Chapter Text
A woman must marry in order to secure her future.
Such was the oft-repeated refrain of one Mrs Hooper, the wife of a well-respected gentleman of good fortune and property. Mr Hooper held no title, but such things were of no consequence to his wife, for she had a kind and open heart, and their marriage, while not initially a love match, became one of such deep affection as could only be dreamt of. Nevertheless, their only child did dream, and quite often, but also having a sensible head on her shoulders, she knew that a time would come when she must marry, with or without love.
That time, it seemed, had come.
“Molly, dear,” said her father one evening in May as the family sat down for dinner, “I have some news.”
Noting the grave expression on his face, Molly straightened in her chair. “What is it, Papa?”
Mr Hooper’s eyes met those of his wife, finding in them some comfort and strength. “A gentleman has asked for your hand in marriage.”
“Oh!” Molly exclaimed in surprise, and her heart raced with both anticipation and dread. She had not expected this to happen so soon. Why, she had only just come to the end of her first season in London, and while she had danced many times with all manner of gentlemen, she could not think of one among them who might have singled her out. “Who... is the gentleman?” she asked with trepidation.
“Mr Sherlock Holmes.”
Her response was immediate: an audible gasp, partially stifled by the hand that covered her mouth, and accompanied by tears welling in her eyes. “M-Mr Sherlock Holmes?”
Convinced her reaction was one of distress, Mr Hooper said hurriedly, “You needn’t accept him, dearest, I have not given my consent outright. I merely gave him permission to ask, and left the final decision to you.”
Molly lowered her hand, revealing a brilliant smile. “Oh, Papa! He is the only man whose proposal I have wished to receive! I have loved him almost since the first moment we met, and will be most happy to marry him!”
Mr Hooper, with great relief, allowed a smile of his own. “Then marry him you shall.”
“Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs Hooper, rising from her chair and enveloping her beloved daughter in a warm embrace. “I am so happy for you! God bless Mr Sherlock Holmes!”
The conversation shifted from general expressions of joy to plans for the wedding, discussing its location and potential date, as well as the luncheon and cake to follow. Certain details, of course, could not be fixed until the date was set and the banns read, but speculations abounded around the table. Perhaps he would procure a special license. Mr Holmes was vastly wealthier than they, and his father was a baronet; the expense would hardly affect them. Or, perchance, he would prefer a courtship while the banns were to be read. Would he wish for a honeymoon trip? Such an indulgence was uncommon, but not out of the realm of possibility. They could not know without speaking to the man directly.
Fortunately, Mr Hooper announced, they would have the opportunity to do so the following night, as he would join them for supper. Mrs Hooper sent a note express to the Holmes family, extending the invitation to his parents as well. This was to be a celebration of their engagement, after all.
For Molly’s part, she could not have been happier. She had spoken true of her love for Mr Holmes, a tendre she had long held for him, but kept secret for fear of being refused. Now her hopes and dreams were realized, and she had such joy as could not be contained.
It was a perfect match.
~*~
“It is a perfect match,” said Sherlock Holmes to his friend, Dr Watson, as they sipped their port in the parlour of his home. “Miss Hooper is as insipid as the rest of the ladies of London, but without the false airs and misplaced vanity they all possess. She is timid, desperate for approval, and has been infatuated with me for years. I’ve no doubt she will accept my proposal.”
Dr Watson, who had been listening with a disapproving frown, finally spoke: “Holmes, you cannot be serious. We are not discussing which horse you ought to buy, we are discussing a human being, your future wife no less!”
“An interesting analogy,” his friend smirked. “Only yesterday, my brother insisted it was past time for me to find a ‘brood mare.’”
“Your brother has even less tact than you do!” Dr Watson paused and brought his forefinger and thumb to pinch the bridge of his nose. “If you think so poorly of Miss Hooper, then why marry her?”
“I think poorly of nearly everyone,” Sherlock pointed out. “I have no desire for a wife, nor children. They would be ill-suited to the life I have chosen. I am being forced into matrimony by my bothersome brother, and naturally, he has gained the support of our parents. It is no longer in my power to refuse, else I face destitution. But I refuse to give up the life I have worked so tirelessly to build for myself, and so, I will marry a woman who may be easily sent away. Let her live in a country pile and decorate it to her heart’s content, while I remain in London with the work.”
