Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the writers/producers of BBC Sherlock. No copyright infringement intended.
Molly sat at her desk busily typing away. The submission deadline for the conference was only a couple of weeks away and she was very nervous about this paper. It had been so long since she had written academically she wasn't sure she would get accepted. She had not been able to attend a conference since before she married the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Primarily because he had consumed all of her free time with experiments and his case work. She was looking forward to possibly spending a whole weekend in an environment devoted to her own interests and free of crime-solving. She loved Sherlock, but he could smother her. Even now her husband couldn't seem to remember that she was busy. He kept interrupting.
"Molly! You would never imagine what I just found online. There is a research group here in London working on creating an online database of bacteria and they had pages of information on flesh-eating ones!"
"That's nice, but I'm a little busy right now."
Sherlock came into her makeshift office space, it was really just a corner of their bedroom. When John moved out she had wanted to convert the second bedroom into an office but had caved to Sherlock's desire to make the room a laboratory. It was a compromise that meant she could cook in the kitchen without fear of bio-hazardous materials accidentally becoming dinner. There were a lot of compromises necessary to live with him without tearing her hair out.
"No, really, look there's even video of some of their experiments." He brought his laptop around in front of her and pressed play. For a few minutes she watched the videos with him, nodding at the appropriate times during his narration.
"Do you think I could maybe repeat this - "
"NO!" she cut him off, "There will be no flesh-eating bacteria in this flat or in the lab at work! Now out!"
She dismissed the detective and turned back to her keyboard. Where was she? She was finally back on track when he popped in again.
"There's been a series of interesting injuries caused by debris falling around a building site. I suspect there may be something malicious going on. I'm going to phone Lestrade."
"Very well, you do that," Molly mumbled. If it was a case it would get him out of her hair.
Five minutes later… "It was nothing. What the papers were making out to be a 'series' of incidents was just two unlucky pedestrians and one construction worker on the same day. The debris wasn't even heavy enough to cause serious injury. Pity."
"I'm sure something will come up soon, love." She spoke over her shoulder, not wanting to pull her attention from the screen again. Not for the first time she found herself wishing someone would commit murder. It was a horrible thought but such was life with Sherlock.
His interruptions over the course of the past couple of days had made it impossible for her to even read her draft through completely in one sitting. Sherlock needed clean glassware and she was the only one who could properly scrub the corners of the flasks. Toby had been sick under the coffee table and she needed to clean it up before Sherlock was sick too (who would have thought he would have such a weak stomach for something like hairballs). He couldn't find a case file for a cold case he was working for the Yard. One thing after another kept preventing her from stringing two coherent thoughts together.
There was a crash from the spare room and loathe as she was to get up, Molly knew she had to go see what had happened. Sherlock wasn't too keen on maintaining proper lab safety procedures. The last thing she needed was him setting fire to something for the second time this month.
"Sherlock! Are you alright?!" she called as she climbed the stairs.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He peeked around the corner.
"I heard a crash. I just wanted to make sure there were no burns, cuts or head wounds to attend to."
Molly surveyed the lab and noted that everything did appear to be safe. The crash apparently had come from him setting a box of beakers on the floor rather heavily. Noisy but no harm done.
"You make it sound like I'm a walking accident, Molly. How often do those events really happen?"
She raised an eyebrow, "Should I answer chronologically or alphabetically?"
"I thought you were working on your paper?" he deflected, the look on his face admitting that he knew very well the amount of damage he caused to himself and his surroundings.
Molly sighed loudly and sat heavily on a chair by the door. A realization struck her and she felt it was time to face facts. She was too tired to fight for that paper anymore. Another compromise for the consulting detective.
"The paper isn't all that important. Most of it was just restatement of other research. I didn't even do all that many trials." Her face fell as she continued to speak, "Doubtful anyone would be interested in it. I should have realized sooner that I wouldn't get to do much work in my own field anymore. Guess that's one of those things you just sacrifice, huh?"
Molly's eyes had shifted to the floor and she was starting to feel the tears build in them. She didn't want Sherlock to feel bad, it wasn't his fault really. She had interrupted her own path in life when she fell for him and helped him fall. She did miss doing her own study and feeling that pride of accomplishment when speaking to a group of her peers, but she was so thankful for the life she had now. Three years ago she wouldn't have even dreamed this was possible, how can you marry a dead man after all?
"Why would you think any of those things?" Sherlock's voice broke into her thoughts sounding both hurt and a bit angry.
"Because that's the way it is," she answered with a shrug and another resigned sigh, "I've been so busy with keeping you alive and building our life together, not that I regret any of that, but I haven't been able to keep up with work of my own. I'll just go on downstairs and let you work, call if you need me." She stood to leave.
"Molly, stop," he commanded, using the same tone of voice he would during an interrogation. He never spoke that way to her any more and she froze. Sherlock pinned her with his gaze and continued, "You do not get to sacrifice anything more for me. I've told you this before and I really don't like to repeat myself. You count, Molly. And you are stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for. I forget sometimes to control my racing mind and mouth, but I do know better. You have to remind me. You must promise me that you will not let me change who you are."
"It's just so hard for me to say no to you, always has been." She smiled weakly.
"Well this time you don't need to, I'm saying it myself. Now get back to that laptop, Doctor. I expect to have a complete draft for review by this time tomorrow." His scowl was halfhearted at best. It caused her to giggle.
"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. I value your input on its revision." With a small smile, Molly went back to work with new enthusiasm. She knew that Sherlock would keep his word, he'd never broken a promise to her yet.
Eight months later, when she was standing at the podium, presenting her latest paper, the first authored by Dr. M. Hooper-Holmes, she couldn't be more grateful for the detective's unwavering belief in who she was. She realized that she finally believed what he always told her, she did count.
NB: My favorite writing motto has always been: "Writers write what they know." So this one was again inspired by my own life experiences. I struggle with being an academic prevented from being in academia anymore and sometimes that gets me down. And my own darling husband sometimes forgets that writing these stories is a process that works better without his frequent interruptions to explain what exciting breakthrough he's had in his own interests. I feel that Molly would be equally frustrated by an erratic Sherlock. Let me know what you think, reviews are love! - CG