Sherlock Holmes, the world's sole consulting detective was to an extent dreading going into St, Bart's Hospital today. For you see it was that time of year once again, it was Christmas time, the dreaded time. To be exact it was December 17th. The day that Molly Hooper begins her annual Christmas decorating.
It's when she changes from her gaudy awful jumpers to her more outrageously loud Christmas themed ones. It's when she decorates her lab as well as the rest of the morgue in a multitude of cheesy Christmas decorations. It's when the incessant overused commercial Christmas songs are hummed to by a slightly tone-deaf Molly Hooper. December 17th is the day that Molly's Christmas spirit becomes a bit too overwhelming for the famous detective.
Although Sherlock has grown immune, and into slight liking of Molly's quirkiness, when it is added to the obnoxious holiday spirit that Molly secretes, Sherlock wants to stay as far away from the morgue as possible. That however is not an option for Sherlock now. He had received a text earlier that morning from Lestrade asking him to come checkout the body of a high-end politician who mysteriously died. Signs point to suicide, but there are a number of small details that don't add up. Greg had promised that it was above a seven, at least an eight. Therefore, Sherlock was on his way to St. Bart's this particular day.
Snow was descending in clumps from the grey London sky onto the cab Sherlock was getting into. Construction, traffic, and snow. Usually an annoyance to Sherlock was today a welcomed delay. It prolonged the time Sherlock had to be free from Christmas themed Molly. This however allowed for more time for him to dread what was awaiting him at Bart's. This, Sherlock decided, dreading the inevitable, was a waste of his time and idiotic. To put his mind to better use, he decided to sink back into his mind palace to focus on his new case of the dead politician. As usual Sherlock became so consumed in his mind palace, that what felt like seconds was actually 35 minutes, and Sherlock found himself all too soon at the entrance of St. Bart's Hospital.
Sherlock stepped out of his cab into the bitter winter air. Popping the collar of his belstaff up against the nose biting wind Sherlock walked into Bart's. He took his time as he meandered his way down to the morgue where he knew Molly would surely be. He made it to doors that lead to the morgue and his soon awaiting death by Christmas spirit, he stopped. Bracing himself he pushed open the double doors and walked in.
There stood Molly Hooper wearing one of her usual ugly jumpers, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just a simple striped jumper. Draped over it was her lab coat, a pristine white, a color of innocence, just like her. Molly stood there peering over a microscope not even bothering to look up when she heard the entrance of the most devilishly handsome detective. To whom she has had a rather large crush on, one that she just couldn't get herself to get over.
Sherlock had a dazed look to his eyes as he stood there stunned, staring out at a barren morgue. Not a trace of Christmas could be seen. It looked like it was any other day, but definitely not December 17th.
Without glancing up Molly asked, "What is it that you want, Sherlock?" Not nearly as cheerful as she should be.
"Uhh, Lestrade asked me to take a look at the politician that just came in." Sherlock answered quite taken aback.
"Ok, give me a moment." Molly said as she finished her notes of her research. This was not Molly, Sherlock thought. He should have been greeted by a lighthearted Molly in a sing-song voice saying, "It's Christmas time, Sherlock. Enjoy it, don't look too disgusted." Not a cold-shouldered Molly. Something was wrong here and he was going to figure out what. What could possible damper his pathologist's mood during Christmas.
Picking up her clipboard Molly walked over to the slab, where lay the cold, lifeless form of Matthew Victon.
"Let's see. Well all signs lead to suicide, but after performing my autopsy I'm not so sure. For one, the bullet hole and angle of penetration suggests that shot must have shot from at least 10 feet away. That doesn't add up to…" Molly droned on but Sherlock was paying more attention to what she was doing rather than what she was saying.
Biting her lip absentmindedly, distracting enough as it was for Sherlock, showed him that her mind was preoccupied with something other than what was at hand. The crease in her brow means that whatever was engrossing her mind was causing her to worry, and was adding to her stress level. The constant tapping of her pen on the clipboard, she was trying to find a solution to a problem. A problem relating to her family, Sherlock derived, for the only thing that could cause Molly Hooper this much stress was her nosy family. What could it be? A lie, one that she could not get out of. This would make sense since Molly's mother is always complaining about her choices, and criticizing everything she does. A lie to stop her mom from nagging her, but nagging her about what?
"So, what do you think happened, Sherlock?" Molly finished.
"Umm, yes. Definitely not a suicide."
"What? Is that all you have to say? Sherlock, this is quite an interesting case, at least a seven I would say." She replied confused.
"Why are you staring at me?" Molly asked slightly irritated. Sherlock stared at her trying to find any information to why she was so, so not Molly right now, and to what the lie was about.
"Why did you not put any of your Christmas decorations up?" Sherlock questioned quickly.
Startled, Molly stated, "I don't know, does it really matter Sherlock? I need you to focus on the case."
"It most certainly does matter Molly, I cannot do my work properly when my pathologist doesn't have mind in the right place. Let's see, you lied to your mother. That's what you're so sidetracked and gloomy about. Lying isn't what's bothering you, it's what the lie pertains to and the consequences that entail." Sherlock said rapidly
"Stop." Molly demanded fiercely.
"Oh, so I am right. Now, Molly, tell me what you lied about or I'll just have to deduce it. Which you know isn't pretty."
"Why do you care?" Molly asked desperately.
"I've already told you why."
"You are impossible, you do know that? Well, if you have to know. Since I broke off the engagement with Tom my family has given me grief, not to mention how I'm constantly compared to my sister who is already married with three kids, or my brother who's the precious baby who can do no wrong. I'm the black child of the family. Going after an education rather than aspiring to be a mom and homemaker right out of school. I just got fed up with it all." Molly ranted.
"And so, you lied to your mother, saying you have personal relationship with a man, and now they want to meet this so said 'boyfriend' when you visit for the holidays. Am I correct?"
"Yes, Sherlock. You're right. Happy now?"
"Well, I'm not particularly unhappy. Really Molly I don't see what the big deal is. Just ask a friend to fake it, like on a case." Sherlock reasoned.
"It's not that easy. I don't have much of a social life because of my line of work. I don't really have anyone to ask. Those I could ask would not be willing to do this. Can you see my problem now?" Molly explained.
"Molly, we're friends are we not."
"Of course, Sherlock."
"So. why not me?"
"Are you suggesting that you would be willing to be my fake boyfriend for the holidays?" Molly laughed astonished.
"Well I don't see why not. I'm quite talented at acting and have no plans for the Holidays. I do not want to spend it with Mycroft at my mother's bickering. John will be spending it with Mary and Rosamund. Not to mention we both know you don't find me unattractive. It's the most sensible solution."
"Well alright then. I guess I'll text you the details later." Molly replied flabbergasted.