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Everyone thought they knew how Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper met: over the course of a case, with a dead body between them. The details were a little vague, though. Maybe Sherlock tried to intimidate her, maybe Molly got flustered. Perhaps there was some subterfuge on Sherlock’s part? Had he swiped Lestrade’s badge and ID to use to get his results faster? Did Molly fall for it or did she see right through him? No one ever really asked either of them, and when asked they said nothing on the subject, at least until the day of their wedding rehearsal. After the speeches from the wedding party were done at the rehearsal dinner, Sherlock tapped his glass and stood.
“It’s been quite interesting listening to everyone speculate as to exactly how Molly and I began the journey that lead all of us here today, with her doing what was obviously the bright thing and agreeing to become my wife.” There was some laughter in the room and a wide smile to go with the rolling eye from Molly. “However, all of you are wrong. Molly and I did not meet at St. Bart’s. Or, at least, in the way all of you assume. The story of our first meeting involves the St. Bart’s car park, a nervous pathologist, a rushed consulting detective and a lime green 1989 Vauxhall Astra SRi Mark 2.”
Mary leaned over to Molly. “Don’t tell me you hit him with a car,” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I’m not going to take away from him being able to finally tell this story after five years,” Molly said with a smile as Sherlock looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. “She wants me to spoil it for her.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Then I suppose I should get one point out in the open. Yes, Molly hit me with a car. Which, I can imagine, is something any number of people have imagined doing at one time of another.”
“Oh, quite a few of us,” Sally piped up from Mary’s left. “In the past, however.”
“Glad to know that’s the case,” Sherlock said slightly flatly as Molly stifled a giggle.
“Well, dear, you did bring it up,” Molly said.
“And I’m starting to regret that,” he said. “Anyway, as I was saying, it began on Molly’s first day at St. Bart’s. I was made aware there would be a new pathologist on staff approximately three weeks earlier and had done my research.”
“He had an actual dossier,” Lestrade said from Sherlock’s right with a smirk. “He wanted to figure out all her weak points before she arrived.”
“I didn’t realize it was a dossier,” Molly said. “I thought it was simply a few pages of notes.”
“He knew the contents of your unmentionables drawer before he ever got to see it personally,” Mycroft said from next to Lestrade. “My report was quite thorough.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea that you knew that much about me,” Molly said.
“He still knows,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The entire flat is wired for audio and visual, as I thought you were well aware.”
“Bedroom and loo as well?” Molly asked, leaning forward to look around her fiancée to look at her future brother-in law.
“Every room,” Mycroft said.
“We’re going to have a talk about that,” Molly said in a steely tone that actually had Mycroft looking worried.
Sherlock looked from his brother to his future wife. “Am I going to get to finish the story?” he asked.
“Of course, Sherlock,” Molly said, glaring at Mycroft, who swallowed nervously. Then she looked at Sherlock. “Go on.”
“I knew that she owned a vehicle, and that she would be inheriting Dr. Malcolm’s old parking spot in the employee car park. I also knew her shift was to start at precisely nine that morning. I had not, however, expected to have a head cold that morning and oversleep.”
“Was that the week you were an even bigger arse than you usually were because you couldn’t hear out of your left ear?” Sally asked, picking up her glass and taking a sip of her wine.
“It was my right but yes, that would have been the same week,” he said with a nod.
Sally looked at Molly. “I’m thankful you didn’t hit him hard enough to break any limbs. He’d have been insufferable.”
“I almost did,” Molly replied.
“Just how hard did you hit Sherlock?” John asked from next to Sherlock, his eyes wide.
“You’re getting ahead of the story,” Sherlock said.
“Because you keep letting us distract you, dear,” she said sweetly. “Because you keep adding details that don’t need to be in it.”
He looked at her and sighed, sitting down. “You tell it, then.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek before reaching over for his hand and squeezing it. “I made you promise you would never tell a living soul that I hit you with my car unless I gave you explicit permission,” she said softly. “You got my permission to tell this story tonight. Just tell the story more quickly, all right? And don’t let anyone else interrupt.” She paused. “Except me, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He stood back up. “So Molly was nervous and I was rushing to the hospital to make it to the morgue before she got there and cut through the employee car park and she didn’t see me and so she hit me with her car. I fell backward and hit my head and injured my wrist and she was mortified and crying and I think that was the moment I realized I was going to have her wrapped around my finger. I just didn’t think eventually she would wrap herself around my heart so much.” He sat back down and looked at her. “There. Now the truth is out there and no one hold ill will towards you.”
“Oh, Sherlock,” she said with a smile, leaning forward. “I think if I’d actually managed to hurt you they might have made me a Dame. Would have saved people a lot of trouble later on.” He pouted and she laughed, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “But I would have been completely bereft, because I would have hurt the best man I ever loved.”
“Really?” he said.
She nodded. “Really.”
“Then I’m glad it was not a case of vehicular manslaughter that day,” he said with a small smile before kissing her again. It hadn’t been the way he’d wanted to tell the story, but the point was now the truth was out and the misconceptions could be put to rest, and they could start a new chapter of their life with hopefully less pain than the first chapter.