Dr. Molly Hooper had been invited to partake in a fashionable tea at the Palm Court at the Ritz Hotel. Molly was not accustomed to such establishments, but it was her birthday, so her friend, Mycroft Holmes, had decided to treat her to a delectable mid-afternoon repast at the elegant establishment. Many people would not have assumed Mycroft had friends, but he did. He was very selective about with whom he associated, and Molly Hooper had definitely made the cut, first, because of a service which she had done his family, and secondly, because he found her a remarkable human being. He appreciated her kindness, warmth, and humor all wrapped up in a clever and attractive package. But, even, if the previous were not true, the fact was that she had saved his younger brother's life, for which he would be forever in her debt.
Molly found "the British Government" sitting at a quiet table in the corner. He rose to greet her as she approached, pulling out the chair for her. "Molly, good of you to join me! And happy birthday!"
"I'm not so sure I want to be reminded, Mycroft, given my advancing years," Molly said with a disparaging smile.
"You should have no such worries, Dr. Hooper, as the years have been very kind to you."
"Ever the gentleman!"
"Just as my mother raised me, Molly!", the elder Holmes said with a dismissive wave. "You mustn't judge our upbringing by my brother's behavior, after all. How is Sherlock, by the way? I haven't seen him for almost a month."
"Fine, I suppose. I've been busy, and I guess he has been, too. He hasn't been into the lab in over a week."
"No visits to his favorite bolthole? No late-night requests for body parts?"
Molly giggled before replying, "Not lately."
"Perhaps you'll see him tonight, at whatever festivities you have planned for the occasion?"
"No plans, Mycroft. Just me, my cat, and a bottle of wine."
"Surely, you don't plan on spending your birthday alone, Molly. Your friends…"
"Are all busy with their own lives, Mycroft. John and Mary have the new baby, Meena has a new boyfriend, Mrs. Hudson is at her sister's in Bournemouth…"
"Had I known that, I would have arranged for a late supper, instead of afternoon tea, Molly. I just assumed you had other plans."
"It's fine, Mycroft. I'm trying to forget all about the passage of time, anyway."
The pathologist and the bureaucrat spent the rest of the meal in friendly conversation. Molly really enjoyed Mycroft's company. They had become rather well acquainted during his brother's long absence, having been the only two people in Sherlock's inner circle to know he was still alive, and had further bonded over their mutual affection for the impossible man. Just before they were to part, Mycroft reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped package and put in on the table in front of Molly.
"A small token, Molly. My mother and I hope you like it."
"Mycroft, you didn't have to…"
"No objections, Molly, please. Just open it."
Molly made quick work of the wrapping, more eager than she cared to admit to see her one and only birthday present. Her mouth fell open in surprise when she saw the exquisite opal pendant hanging from a platinum chain. "Mycroft, it's lovely! But it's too much, certainly!"
"Nonsense, Molly. It suits you to a tee. Milky white a first glance, but a fire of colors hidden under the surface. It's a family piece, and my mother selected it for you especially…"
"A family piece. Oh, Mycroft, I couldn't…"
"Once again, Molly, nonsense! You have done our family a great service, and we all hold you in very high regard." He stopped when he saw the shadow of the doubt which crossed her face. "Every one of us, I assure you, Molly. Some even more than others, I believe." Seeing the look of doubt still on the pathologist's face, Mycroft thought it best to expand on his comments. "Molly, this necklace belonged to my grandmother, Olivia Morecroft Holmes. Mama Livy was a lovely woman. Kind, clever, gentle, and generous. But she could be a strong disciplinarian when the need arose. She tolerated no misbehavior from her children, or her grandchildren, but her discipline was always delivered with affection, soon followed by a smile. She let us get away with nothing, and we all grew up the better for it. Perhaps you could learn from her?"
"I believe that you are trying to hint that I should stop being your brother's doormat, Mr. Holmes!"
"I would never suggest that you ar a doormat, Dr. Hooper, but there may be the slightest suggestion on footprints on your…"
"There will be more than a suggestion of a footprint on your arse if you continue with your analogy, Mycroft. But I do get your point. I'm thirty-five years old, damn it! I should stop behaving like a dewy-eyed, love-struck teenager!" Molly let loose with a small humorless laugh. "It's the eyes. Mycroft! I can withstand anything 'till he starts with the eyes…"
"I understand your problem, " the man snickered, "Pappa has had to deal with the same eyes for close to fifty years. And if he can manage it, I'll wager you can also." He then grew more serious, "Or you will lose yourself, Molly. And I don't want to see that happen. I want to see you happy, with or without my recalcitrant brother. And you may make a better man out of him in the process. Promise me you'll try, Dr. Hooper. That's all I ask."
