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Molly smiled politely after John as the man bustled off. He'd not had time for more than a quick hello; had to get a few last-minute things sorted with the wedding party, apparently. This was fine, of course, but it did leave her standing rather awkwardly alone in the hall. Really wished she and her boyfriend hadn't had a falling-out so near to this. Not that she wanted to get back together, obviously. Bastard could go die for all she cared. Would've been nice to have a date, though - attending a wedding alone was just depressing.

Nice of John to invite her, of course. Considering they'd rather dropped out of contact whilst Sherlock had been dead and all. Not seen him yet either. The Great Detective, back from the grave.

As she ventured down the hall she spotted a few people milling about, scattered conversations. No one she knew. Likely because she'd been so nervous about arriving late that she'd overcompensated the other way and got there ridiculously early. Only guests arrived already seemed to be the wedding party and their plus-ones.

Well, best find somewhere to wait. Not like she wasn't used to keeping herself company.

Headed towards what she thought was likely the reception hall, though of course the unfamiliar building got her turned around quite quickly. She'd been so distracted trying to understand the layout that she failed to watch where she was walking - craned her neck to look down a side hall, and then next thing she knew she'd collided mid-stride with a man coming from the other direction.

"Whoa, hullo there! Sorry!" he exclaimed as he grabbed hold of her upper arms to keep the both of them upright. Bloke was so much taller he'd very nearly bowled her over.

"Oh my god, sorry! I'm fine, sorry, I wasn't looking where I…"

She trailed off as she finally caught a good look at him. Oh god, this was the most handsome man she'd ever seen in her life.

Alright, that was an exaggeration. Definitely. Probably.

But in any case he was quite striking. Tall, slim, with warm brown eyes, sandy brown hair and short beard. At their current close proximity she could see a scattering of faded freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks, which bunched up as he smiled apologetically.

The hands on her biceps suddenly felt like they were radiating tingling heat down her arms. Couldn't help thinking of stories she'd read - meeting the man of your dreams at a friend's wedding. Whirlwind romance and living happily ever after.

"H-hello!" she stammered. Cleared her throat. Hoped she wasn't blushing.

"You're alright, yeah? Sorry again, I was looking for someone I'd thought went down this way," the man replied as he gave her a little pat on the arm before letting go and taking a step back to give her some space.

Molly bit her lip and cast about for something else to say, trying not to look too obviously smitten. Luckily the man didn't seem to be paying her much mind - he'd leant sideways to see past her down the hall, then huffed a sigh as he apparently didn't spot his target.

"Yeah, right, he's gone. S'pose I shoulda expected that," he muttered to himself. His accent was difficult to place. Estuary, mainly, but his muttering sounded almost Cockney. Molly wondered who he was here for. Belatedly it occurred to her that she could just ask.

"Er, are you here for the bride or the groom?" He quirked a brow down at her as if he found this an odd question, and in a flash of anxiety she rushed to explain herself. "Sorry, I mean, just- I've not met you before, so I wanted to know, um-"

The man chuckled and gestured they should head into a nearby seating area, which she now saw was just a bit down the hall in the direction he'd come from. She nodded.

"Groom, I guess," the man said as they set off.

"You guess?"

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't exactly say I'm on great terms with the bloke at the moment. More just here as a plus-one. And live music, I suppose, but mainly 'cause playing at the reception seemed like a lot less bother than coming up with an actual wedding gift."

"Music?" Molly repeated curiously. "I thought Sherlock would be doing that."

The man seemed to perk up at the name. "Oh! You know Sherlock?"

Molly shrugged. She'd known Sherlock. Hadn't really got a chance to reconnect since he'd returned.

"Used to," she admitted. "Haven't seen much of him since he, er… stopped being dead."

The man's smile turned slightly apologetic, which was perhaps odd, but Molly was too busy thinking how nice his smile was to put much thought towards it.

"Ah, yeah… been a bit of a shut-in, hasn't he?" The man shook his head, sighing. They'd come upon an open table and sat down. Molly hadn't yet spotted anyone she knew besides John off at the far end, who just flipped them a little wave before vanishing through another door. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, of course.

"Mightn't even show today, I imagine. With how reclusive he's been," Molly remarked with a bit of an embarrassing sulk to her voice. Mostly because she'd have loved to skip this. Absolutely would have, if she'd not been so riddled with social anxiety over the idea of having to ring John up and cancel. Stung that Sherlock could so easily get away with such behaviour.

For some reason the man sniggered to himself. Molly frowned at him. What? She'd not said anything funny.

"What?"

"Sorry, sorry," the man said, shaking his head. The casual way he'd stretched out his legs with the ankles crossed and leant back in his chair distracted Molly rather badly, though she tried to keep hold of the frown. "Just, literally had that conversation this morning, about whether he could get away with ducking out. Decided it'd be a waste of a tuxedo fitting."

