Molly walked into the boutique. White walls, White lace covering the furniture...
everything was so...Posh.
She became very much aware of her appearance: the same coat she's had since her first year at uni, her faded, tired jeans, an oversized jumper with a big blue cat on it, and a multicoloured scarf that her mum made for her.
A stylish, sophisticated lady in her fifties walked towards the pathologist, and Molly was suddenly terrified she'd be treated with disdain and contempt by snotty shopkeepers, just like in"Pretty Woman"...
As the lady approached, Molly's hands protectively went to her scarf.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle, est-ce-que je pous vous aider?"
"Bonjour, uhm..Do you speak English?"
The lady smiled "But of course, Miss. Can I help you?"
"Well, yes. I...Well, I'm not sure what I want, exactly...I just...I just want to change...This" Molly gestured at herself. The woman's smile broadened, and for a moment relief seemed to flash in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Miss. I understand. In fact, I have a few things I can think of that would look enchanting on you. Colette!" She turned to a young assistant. "Prends la robe Niçoise rouge, et aussi la Corse noisette, vite!"
.
.
The secretary had been crying.
A lot.
She sat in the embassy, her hands clasped on her lap, whilst Bonlieu, Sherlock and John asked her questions.
"Do you know who the Ambassador was meeting that evening?" The French agent asked the girl, who shook her head.
"I know of no appointments, I'm sorry."
"There is no point in trying to defend his privacy..."
"I'm telling the truth!"
"Do you know the name of his mistress?" Sherlock barked.
"The Ambassador is a married man! He didn't have any mistresses!" The secretary replied in indignation, rising to her feet.
Sherlock eyed the girl. She wore around her neck a small, clean and very old Golden cross, although all her other jewelry was silver... The pendant was a well-loved present, most likely from a grandparent...She was very close to her family...
He turned his back to the secretary. "The Ambassador kept her in the dark about his women. She's useless, get rid of her."
Bonlieu escorted the girl, who's sobbing had been noisily resumed, before joining the two men in the small room.
"Where's the wife?" Sherlock turned to the agent.
"I thought you said she had nothing to do with the case..." Banlieu's brow furrowed.
"Well, she had left the Ambassador for a reason." John pointed out. "And if the secretary doesn't know anything, maybe the wife does."
"Where is she?" Sherlock repeated impatiently.
"The Ambassador's wife is currently on a plane to Paris." Banlieu replied. "She should be here in a couple of hours."
John smiled.
"Well, that gives us time for a croissant, Sherlock. Come on." He coaxed "It's Paris, let's enjoy it a bit!"
.
.
Who knew that hair could bounce?
Molly walked confidently down the street, her old clothes shoved into a bag as she paraded her new outfit. For the first time in quite a while, she was actually having fun shopping!
Sure, it was bloody expensive, but she'd been a good girl all year and deserved a treat. Yes, she did.
Molly kept catching glimpses of herself in the shop windows, adding more movement to her walk in order to increase that... bouncyness!
After her trip to the boutique, Molly had decided to brave the hairdresser. She was used to going to a salon for a quick trim, one she was usually unhappy with at the end, but on this occasion she had every intention to spoil herself.
The coiffeur, a very friendly man, was under strict instructions to not cut her hair short. Molly couldn't quite admit to herself that her long hair was among the few things she had pride in...Especially as it was the object of one of Sherlock's very rare compliments...But that didn't matter now.
The gentleman, however, didn't try to pressure her, as it so often happened in the UK. He simply nodded and said " We take what you have an enhance it, yes? Like polishing the diamond."
He snipped a little here and there, giving her layers and volume, and had deepened her hair colour, so that it looked natural but...Wow.
Just...Wow.
Molly bounced a little more.
Wow.
Maybe she could move to Paris.
.
.
Sherlock, John and Bonlieu were sitting outside a small café near the embassy. With them, at the table, sat the secretary and the Ambassador's wife.
She had returned to the embassy for her husband's death, but refused to answer questions there, adamant that she needed a decent coffee first. Sherlock had seen no point in arguing: the coffee at the embassy was indeed shockingly terrible.
The woman had also insisted on brining the secretary along, and Banlieu had seemed particularly pleased at the prospect, for some reason.