"I'll try, Mycroft. I've got to do something."
Molly and Mycroft soon parted company, but later that evening, an excellent bottle of a very expensive red wine was delivered to Molly's door, with an accompanying note.
My dear Dr. Hooper,
If you are going to spend your birthday with a cat and a bottle of wine, it should be the best wine available. Unfortunately, I can do nothing about the quality of the feline. Best wishes.
Mycroft Holmes
It was just two days later that Sherlock Holmes burst into the path lab at St. Bart's just as Molly Hooper was readying herself to leave at the end of her shift, saying, without preamble, "I need to see the body of Norman Griscomb!"
"Mr. Griscomb is in drawer number 122, Sherlock. Help yourself. My report is on my desk. I'm leaving."
Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. "Molly, I may need your assistance."
"Then you should have asked for it sooner. Like when I was actually scheduled to work. I'm going home now. You know where everything is. Make yourself at home." She shrugged into her coat, and slung her bag across her shoulder, as the detective looked at her with his mouth slightly agape. "And don't forget to clean up after yourself, or I shall rescind your privileges!" The sound of Sherlock's mouth slamming shut was almost as loud as the door of the lab as it closed behind his no longer accommodating pathologist.
As Molly made her way down the corridor and out to the street, she fingered the talisman hanging around her neck, and whispered to herself, "Thank you, Mama Livy!"
But that was only the first of Molly's little rebellions, and with each one she found her confidence growing. Three days later, when the detective showed up at her flat at two o'clock in the morning, she once again found the strength to stand her ground. She was awakened to a dark shadow standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
"Molly, I require your bedroom."
"Being as it just after two A. M, and I am sleeping, I find that I, too, require my bedroom, Sherlock. Use the spare room."
"The bed is small. And the mattress is lumpy!"
"Not my problem, as I am not the one sleeping there," Molly said with a steely tone in her voice.
Sherlock was finding himself at a disadvantage, as the room was dark and he therefore could not bring the power of his miraculous blue-green eyes to his assistance. He started to approach the bed, in order to turn on the bedside lamp, but was surprised when Molly reached for it first. He was even more startled to see a pink object, about the size of a remote control, held firmly in her hand.
"What do you have there, Molly. One of your little toys?" Sherlock sneered.
"Come any closer, and you'll find out how playful I can be, Sherlock Holmes," she said as she held the object up for his perusal.
"Molly, where in the world did you find a hot pink stun gun?"
"A gift from Greg . He was a bit worried about my going home by myself after a late shift. I haven't really tried it out on a living person yet. Only cadavers. Want to be the first?"
"The spare room will suit me fine, Molly." Having changed his mind about his sleeping accommodations, the detective beat a hasty retreat. But he didn't do much sleeping. Sherlock, in fact, rarely slept when he was on a case, catching a catnap as needed. But he hadn't really been on a case, and hadn't, in fact, been in need of a bolthole, per se. Baker Street was too empty for his liking, and he just wanted the comfort of Molly's flat. He should have found comfort at her place, even in the spare room, truth be told. But now, his mind was analysing this new case over and over. The Case of the Perverse Pathologist, as he was beginning to refer to it in his mind palace. It would probably keep him awake for hours.
A few days after the whole spare room debacle, as Sherlock had come to think of it, he decided to test the waters again, texting Molly, as he saw it, with a simple request.
I NEED A COUPLE OF KIDNEYS AND A LIVER AT BAKER ST ASAP - SHERLOCK
I'M BUSY - MOLLY
Ah, thought the detective, if Molly was out of range of the eyes, surely her "magic word" would suffice!
PLEASE - SHERLOCK
STILL BUSY! - MOLLY
If Molly was going to insist on being unreasonable, Sherlock was going to show her that he could be the bigger person by not insisting on immediate delivery.
WHEN CAN I HAVE THEM?- SHERLOCK
WHENEVER YOU GET OFF YOUR ARSE AND COME TO GET THEM! - MOLLY
As he really had no use for kidneys at the moment, except for those contained in Mrs. Hudson's excellent steak and kidney pie, Sherlock was in no hurry to make it to St. Bart's . But, trying to be polite, he once again texted the pathologist.
