised on every tiny bit of knowledge he revealed about Miss Hooper. He finally hoped the stream of questioning would end at this point, choosing to ignore the doubt that was flitting throughout him, despite giving the woman what she'd wanted.

The one thing she had wished for was only to see "the poor girl" who had been his wife for the last six years, and he had barely yielded to that request to begin with. He had proposed this plan, for he knew that it would put an end to any more meetings between them, even if he were worried Molly would spot the similarities. She didn't seem to notice a thing, there were after all only a handful of traits he had from his mother anyway, and only visible to the trained eye.

He knew his mother rather gave it away by asking him to stay behind for a minute to talk, letting Molly walk through the crimson door, until she stood outside the glass walls rocking on her heels.

"Was that really necessary?" he said with his eyes trained on Molly's oblivious face.

His mother crossed her arms, her chin turned upwards, as she revealed the tension he knew had vibrated throughout her that entire time, "This is what you want?" she said keeping her voice pointlessly low.

"Yes," he bit back taking to walk away, as he adopted a cheery smile that did not fool her, "It will be rather good don't you think? After all we-,"

"Sherlock," she said in that reprimanding voice that had made him cower in a younger age, now fully grown he did not shrink, but he did not feel tempted to turn around to face her, "You know how I have often considered you terribly bright? Well, much more than bright of course. Calling you bright would almost be an insult at this point, as you and your brother are both exceptional men."

She drew a shaky breath.

"You are making a rather convincing argument of the opposite at the moment, and I am sure your brother agrees." she said.

"Will that be all?" he said turning around to face her.

His mother gave him a tender smile in return, her eyes glistening slightly, "She's rather lovely…not what I expected, but certainly much better. I just wish I had met her sooner under different circumstances."

Sherlock felt his mouth turn dry.

"I know."

He didn't want to speak, for he knew what he'd finally say if he spent any more seconds with her, but there he was in a taxi heading to her flat. He knew he was just buying time, even if that time was spent in silence, for she hadn't spoken a word since they'd left that dreadful place.

She'd just been sat biting furiously at her lip, but he did not point it out. The taxi finally took to halt, saving him the agony of doing so, for she stepped out, and he found himself doing the same – pretending it was out of pure courtesy and not selfishness. He held up a hand to the taxi driver asking him to wait, while he slowly followed Molly to the stone steps that lead to her building.

Her expression was unreadable, as she took the first step up, "Thank you – for letting me meet her – she was rather nice, not as scary as I would have thought."

"Not all bridal consultants are terrifying, Molly," feigning amusement, but he was surprised to find her turning to face him on the step.

She looked down on him, it seemed like she was trying hard not to laugh, "I meant your mum," she said, "I don't suppose it's often you meet the mother-in-law of your first marriage to help plan your second."

He blinked foolishly, "How – how did you…"

"You look a lot like her," said Molly, "It's a bit difficult not to notice, really."

He should have known.

"Why exactly does she want to help?" she asked.

He avoided snorting at that, his mother hadn't exactly wanted to be of help in this case.

"She wanted to congratulate you for managing to stay married to me for six years," he said smirking.

She looked at him sceptically, "Ok – but it's not really your old home, is it?" she said.

"No, it's your something borrowed," he said unblinkingly.

"What?" she said, "Sherlock-,"

"It's my childhood home, and I wouldn't be a good man of honour if I did not let you have what you want, would I?"

"But-,"

"Just agree Molly-,"

"Ok." she said taking to laugh nervously, though she hesitantly added in a low voice, "There's no evil plan is there?"

"Evil plan?" he said affronted.

"You know, you doing something stupid, or something?"

"I am not famous for being an idiot."

She looked like she disagreed, "No, but I wouldn't put it against you to do something anyway."

"What would I do on your wedding day?" he said rather slowly allowing his eyes to roam around her face, as she started down at him with a curious expression – her brown eyes twinkling.

"I don't know," she said releasing a breath, "No idea really, you've been surprising me so much lately, that I don't know what you would do."

"It'll be fine, Molly. I promise. You won't see me do anything on your wedding day," he said with a brief nod reaching for the door handle of the taxi.

The twinkle in her eye was gone, and his resolve vanished when she said, "What's wrong?"

He froze, it was a scene so very close to his heart now, one that he had replayed so many times in his head, and it seemed that history had the cheek to repeat itself – she saw him.

"It's fine," he said turning around looking at her with a raised brow.

"Don't – don't do that-," she said shaking her head.

He pocketed his hands in his coat, exhaling, "Do what?"

"What's wrong?" she asked again walking down a step, until she was looking up at him, "Tell me…please…don't say you're fine, especially when you're not..."

He opened his mouth only to shut it, feeling his body betraying him.

"Ok…" she said taking to once more walk up the steps.

Only when he was faced with her back did he dare breathe the words, "They knew," feeling regret and relief rush over him.

She turned around slowly with her brown eyes wide, as his were unable to leave her petrified face.

"They knew you helped," he repeated.

"What?"

He furrowed his brows, his eyes turned towards the street instead of her face, "Moran. He knew. I am sorry I didn't tell you, but I did what I had to do."

"Was that for my sake, then?" she said, her mouth a thin line, no hint of a smile playing at her lips now.

"I am sorry, Molly…not that it makes any difference."

"Difference about what exactly?"

"Your feelings about me."

She blinked, but didn't interrupt.

"I knew that they would go after you. That they would harm you, and I knew it would be best if I left."

"Like that?" she said cooly.

"I needed you to hate me, or else they would do their best in harming you."

"I wasn't important, Sherlock."

He felt angry at her, "You were - you are - to me," he said, almost feeling his voice break.

He pressed his mouth together, meeting her eyes unafraid, as he dare voice it, "Don't marry him."

Molly's face was that of anger, of disappointment, of all the hurt he had left her with, "There's something wrong with him, then – like all the others? Who is there nothing wrong with, Sherlock? Since, there'll probably be nobody left at this point, I think. So, do you have any suggestions?" she said with her hands clenched at her sides, "Who's good enough? – After all you're the expert."

"Me."

Her silence was answer enough. She stared down upon him in amazement, in confusion, all of the expressions the opposite of what he hoped. He had hoped she would say something, anything, but she just stared. At the exact moment she opened her mouth, he saw in the corner of his eye – Michael.

She followed his gaze, looking lost, "Oh."

She did not protest while he went for the door of the taxi speaking in a voice so overtly pleasant that he felt his throat tighten, "You can tell him of my apology, just – I am sure that will ease his mind. I won't attend the wedding for your sake, I know you don't want me there…" There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to explain, but his legs whisked him away, making him tear open the taxi door settling inside, as he spoke the familiar address. The car drove off, he barely dared to look back, almost hoping she would be looking for him, but when he did he only saw her in a fierce embrace with her fiancé.

Have a nice life, Molly Hooper.

A/N: Guess what her something blue is? I think the answer is obvious there.

This is not the end, no.

But yes, the wedding is upon us.

Thank you as always for reviewing, and just reading. THANK YOU.