AN-A prompt fill for the tumblrian ihartbennyc.

Molly sat in the large, leather chair and tried not to fidget. This was it. Today was the day she had to register her Mark. She had put this off for as long as possible, but, alas, it simply had to be done. This time tomorrow, she would have to meet her soulmate. They'd endure the required six months of courting, and then they'd be married. They'd settle down, and spend the rest of their lives together. That's what was supposed to happen.

She shuddered at the thought. How could she be expected to spend the rest of her life with a person she barely knew? How could a tiny mark on her hip determine who she was to love? Before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, she heard the receptionist call her name. Molly stood, took a deep breath, and walked into the room.

Sherlock let out a loud sigh as he walked along the sidewalk. Normally, he would have taken a cab, but, today, he wished to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. He had managed to avoid registering his Mark for years now, and he had hoped that having the British government as his older brother would have allowed an exemption for him. However, it only made it more pertinent for him to enter the system.

Sherlock didn't do sentiment let alone marriage. It was a foolish game for halfwits. Now, he was going to be forced into a union with a random person. He would be saddled down with one person for the rest of his life. The very thought of this made him nauseous.

He was so deep in thought, Sherlock failed to notice the petite woman until she ran right into him. She stumbled back, apologizing profusely. He recognized her from St. Bart's. He had worked with her on occasion, and she had proven herself to be the best of all the other pathologists. She worked efficiently, and always delivered satisfactory results. She did have a tendency to babble while he tried to work, but he found that it didn't bother him as much as it would have if it were anyone else.

"One apology was sufficient," he said in an even voice.

Molly looked up quickly and recognized him immediately. It was the detective that frequented the lab and morgue. He had spoken barely a word to her in the year that he had been coming to the hospital. Most of the time, it was to demand that she run a test for him or analyze some results for him or fetch coffee for him. He never even listened when she tried talking to him.

"Oh, it's you. So sorry about that, I wasn't really paying attention," she apologized again.

"Oh it's quite alright. You have every right to be distracted, seeing as you have just registered your Mark. In a short time, you'll be meeting your soulmate," he spat out, as though the word was venom. "You must be so excited," he deadpanned.

"Quite the opposite, actually. I'd give anything to get out of this," she replied with a sigh.

"Really? Aren't women keen on finding that special someone to marry up and settle down?" the detective asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Some women, maybe, but I am certainly not one of them. I'm in no hurry to find a man and move to the country and raise a family. There's still so much I want to do, and there is simply no time for marriage," she answered in a clipped tone.

"Yes, sentiment is quite inconvenient. It gets in the way of everything. It's best to remain unencumbered; it reduces the amount of trouble sentiment can bring," Sherlock agreed.

"I'm not as cynical as that; I do want to find somebody eventually, but not like this," Molly responded quickly. "It's utterly absurd to let one little blemish on your skin decide who you're going to spend the rest of your life with. If and when I do get married, I want it to be because I want to, not because someone said I have to, and I want it to be with the man I love, not a stranger."

"Love is just a chemical defect. It rarely lasts very long, and, eventually, you will be left loveless and alone. Love is rarely worth the trouble," he stated airily with a wave of his hand.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I'm very sorry you feel that way," the pathologist replied, looking directly at him. "Love is very important, and not just romantic love. Having the people you love around you means that you'll never be alone. There will always be someone there for you. I don't think I could live like that, all alone without love, I mean. You must be awfully lonely."

Sherlock's brow furrowed at this. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss for words.

Molly looked at her watch. "I've got to go. I'll be late for my shift at the hospital. I'll be seeing you." With that, she brushed past him and hurried on her way.

"I'm not lonely," he said to no one in particular. But was that really true? Her words swirled in his head. He shook his head, clearing his mind of Molly Hooper. With another sigh, he climbed up the steps and into the building.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I refuse to go through with this."

"Brother, dear, the least you could do is sit through one meeting with her before you callously reject her," Mycroft drawled, enjoying the pained look on his brother's face.