WILL NOT BE ARRIVING AS I NO LONGER REQUIRE CADAVER KIDNEYS - SHERLOCK
PLANNING ON USING YOUR OWN, I HOPE? - MOLLY
Sherlock Holmes had to laugh at the woman's sense of humor. It was one of the things he liked about her. One of the many things, he decided. But now, it was beginning to seem that his pathologist was finding many things to dislike about him. He had never felt the need to curb his behavior around Molly Hooper. He had always had the undeniable feeling that she cared for him, with all his faults. And he knew he had plenty! But perhaps he had gone too far.
He should have given this far more thought before, once again, deciding to use her flat as his bolthole after that confrontation with the justifiably angry arsonist he had been investigation for the better part of the following week. Sherlock arrived at Molly's flat in the wee hours of the morning, somewhat the worse for wear, with a slightly bleeding nose and a bruised shoulder. He proceeded to pick her lock, just as she had asked him repeatedly not to do. But he did so like to show off! He once again made his way to her bedroom, opened the door a crack, and glanced in. Even just half of her queen size bed, with its comfy mattress and downy comforter seemed preferable to the small, lumpy mattress available in the spare room. He decided to avoid confrontation by simply sneaking in beside her. He could deal with her anger in the morning. For now, all he wanted, and needed, was sleep.
Sherlock had often heard the expression being "jolted awake", but had never had occasion to experience the phenomenon until this evening. Molly's dainty little hot pink stun gun delivered a charge to belie its delicate appearance. Sherlock felt his body jolt from a prone position on the bed to a fetal position on the floor. His mind was still a bit clouded as he gazed up at his pathologist, leaning over the bed with a look of concern, and embarrassment, on her face. But his eyes were focused on the opal pendant which hung from her slender neck.
"Mama Livy?", was all he could say as he rubbed the point on his shoulder where the device had made contact. And the, in a deeper, and darker, tone, he muttered, "Mycroft."
"Sherlock? Are you alright? Oh, my god, what have I done!" Molly was now on the floor next to him, examining his shoulder through a curtain of hair and tears.
"Dr. Hooper, your behavior has been truly shocking as of late!" Sherlock, evidently recovering quickly, tried a bit of humor. But Molly didn't seem to be having any of it, as he now found the tiny woman clinging to his chest, and sobbing quietly. And the detective found that this was, in turn, making him truly unhappy.
"That's a lovely necklace you're wearing, Molly. Did Mycroft give it to you?"
She nodded, more than spoke, an answer in the affirmative. "I take it he told you to whom it belonged, eh? Mama Livy could be really tough on us, but we never doubted for a single moment that we were loved. She was just trying to make us better people. I must say, its effects varied, depending on the individual. Cousin Benedict is an absolute saint, by all accounts. Cousin Mathilde takes in orphans and animals, and coaches a croquet team. Did you even know there was such a thing as a croquet team, Molly? Well, as I was about to say, the effects on Mycroft and myself have been slightly less pronounced. Especially myself, I must say."
"Mycroft remembered my birthday, Sherlock. That's when he gave me the necklace." Molly's voice was muffled against his chest.
"I should have remembered it, Molly. You always remember mine. But please don't cry anymore." Sherlock pulled her even closer, and rubbed her back. "I'm fine. Better than I deserve to be actually. I must, of course, agree that my behavior needs improving. And, while I am very happy that you are willing to take on this monumental task, can we agree, from this point on, that you are to use less lethal methods?"
Molly's quiet sobs had ceased, and her sniffles were beginning to slow. She squeaked out a soft, "Okay."
"Are you sure you're up to it, Dr. Hooper? It could take some time. Years, I expect. And perhaps you could incorporate some reward techniques in with the the aversion therapy?"
The pathologist hoped she was not misinterpreting his words, and his arms, which were still holding her close. "What kind of rewards did you have in mind, Sherlock."
"The kind I can explain much more easily if you will allow to sleep in here, and not in the bloody spare room!" With that, the tall man rose from the floor, pulling Molly after him into the bed.
In the morning, as Molly still slept after a rather exhausting evening, Sherlock Holmes quickly dressed, at the last minute retrieving Molly's hot pink weapon of choice from her bedside table. He must speak to his brother Mycroft, and what he had to say the older man would find shocking in more ways than one!