The good doctor shook his head in dismay. “This is madness, Holmes. You are talking of putting an innocent young lady through the torment of a loveless marriage, and furthermore you intend to ship her off to the country, away from society, away from her family and friends, away from everything!”
Sherlock did not so much as blink an eye. “Your concern is misplaced, Watson. She will be overjoyed simply by having a husband, especially when that husband is me.”
“Forgive me if I have my doubts on that score," Dr Watson glowered. "What if she wishes for a love match?”
“That is where her infatuation comes in. It has been there since our first meeting, and has always been apparent, despite her feeble attempts to conceal it. She will accept, because she will believe herself to be in love, a notion which will soon be banished.”
“Good God, Holmes! I knew you to be capable of cruelty, but never to this extreme!”
“Is it cruelty to give a woman the security offered by marriage? She will be provided-for financially, and may live her life as she chooses, so long as she allows me the same courtesy. And knowing her as I do, I have no doubts she will. That, my friend, is why it is a perfect match.”
Dr Watson did not speak for several moments, stunned and appalled by his friend’s behaviour. After a time, however, he heaved a sigh, knowing he could never hope to win this battle. “Very well, Holmes, I surrender. But I do hope you will change your mind one day. Having a wife is not so terrible,” he added with a smile, thinking of his own wife.
Sherlock, guessing the turn of his thoughts, could not help but smile himself. “Give the lovely Mrs Watson my regards then. I believe we are done for today.”
“Yes, I believe we are,” said the doctor, and they shook hands before he quit Baker Street and made his way home.
Sherlock returned to his seat, taking another sip of his drink before setting it aside. Dr Watson’s reaction was understandable; the man believed wholeheartedly in love due to his excellent wife and the bond they shared. Mary Watson, née Morstan, was a remarkable woman. Clever, quick, and lively, she held the hearts of nearly everyone she met within the palm of her hand. Dr Watson never stood a chance, and within months of their meeting, they had announced their engagement. Sherlock, who had at first been opposed to the idea, soon fell victim to her charms as well. He held great affection for her, and since the Watsons' marriage, he could not deny the obvious contentment and greater affability of his friend. But for his own life, such a marriage was out of the question. Love was a dangerous weakness, a defect in the losing side.
And if there was one thing Sherlock Holmes did not do, it was lose.
~*~
Mr Holmes arrived early to dinner, ahead of his parents, who would follow within the hour, and he requested a moment in private with Molly. Mr and Mrs Hooper obliged and left them alone in the parlour, though the door remained slightly ajar for propriety’s sake. There, Mr Holmes made his proposal, which was, indeed, accepted most eagerly.
Perhaps a bit too eagerly, Molly mused later in the evening, for when she had made an attempt to show her affection—nothing at all scandalous, a simple touch of her hand to his—he evaded her and crossed the room to open the door full, thus signalling an end to their private congress. She hid her disappointment behind a mostly-earnest smile, and banished it entirely by reminding herself of the facts. He had proposed, and they would be married. He would not jilt her, of that she was quite certain, and so her mind turned from that initial disappointment and embraced the happy truth that she would soon become Mrs Sherlock Holmes.
Shortly thereafter, her elation was increased by another announcement from her intended. Mr Holmes had procured a special license, and the wedding would take place in only two days. Mr and Mrs Hooper voiced their astonishment, but were nonetheless delighted at the news, and Molly, while perhaps a bit overwhelmed by the rapidity of these changes to her life, could not have been happier.
Sir Siger and his lady, upon their arrival, showered “dear Miss Hooper” with all imaginable praise and well-wishes. Lady Holmes in particular expressed her joy at the prospect of gaining a daughter, and her utmost belief that Molly would be exactly the sort of wife her son needed. Uncertain of her meaning, Molly made no attempt to respond, except to smile and accept a warm embrace.
As she readied herself for bed late that night, she had the fleeting thought that this was, quite possibly, all too good to be true. She dismissed the thought, however, and allowed only the most pleasing of ruminations in her mind as she slowly drifted into a contented slumber.
If she only knew how right she had been.