"Have you been waiting here long?" He asked in a deep, seductive voice, richer than dark chocolate. The voice always made me shiver inside, tremble, imagine...
"Y-yes," I whispered, taking a step forward. He was cold and calculating, yet had this air of welcome. So... inviting. "Good."
I loved it when he was as cold as that. Loved it. I didn't know why but something about it was so attractive. It was like when he worked on a case. It was like he wasn't human. Too cold to be human. My inner Goddess gulped.
"So... Um. What can I do for you, Sherlock?" I asked, shakily.
"You know what you can do for me, Molly," He told me, his eyes flashing.
I gulped.
He approached me, slowly sliding off his leather gloves, his ice-like eyes never leaving my own eyes. His hands were steady and skillful. Unlike mine, which were trembling so much I could hardly focus. After that, his scarf snaked from around his neck, dropping on the floor. My eyes followed it, blushing as I looked down. I found I couldn't look back up. I watched as his coat dropped beside his feet. My blushing increased. And then I felt his long, slender fingers tilt my chin up. He looked deeply into my eyes.
A lip twitch. A raised eyebrow. A flash of lust.
"On the table, Molly Hooper."
"Wh-what?" I gasped.
"Did I stutter?"
My face flamed. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.
"On the table," He repeated.
...
"Are you listening to me?"
John slammed his laptop shut so quickly, it felt like the whole ground shook with the force. "What?" He shouted. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John couldn't help but think he knew what he was up to. His face flamed. His heart raced.
"I said," Sherlock began, "Are you listening to me?"
"No. I mean yes. I mean what. Sorry, what was the question?"
He blew out a frustrated sigh. "Come on, John. I just made a full body deduction in less than thirty seconds. You didn't even tell me how brilliant it was. I must admit, I'd prefer if you would enlarge your vocabulary just a tad and use far more interesting words. If I wanted such a flaccid response, I would have kidnapped someone off the street."
"Alright, alright. I get it," John rolled his eyes, still flushing, "You now have my full attention."
"Good." He turned back to the body.
A quick check to see if he was looking, another quick check just to make sure he wouldn't turn around, and John opened the laptop again with careful fingers and skimmed the page for his place.
...
"On the table," He repeated.
...
"JOHN!"
John jumped out of his skin, the laptop lid slamming down once again. "WHAT?"
"If you're going to insist on bringing that burden of a thing with you on every single case then you could at least have the decency to not be on it every second."
"What? For god sake, Sherlock, you made me bring the sodding laptop," He didn't even want to go on the stupid case, anyway. He had to cancel a date night with Mary for it. All he wanted to do was go on a date with Mary and then read the fan fiction...
"What are you reading?" Sherlock asked, pulling his magnifying glass from his pocket. He held it up above his narrowed eyes, testing it.
"What?" John felt heat rise in his face. If Sherlock knew...
He was still staring through the magnifying glass. "Can't be your blog. You update it every night with Mary so she can check for errors. It's obviously something interesting. Nothing ever seems to distract you whilst on a case. One of the main reasons I like having you around," Sherlock's eyes flashed to John's. "There is an increase of blood flow to your face. It's something you wouldn't want to be caught reading. And since you're reading it out of your house, I can deduce that it is something you wouldn't want Mary to know you're reading. Something explicit, then."
"I-Well-I- Sherlock!" John's face coloured even more.
"Don't be embarrassed, John," Sherlock told him, bending down to the body, "I've read your internet history. I can assure you, we don't have secrets anymore."
John couldn't even form words. He was frightened to speak in case he gave the game away and he was scared to remain silent in case Sherlock found that odd. Instead, he placed the laptop on the grass beside him and knelt down to the body. It was time to actually do some work.
...
Molly pulled on her lab coat and quickly tied her hair up in a ponytail. Within a few minutes, she would be taking a family to identify the body of a lost loved one. She hated that part of her job. It always left her feeling so sad, so empty. The look of grief on their faces, the scars that would never heal. She knew that from personal experience. They tell you everything will be fine, they tell you to hold on and they tell you that time heals everything. Molly knew that the hurt never goes away. Not really.
She checked her appearance in the mirror and slammed her locker shut. Then she began her slow descent down the eerie corridors. A few more turns and she had reached the Morgue waiting room, where guests had to stay until a Pathologist called them in.
Two women sat there, an elderly woman about mid forties and a girl in her teens. Molly noticed the teenager first. She was striking, with long black hair contrasting against her pale skin. Nothing like who, what Molly presumed to be, her mother. The older woman wore a mask of deep sadness and regret. And the other girl? Well, simply put, she looked bored.
Molly gave them a sad, sympathetic smile as she approached them.
"Hi, I'm Molly Hooper and I'm the Pathologist working here today," She began the way she always began. The teenager, who'd been looking down at her feet, snapped her head upwards upon hearing Molly's name. "I understand that this is a very troubling time, which is why I like to get this bit over as soon as possible. So if you could follow me," She turned to address the teenager, "I'm sorry but you can't come in. You're welcome to stay here and wait until your mum comes out."
She didn't say anything, only stared. For some reason, Molly thought she was staring at her name tag.
