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Part 7 of The Dating Life of Sherlock Holmes
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BBC "Sherlock" for Canon Addicts
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2014-02-09
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Dress Appropriately

Summary:

Early in their relationship, Molly and Sherlock are invited to attend a very formal event. So begins Molly's adventure in buying a formal gown.

Notes:

This date takes place early in their relationship. After the "Paris Catacombs," but before the "Night at the Ballet." Feel free to ignore the rant after the story. I just needed to let that out.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a posh shop, on a posh street in London's poshest shopping district stood the least posh person Molly Hooper knew: herself. She was staring into a huge pier mirror, looking at a stunning evening gown currently clinging to her curves and covering enough of the other bits to be decent...she supposed. 

 

"Are you sure this is appropriate for the type of gala I described?" Molly asked the sales clerk standing just behind the nervous shopper.

 

The sales clerk, Lydia, smiled and said, "Yes, dear. This is the latest. You're actually the first to try it on. It's perfect for you."

 

Molly plucked at the skirt, which was floor length, but had an almost hip-high slit that flew open any time she moved. In spite of that, it still managed to be very tight. The hem puddled several inches around her bare feet. "Isn't it a bit long, though?" Molly asked, hopefully.

 

"Oh, we'll have to get you matching heels, of course. A pair of stilettos will even things out. Elongate your legs. We may have to take it in around the chest, though," Lydia unceremoniously tugged at the loose fabric on either side of Molly's breasts. "It should fit a bit tighter. The drape isn't open enough...there we go."

 

Molly couldn't help the wince at how much of her chest was exposed. She hadn't considered wearing very high heels, either. She almost said so to Lydia, but bit her lip instead. She hated this, hated feeling intimidated by a dress. That's why she only shopped in areas that sold clothing suited to her tastes. Unfortunately, none of her regular shops carried anything formal, so this trip had been necessary. Lydia had smelled fresh meat the moment Molly walked through the door. She could practically hear the woman adding up her commission tally when Molly asked for advice. 

 

there was a sudden loud exclamation and Molly smiled at the brief look of panic on Lydia's face. She squashed a giggle on her way to the large bag that held her phone. One day she would tell Sherlock that the disoriented message he had left on her mobile the night of John's stag do was now a ringtone. Sherlock didn't even remember drunk dialing her, let alone the message: "Muh...Molly! Molly, tell.. tellll them I KNOW ASH!" It was the last bit she used as an alert for incoming messages from the great detective.

 

Unlocking her phone, Molly read her new boyfriend's (it was so weird to be able to say that!) text. Even as she opened the first, her phone sounded indicating a second, third and fourth text. Must be case related. 

 

Lestrade called. Body at Bart's. I need you.~SH

 

John says I should ask if you found  suitable outfit? "Body can wait." Apparently ~SH

 

I'm in the lobby. We can share a cab. ~SH

 

If you are finished ~SH

 

She sent a quick response asking him to come back to the dressing rooms, then put away her mobile. Molly took a deep breath, gathering the tattered remains of her confidence. If she was going to buy this dress, then he would see her in it eventually. Might as well get it over with. She stepped through the curtains into the outer room -which looked like a Paris runway- and her eyes immediately found Sherlock. 

 

The tall man was standing with a hand in the pocket of his bespoke suit, completely unconscious of what a dashing picture he made. He was sending off more texts, presumably to Lestrade. Probably to John as well, in spite of the fact that his comrade was most likely waiting in the lobby. Molly held the gown's skirt up (and closed) and quietly hobbled her way over. Lydia fussed about for a moment arranging the dress, just so, and then discreetly coughed. Sherlock glanced up from the phone in his hand. He did a double take and slowly straightened, pocketing the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly could see Lydia preening, obviously thinking she had gotten Sherlock's attention. Unfortunately for Lydia, it wasn't the sort of attention that would lead to a huge commission. 

 

"That appears to be one of the new designs from Clare's most recent collection." Sherlock's eyes swept over her, but his expression was carefully neutral. He ended by looking her directly in the eye. "Is this what you've chosen?"

 

"I...uh, it's a stunning dress..." Molly hedged, "don't you like it?"

 

"It is a stunning dress, it's just not you."