Sherlock eyed the woman before him. A rather stern, haughty air was accentuated by her thin lips, tightly pursed. She had removed her wedding ring only a few minutes before meeting them, as the skin was still marked by the recent pressure. The wife had taken it off, not out of anger to her husband, but to not seem weak...She was a proud lady.
"The bastard always had dalliances, but to actually bring his Jezebel to our bed..." She muttered in disgust as soon as the waiter walked away from the table.
John realised the lady didn't care about the infidelity, her main concern were appearances and discretion. A perfect wife for an Ambassador!
"The secretary was unaware of any trysts." Sherlock said, sipping at his vaguely acceptable coffee.
"We didn't want to upset you, dear." The wife turned to the ambassador's assistant. "Not everyone would understand our marriage. e thought it best for you to not get involved."
"You knew...But that isn't why you left him." Sherlock continued.
The woman shifted in her seat. "I wanted to go and see the new Versace collection with him, but he was being difficult...We started arguing and I left... But I was going to come back." How heavily that light quarrel weighed on her shoulders now.
"Do you know the name of his potential mistress? I am sorry to ask, but this is very important." John said quietly. "We believe she could be the one who killed your husband."
She shook her head. "My husband and I had an arrangement: we would be each other's alibi when we wanted to...entertain. I am sure the police have already inspected his agenda, but I doubt they would recognise messages he left therein for me."
Sherlock stiffened. "You used messages in the agenda?"
John turned to his friend. "Isn't it at the hospital?"
His flatmate nodded darkly. "Could your husband mentioned your arrangement to his mistress?"
The doctor followed his train of thought "Wouldn't she have taken the agenda with her?"
Sherlock shook his head "Not if the secretary walked in too soon for her to do so." He replied, pulling out his phone. "I should have taken that agenda with me straight away..."
"Why didn't you?" John asked. To be truthful, it was unusual for Sherlock to miss something like that.
"I was going to but I...I got distracted." he admitted angrily. "Doctor Paten? Is the ambassador's agenda still there?"
"Sherlock! Hello! Uhm, I was talking with some colleagues, I'll go check straight away. Hang on..."
"Distracted by what?" The wife asked quizzically.
"Nothing, I saw something out of the window, and I thought it was..."
"Molly."
"No! Of course not! Why would I..." Sherlock jumped at John's remark, but when he turned to his friend, the consulting detective's words trailed off.
"Molly!" John called louder, standing and waving at a lady in a red coat.
Sherlock froze as the woman turned, and their eyes met.
She was as surprised to see him as he was.
It was hard to read her: everything she was wearing was brand new, from the red coat to the sleek dress underneath it, and even the stilettoes. Her hair had recently been cut. It framed her face without hiding it, enhancing those eyes as they turned to him.
She looked so...
She looked so...
He looked away.
"You look Amazing!" John cried, holding her hands and stepping away to admire her. "What are you doing here?"
"I..." Molly blushed. "Thank you, John. I am here for a little holiday." She shrugged.
"Hello? Sherlock?" What's going on?" The consulting detective was suddenly aware of the elderly doctor shouting at the phone. he composed himself instantly. Almost.
"It appears, doctor Paten, that Molly is here."
"She is?" The man exclaimed in surprise. "I mean...I mean of course she is! I believe she told me she was planning to come to Paris for a weekend." Hehastily added. "You know I have a terrible memory for such things...I should have mentioned it."
Sherlock was barely listening as the pathologist walked to the café table, clutching boutique bags tightly in her hands, a smile frozen on her lips.
"Hello, Sherlock."
He nodded, and Molly's smile relaxed. She could see that he wasn't being rude. Maybe for once, just this once, he really didn't know what to say.
The consulting detective pulled his eyes away from her.
"Doctor Paten, is the agenda there?"
"Yes." The doctor replied happily. "It is still here."
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. We'll be coming over to pick it up now."
"Don't worry, the ambassador's secretary said she'll take it to you."
The consulting detective's eyes shot up to the ambassador's assistant, sitting before him. "When did she say that? The assistant didn't even know I wanted it before a few moments ago."
"That's not possible. She's here with me now."
And the phone went dead.