Molly curled deeper into the sofa cushions, clutching the oversized mug Mary had thrust into her hands the moment she arrived. It was more hot chocolate than tea: whipped cream teetering precariously over the rim, a sprinkle of cinnamon for good measure. Comfort in liquid form.
Mary, cross-legged on the opposite chair, tilted her head. “So, Tom’s an arse.”
Molly winced. “He’s not… well, not completely. He just…” Her voice faltered. “He never really respected my decision. And now it’s over because of it.”
Mary’s expression softened, but only for a beat. “Then good riddance. You deserve someone who actually listens.”
“I just…” Molly bit her lip, fingers tightening on the mug. “I can’t even satisfy a man properly. That’s what it comes down to. He wanted…he needed…something I couldn’t give him. And maybe I’m broken for holding on so tightly to something that doesn’t even matter anymore.”
Mary leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Stop. You’re not broken. You made a choice, and he couldn’t handle it. That’s on him.”
“But what if the next one can’t handle it either?” Molly whispered. “What if this keeps happening?”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint buzz of traffic outside the flat. Then Mary’s lips quirked, the look of someone about to say something outrageous.
“What if,” she began slowly, “you just… stopped waiting?”
“You’ve done the noble-virgin act. Gold star for willpower. But if you think it’s holding you back, then maybe it’s time to cash in your v-card and move on.”
Heat rushed to Molly’s cheeks. “Mary!”
Mary’s grin widened. “What? It’s practical. Find someone safe, someone who won’t make it a big deal, get it over with. Then no more pressure, no more shadow hanging over your love life.”
Molly buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Oh, believe it.” Mary sipped her tea with exaggerated calm. Then she added, “And as it happens, I know just the man.”
Molly’s head snapped up. “No. Absolutely not.”
“You don’t even know who I’m thinking of yet!” Mary laughed.
“I don’t care. If you’re suggesting some random bloke from one of your parties…”
“Not random.” Mary’s grin turned sly. “John’s friend. Sherlock Holmes.
Molly froze, mug halfway to her lips. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious. Genius chemist, never touches booze, terrifyingly honest. Doesn’t do relationships, which means no messy strings. He’s basically tailor-made for this little… project.”
Molly’s stomach flipped. Sherlock Holmes: the brilliant, insufferable boy in her chemistry lectures, all cheekbones and condescension, who treated professors like minor inconveniences. He was the last person she should even consider.
Her traitorous mind whispered the truth: she had noticed him. More than once.
Mary was watching her closely, that knowing spark in her eyes. “Just think about it. Worst case, you prove to yourself it’s not such a big deal. Best case…” She shrugged, mischievous. “Well. Who knows?”
Molly groaned, pressing the mug against her burning face. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Which means,” Mary said brightly, “it’s probably the best one.”
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