A/N: For the prompt for March 21st - "Write about a fortune-teller." Non-TAB Victorian. Rated K.
It was a beautiful day for the circus to be in town and Dr. Molly Hooper was quite enjoying herself. She was with her friend, Mrs. Mary Watson, and Mary's three-year-old daughter Rosamunde. Young Rosie was currently asking to see the elephants. Molly had no interest in them, so she decided to take a stroll through the midway while Mary and Rosie saw the elephants.
One tent caught Molly's eye. The wooden sign in front advertised Mme. Luna, Fortune-Teller. Molly didn't believe in divination but her curiosity won out. She entered the tent to find it empty except for an old woman seated at a table with a crystal ball and a deck of tarot cards.
"Hello, my dear," Mme. Luna said, smiling at her. She looked to be about eighty, with snow-white hair, a raspy voice, a hunched back, crooked yellow teeth, and shrewd blue-green eyes.
I know those eyes, Molly thought, managing to keep the smile off her face.
"Sit down," Sherlock Holmes rasped through the false teeth.
Molly sat down across from her disguised friend. He had said something the day before about a case involving the circus, but she had no idea he'd disguise himself as a female fortune-teller.
"Give me your hand," he said, holding out a hand knotted with arthritis.
She gave him her left hand, palm facing up. Sherlock traced over the lines in her palm with his right index finger.
"Ah, I see you are a lady doctor."
Molly groaned inwardly. She hated that term and the usual condescension that went with it, and Sherlock knew it. "Yes, I'm a pathologist."
"Hmm. I see you will have a long and healthy life."
"That's good," Molly said, amused.
"Now, for your Heart Line." He traced it slowly. "You are currently unattached, but there is a man of your acquaintance who would like to change that."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is there now?"
"Yes, a man who loves you most ardently. He wishes to make you Dr. Molly Holmes."
"Well, I will be certain to tell Mycroft yes the next time I see him."
"Not Mycroft, me," Sherlock said, irritated, the raspiness gone. "I'm the one who loves you."
Molly grinned at him cheekily. "You? Sherlock Holmes? The man who swore off all emotions as unnecessary?"
Sherlock sighed heavily. "Yes, fine, I did say that but I was mistaken." He took both of her hands. "My darling Molly, I love you more than life itself. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She smiled at him tenderly. "I love you, Sherlock. Of course I'll be your wife. I'd kiss you but I don't want to ruin your disguise."
He grinned at her then the raspy voice was back. "I see a bright future for you, Dr. Hooper. A bright future indeed."