AN: Hi guys, welcome back to part two of my Sherlock and Molly fairytale series, following on from 'For Whom Could Ever Learn To Love A Beast', though you probably could get by reading this as a standalone. Following on in theme as well as canon from that story though, this story will be based on two classic/children's films/stories, so when you think you've figured one or both out, please let me know in the comments. Or just say hi, either way I love to hear from my readers.
Of course I do not own any characters belonging to Arthur Conan Doyle, the BBC, Disney etc, and no copyright infringement is intended.
So without further ado...
Chapter 1 - Very Interesting Creatures, Bees
May 14th 1870 - Kilburn, near London
The boy was no older than nine years old, and yet felt like he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his frail little shoulders as he ran, his expensive clothes were getting caked in dirt, and torn by brambles and branches whipping past him. Far behind him he could make out his mother's heartbroken cries of his name, but he couldn't turn back now.
He dashed away the tears from his cheeks, his dirty hands leaving streaks across his face that he couldn't care less about. He was solely focused on the tracks coming up ahead of him, and the shrill whistle of the train incoming from his left. Sliding a little in the mud he changed his course, running parallel to the tracks as his uncle had shown him, looking over his shoulder for the approaching train. Soon the carriages where whistling past him and he put on an extra burst of speed, nowhere near enough to keep up with the speeding locomotive, but enough to make the carriages seem relatively slower as they passed him by.
When the time was right he leapt up, pulling himself into an open carriage, where other stowaways and hitchhikers passively regarded him before looking away again. Chest heaving, the boy took a seat on the carriage floor, leaning back against the wall and watching his home disappearing from view in the changing scenery outside the door he'd just clambered through. He wasn't sure where he was going, or what he would do when he got there, all he knew was his life as he knew it was over, and it was all his fault.
Meanwhile - The Streets of London
"John, keep on his tail, and when you reach the main road, try and steer him into Harrison street!" Sherlock called to his companion over the slapping of their footsteps and those of the fleeing suspect on the rain soaked road.
"Why, what are you... Sherlock!" John barked angrily, as his friend disappeared from his side, into the shadows. Despite his huffing, he trusted his friend implicitly, and kept his attention on the killer he was supposed to be herding into whatever Sherlock was planning. He barely flinched as the man fired off a couple of shots over his shoulder at him; he could see the trajectory was way out.
"Just you try that again, and see if I won't shoot back. I won't miss either" John growled under his breath, gaining ground on the man and veering left to force the suspect right. As he intended, the suspect took the path of least resistance, down Harrison street, and John was hot on his heels, though his eyes flicked about searching for Sherlock. He spotted him moments before Sherlock acted; crouched on a low roof ahead, he leapt out onto the suspect as he passed, his coat flying out behind him like gigantic bat wings, and bore the man to the ground with enough force to knock him unconscious. Sherlock himself rolled his landing, jumping to his feet with a victorious grin and dusting himself off.
"Nice catch. But does every plan of yours involve hurling yourself off a building?" John panted, coming to a halt beside his friend. Sherlock snorted, and both men descended into their usual post-adrenaline-rush giggles for a few seconds, before Sherlock pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and held them out to John.
"Would you like to do the honours?"
"Lestrade's?" John questioned the source of the cuffs as he took them and crouched down beside their captive, "I suppose one of us should go find him and lead him back, we lost him a good few streets back."
"No need." Sherlock responded, and John looked up just out of time to prevent his friend firing the suspects gun into the air.
"Sherlock!" John snapped.
"What? It works doesn't it?"
"We talked about this! No stray shots in built up areas." John insisted, getting back to his feet after binding the prisoner, "You're a scientist, of sorts, you know that what goes up must surely come down, those bullets could still hit someone! I've seen cases of it before you know."
"As have I," Sherlock agreed, a twinkle in his eyes "I once acquitted a man who had the rather poor timing to be threatening his neighbour with a gun he had no intention of using, over some petty domestic dispute at the time a bullet fell from the sky and killed said neighbour. A -" he paused as their captive groaned, and delivered a swift kick that quietened him, "Where was I... oh yes, a gunshot was heard by the neighbours, but an old war veteran noticed it wasn't as loud as it should have been, and I was successfully able to prove that the sound and the bullet in fact came from a gun fired in the next street over."
"And yet you still fire into the air!" John pointed out.
"Oh do stop harping on about it, I calculated the trajectory myself, unless someone is stargazing on their roof over in Cromer street, it'll be perfectly fine. And here is Lestrade now... You took your time, Inspector!"
Meanwhile, 221b Baker Street
"...covered in blood, gave me the fright of my life. You'd think I'd be used to all his antics by now, but apparently not." Molly related to her friend. She and Mary were seated on 221b's long sofa, cups of tea before them on the coffee table as they talked and waited for their husbands to return from their crime-fighting activities.
"Oh, I don't think anyone could ever be truly used to Sherlock's funny ways, if half of what John's told me about when he lived with him is true." Mary chuckled, "Does he still bring home body pieces from the mortuary to experiment on?"
"Oh yes, though I actually don't mind that so much." Molly confessed "He was doing an interesting one the other day about the development of bruising after death, the results were rather fascinating, and I'm sure it will have great practical application in determining the cause of death."
