The Stage Manager

Rated T for some language

Summary: AU Molly Hooper is the newest stage manager at the Holmes Theatre Company under the direction of Sherlock Holmes. Prompt "Different Careers" challenge from the ladiesofSherlock on tumblr.

A/N: This is a one-shot for now though maybe if I have time I could expand upon it. That will take more brainstorming than I have the time for at the current moment. Otherwise, enjoy!

The theatre world seemed romantic with glamorous actors, costumes, and lighting, but hardly anyone ever wondered about the petty arguments, late nights, and dirty work that made everything look beautiful. The running joke was that you must have been a masochist for picking one of the more grueling art forms to be a part of. Between the half-baked ideas and egomaniacs it was a wonder anything actually got accomplished, but Molly Hooper had never been easily dissuaded so she wholeheartedly pledged herself to a life in the arts.

She didn't love the gritty, ugly elements of her profession, but as a stage manager she had learned to take those ridiculous ideas and make them function perfectly, to cut down the divas backstage by gently reminding them that they could be replaced (She really did hate to do that, but some people could not maintain their professional decorum when they stepped under those stage lights), and to remember that it was always worth it in the end. Always.

However, even the most sensible people in the business have that one thing that sends them over the edge. That slight hiccup that makes people throw their hands up in the air and think: Dear God, what have I done to myself? Molly was finding out the hard way that she was not as immune to this as she had once hoped. For as she sat in the Holmes Theatre Company's production house the only thing she could think was that working under the direction of the great Sherlock Holmes might really be the death of her.

"There are some directors who are cruel and then there is Sherlock." Mary Morstan, the Theater Manager of the company, had briefed Molly on the situation when she had approached the young woman about the stage management position. "The man has gone through three stage managers and nearly brought almost all those who work with him to either tears or blows."

"Then why is he still here?" Molly had asked.

"He's brilliant," Mary had said with a reluctant sigh. "And it helps that his brother Mycroft actually owns the theater along with him. Apparently nepotism doesn't matter if you actually own the damn building."

Mary's warnings about Sherlock's temperament were also stacked with a generous yearly contract and plenty of groveling. If Molly agreed to work with the Director and survived the experience she could become a permanent addition at the theater house. It was a smart move career wise. She would have been a fool not to accept. Except now, two weeks into the last four weeks of the rehearsal period, she was seriously regretting her decision.

"Ms. Hooper!" Sherlock barked at her from across the theater seats and she lurched forward in her chair as she tried not to wince under his direct ire. "What is the blocking for Anderson? He's flailing around like an idiot on stage."

Molly coughed as she noticed all the actors looking like a mix between uncomfortable and just angry except Irene. That woman never looked like she was ever in any discomfort.

"Anderson, you need to move stage left before you make the dramatic sweep to Sally and make sure you grab the letter from the desk in the process," Molly said unclear about why Sherlock was upset. Anderson had gone through the direction properly.

"And?" Sherlock was twiddling his riding crop in his hand. It was his favorite thing to use when he wanted to make a point. Molly was waiting for the day when he actually hit someone with it.

"And…he uh…kisses her." Molly stopped as Sherlock rapt the riding crop against the side of the seat he was in before standing up, jogging down the row towards Molly, and yanking the prompt book out of her hands. He flipped through the pages in a mad rush as he scowled at the lines of text.

"You've missed several of my notes, Ms. Hooper," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Molly ducked her head as she burned scarlet under his gaze and a few of the cast members snickered at her response. She never missed notes (well, okay maybe that first week when she'd been introduced to him and was trying to keep herself from blushing like mad whenever he stared at her). When she took the job she didn't think that man would be so beautiful and it became terribly distracting. The attraction lessened the more he opened his mouth, but she'd been a mess when she'd started working for him and had since tried to remedy her professional behavior. She thought she'd been doing well.

"I don't t-think t-that I missed anything—" He rolled his eyes.

"Do stop stuttering, Ms. Hooper. It does not help the situation." Sherlock dropped the book back into her lap, breaking the trance he seemed to hold over her. He launched himself over the edge of the stage and up onto the proscenium platform as the actors steeled themselves for a tongue lashing. "Anderson, have you ever had an erection?"

"Excuse me?" Anderson's gaze narrowed into tiny slits at Sherlock and Molly groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

"That could be the only explanation for your lack of passion in the scene," Sherlock said amused as Anderson sputtered and chuffed at his words.

"Sherlock, stop." She begged, but he ignored her, pressing on with his latest assessment.

"Oh right, you're actually screwing Donovan so of course you have." Sherlock's gaze swept over to the enraged, curly-haired woman who was sitting on the stage couch.

"Piss off!" Sally spat as she stood up from her seat with her large rehearsal skirt flowing around her in a tangle of fabric.

"Hmm…" Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "Obviously, you're not getting complete satisfaction otherwise you wouldn't look like you were in heat every time Irene walked across the stage."

"Don't pretend you don't like it too, Sherlock." Irene's red lips parted into a smile as she hopped up onto one of the tables on stage and crossed her legs. Molly noted, much to her annoyance, that Irene had cut a long slit in the side of her rehearsal skirt so her legs were always properly displayed.

