So, here is the thing…I have not updated this in about two and a half years. But, I'm doing it now! I'll be transferring this entire story to AO3 sometime soon with revised earlier chapters and more frequent updates of new chapters. So yeah, thanks to you if you are one of the faithful few that will still keep reading this. I don't own Sherlock.

Two years ago

Mary—or Molly now—was finding herself fitting in incredibly well in Bakersville. Her close neighbor—an exceedingly kind widow—brought her extra food from her overly large dinners quite often, and Molly was always grateful. Another neighbor had stopped by a couple of times within the week she had arrived in town to chat and had offered enthusiastically to show her around town. She had politely declined him, for she really did prefer to make discoveries on her own. She had decided that as soon as she had all of her sewing materials organized and set up in one of her rooms, she would take a large portion of a day to explore Bakersville and see what her new home had to offer her.

Finally, the day came when every needle and spool was neatly arranged in her extra room; Molly had even taken a little extra time to begin making plans for the sign she intended to put up on her front door advertising her services. She sighed contentedly observing her new workspace. It was larger than the room she had used in London and had much more natural light, which she greatly appreciated. This way she wouldn't go through nearly as many candles as she used to. She closed the door to the extra bedroom and brushed off her shabby work dress. She was almost ready to head into town and take everything in, but first she needed to change into something acceptable.

She went to her bedroom and found one of her finest dresses, one she had labored over for nearly six months before she had considered it finished. The dress itself was a deep burgundy color; the bodice was intricately decorated with golden designs and the hem and cuffs were ruffled in a way that made her look almost regal. Molly loved this dress and had only ever worn it a handful of times, each one a special occasion. She was not entirely sure what made her pick it up and put it on merely to go about town alone, though she subconsciously suspected that the chance of meeting Sherlock in town was at the core of her decision to look her best. She had not seen him again in the five days since her arrival, though that was most likely because she had only left her home to quickly run out for food, and even those trips were often unnecessary thanks to her neighbor. Her curiosity had only continued to build for the days she had been cooped up in her house, and now she was thrilled to get the opportunity to run into him at some shop or maybe see him under some tree writing or napping. She smiled despite herself as she hastily put on her shoes, adjusted her dress, put on her bonnet, and stepped outside.

A warm breeze brushed her face. She inhaled deeply and caught the scent of roses, just the faintest hint. The sky was speckled with pure, white clouds and the sun was just high enough that it appeared to be resting on the trees like a piece of fruit on a table. Molly smiled again, though wider now and more consciously than before. She had chosen the perfect day, she thought, to take in new sights.

Molly began her excursion by walking slowly down the path that led into town. She wanted to carefully examine the homes of her neighbors because she had only glanced at them before. She examined doors, windows, fences, and lawns, taking note of which were well kept and which were rather run-down. When she had finished observing the houses near hers, she made her way to the center of town, which was still not far from where she lived, perhaps a two minute brisk walk. She stopped first at the church. The front was large and lofty, which she found was not unusual. There were no grand, stained-glass windows and no statues or artistic decorations of Mary or the disciples. Molly disliked the Calvinist disdain for elegance in the church. She thought stained-glass was beautiful, and what, she wondered, was so wrong with simple statue of Mary? She was the mother of Christ after all. Molly turned her gaze to the awkward appendage on the side of the chapel. It was far enough back that it was not too noticeable to anyone just entering the church straight on, but it was visible if one rounded the corner slightly. She assumed immediately that the little side building must have been where the minister lived. She wondered if he lived alone and what he looked like. She thought absently that the building looked familiar, but from the angle she observed it from, she couldn't really tell, and the longer she looked, the more she felt as though she must be mistaken. In the end, she was sure she was seeing the structure for the first time, and moved along to see more of the town. She'd given up her curiosity about the minister for the time being; after all, the next day was Sunday. She would see him soon enough and her curiosity would be quenched.

Her next stop was outside a small strip of buildings, all of which had signs outside that advertised some kind of service or good. There was a butcher, a grocer, a cobbler, and a clerk. She moved along quickly since she had already been to this small section of town to purchase some food when she'd needed it.

Next Molly stopped outside of the combined bank and city hall. The building was as plain as any of the others really, with wooden walls and just enough windows to let in an acceptable amount of sunlight. She moved along. Down the street she could see a large and elegant structure and her curiosity overtook her desire to look at the other small shops that she passed. As she got up closer to the building, she noticed rose bushes lining the path to the door and spread throughout a beautiful garden that lay in the front yard. The smell was almost overwhelming, but Molly couldn't help but breathe in the scent deeply. She had assumed the building was not a shop, but instead an ostentatious home. She wondered who lived there. Obviously someone important, someone with money and respect. A judge? No, probably not, not when the minister lived in what she would call a large shack. An official then? Some kind of government official? She was trying hard to remember what kind of government most of these colony towns employed. For the life of her, she couldn't not think of the title the top official of a rather prominent colonial town would have, so she gave up. She could ask a neighbor later if she was still searching for the word later. She became aware that she had been standing outside of the lofty home for a long time when she saw a maid peering at her from a high window. Molly quickly ducked her head, blushing, and moved along down the street towards the courthouse and jail. There was not much beyond the small jailhouse on this road, she noticed. She turned around before really looking hard at either building, for she assumed she would spend very little time in this particular part of town.