"Ashley, you stay here, okay?" The older woman told her in a broken voice. The so-called Ashley responded with a nod as she settled back against her chair. She pulled her phone from her pocket, a typical teenager. Molly felt slightly annoyed. Didn't she know phones weren't supposed to be used in hospitals? Still, she said nothing, and led the older woman into the mortuary.
An instant wave of cold and sorrow washed over them, something Molly was used to. She quickly picked up her notes upon entering, checking the name of the woman. Trish. Okay, Trish. Easy to remember. Only last week she'd forgotten someone's name, resulting in humiliation and a full bottle of red wine when she got home.
"Right, Trish," Molly led her over to the table where a body covered in a white sheet lay, sleeping and still. "This can be very... Um, horrible for some people. I just want you to prepare yourself, okay?"
She watched with steady eyes. Trish took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."
"Just tell me when you want me to lift the sheet."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Now, please. Just do it now."
Without much hesitation, without even revealing a less than professional response, without letting the woman know how much this part of her job made her heart ache, Molly lifted the sheet, revealing the corpse beneath. Detach, she thought to herself. Detach.
Trish's face journeyed through all the emotions. Worry. Apprehension. Pleading. Horror. Surprise. And finally, relief.
Molly knew that look all too well. It was not the body of a loved one.
"Oh, gosh," Trish breathed, holding a hand over her heart. "Oh gosh. Oh gosh. Oh gosh."
"Do you recognise the body?" Molly asked, despite knowing the answer. She still had to ask. Standard procedure.
"No! God, no." She laughed, a mix of relief and horror. Molly's heart lightened a bit. She covered the body back up.
"Okay. Well, I think you're done, then. Just straight through the door."
"Actually," She bit her lip, embarrassed, "Could you maybe show me the way out? It's a big hospital and I can't remember."
"Of course," Molly smiled. She led Trish out the Mortuary, into the waiting room where that strikingly beautiful yet strange girl sat. She looked up from her phone as they approached.
"It wasn't her," Trish clarified.
"Right." But the girl wasn't looking at her mother. She was looking at Molly's name tag again.
"So you go out the double doors at the end, turn left and you should come to some stairs. Just follow them up and there should be three forking corridors. Left all the way and eventually you should come to one of the side exits."
"Okay, thank you so much," Trish walked off, without Ashley who remained behind. She gave Molly a strange look.
"Are you writing that fan fiction?" She asked.
Molly's eyebrows furrowed, surprised to hear her speak for the first time. She had no idea what she was talking about. "Wh-what?"
"That fan fiction. Sherlock Holmes," She said as if Molly were stupid, "I love Sherlock Holmes. I follow all his cases."
"Right... Um. I'll pass it on."
"I hope you update soon. It's getting good."
"It... Is?" She still had no idea what was going on.
"Yeah. Anyway, bye," And with that, she ran off to met her mother, leaving Molly as dumbfounded as ever.
...
"Sherlock..." I sighed. He dark eyes were watching me. His gaze was on me. And all over me. I felt it.
"How bad have you been?"
"I've been very good, Sherlock."
"It's Mr Holmes to you."
"Mr Holmes." God, I loved it when he made me say that.
"How bad have you been." This time, his voice was even darker. So dark. So rich. My inner goddess did a little dance.
"Terrible, Mr Holmes."
"And you know what that means, don't you!"
I swallowed. Goosebumps covered my skin. I opened my mouth, but found that I couldn't speak.
"Say it." Ooooo, commanding.
It took all my confidence: "Punish me."
Mary's eyes skimmed over the chapter once again, hardly able to believe it. Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. Molly Hooper. Sherlock Holmes. Who would have thought? She had laid on her stomach, with her chin resting on a cushion but when John entered the room, she sat up. He met her gaze, a question on his face. "So?" He asked, "What do you think?"
"Someone wrote this?"
"Yep. Someone actually put time and effort into this."
"...Who?"
"No idea," John dropped onto the bed and leaned over to get a look at the laptop screen, "Wait until you get to chapter twenty."
"Chapter twenty, huh. How did you find this?"
"Lestrade showed it to me."
Mary gave him a startled look. "Did Lestrade write it?"
"I don't think so. He asked if I wrote it."
Mary fell silent. She wondered who'd go through all that effort to create a fanfiction about Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. It had to be someone who knew Molly. She wasn't sure Sherlock's little fan club knew about Molly, even though she helped him fake his death. And if it wasn't Lestrade or John... Who could it be? Unless it was Lestrade. But how could they find out?
A thought crossed her mind, so silly, it made her laugh.
"What?" John asked.
"Nothing, it's just that the very person we need to solve this is the person we can't tell."
"That's true," He chuckled, "Imagine if he knew? He'd freak out."
"We're best keeping it a secret, then."
...
Not too far away, but not too near, Sherlock sat at his laptop, staring at the screen with wide eyes. He couldn't look away, but he couldn't look at it either. But somehow, he couldn't stop himself reading. He read chapter after chapter. Even after he'd read it, it was like he was still reading, stuck in that position. Frozen. A statue.
That's how Mrs Hudson found him. Only tea and the promise of finding the culprit who did this could coax him to move.
And by then, the game was definitely on.
Thank you for reading! This is going to be in 3 parts. I don't know when the next part is going to be, but hopefully soon! So, who do YOU think is writing the fanfiction?