"Screw you, Holmes!" Anderson launched himself at Sherlock, but Greg Lestrade, the main actor who Molly really admired for his continued patience with their director, grabbed hold of the man to keep him back.

"You're not my type," Sherlock said with a wide smirk. "I think Donovan would get a little jealous if you tried to anyways."

"That's it. I'm done dealing with you, prick." Sally dropped her rehearsal skirt to the floor as she walked off backstage. Molly made a distressed cry as she launched herself out of the chair and up the proscenium stage to take after the actress.

"Sally, wait!" Molly called to her in a frantic voice, but the woman was already gone. The actress had tried to back out of the production twice and Molly had managed to get her back each time. She hoped she could manage a third round.

"Sherlock, perhaps we should take a break." Molly ran back on stage where Sherlock was arguing once again with Anderson who was turning purple in the face with pent-up rage. Sherlock narrowed his eyes on her while she wrung her hands together with nervous energy.

Please don't be difficult. Please don't be difficult, she thought in silent repetitive prayer.

"Take fifteen," Sherlock finally said.

Molly breathed out in relief and dashed backstage. She ran to the green room where she found Sally grabbing her things and making a charge for the front of the theater.

"Sally, please stop." Molly tripped over her feet as she blocked Sally's escape. Her arms spread wide across the hallway to box the young woman into the corridor. "It's been a bad night. You've gotten through worse with him." Sally growled as she ducked under one of Molly's arms and walked faster out of the theater. "Please, don't do this."

"I'm not posturing myself for that bastard anymore!" Sally's screeching echoed through the building. "I'm not like you, Hooper. I don't just bend over like a fucking dog and take it. I'm finished!" Molly stood there frozen for a moment as Sally walked out of the theater.

Do not cry, Molly thought to herself. You've heard much worse than that. She didn't mean it. She's just frustrated with Sherlock.

She took her phone out from her pocket and made a quick call to Mary who screamed more than a few obscenities over hearing that Sherlock had lost another one of their actors.

"That's it," Mary said. "I'm calling Mycroft. He hasn't been involved enough in this whole process and needs to get his brother under control." She cursed and sputtered a few more times on the phone before promising she would fix it all and wishing Molly good luck for the rest of the rehearsal. Molly didn't think that luck was going to solve any of the problems they had.

When she walked back into the theater the actors had dissipated and Sherlock was reclining on the couch with his fingers perched into a point under his nose while John Watson, his best friend and the technical director for the company, tried to knock some sense into him.

"Sherlock, you can't insult the actors all the time." Molly heard John say to the man as he collapsed into a nearby chair on stage.

While John Lectured Sherlock on the merits of good behavior Molly took soft steps down the right side staircase of the proscenium into the auditorium to get into her bag. Maybe she could just pop around the corner to the café and get a cuppa. She could get a biscuit.

On second thought, Her hand hovered above her wallet for a moment in debate before diving in and pulling out some more money. A whole box of them should do it.

"Why didn't you tell Mary that Sally insulted you?" Molly clutched her chest in panic as Sherlock's baritone voice reached her ears. She turned to find him sitting upright and staring at her.

"She did what?" John looked over at her. "Are you okay, Molly?"

"I-I'm fine," Molly said clearing her throat as she tried to smile at the man. "I've gotten worse before."

"You didn't answer my question." Sherlock stood up. Impatience oozed off him as he hovered near the apron of the stage looking down at her.

"Sherlock," John said in a warning tone.

"S-she wasn't angry at me." Molly fiddled with the sleeves of her cardigan. "She only said those things because of—"

"Me." Sherlock finished her sentence and Molly nodded as he jumped from the stage to the auditorium floor. "You disapprove of my methods."

"I d-didn't say that," Molly said clearing her throat as he walked up to her. She stepped back into the folding seat to try to keep her distance from him.

"Don't lie to me," he said enunciating each word as he stopped in front of her. "You're horrible at it." Molly didn't know how to respond to that as she shifted uncomfortably against the folded seat which was pushing against the back of her knees in an awkward, painful manner.

"Sherlock, you need to stop," John said, but the director did not even turn to acknowledge the other man as he kept his focus on Molly.

"I just think you could be a little nicer," she said staring at the ground to avoid staring up into his deep, ever-changing blue-green irises. "I'm worried you're going to lose the cast and crew before the opening in two weeks."

"Anderson and Donovan are easily replaceable." Sherlock scoffed at the notion.

"Replaceable with whom?" Molly shook her head as she found her argument gaining traction. "Mary seems to think that Moriarty's company has poached most of our best actors." Sherlock growled at his rival's name and glared at Molly who was now biting the inside of her cheek for even mentioning the man.

James Moriarty had made it his mission for the past two seasons to try to gather all the personnel from the Holmes Theatre Company to come work for him in an attempt to cripple the Holmes' talent base and he was succeeding. There weren't many out there who wanted to work for Holmes men anymore. Their audience was even pilfered as they were showing more favoritism for the camp and razzmatazz of Moriarty's productions over the Holmes' more intricate, thought-provoking pieces. If Sherlock could have been a bit more reasonable then maybe they wouldn't have had this issue.