Mary gave her a speculative look, an indulgent smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "You really are his perfect woman."
Molly blushed, looking down and fiddling with her teacup, though it didn't hide her answering smile. "Well I ...I don't know, I'd like to think so."
Mary opened her mouth to bolster her friends conviction, but stopped as she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, turning her head to see the partition between the kitchen and the living room sliding open, aided by her thirteen year old daughter, Charlotte and Mrs Hudson.
"Hey Sweetie, is your cooking lesson all done?"
The young girl nodded seriously, standing up straight and doing her best to look the part of a proper host. "Dinner is served." She announced, motioning them to come in. Molly and Mary got up obediently, coming over and taking their places at the dinner table, which over the course of the evening had had Sherlock's lab equipment removed and replaced with dish after dish of delicious smelling food.
"It all looks very good, Charlotte, I can't wait to try some. Is that honey glazed pork?" Molly praised, looking over what was on offer. The large spread reminded her of a time when there was just three of them in a big house, Molly, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson, and the older lady would attempt to spoil Sherlock with a veritable feast whenever he chose to take a full meal. Thankfully nowadays there was usually more mouths to be fed to justify the extra food.
"Oh yes," Mrs Hudson chipped in, serving up generous potions of everything onto their plates, "And don't worry, we've left some in the oven to keep warm so those husbands of yours don't miss out on a hot meal when they get back."
That was not too much longer, as it turned out, as they'd all taken only a few bites of their meals when they heard the door opening downstairs, and the unmistakable tones of Sherlock and John's banter.
"I don't care if it was true, Sherlock, if you keep telling the drivers their wives are cheating on them, we'll soon run out of cabs that will take us."
"Oh please, I've only told two that, and wouldn't they prefer to know? Besides, do you even realise how many hackney carriage drivers there are in London? It would be improbable for me to manage to offend them all."
"If anyone could manage, it would be you."
"And yet, they still stop for me quicker than they stop for you."
Molly and Mary shared an amused smile, before Mary swallowed her food and called out.
"Dinner is on the table boys, if you would deign to finish your bickering and get up here!"
As all the women giggled, and Mrs Hudson jumped up to get extra plates out, two sets of footsteps hurried up the stairs, and Sherlock and John appeared in the doorway, exuding their usual post-case glow of excitement and smugness.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting ladies." John announced charmingly, kissing his daughter on the head and wife on the cheek as he made his way around the table to sit between them.
"No need, we already started without you." Mary cheekily replied.
Sherlock stood at the door still, eyeing the table sceptically.
"Where is my microscope?"
"On the desk in the bedroom. I moved it myself, keeping all the slides with it as they were." Molly quickly appeased him, just stopping herself from adding an endearment to the end of her speech as knew it would make him uncomfortable when they had company, even if it was just the Watsons. Sherlock nodded, trusting Molly's handling of his equipment, and seated himself next to her, letting her fill his plate for him.
"How do you like the pork, Sherlock? I cooked it especially because I knew it was your favourite!" Charlotte piped up, the second he had taken a bite. She had been infatuated with him since their first meeting, little over a year ago, much to the amusement of everyone except John. Her father always tensed up when she spoke to Sherlock, glaring at his friend in a way that promised a painful retribution if Sherlock were to say anything to upset his baby girl. Sherlock himself always appeared indifferent to both Charlotte's interest and her father's threatening stares, though Molly was certain he knew where the line was and was toeing it very carefully.
"Toothsome, despite your mishap with the honey." Sherlock answered, a slight twinkle in his eye as John's warning glare sharpened. "So good of you to replace the jar you smashed."
"It was only good manners." Charlotte replied happily, a deep blush staining her cheeks at his compliments, "Oh, but do tell us how you knew, please Sherlock?"
John's death stare abated somewhat at his daughter's excitement for Sherlock's deduction, and he rolled his eyes instead as Sherlock smugly launched into an explanation.
"Very interesting creatures, bees. Were you aware that each hive has an individual scent that the bees within it can identify it by? And the flavour of the honey produced by a hive is greatly influenced by the flowers the bees have harvested from? I detected these subtle differences in the flavour of the porks glaze-"
"You're lying, Sherlock" Mary sang, cutting him off, "You know I can always tell. How will Charlotte ever learn if you keep that up?"
"Fine, I felt the stickiness of the floor under my shoes, and saw the new jar on the shelf when I came in." He confessed "What I said about bees was true though, they are truly remarkable."
Dinner continued to pass with companionable chatter, but only when it was finished and the Watsons had left did Molly bring up the days case, stepping into his arms for a comfortable embrace.
"How did the case go? Did you catch that dreadful man?"
"Oh yes, quite literally, the fool was a runner." Sherlock explained, with an eye roll that barely disguised the fun he had had. "Of course there are still some loose ends to tie up at Scotland Yard, they can't seem to do anything themselves."
"I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow. You should get some rest, you haven't come to bed since this case begun."
"Yes, I suppose I should." He submitted, turning towards the bedroom and then turning back again, as a thought occurred to him, "No clients dropped by while I was out, did they?"
"No. get some rest." Molly giggled, giving him a push in the right direction.
"Worth a shot. Tomorrow then, I hope something good comes up, or I may be forced to take on a 6..."