Molly tilted her head, confused - was he saying he'd been speaking to Sherlock about this? Or someone else? Before she could think much further the man suddenly gave himself a light smack to the forehead.

"Ah, speaking of rude arseholes! We've been going without names this whole time!" He held his hand out towards her with an apologetic smile. "Eric, lovely to meet you."

"Oh! Er, Molly," she replied, taking his warm, calloused hand. Definitely blushing like mad. Wasn't sure if she hoped he wouldn't notice or hoped he would and perhaps reciprocate. No trace of such in his expression, though. Just a friendly smile as he tucked his hand back into his pocket.

Speaking of hands, though… rough patches on his fingers. Molly absently rubbed her own fingers together, confirming the pattern she'd felt.

"You play a stringed instrument," she concluded aloud. Winced to herself, because she really could have tried to work that in more naturally. Eric didn't seem to mind the bluntness, though. In fact he seemed oddly delighted.

"Hah, yeah! Got me. The calluses?"

Molly nodded. "I see those a lot on cadavers. Erm, in the morgue, I mean. B-because I work there. Autopsies."

Oh lovely, Molly. Just great. Bring up your creepy job right off the bat, that'll go over a treat. She tried to keep the cringe off her face, but Eric didn't seem put off. He just kept up his friendly smile and the laid-back posture and moved right along like she'd not just brought up the most unpleasant topic imaginable.

"Really! Never met anyone in that line of work before, surprisingly enough. What's your favourite part of the job?"

Molly blinked. Not exactly the way she was used to this conversation proceeding. Usually people were more… unsettled. It was a thoughtful question, though. Not one she recalled having been asked before. She paused to consider, then hesitantly answered.

"Erm… I like the puzzle of it, I think? It's… it's sort of like a jigsaw, you know, only you're taking it apart before you put it back together, and no two bodies are ever the same."

She'd expected Eric's smile to shift, perhaps go somewhat forced, but if anything it only seemed to grow more warm. God, she really was in danger of becoming obsessed with this bloke.

"Wonderful you can do that, help bring closure to folks and be able to enjoy the work while you do."

Molly smiled, flattered - certainly never got a response like that , good lord. Before she could collect herself to reply, though, a deep voice interrupted them.

"Eric!"

Both Molly and the man in question looked up as Sherlock strode their way, having appeared from a door leading outside. He too was dressed in a tux, of course, and wore it every bit as well as Molly had imagined he would. Eric, though, had by this point largely usurped her fancy, so she quickly shifted her gaze back to him. He'd not moved from his laid-back, confidently attractive position - in fact he'd now made himself even more attractive by flipping a casual little wave and a wink over to Sherlock, which came off very dashing. Like the plucky male lead in a romance.

Sherlock scowled at him as he walked up. "Where were you? I said keep up."

"And I said I'm not running in dress shoes. Guessing you didn't catch that bit," Eric replied with a shrug. "Met this lovely young lady instead. I think you two know each other?"

Molly tried not to do the meek little schoolgirl smile as he gestured towards her, but knew she'd probably failed. Sherlock seemed to finally take notice of her and looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Oh… hello, Molly."

"Sherlock," she replied with a coolness to her voice. Definitely not pleased he'd been keeping away, especially after involving her as much as he had prior to dying.

Eric glanced between them, raised a brow, then tilted his head to look up at Sherlock.

"Perhaps a bit presumptuous, but I imagine she's annoyed you've been such a recluse."

Sherlock seemed to wince. "Oh, ah… of course. I've been…" Suddenly his bearing loosened, and he shrugged with an oddly silly, helpless expression. "Well, turns out coming back from the dead is just a complete logistical nightmare. Mountains of paperwork. No time for much else. Terribly sorry."

For some reason Eric looked irritated by this. He huffed a breath that wasn't quite a sigh and looked to Molly with that warm smile again, though now with a touch of something like resignation.

"Best you'll likely get, I'm afraid."

Sherlock looked affronted. "What? That was a perfectly legitimate apology. I literally said the word 'sorry'."

Despite residual bitterness, Molly let out a tiny laugh. Couldn't help it - she'd missed having this overdramatic enigma of a man in her life. Reclusive or no, she was glad he'd come back.

Sherlock gave her a faint, but genuine, smile, then looked back to Eric.

"Didn't matter you fell behind anyway, he managed to slip pursuit."

"Good on him," Eric replied blandly. "Still not sure why exactly you felt a need to try to chase the man down."

Sherlock huffed. "I told you already, he was acting suspiciously."

"And you couldn't just let your brother's security team handle it because…?"

"They've also been acting suspiciously. I think they're hiding something."

