The Oxfordshire Renaissance Faire
“Come on, Sherlock, it’s going to be fun,” Molly chimed as she started lacing up her corset. “I used to love going to renaissance faires when I was a kid.”
He only huffed and continued to eye her critically.
“What on earth makes you think I would enjoy trekking through the woods in ridiculous clothing to watch historically inaccurate acting and spend money on overpriced greasy food?”
Molly rolled her eyes. Most days she loved her detective dearly, but others it was like trying to take care of an impertinent child. At least she had learned by now how to he worked. Manipulation wasn’t quite the right word. More like employing the right tools. Taking a deep breath, Molly put on the best pouting face she could muster. Her dear old mum would have blushed. For as cold as her sociopath boyfriend was, nothing made him melt faster than her puppy dog eyes (oh, how the tables had turned over the years). After a few moments of staring stubbornly at each other, he finally sighed.
“Fine. But I am not wearing a costume.”
***
“Aw, Sherlock, you look adorable!” Mary greeted when Molly and Sherlock met her and John just inside the front gate.
Molly could hear him muttering under his breath about how ridiculous the whole thing was and how uncomfortable his stupid clothes were, but she chose to ignore him. After all those crime scenes he had dragged her to and the countless hours he kept her awake working overtime at the morgue, he could suffer her one day at the renaissance festival. John looked about as happy as his best friend, but it seemed that Mary had worked a similar form of persuasion. The partners in crime fighting made quite the pair in their matching tunics and tabards, throwing each other enflamed glances. Of course, Mary was a vision in her elegant red and gold medieval gown, looking like a princess who had just stepped out of a little girl’s storybook. Molly knew her simple green skirt and brown bodice weren’t nearly as impressive, but it was enough to take her back to summers in the United States with her cousins when they would spend whole weekends running around their local faire. Even if the men were still miserable, she was brimming with excitement.
The Oxfordshire Faire was smaller than the one she visited as a child, temporary tents rather than large permanent structures, but it still had all the classic kitsch that made festivals so charming: the thick wafting scent of turkey legs, half-intoxicated sea shanties ringing on the breeze, and the cheery bustle of patrons of all ages in varying degrees of costuming.
“Why don’t you two go see a show while Molly and I go shopping,” Mary suggested, finally freeing the anxious boys. “We won’t torture you that much.”
Molly felt a twinge of sadness that Sherlock wouldn’t be spending as much time with her, but she knew it was for the best. Better he complained to John than her. Even if it was supposed to be a double date, his constant negativity would only wear her down. However, it only took about half an hour for the inklings of disappointment to melt away. Endless booths of perfume and jewelry and clothing and trinkets quickly erased any and all notions of unpleasantness. Mary was the perfect exploring companion, encourage Molly to try on or sample anything that caught her fancy.
She was particularly drawn to an adornments booth that sold a variety of hair and headpieces made out of everything from fabric to ribbon to chainmail. Molly was not usually inclined toward materials other than sentimental items, but had she a weaker will half he paycheck would have gone straight into buying out the shop (even if she would never wear any of their exquisite decorations anywhere else).
“I’m going to grab a pint. Promise I’ll be right back,” Mary called, no doubt trying to take advantage of how entranced Molly was in all the shining trinkets.
Aware of her solitude other than the booth worker, a drowsy teenager who gave paid her no attention other than a polite nod, Molly chose a circlet of golden chain with green butterfly charms to lay on the crown of her head, and shamelessly admired it in the mirror. It was far too fine to match her outfit and far too expensive to spend on a trifle, but she luxuriated in it nonetheless. It had been many long years since she felt like a princess.
“I’ll take that one.”
Molly spun on her heels to find Sherlock standing behind her, just out of mirror’s line of sight. John was nowhere to be seen.
“Sixty quid, m’lord,” the shop girl droned, sounding about as happy to be there as he was.
Molly’s face flushed in embarrassment and she quickly put the circlet back on the shelf.
“Really, there’s no need, I was just-“
Sherlock ignored her, dropping money on the counter and picking the piece up himself.
“Why not? It frames your face and makes your eyes sparkle,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he was quoting a scientific statement from a textbook.
Before she could offer another protest, he clipped it back on her head and adjusted it until piece rested perfectly center, his fingers lingering at her hairline.
“There,” he said in a softer tone.
Molly didn’t know what to say, so she just stood in awe, staring up at Sherlock. His face no longer looked bitter and annoyed, but calm, and almost amused. To what did she owe this miraculous transformation? Suddenly, his eyebrows came together inquisitively and she was afraid he finally came back to his senses. Same old Sherlock…
“Your clothes don’t match it at all. You should find a dress that does.”
Molly couldn’t stop herself from laughing until she cried.
***
Mary smiled at John from their spot in the pub as she watched Sherlock and Molly leaving the hairpiece shop holding hands and whispering to each other. Another day, another successful push. The two were perfect for one another, true, and undoubtedly in love, but every so often they needed a little help. Even if they didn’t know it.
“What did you tell him?” She asked her husband, taking a long sip of mead.
“Nothing, actually,” John answered. “He figured it out himself this time.”
Mary choked on her drink.
“Seriously? Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock Holmes actually and honestly turned a trip to the renaissance faire into a legitimate date all on his own?”
John grinned and Mary looked around to see if there were pigs with wings or snow on the ground in the heat of August.