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Molly absolutely, positively was not panicking. She was sitting in one of the more opulent guest rooms of the Holmes Manor, on whose grounds she was about to marry her sweetheart, Gregory Lestrade. The announcement that the manor was at her disposal had been a shocking one, but welcomed openly. Her earnings as a seamstress were sufficient but not extravagant, and Gregory's salary as a constable was little better. Molly would have been content with a simple church wedding, but when presented with this option - and truly, she was still a bit confused as to how it had all come about - how was she to have refused?
Her hands fluttered nervously in her lap as another wave of nerves struck her. She had no reason to be in such a state. Gregory was perfect for her. When she was with him, she felt as though she could accomplish anything. She felt competent and witty and beautiful. Certainly no other man had ever made her feel this way. Why then, was she so certain she would trip in front of everyone and make a spectacle of herself, or possibly faint? Breathing deeply, she cocked her head and studied herself in the enormous mirror in front of the vanity table.
The woman staring back from the mercury-glass was a stranger to Molly. She had Molly's nose, certainly, and Molly's jawline. But her cheeks were too rosy, her lips too full, her hair too lustrous. And yet, when Molly tilted her head to the side, so too did the woman in the reflection. Perhaps this other Molly would give her courage. She pinched her cheeks to ensure the flush stayed true, and carefully inserted a decorative pearl comb into her elaborate coiffure. It had been her mother's, and Molly felt her soothing presence filling the room as she slipped the pin in.
She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. She had managed to scavenge some gorgeous silver lustered satin from a project for a customer. Her frame was slight enough that there had been enough leftover fabric to cut herself a much better dress than the bulk of her wardrobe. There were details of blue velvet ribbon below her bust - such as it was - and around her arms. Painstakingly, starting the night after the engagement, she had embroidered tiny blue forget-me-nots across the hem of the skirt, heavy at the bottom and scattering upwards. Her slippers had been dyed a similar shade, in a moment of whimsy. She suspected she would have to re-dye them in something deeper and more practical later, but she did not regret the extravagance.
The dress was finer and more luxuriant than anything Molly had ever worn, but certainly not as elaborate as some of the garments she had been commissioned by others to make. However, Molly felt it suited her quite well. Not too elaborate or showy, but with a subdued, skillful quality. The dress was much like Molly's own sensitive nature, and she knew Gregory would appreciate the effort she had put into it. It was a symbol of the work she was ready and willing to put forward in their union.
She made a few minor adjustments to her appearance, firmly biting her lips until they were swollen and rosy, a hue much richer than she was accustomed to. Sherlock had once teased her about the thinness of her lips, and at the time it had been hurtful and terrible, but now it seemed to Molly more like the fond teasing of an irritating older brother. She studied herself in the mirror again, searching for traces of that girl who had been so smitten with someone so wholly inappropriate. She could not find any. Molly smiled once more at her great fortune, at having met someone who had been able to show her what affection truly was.
Standing, Molly stepped away from the dressing table and took another deep breath to steady herself. Her stomach felt as though it were full of butterflies. She knew this was the right thing to do, knew it deep in the marrow of her bones. That did little to quell the tiny voice in her head that told her she might be making a mistake, might be settling for something safe and reliable.
But Gregory was so kind and so handsome; he was strong and generous and lovely. And every time they were together, he made Molly feel as though she were the only woman in the world. There was no real doubt, she told herself. It was simply nerves. She thought back to their first outing together - a long walk through Hyde Park and a lovely carriage ride filled with charming conversation - and peace settled over her like a shawl.
Still lost in her thoughts, Molly was startled by the approach of Mrs. Hudson, who was carrying a small nosegay of violets, sage, and ivy. Molly's eyes widened at the sight. She lived in a tiny attic room over the tailor shop, and there was no garden. She could not afford fresh flowers, and the elder Lord Holmes had been so generous to allow them to marry on his property, she could not have requested of him anything more. She had been resigned to not carrying a bouquet.
"I could not let you marry without a few flowers, you silly girl." Mrs. Hudson smiled, holding out the bouquet and studying it thoughtfully. "From our garden. John picked them for you this morning. He has rather an eye for this sort of thing, don't you think?"
"They..." Molly bit her lip, suddenly overwhelmed by the fondness for this woman who had, in some manner, become everyone's mother. "They are absolutely lovely, thank you so very much."
She reached out and took the flowers, staring at them for a moment and breathing in the sweet perfume of the violets. Mrs. Hudson indulged her outpouring of for a moment before patting her gently on the arm.
"Come, Molly. Time to stop dithering about." Mrs. Hudson scolded, but her tone was affectionate. Unusually forward, Molly reached up and hugged Mrs. Hudson, who froze for a moment but soon warmed and returned the gesture. "There is about to be a wedding outside, and I have it on good account that Gregory would prefer if you took part in the proceedings. Come along!"
Molly scrambled to collect her wits as she pulled on a pair of long white gloves. Mrs. Hudson was already off and down the stairs, heading towards the large mullioned-glass doors that led out to the garden. The manor was lavish, decorated with the tasteful discretion befitting someone with money and import. Nothing ostentatious, and yet Molly could feel the quality in the woods and fabrics under her fingers as she trotted along.
Yet again, Molly was overwhelmed by generosity of the elder Holmes brother. She suspected Sherlock had somehow convinced him to allow them to use his properties, but she at a loss to his reasons. Perhaps John had intervened. Or perhaps it had been done for Gregory's benefit, not hers.
The garden was lush and green, with a massive wisteria vine in full bloom. There was a cobbled stone pathway leading between two stands of chairs, and Molly assumed this was where she was meant to walk.
Gripping her bouquet tightly and attempting to quell her nerves, Molly stepped out into the sun. There was a hushed murmur from the small assemblage of guests, but it was soon drowned out by the lovely and soothing tones of a violin. She cast her gaze upwards towards the front of the crowd, and there stood Sherlock, handsome but remote in a deep purple waistcoat she had made for him. His violin was tucked below his chin, a look of complete serenity on his face as he skillfully picked out the Hornpipe from Handel's Water Music. She smiled to herself and stole a quick glimpse at John, who was staring enraptured at Sherlock. There was a symmetry in the moment that pleased Molly. Just as she had found happiness and someone she loved truly, not in some idealised form, so had Sherlock.
At the far end of the garden was a small pergola, a lattice roof braced over Corinthian stone columns. There, under the pergola, was the reason Molly was going through all of this. And in that moment, she knew everything would be fine. Her heart slowed and her breath evened out. Gregory looked absolutely dashing in his navy overcoat and dove-grey waistcoat. His hair caught the afternoon sunlight and shone like silver. Molly giggled as she realised how well their ensembles complemented one another. She had not intended it as such, but it was happy serendipity, and it boded well for the future.
Gregory turned to her, and the eager smile on his face made her feel like a giddy young girl. If anyone had any right to be so pleased at what was about to take place, it was her, not him. She smiled back, hoping to convey all the excitement and eagerness she felt, and stepped out into the sun, beginning her steady procession down the aisle and into her new life.