Sherlock seemed to be growing ever more tense as he spoke, gaze darting about as if scanning for threats, and had now turned a dark frown off through the door he'd just come from. Eric looked up at him with a concerned, vaguely exasperated look. With a small sigh he hauled himself up to his feet. He touched Sherlock's shoulder to get his attention, then, bizarrely, placed both hands to either side of the man's face as if to force him to hold eye contact. Even more bizarrely, Sherlock seemed to take no issue with this, despite Molly distinctly recalling his having told her many times over the years that he hated being touched.

"They're not hiding anything. They've just started to get a bit short with you because you keep going on about how they're all incompetent," Eric said gently.

"They are! It's been a parade of blatant lapses in vigilance, overlooking multiple risk vectors which should have-"

Sherlock's voice had begun to go a touch manic, like it used to do back before he'd died, when he'd got carried away explaining some complicated case. Before he could devolve into full-on crazed ranting, however, Eric cut him off.

By kissing him.

On the lips.

Molly's heart stopped cold in her chest.

"You're not on duty, love," Eric was saying as he drew away. "Just try to calm down and let the nice men with guns do their jobs, yeah?"

Sherlock seemed to deflate as some of the tension left his shoulders. "... fine."

Molly, meanwhile, sat frozen in shock.

Just a quick peck, that's all it had been, but she very suddenly realised that every odd thing Eric had said to her over the past few minutes made perfect sense within the context of… oh, god.

"Y-you're gay!?" she blurted out, then covered her mouth in horror. Sherlock just tilted his head to shoot her a baffled frown. The man he was apparently dating, as insane as that sounded in her head, dropped his arms as he turned a vaguely apologetic smile her way. One of his hands went back to his pocket, and the other shifted to rest around Sherlock's waist in a casual side-hug. In her current mental state it almost felt like mockery.

"Yes? I told you that ages ago," Sherlock replied, sounding a bit disgruntled.

"No you didn't!"

Fairly sure she would've remembered being told something like that, for god's sake.

Sherlock frowned. "Oh. Well, I strongly implied it at least."

"When!?"

"I pointed out a man's underwear," Sherlock countered indignantly. "Why would I have noticed that?"

"Because you notice everything!" Molly objected. "You… you just let me keep flirting with you!? For years?"

Eric's expression had shifted in the direction of incredibly amused as he failed to hold back a snigger. Sherlock glanced over with frown.

"What the hell are you laughing about?"

"I'm not laughing," Eric said through a poorly-stifled laugh. He shook his head, managing to sober a bit, and stepped away from Sherlock to take a seat once more in front of Molly. This time he took up an unfairly suave sort of casual posture, sat sideways on the chair so as to be facing her. She tried to glare - this was no laughing matter, thank you. But something in the combination of his bearing and facial expression made outrage strangely difficult to maintain.

"Awful way to find out someone you'd fancied doesn't feel the same way, didn't mean to put that on you," Eric's voice had shifted to a particular firm yet gentle tone which somehow made her feel as if she'd been transported back to primary school. "For what it's worth I doubt he meant to lead you on. More likely he just didn't know how to bring it up without hurting your feelings."

Molly frowned at him, then up at Sherlock, who simply gave a small, helpless shrug. To his credit, he did look genuinely sorry. And, as she looked back to Eric, she found his amusement had transformed into a sincere, almost mesmerising aura of kindness. Dimly she wondered how on Earth someone so supernaturally friendly had managed to pair up with the rudest man she'd ever met.

"I was… starting to fancy you as well," she heard herself admit miserably. Should've been mortifying, making such a confession to a near-stranger. But some unidentifiable aspect of the man's demeanour made it feel safe, somehow.

Abruptly Eric smirked, and the instant he did so the strange paternal aura seemed to snap straight over to playfulness - he leant back in his seat and flashed her a roguish wink.

"Ah, well, that'll be my devilish charm."

"Ugh. Don't be smarmy," Sherlock cut in, rolling his eyes. Eric turned to him with a dramatic little flourish reminiscent of one of Sherlock's sillier mannerisms.

"I'm channelling my inner James Bond! Goes with the tux, yeah?"

"You haven't got an inner James Bond. You're a schoolteacher in a bowtie."

Molly turned a small, if still somewhat baffled smile for their banter. Expected the two of them would leave now, then. Go off somewhere together away from her and her terrible, awkward company. But to her surprise Sherlock pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with them. He leant his chin on one hand and gave her a flat look as his partner sniggered beside him.

"Sorry you had to meet him like this. And… that I've not made more of an effort to reach out. Just really haven't been in the mood for socialising."

"Oh, look at that!" Eric exclaimed, grinning at her. "You got a proper apology after all! What an honour."

Without shifting his gaze Sherlock reached out and gave the man a light shove as if perhaps to push him off his chair and out of sight. Eric just laughed, then sobered somewhat as he shifted to both sit more properly forward and closer to his partner. In doing so he brushed a light touch on Sherlock's arm, shot him a questioning look, got a tiny shrug in response.