 

There was a time when Molly would have been crushed by that statement and Sherlock would have been left wondering what he did to make Molly cry, but they had known each other so long that Molly didn't even flinch and Sherlock trusted her to understand what he was saying.

 

"You don't like it," Molly said plainly.

 

"No," Sherlock confirmed, not the least bit apologetic, "and neither do you, as evidenced by the way you keep tugging at the tight skirt, not to mention the way your hand keeps going to your chest. Obviously covering your decolletage, which is displayed a little more blatantly than you are accustomed to. And then there are the worry lines on your forehead. Why would you choose a dress that makes you this uncomfortable?"

 

 

 

The brief glance directed at Lydia clearly indicated that Sherlock knew the answer and was resisting the urge to deduce that woman to within an inch of her life. Molly sighed and closed her eyes briefly, then said, "I've never been to a really elegant event. I don't know how to dress for something like that, so I asked Lydia's advice."

 

"Clare is a very talented new designer, sir," the sales clerk, an overly made-up young woman wearing a silk suit that cost more than Molly's entire wardrobe. "I assured madam that this gown is on the cutting edge-"

 

"You're clothes make a statement about you Molly," Sherlock cut the sales clerk off,  "Soft, cheerful, unexpectedly bold. You prefer practical clothes and comfortable shoes so that you can concentrate on enjoying what you are doing and not what's being pinched or riding up or gaping open. You've never been afraid to wear whatever you want, with no regard to current fashion. What's changed?"

 

Molly regarded him for a moment, the worry lines on her forehead almost gone. "I just didn't want to embarrass you at such an important event."

 

"Why would you think I would be embarrassed by you?" Sherlock asked with genuine confusion. Molly's worry lines went away completely, replaced by smile lines. 

 

"I don't know, really," Molly said with a shrug, "We've never been to such a high class do together. I've never been to something this formal at all. I've got nothing to wear and, well, you dress like you stepped out of a fashion mag every day of the week! I know you look amazing in formal wear and I didn't want to end up looking like a bit of rubbish stuck to your sleeve."

 

Sherlock gave her an exasperated look. Really. Molly continued to surprise him with how silly she could be about some things. He wasn't used to having to deal with a Molly who was less than absolutely confident about what she was wearing. The only time he had seen her this uncomfortable in her clothing was at that unfortunate Christmas Party during his duel with The Woman. Even then, he hadn't been paying much attention and, honestly, he tried not to recall that night at all. This was new territory for him, but he knew it was important for him to say something. He just hoped he said it the right way.

 

"I do prefer well-made suits -which happen to be classic clothing, therefore never out of style- but if I were a slave to fashion I would own a pair of skinny jeans and a striped roll-necked sweater. Have you ever seen me in either?"

 

Molly snorted, highly amused by the mental image, and shook her head in the negative. 

 

"As to this being an important event, it's not. You know I don't care for such things. Mycroft bullied me into attending. The only reason I said yes was because it gives me an opportunity to take you somewhere you've never been before. And there will be dancing." Molly smiled brightly at that and Sherlock's expression softened. He didn't smile, but it was a close as he could manage when they were surrounded by people.

 

"And if you're worried about your 'bestie' Mycroft," Sherlock continued with an annoyed sarcasm that made Molly giggle, "I assure you, he will not take particular note of what you are wearing. He enjoys your 'surprisingly engaging conversation' -that's a quote by the way- and you obviously haven't realized that the invitation was directed more towards you than me in the first place."

 

Molly hadn't realized that and could respond only with a startled, "Oh!"

 

"Molly, the only thing that makes this event worth attending is you and it won't be you attending in that dress."

 

There were certain moments when Sherlock could be rendered speechless, motionless and with a completely blank mind. Molly smiling at him with such utter devotion was one of them. He stared down into the face of the woman who made him want to take a chance on romance and lost himself for several seconds. But he was still Sherlock Holmes, after all, and there was a body drying up at Bart's. 

 

"Now. We have a case, so let's get on with it," Sherlock said with a decisive air, "You have a unique talent for being able to find just the right Molly outfit and  I'm willing to bet you did find something you liked before being steered towards the haute couture."

 

Molly's eyes darted to a rack to the left. That was enough of an answer for Sherlock and he turned to the collection of dresses hanging there. It didn't take much time to find the one that Molly would have wanted among all of the obnoxiously elegant gowns surrounding it. He pulled it out and handed it to her with a raised eyebrow.