It had taken all of one week for Sherlock's match to be found. When his brother first told him of the match, he had steadfastly refused to meet the person with whom he shared a Mark. However, Molly Hooper's words echoed through his mind palace. He had been confused as to why the words of a woman he barely knew had such an effect on him, but he had decided it was because she was so completely wrong. He was not lonely. He had his work; that was all he needed. However, after a week of restless nights, he finally relented. He would meet with his soulmate. It would help him prove to himself that love was entirely unnecessary in his life.

There was a knock on the door. The men rose as the door opened and Anthea ushered in the woman who had been found to be Sherlock's soulmate. His eyes widened a bit in surprise. Standing in front of them was none other than Molly Hooper.

He quickly schooled his features. "Miss Hooper, this is a surprise," he greeted her.

"We'll just leave the two of you to it then," Mycroft said as he maneuvered himself and Anthea to the door.

Molly couldn't believe that Sherlock was the man she had been waiting to meet. She couldn't believe that this was the man with whom she had been matched. She suppressed a hysterical giggle at the irony of the situation. In truth, he'd always fascinated her. She'd always admired him and was really quite…infatuated with him. How many times had she sat at her desk and daydreamed about him? How many days had she secretly anticipated his arrival in the lab? He really was an attractive man but it had always been his intelligence that really caught her interest. It was therefore incredibly unfortunate that the man was a gigantic arse.

Sherlock ran his long fingers through the thick, curly mass of hair on his head. She wanted to replace his hands with her own. "Molly…" he began.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I think we've both made our positions on this whole matter quite clear. I really don't think there's much need for this. We can just tell your important brother out there that we've come to an understanding. We really should forego any farce of a courtship," she stated crisply. "I'm sure that you have no interest in dating me. And I really don't have an interest in wasting time with you either," pride made her add.

"It would indeed be a waste of time seeing as I feel absolutely no attraction for you, physical or otherwise. I will inform my brother of our decision." With this, brushed past her and made his way to the door to fetch his brother.

Molly let out a huff of indignation. No attraction indeed. The very thought of having to spend another moment with him, let alone the rest of her life with him, made her cringe. She looked up when she heard Mycroft and his PA enter the room.

"Mycroft, Miss Hooper and I have come to the conclusion that a union between the two of us is quite undesirable. I think it would be in the best interests of both parties if we were to go forgo the mandatory six months of courtship," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Brother dear, I am afraid that is simply impossible. You know that the law mandates that all soulmates must spend at least six months in courtships before any decision on the union can be made," his brother replied with a look of false apology.

"You're the British government, surely you can find a way around such a law," the detective argued, his voice nearly a whine.

"All the more reason for you to go through with this. How would it look if the brother of the 'British government' did not follow the law?"

"I don't see how that affects me," Molly finally spoke up. "I have absolutely no desire to partake in any sort of romantic pursuit."

"Miss Hooper, you are bound by law to partake in this romantic pursuit," the older man replied coolly. "However, the law only requires that the two parties meet at least once a month. Surely the two of you can endure spending six days together over the course of six months."

The two glared at one another for a brief moment, silently agreeing to the terms.

"Very well, we will spend one day of each month for the next six months together. After this, we will go our separate ways. Does this arrangement suit you, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked.

"I guess this is the best course of action," she replied. Turning to Mycroft, she added, "Will this pacify you and the law?"

"Perfect," Mycroft agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to." With that, he and Anthea swept out of the room, leaving the two alone again.

"This arrangement will not affect our professional relationship, of course. We will still work together on cases and such. I find that you are the only person remotely qualified to work with me."

"I'm flattered Mr. Holmes," Molly said with an exaggerated curtsey. "Now, I have to get back to Bart's. I'll call you when my shift is over, and we can discuss the details of our little deal." With that she walked out the door.

Sherlock sighed. Six days. Six dates. How bad could it possibly be?