Now, this was totally, completely, inspired by the Shoujo manga Skip Beat. Don't hurt me. :P
"Molly, why is there a disturbingly real looking doll of me in your closet?" Sherlock asked as he looked at the doll in his hand which looked too much like him- an exact replica of his smug face, dressed in his Belstaff and scarf, with his white colour shirt peaking out from under it. It was an 95cm size doll and the whole proportion- muscle and bone structure was eerily and surprisingly correct.
The resemblance was uncanny and there was no denying it was made while keeping the detective in mind.
The question is who and why made it and what is it doing bundled in a bag in Molly's closet?
Molly who had entered the room after hearing Sherlock's enquiry, stalked over to Sherlock and snatched the doll away from Sherlock, a blush slowly creeping from her face into her neck where it disappeared. Sherlock offhandedly wondered exactly how far that blush travelled, taken by the desire to lick those places the redness adorned her skin.
"Sherlock, I told you Mr. Gupta's death report is on my bookshelf, why were you going through my closet?"
Sherlock leaned against the closet door and answered in a bored tone," I couldn't find it there. Thought you misplaced it so I looked for it in your closet instead." He smirked amusedly. "I certainly did not expect to chance upon a doll like version of myself in your closet though. What were you doing with it- mooning over how breath taking good looking I am? " Molly snorted. He ignored her and continued, "Actually, more importantly, where did you find it from?"
Molly shifted from one foot to another, carefully avoided his eyes, her blush deepening, "I-It doesn't matter. I will- just go a-and bring the report. Yeah, I will do that." Molly made as if to look for the file but she was rooted to the spot in her embarrassment, silently cursing her luck to herself.
Sherlock made a quick deduction as he took one more proper look at the doll and then at Molly's flushed face, took note of the fact the way she was protectively clutching the doll in her hand and it took him less than a second to make the connection, his eyes widened in both bewilderment and amusement. "You made the doll?"
Molly, who knew she was doomed and was wondering if spontaneous human combustion is actually possible, nodded stiffly.
"How? Why?" His lips were trembling, trying to hold laughter in. God, she looked so funny, all shifty eyed and red faced.
Molly, who had slowly started to get some semblance of her normal self back, looked to her side and self consciously rubbed the arm she was holding the doll on with another. "It was a childhood hobby. My grandmother taught me how to make voodoo dolls." She shrugged, then. "And well, you seemed like a fine subject to make voodoo dolls on, so I did, yeah, no other reason. It was purely, ah, for, experimental purposes. Yes, that's it."
He dropped his voice on a deeper tone as he got up from his leaning position and walked closer to her. "You sure? Only for experimenting? Nothing else?"
"Y-Yes only that." She would die before she told him that she mimicries his voice and chastises herself whenever she felt she was being stupid and that this is not the only doll she had of him and there are many other of various size and expressive features.
Oh, how he loved making Molly look like that, like a deer caught in headlight, so flustered and adorable. He was standing in front of her and asked, "Okay, fine for experiments. However, aren't the measurements unnaturally correct?"
Molly was still avoiding looking at his face, choosing to gaze at his neck instead. She appeared to have gain back her confidence, now, her blush decreasing. "Of course, they are. I am a doctor, have good analytical eyes and uh, guessing the right proportion wasn't that much hard work."
He smiled evilly. "I am sure, it wasn't. But you can't be completely correct- I mean how much can a person guess my measurement through my clothes completely accurately? It must be disappointing to make something so accurate and it still not get it right, isn't it?"
Molly frowned, unsure where he was going with this. She finally met his eyes and nodded.
Sherlock leaned down to her face level and murmured in her ear,"I could help you with that, you know?"
She gulped. Who the hell gave him the right to invade her personal space like that? "H-How?"
If possible, his voice dropped even lower. "Isn't it obvious? By giving you a good look, of course." With that he stepped back and started removing his scarf and Belstaff. It was quite an irony that he was dressed exactly like the doll today.
Molly watched transfixed as he started to remove his jacket, too. He is stripping, she thought.
Wait? What? He is stripping.
She screamed in horror, "Nooooooooooooooo!" Whatever fantasy Molly ever had of getting Sherlock out of his clothes, it certainly did not involve the detective stripping so he could model for her doll. "No need. Stop removing you clothes. I don't need further information. Stop." She hurriedly located the missing report that started everything, Stuffed it in his hands along with his discarded clothes, and dragged him towards the door.
Sherlock complained, "But, Molly, don't you want to create a perfect doll? I am being a good civilian and trying to help, come on, let me help you."
"No, you are not, you are just making fun of me," Molly told him indignantly as she threw him out of her flat.
"Ah, but I truly wanted to help and then let you help me make a doll like that of you."
Molly's jaw dropped open. She shook her head and muttered one last indignant ''Go Away" before shutting the door closed in his face.
Sherlock allowed himself the laughter that had been bubbling up since the time Molly found him with her mini Sherlock doll. He laughed while clutching his stomach when he heard the door opening. He turned to see Molly, her face again flushed, either from experiment or anger. She raised her hands out to him. He raised an eyebrow and looked around, noticed that she had misplaced the doll in his hand in her haste to get him out. When he didn't offer it back to her, she huffed and snatched it away from him, closing the door in his face all over again.
Sherlock dissolved into a fresh peal of laughter.
Maybe he could make a mini doll by himself, after all, his memories are still fresh from the time he accidentally walked in on her showering once.
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