Molly watched the exchange and felt her heart sink even further. She'd done enough wistful people-watching to know what that level of silent communication meant - these two had been together ages. Years, at minimum. Which meant she'd very likely been chasing after Sherlock whilst he was already in a relationship. And he'd felt too awkward to say a thing to try to stop her. What a nightmare.

Beyond her mortified discomfort, though, she did have to admit it was… rather nice to see. She'd never given much thought to how stiffly guarded Sherlock tended to be around people - supposed she'd always chalked it up to personality. Just another facet of that otherworldly aura of his she'd once found so enticing.

Sat next to this unassuming freckled bloke, though, he seemed almost… normal? Like a man who happened to be a brilliant detective, not the other way around.

As the two continued to engage in some unvoiced conversation, Molly found herself studying Sherlock's face. Taking proper stock of the changes there for the first time since his return. Saw the lines grown deeper than a scant few years should have etched, the scattered strands of white amongst dark curls.

"What exactly have you been up to all this time?" she asked quietly.

Sherlock blinked, flashed her a grim smile. "Hm? Oh, you know. Tying up loose ends. Few odd jobs here and there."

"Just a bit of a lark," Eric added in a low voice. His shift in demeanour seemed to suggest quite a lot more depth to the topic. And danger, if the note of anxiety was anything to go by.

Molly could make a guess at things unsaid - spy work, most likely. The deadly serious sort. Explained why he'd vanished without a trace and reappeared just as suddenly.

She'd always been vaguely aware Sherlock was involved with military intelligence, of course. Something adjacent to his brother's job. Hadn't ever known details, though. Hadn't wanted to know. By the time she'd met him she'd already worked enough classified cases to understand some questions were best left unanswered.

Blowing out a determined breath, she set her gaze on the tabletop and nodded to herself. Right, then. Clearly Sherlock hadn't just abandoned them all for convenience as she'd secretly feared, his partner seemed a lovely bloke, they'd both been kind enough to stay and chat instead of leaving her to fumble through small talk with strangers - well worth making an effort to be sociable. No more of this painfully awkward nonsense.

Raising her eyes, she found Eric watching her with a bemused little smile, whilst Sherlock seemed to have got distracted by something off across the room.

"So, erm… you're a schoolteacher?" she asked of Eric, hating how she still hesitated despite all effort not to. Come on, Molly. Just chat like a normal person, you can do this.

Eric didn't seem to pay her pause any mind. Instead he chuckled warmly.

"Nah, not really. He just said that to be funny." He gestured to Sherlock, who was still looking elsewhere. "I have technically got a teaching licence, but I've been admin most of my career."

"Admin?"

"He's that boring headmaster everyone thinks lives at the school," Sherlock clarified. He'd turned back round and slouched down in his seat as if possessed by the spirit of a sullen teenager.

"I'm a comfortingly predictable special program director, not a headmaster, and unfortunately none of the kids think I live at the school now because somehow they all found out I've shacked up with a famous detective." He said this pointedly to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

"Not about to lie to a load of children just to keep up your charade of being dull."

"Yeah well there was nothing stopping you waiting in the office like I'd asked."

Molly couldn't help another small laugh. Alright, maybe she could accept it wasn't quite so awful she'd crashed and burned on that doomed romantic endeavour. At least she'd managed to keep Sherlock as a friend, and perhaps even had a shot at gaining another.

"Sherlock, there you are!" a voice cut in, and Molly glanced over to find John had appeared through one of the side doors. "What are you doing all the way out here? You're meant to be with the rest of the wedding party!"

Sherlock furrowed his brow as John strode up. "You never told me where to go."

"He did, love," Eric pointed out blandly. "Several times."

"Oh." Sherlock gave Eric a quick glance, then looked to John with an oddly daft little smile as he stood up. "Well, then, obviously I was just about to head that direction."

"Obviously," John intoned. He shot a rather stilted nod towards Eric, who'd not moved beyond shifting his hands to his trouser pockets and leaning back in his chair again. His only response to John's nod was an unimpressed stare. Molly glanced back and forth between them, and noticed Sherlock doing the same.

"You two aren't still having a row?" he asked in exasperation.

"Course not," John said with an easy shrug. "Wouldn't have a row with a wedding guest."

"Can't have a row anyway wit' nothin' left to discuss," Eric added, accent seeming to drop several notches along with his tone.

"Oh for god's- you're both acting like children," Sherlock snapped at him. Then, seeing John's rigid bearing and darkening scowl, made a frustrated noise and grabbed the man's upper arm to drag him off.

Eric's anger seemed to dissolve the instant they were out of sight. He huffed a small sigh, shook his head as if to clear it, then smiled over at Molly.

"So! How'd you and Sherlock meet?"

She smiled back. Perhaps this wedding wouldn't be so depressing after all.

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