"Aren't you going to do anything?"
"No."
"I'm not expecting you to protest at the wedding, but-."
Sherlock gave him a withering look at that.
"You're not going to go either, are you?"
Sherlock didn't answer.
"What about yours, then?" said John rather carefully.
He grimaced, "My - what?"
"Your wedding – when you married Molly – how was that?"
Sherlock was blinking rapidly, brows furrowing, until he spat out, "Dull," striding towards his bedroom, banging the door shut with such force that John could hear Mrs Hudson cry out in fright in the flat below.
When something went wrong in Molly's life before, it was regularly Sherlock who was the answer to why, which Mary knew all too well, but lately – he still was – though in a completely different light. Back then, there were loads of evenings where they'd abuse the man fiercely, with Molly becoming more or less drunk, but not to the point of complete - OK – some - but the majority of those evenings were harmless at best. Molly was still able to say stop, however that word didn't seem to be in her vocabulary now, nor was the rest of the English language for that matter…
Bringg botles of winne - M
Leaving Molly to fend for herself with Sherlock was obviously not the success Mary had been hoping for, though her absence was definitely not intentional, as she didn't like arguing with anyone's parents about their son's fictional hero. The texts kept pouring in however, gradually becoming unreadable, until Mary finally got out of work, though not forgetting to quickly nip into a shop for some wine, which she didn't intend for Molly, but herself. The lack of spelling and grammar made her blatantly aware that Molly might not be in need of anymore alcohol, though she did buy chocolate as a peace-offering. She still hoped it wasn't that bad, however Mary's dinner plans with John fell through the minute Molly slowly opened the door to her flat, half-leaning on the doorknob for support. Mary gawked at her friend who had dark marks underneath her eyes, clearly from smudged out mascara – most likely caused by tears - definitively not good.
Recounting Simon's stupidity would have to be saved for another day. "Are you alright?" she said almost unsure if she should hug her, for Molly was staring at her rather balefully.
Mary knew that after the planning Molly was -, "Weren't you supposed to be with Michael tonight?" she said.
"Ye-s-s-yes," Molly said with a short nod, releasing the doorknob, until she practically fell on her way to the sofa, before promptly sitting down upon it fetching the large glass of red wine on the table.
Half of the contents came spilling out on the carpet, but Molly did not blink or yelp at her own clumsiness. No, she was gulping down her drink while eyeing Mary's paper bag from Marks & Spencer's containing the bottle of white wine (and the chocolate of course).
Whatever this was, it wasn't anything remotely good, and Mary found herself wondering if – "I told him I wasn't feeling… well," said Molly who smacked her lips together loudly, as if words were a foreign concept, before she dried her mouth with the sleeve of her blouse.
Mary gaped for a second, slowly twirling round as she shut the door, "Ok – and why exactly are you sick?"
Molly guffawed obnoxiously, her eyes narrowing into the room, until she tried to drink the rest of the contents in her wine glass, which was in fact empty. Mary tried to stifle her laugh; she'd only ever seen her friend properly pissed on very few occasions. Molly was usually the one who remembered every single detail of the evening, and the one usually being grabbed by people telling her how lovely she was for listening. Mary was never patient with that sort of thing, even if she was one of the people who did in fact spew out how lovely her friend was after a few pints of lager.
"Sh-er-sherlock!" Molly said slamming her glass on the coffee table. Mary half expected it to shatter with the force that her friend brought the glass down.
"What's he done then?" asked Mary in her rather patient professor-voice. It was very difficult not to adopt it, when her friend wasn't exactly telling all, or more or less telling all terribly slowly.
She took off her coat, soon pouring herself a glass of wine, before she handed Molly a glass brimming with water, while Molly only sighed loudly.
"He-e kissed me."
"What?" said Mary blinking at her stupidly, quickly seating beside her.
Molly looked offended at the glass of water, but drank it nonetheless, "No – no – not now," she said holding a finger up, as she drank the water in rapid force – some of it spilling down her top, "A long long very long time ago," she said pausing for breath.
"I thought-," she started, but Mary knew it was rather pointless to bring that sort of thing up, when Molly was certainly not up for actual sentences.
Instead she waited patiently for her friend to go on, and go on she did – "He – kissed – me – then he went all bastard."
"Unsurprising," said Mary with a low voice.
"Saying I wanted it, and I was the one to blame," said Molly, of course it was terribly slurred, but Mary managed to understand her meaning anyway, "My fault! It was my fault that it happened – and then off he goes – dead – and I – he – never said sorry – never mentioned it – and then we've been married! Married!"
"Right, that bit I got, yes."
"And then – he's – he's – helpful," said Molly who looked Mary straight in the eye at this, looking like someone had killed her cat Toby, who was in fact lounging quite peacefully in a chair, absolutely undisturbed by the fact that his owner was having a meltdown, "He's not – supposed – to be – helpful!"
