Hooper,
There are matters to be discussed.
221B Baker Street.
-SH
Dr. Matthias Hooper had not set eyes on the detective in weeks, and it was both a relief and a concern. There was no guarantee that Holmes would keep the doctor's secret, and if he chose to expose her, the doors to St. Bartholomew's and every other hospital would be barred to her forever. She stood at outside the door to flat B, terrified, and adjusting her wig and cravat.
"Stop worrying outside the door and enter, Hooper."
The missive from Holmes clutched tightly in hand, Hooper opened the door to see the man himself seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, pipe in hand. The flat was a mix of rich, dark colors and materials; unmistakably masculine, it was everything she'd expected from Sherlock Holmes.
"Be seated, Hooper. Tea?"
"Tea would be unnecessary," she answered, seating herself in the plush chair across from him, her posture rigidly straight and her face expressionless. "I'd like to discuss matters, as you wrote in your letter, Holmes." Her heart was pounding, and she needed to know if he was to be trusted. Pleasantries could wait- they were usually scare in the dealings between Hooper and Holmes.
"To the point, then. I will not be sharing your secret, Hooper. It would be a disservice the scientific community were they to lose a brilliant mind like yours due to their own ridiculous prejudices. We have not always seen eye-to-eye, but I assure you, I can be trusted in this matter."
Although she tried to keep her carriage as rigid as before, her shoulders relaxed a bit as the tightness in her chest eased. For the first time since she'd received the note from Holmes, she was able to take a deep breath. It would be another moment before she would realize he'd complimented her.
Holmes narrowed his eyes at her, and leaned forward in his chair, searching her for something. His mouth was set into a thin line.
"Relief. You thought I'd be attempting to manipulate you this evening- that I'd hold your secret over your head until I received something in return for my discretion?" He returned to his slightly inclined position.
"You think so little of me, then? We have not been friendly perhaps, but I assumed a mutual respect between us? Was I incorrect?"
Hooper was incensed at this remark, nearly jumping out of her seat. "Respect?! You have hounded me at St. Bartholomew's, torn apart my work and treated me like a minion placed there to do your bidding! You, Holmes, have never even hinted at a respect for me!" She was shouting from the edge of her seat.
Not to be outdone, Holmes leaped to his feet, towering menacingly over her. She stood to meet him face to face, glaring right back at the detective.
"I treat you the same way I treat everyone, Hooper! People don't matter, polite conversation doesn't matter, The Work- The Work is the only damned thing that matters! And I believed you understood that!"
"Don't you lecture me about the work, Sherlock Holmes! I have suffered and sacrificed more than you can imagine for the privilege of my work!" Her voice grew darker and she spoke quietly, looking him up and down with disdain.
"You waltz into my morgue and act as though you've more right to the truth than any of us mere mortals. You have gifts with which you were born, perhaps, Holmes, but I have come by my skills with blood and sweat. I will not have you belittle them with your arrogance!"
The detective took a breath, ready to begin his next diatribe, before stopping himself and turning away. He moved to his decanter and began to pour two crystal tumblers of brandy.
Quietly, and carefully, he spoke. "Please. Let us be seated, Hooper." He handed the doctor a glass, before taking up his leather chair once more.
Hooper was still taken aback by the detective's abrupt end to the argument, but accepted the drink with a small nod of thanks before seating herself.
"I did not ask you here to argue with you, although it seems all of our conversation eventually becomes debate," he remarked with a cautious grin. "I do respect you, Dr. Hooper."
"And I believe that is the first time you've used my professional title, Mr. Holmes. For that I thank you." Hooper smiled and sipped the amber liquid, savoring the gentle burn.
A full grin was now on the detective's face, and Hooper was ashamed of the warmth she felt at the sight of it. She quickly blamed it on the brandy.
"You know, we've more in common than just The Work, Dr. Hooper."
"Is that so, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, offering a small smile. "I confess I have my doubts, but please, enlighten me."
"We both agree that Anderson is a complete idiot."
She couldn't help but laugh aloud, and Holmes joined her. It was the first time she'd ever heard him truly laugh, and the warm baritone sound that seemed to resonate within her chest.
At that moment, she realized that this was becoming a dangerous situation. She could not afford the feelings stirring within her; she'd fought too hard for what she'd accomplished. Her face sobered as she placed her half-finished glass down on the table beside her.
Holmes noticed the change in her demeanor immediately. "Dr. Hooper I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. My apologies."
This was all becoming too much for her.
"What exactly is this, Holmes?! You've said 'please' and offered apologies to me this evening. This isn't like you- you are not a man that enjoys friendly banter with colleagues. So what do you want from me?" The gruff persona of Dr. Matthias Hooper was back in place, and she'd be damned if she allowed herself to be swayed by- whatever this man was attempting.
She expected Holmes to fight- to be angry and argumentative. That was their way, and there might have been comfort in the fulfillment of that expectation. But instead, she watched his face soften further, into an almost vulnerable countenance. He looked away as he spoke to her.
"I have been unfair and unkind to many people in my life, and in particular to those who offer me the most aid. John Watson has borne the worst of me, perhaps; a man to whom I owe my life many times over."
His ever-changing eyes met hers. "Hooper- Dr. Hooper, The Work is what sustains me. Without it, I would have no purpose and I'm not sure what my life would become. And that Work is incomplete without you and all you have done for me. You are the one that matters most, and for my past offenses to you, I am truly sorry."
Hooper had no response, but a wide-eyed look of disbelief upon her face.
"There is something I would like to ask of you, but only if you are willing to offer it. Your secret will be safe no matter your answer."
She shook her head, attempting to find coherent thoughts once again, but it was a challenge.
"What do you need?"
A genuine smile took over his face, and he looked almost boyish for a moment.
"No one knows your name- your Christian name. None of your fellow confidants in the case of Emelia Ricoletti know it- you never told any of them. They all refer to you as Hooper. And you have no family that I've been able to track."
Dr. Hooper looked down at her hands folded in her lap. Her father had been the last family she'd known, and he had been deceased for a very long time now. As he lay on his deathbed, she'd told him her plan to disguise herself as a male in order to enter the medical field. In fact, he had suggested that she might work with the dead, as none of her patients could potentially discover her deceit.
"I want to know your name, Hooper. Who were you before you were Dr. Matthias Hooper?"
The thoughts of her father had filled her eyes with unshed tears, and Hooper absolutely refused to cry in the company of Sherlock Holmes. She kept her eyes on her hands as she responded.
"I have not heard my true name spoken aloud in nearly 18 years, Mr. Holmes. And my father's voice was the last to have uttered it. I'm not sure that I want to hear it on any other lips." She gathered the courage to meet his eyes. "Is there a reason you would like to know?"
His eyes were piercing and his voice quiet. "Emotion and sentiment are weaknesses that cloud the mind and negatively affect The Work. But, for a moment, I want- I want to indulge them. I want to say your name, and I want you to say mine. Not Holmes, but my Christian name."
He stood, and offered his hand to the doctor. Looking in his eyes, she knew she could not deny him. If she said no, she'd utterly regret it. She allowed him to help her rise from her seat.
Tomorrow would be for The Work, but this moment was theirs.
She hesitated, but he prompted her.
"Say my name. Please."
It was almost a sigh on her lips. "Sherlock." His eyes closed at the sound and he was silent for a moment.
"Your name, Hooper. Tell me." She lay her hands on his chest, and leaned toward his ear, whispering the name she'd not heard in so many years.
All the tension left his body, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers.
"Molly."