 

"That's the one," Molly confirmed, taking the empire-waist dress of bright orange silk. Her eyes glowed and Molly smiled up at him in a most disarming way. Sherlock felt idiotically proud of himself when she rose on the tips of her toes to bestow a kiss to his chin, before thanking him softly and hobbling back towards the changing rooms.

 

It was clear Molly had found her dress, so it was just down to accessories. Sherlock, who -as much as he liked seeing Molly happy- really, really wanted to get to Bart's, pulled out his black credit card and waived it in the direction of the sales clerks who had gathered to watch. Even Lydia, who had been about to follow Molly, stopped and gaped.

 

"Miss Hooper needs the right accessories for her gown and she needs them quickly. Not you," Sherlock said, pointing at Lydia, She opened her mouth to protest, but Sherlock, who blamed her for the delay and was not willing to waste any more time shook his head. "No. Next time, try actually listening to your client instead of trying to pad your commission. Go," Lydia dismissed, he turned to the gaggle of sales clerks looking up at him in awe. "Now. Bag, shoes, jewelry. No earrings, they hurt her ears. You have five minutes."

 

By the time Molly came back out -smiling and twirling in the gown that, unsurprisingly, fit like it was made for her (there are no coincidences)- Sherlock had a good selection of accessories accumulated for her to choose from. She did so quickly, with all of the confidence he was used to seeing her exhibit, and they were meeting John in the lobby in minutes. Molly had tried to protest when he presented his card to pay, but with a reminder of the pending case, she wisely let it go. 

 

"We can settle later," he said with a wink. 

 

A few evenings later, Sherlock walked into the Darwin Center at the Natural History Museum with Molly on his arm. She was as excited to be there as he thought she would be, which made mingling with the huge crowd much more tolerable. He actually had fun introducing her around and watching her interact with such a varied group. There were ambassadors and rock stars, some distinguished members of the international medical community (Molly had absolutely bloomed among that crowd) and, naturally, members of the government that Mycroft insisted on introducing to them. And of course there was enough dancing and deductions whispered coyly in Molly's ear to keep him from getting too bored, so when Mycroft asked to dance with Molly, he was able to allow it with a minimum of fussing.

 

As he stood sipping a really excellent scotch and watching Molly Hooper sparkling on the dance floor, Sherlock mused on how extraordinarily satisfying it was to be able to introduce Molly to new places and experiences -once she finally understood she didn't have to change herself for those places or experiences.  Though the relationship was still new, it seemed to be progressing well. Sherlock would admit to not having much in the way of a frame of reference, but Molly was happy and he was -was he? He was.- quite content himself. That was enough to be getting on with. 

 

 

 

Notes:

This is a love note to Molly's wardrobe. I love what she wears (even the brown trousers) and the absolute individualism the creators have given the character through her clothing. I think it takes much more courage to dress in what you like than what is 'fashionable.' The only time we see Molly really uncomfortable with regards to clothes is when she tried to dress in a conventionally sexy dress for the Christmas Party during A Scandal in Belgravia. She looked as out of place in that dress as Irene Adler would wearing Molly's holiday jumper. Not because Molly can't be sexy, but because she was trying to fit someone else's idea of sexy. I like to think that was the writer's point with regards to Molly's clothing in that scene, though I admit I may be over-thinking it a bit.

Sorry, didn't mean to rant, but I read a comment in a Sherlock forum hating on Molly's clothes as a sign of her 'weakness.' I feel the exact opposite. Molly's own unique fashion sense, not informed by what Society considers fashionable, is one of the things that made Molly stand out to me as a strong character from the first episode. The Sherlock writers have my undying loyalty for not putting the character though a Cinderella-style makeover. A fashion makeover has nothing to do with who a person is and this is why I despise Cinderella stories in which the heroine has to get a makeover before she finds happiness. Molly doesn't need your D&G dress, anonymous forum lady. She needs her cherry cardigan, her awesome brain/heart combination and a strong slapping arm. So there.

Please don't think I disapprove of anyone who prefers trendy clothing or name brand designers or haute couture. The point I'm trying to make is that everyone should wear what they individually like and whatever they choose to wear. It's. All. Good.

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