"I-It's the truth." Molly managed to stutter out. "You need to be careful, Sherlock."

"And I think you're overstepping your bounds, Ms. Hooper," Sherlock said cocking his head to the side as he studied her. His eyes appraising her from head to toe.

Molly swallowed hard and fiddled with the ends of her auburn hair. She knew that look. For some reason Sherlock found it charming to dissect his actors as well as he did a script and its characters. She had managed to avoid most of his scrutiny until now.

"Don't do it." She heard John whisper from the stage as he ran a hand down his face.

"You did not graduate from a top university for your profession," Sherlock said placing his hands on the sides of the chair she was leaning against and forcing her to sit down. "You live alone with a cat—" He plucked off a piece of hair from her cherry covered cardigan. "You worked very hard to get here and yet…you doubt yourself at every turn even when others sing your praises. Of course, you only really chose to remain backstage because you were told you couldn't make it as an actress. No personality, rubbish face, barely any breasts if you have any at all under the mass amount of layers you wear—" His hands lingered as though to touch her cardigan, but Molly had clutched the front of it closed, fisting it into one of her hands hand as she tried to keep herself from exploding from a mixture of fury and despair.

He'll stop soon, she thought. He'll get bored with this game and stop.

If Sherlock noticed her distress he didn't care or he reveled in it. Molly wasn't certain as she just closed her eyes and winced as he continued.

"You've also been single for a while and have a disastrous dating history so you try to compensate for that in your own professional life by overworking yourself." Sherlock's rapier like mind picked Molly apart. "It's probably why you haven't given up on this job yet. You're desperation for human attention keeps you going. That's why you haven't quit because deep down, Molly Hooper, you are lonely and will tolerate even my presence to quench that need."

"Sherlock!" John was screaming now as the other actors had come back from break and started filling the stage. "That is enough."

Sherlock looked at John as he leaned back from the chair and then stole a glance back at Molly who felt like she was going to burst into a million pieces as her eyes glossed over with unshed tears. This was everything that she hated about her profession. This production, Sherlock, the rivalries—these were the things that could break her. If Molly had been ordinary she would run out the theater, collapsed into a ball of tears, and never would have never looked back. But she was far from ordinary.

She stared at the prompt book on the ground before bending over to pick it up off the floor. Her hands were shaking as she clutched the book and there were a few audible gasps and whispers at the sight of her. She dared to look up at Sherlock, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You say the most horrible things." She murmured barely audible. He made no response and she wiped her eyes before flipping through the book to where they had left off. Her hands traced over her organized notes and she felt a resolve to prove Sherlock wrong. She looked back at up him again as her eyes started drying and said: "Where do you want to go from since Sally has left?"

Sherlock showed outright surprise at her question. She sat up straighter in her seat as she waited for his response while her sadness depleted into the professional calm she hid behind.

"You're not leaving?" Sherlock's anger had ebbed into something new which Molly recognized as curiosity. She'd done the unexpected in reaction to his horrid tantrum and now he would be desperate to know why.

She knew that he thought his deduction of her would have rendered her useless. She would probably sulk in misery once she got home, but she would not run away from something she loved. Her commitment to her own craft outweighed even the most horrendous barbs that Sherlock could doll out. After all, he was just a man. A brilliant, gorgeous, infuriating man, but he was still just flesh and bone like her and she could read him better than he thought she could. She wasn't the only who had self-doubt flowing through their veins.

"Y-You don't know everything, Mr. Holmes." Her voice had a clipped edge to it even with a slight stutter."Now, where would you like to start from?"

Sherlock stood straighter, inclined his head in submission, and turned to the rest of the cast and John who were watching the interaction between the Director and Stage Manager with anxiety.

"Begin with the dinner scene after Sally's supposed death," Sherlock said. "John, bring me my riding crop, please." The use of the polite word caused a few eyebrows to rise as the technical director threw the object at Sherlock and the actors prepared for the jump to the beginning of act two.

Molly helped them prepare and set the stage before she returned to her seat. This time though Sherlock sat beside her. He didn't say anything to her aside from a few notes he needed her to carry out and the rest of the rehearsal was a blessed arrangement of peace. At the end of the night, once Molly had cleared off extra materials from the stage and had finished packing her messenger bag, Sherlock came up and stared at her for a silent moment. John was standing nearby with his arms crossed as Sherlock looked like he was trying to find the right way to say whatever was on his mind while Molly attempted to not shift uneasily under his intense scrutiny. Vague notions that he might fire her passed through Molly's mind. She held her breath as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Molly Hooper." Sherlock finally managed to say as Molly dropped her things to the floor in comical shock. Of all the things she was expecting him to say that had not been one of them.

"Sherlock—" She was babbling with a sudden need to reassure him that it was fine even if his apology had been warranted. He ignored her stumbling verbal repertoire and handed her bag back to her.

"Goodnight, Molly," Sherlock said in parting as he walked out of the theater with John Watson close behind him.

Yes, theatre was not always glamorous and Sherlock would certainly still be the death of her one of these days, but in that moment Molly Hooper just breathed in contentment because no matter what it was always worth it one way or another. Always.