OoOoO

By the time Molly returned home, the sky was nearly dark. She had stopped in the center of town for a long while because she had fallen into conversation with a kind young woman about her own age. She had remembered to ask about the large house across town, and learned that the governor lived there. Molly learned from the young woman that the governor was an eccentric with expensive tastes and that he surrounded himself with artifacts and rare objects. She went on to tell Molly that the governor did all of his work right out of him own parlor, and that if Molly should ever need to talk to a town official, she may as well not waste her time at the city hall, but instead should go straight to the governors front door.

Molly and the young woman laughed and talked for an incredibly long while before the conversation finally died down and both women naturally parted with a quick goodbye. Molly headed for her home, satisfied that she had seen the entirety of Bakersville. She liked the town; she enjoyed the variety of the shops and the kindness of the people. She had never met people so kind and talkative in London. The only disappointment of her day was the fact that she had not seen Sherlock at all, had not even caught a fleeting glance. She had hoped to see him in town, hoped that he would also see her and recognize her. She imagined he would approach her and start up a conversation, and they would both laugh about their first meeting. Instead, she entered her home feeling disappointed. She took of her bonnet resignedly and placed it on a hook near the door with a sigh. She went to start a fire in her woodstove when something occurred to her and made her melancholy seem completely foolish to her. Tomorrow was Sunday! How did she keep forgetting? Tomorrow she was bound to see Sherlock in church. Molly felt the same excitement she had felt most of the day return to her.

Tomorrow, she thought excitedly, tomorrow she would get two gifts! She would get to meet the minister and Sherlock. Tomorrow would be an excellent day.

OoOoO

Molly awoke early on Sunday feeling refreshed and anxious all at once. She was anxious to meet everyone else in town, and more anxious to meet the minister, for ministers, she had heard, were the lifeblood of Puritan towns. They were the men that inspired others and commanded attention and respect. Additionally, everyone Molly had spoken to so far raved about the revered in Bakersville. They said his sermons had the touch of God in them that no other ministers' sermons had, and that his faith and passion had inspired everyone in the town to pray more and obey God's commandments more faithfully. Molly herself was not a fervent subject of God. She certainly went to church, for not attending was punishable by law under Puritan rule, but inside her own home, she hardly ever prayed, and she barely ever read the Bible that her father had given her when she was a girl. She had a great knowledge of its contents, but she was not compelled to open it and analyze each passage. Of course, she would never disclose any of this to another Puritan. That would be social—and possibly literal—suicide. No, she would continue to put on a passionately religious façade outside of the privacy of her home, and she would do it without complaint.

When she noticed that her room had become full of sunlight, Molly got out of the comfort of her bed and started to get ready for the service. She put on as fine a dress as she thought appropriate for church and washed her face in the basin by her window. She decided she did not want to be overly ostentatious for the service, especially since art and overt showiness were not exactly welcome in the church environment. Outside her window, Molly could hear families walking to the chapel, talking brightly about nothing too extraordinary, but brightly nonetheless. Molly hurried to finish getting ready. When her shoes and bonnet her on, she stepped outside. No one else was walking now. A small feeling of panic rose up in Molly's chest as she heard the bell ring. She was late. Molly cursed herself as she hurried towards the church. Of course she was going to be late to her first church service in her new home; she'd fiddled too long with her dress and her hair, trying to make them as perfect as possible. Again she knew that her desire to be noticed by Sherlock had been the cause of all her primping, and damn if it hadn't been the cause of her tardiness as well.

She tried to be as quiet as she could as she opened the large doors and stepped inside the chapel, but she cringed as she noticed all eyes turned in her direction. She tried to smile apologetically to all the silent, waiting faces, and she quickly moved through the aisle looking for an empty seat. She would have preferred to sit in the very back, but every row was full to bursting except for the very front left. She awkwardly sat down on the outside of the pew; at least she hadn't needed to climb over anyone to get to a space. She exhaled heavily when she was finally seated and felt that most eyes had abandoned her; she was grateful that the service had not actually begun and that she had really only missed the bell that meant the doors were closing. It had still been awkward, but at least it was easily forgivable. She joined the rest of the parishioners in waiting patiently in silence for the minister to enter the pulpit and begin the service. After a minute or two Molly began to wonder where the minister was. Shouldn't he be at the altar by now? Was no one else growing impatient? In the quiet moments before the service began, Molly wondered where Sherlock was seated. She hadn't noticed him when she came in, but she had also been in a hurry to find a seat. Now she was in the dead front, and turning around to scan the rows of people did not seem appropriate. So, she sat still with her eyes scanning the altar instead, wondering if he was looking at her from some row behind her, wondering if he also wished they had gotten to sit nearer each other. Molly smiled at the thought.

At last, she heard the creaking of a door to the side of the sanctuary where the reverend would no doubt enter from. She turned her eyes towards the door and waited, excited to finally see the man everyone had gone on and on about. He stepped into the chapel, and Molly's chest collapsed into itself, all breath leaving her body.

Well, she thought dazedly, I'd recognize that gorgeous face anywhere, but I never expected to see it up there…