"Ok, I know it's disturbing…right, so?"
"His mum is helping me, his – mum."
"What?" said Mary doubtfully, it couldn't be Sherlock's mum helping her out – Molly must have gotten her wires crossed.
"Yes," said Molly who shook her head, then seeing her mistake took to nodding severely, "And – and – he tells me – I should marry him!" At this statement she laughs, rather madly, and rather long, causing Mary to emit a giggle herself at the sheer madness her friend is displaying. This was probably a much better Hamlet than Simon could ever wish to be. "Marry him!"
"Really?"
"But – but -," Molly stands up from her seat, uneasy on her feet, until she stumbles towards the stack of bridal magazines that are on a neat pile on the floor, which she then scatters until she finds the biggest glossiest number. Molly returns with it in her hands, flipping through the pages hurriedly, before taking out a rather large brown envelope tucked in the middle showing it to her – "I haven't sent it - yet," she said in a whisper with wide eyes.
Mary's jaw was hanging at that, since Molly had repeatedly told her that she had signed and sent the annulment papers already. That it was under processing, that it had all been done, and could be forgotten… but there the bloody thing was, being cradled in her hand like it could burst into flames any second. In fact it would be better if it did.
Molly released a breath at that, her breath smelling close to a brewery, "I'm sending it now," she said determined.
"You are?" said Mary who felt that this had to be thought through, especially this, especially now, but the look Molly gave her – a lone tear slipping down her cheek was heartbreaking.
"Yes – yes I am," and she nodded her head fiercely at that, "Yes."
"You've been drinking, Molly. Give it till tomorrow at least, think it over – you've obviously not sent it because-,"
"I forgot," she said in a small voice, dripping with conviction, "I thought I had sent it, but I found it while Michael was here…I'm such an idiot…I'm going to send it - I have to send it."
"You're sure?" said Mary after taking a long sip of her wine.
"Yes," said Molly who didn't look at her, her eyes lingering on the envelope, looking guilty, "I am."
Mary soon found herself half-carrying her friend out in the busy streets to get hold of some stamps, until they finally sent the offending material off.
Molly did not listen to her protests of waiting, or the fact that it would better to deliver it by hand. No, her barrister she did not want to see, as it would arrive there in time after all. When Mary finally got her to bed, she could hear Molly softly muttering, "I don't," repeatedly like a prayer, as she tucked her in.
It was one of the moments that Mary found herself sending a silent prayer, while she switched on the telly in Molly's living room. "Let the royal mail be rubbish. It usually is, so don't let me down now," she whispered to herself, despite hoping beyond hope that her friend had made the right decision.
The evening before the wedding
Karen had slipped off her shoes at some point, a piece of sushi dangerously close to her crimson lips, while she mouthed the words on the papers, before her. It had been a long day in the office really, and she was knackered – the fact that she'd only been barely chewing her lunch, which was now her dinner didn't make her any happier – especially as Christmas Eve was soon upon them all. She became even less happy, when her idiotic assistant Stewart came in her office with a brisk knock.
She stared at the posh git with annoyance, "What is it now?" she drawled setting the chopsticks aside.
"Err, sorry Miss Kingston, you remember Miss Hooper?" he said flushing and she glowered in return.
"What about her – I thought that case was closed?" she said, the woman hadn't sent her a letter, so she supposed she was staying married to Sherlock after all.
"Well, that's the thing – her annulment papers have finally gotten in, actually."
"What?" said Karen with a shriek, "Hand them over, oh for fucks sake, Stewart!" He shrunk at that, she hastily added, "I am not going to give you the sack! Relax."
"There was trouble with the mail," he said sprinting towards the desk , and handing her the envelope, though he did not seem less nervous, "Probably the Christmas rush that made it go wrong, since they'd misread the numbers."
"At least we'll make it in time, Stewart – just go home now –," she said huffing loudly, as she carefully slipped out the papers intending to send them off – high priority – after all she could still pull some strings, but when her eyes landed on the papers that she found herself shouting, "Fuck."
Molly Hooper had forgotten to sign.
A/N: Thank you AussieMaelstrom for beta!
Now I know most of you will want me to update, as soon as possible. Unfortunately I'm going to London next week, which will make it a wee bit impossible even how much I'd like to. We'll see.
ALSO answer to last chapter; Sherlock's heart was blue.
I'd like to thank you if you're still reading, or have just started to read. Thank you for being interested in this story!
Now the following people have gotten one-shots; 350th was StrawberryAcapella, 400th was Peridoth Eyez and 450th was Hallaanduneiel. Just message me whatever prompt you like, if you like that is.