Snippets
Chapter One - Tricky
Molly Hooper was quickly growing to the conclusion that harbouring the world's only deceased consulting detective was trickier than first imagined.
Firstly, there were the troublesome hours he kept of an evening—night after night, pacing the halls of her tiny flat, drumming his fingertips against her kitchen bench. Playing that bloody violin, and God knows how he got it in the first place. Granted, she enjoyed her sleep, but she was no night owl. She liked to settle back with a hot cuppa and the newest episode of Glee and nod off like everyone else after a harrowing day at the office. Well, lab.
Then there were the experiments, one of which was unceremoniously splattered down the front of her favourite cardigan. Her normally ordered, simple home had suddenly turned into a cluttered mess; bookshelves stacked with test tubes, walls doodled with seemingly senseless jumble, books scattered across her hardwood floors. It was like living with a child. A stubborn, rude, smart-mouthed child.
But it wasn't, because the stubborn, rude, smart-mouthed man who lurked about her home at all hours of the night was tremendously handsome, and as brilliant as the day she met him. He had asked her to aid him in cheating his own death, told her he needed her, and yet she still struggled to stare into those magnificently vivid eyes or string a sentence together without a mumble.
She loved him, there was no question about that.
Huffing, she swung the bathroom door closed and looked over the dark, sticky gunk coating her cream sweater. Loved him she might, but Lord was the man infuriating.
She peeled away her top layer and tossed it to the tiles, along with her ballet flats and singlet top, and edged her jeans down her thighs until they pooled at her feet. Sighing, she flicked on the shower and waited for the water to run steaming hot, all the while eying the way her ribcage stretched against her pale skin, the way her hipbones greeted the laced edge of her underwear. The memory of his fingers grazing her skin, his voice humming in her ear, set her stomach churning, and she wrenched her gaze away. His eyes had seen her, the man who forced her love into this false life, and walked all over her in the process.
"Stop it, Molly," she murmured, and shook off the thoughts. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and threw it aside, and promptly stuck her hand under the gushing water, the heat singeing her fingertips. The room was slowly filling with near-suffocating steam, and there was something beautifully calming about the idea of being engulfed by it that very evening.
Anything to take her mind off things, it seemed.
"I'm sorry I commented negatively on the size of your breasts," a deep voice purred from behind her abruptly, and she jumped, doing her best to cover what little assets she had. He lingered in the doorway, icy stare sweeping over her with cool, clinical detachment—a look she knew too well, when it came to him. She gaped at him, searching desperately for the words—any words—to fire straight back at him.
None came.
Her flustered demeanour didn't faze him in the slightest, and she felt her heart leap as his eyes met her own. "I was quite incorrect on the matter," he said with a tiny smirk, and in an instant, he was gone.
Molly Hooper knew that harbouring Sherlock Holmes was going to be trickier than first imagined, but never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would be this hard.
Author's Note: Snippets is a new little 'fic' I've begun for drabble-mostly flashes of Molly's relationship with Sherlock here and there. The chapters won't be relating-this one takes place after the fall, but before the recent season. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!