Sherlock Holmes was bored, which was never a good thing. Granted, it had been happening less and less often lately, busy as he had become with a growing clientele, and understaffed due to the absence of his best friend and former partner, John Watson. But, tonight he was bored, and had a definite idea of how to deal with the situation. Grabbing his coat from the hook by the door, the detective headed off to inflict himself on his pathologist, Dr. Molly Hooper.
Molly was sitting in the middle of her sitting room floor, surrounded by prepainted wooden planks, door assemblages, and various pieces of hardware. A sheet of instructions, indecipherable, fluttered in the middle of this mess. She barely noticed when her door opened, and Sherlock Holmes entered, shouting . "Bored!", stopping just short of stomping on a door panel.
"Good. I've got just the thing…"
"Not my area, Molly," the detective said, surveying the sitting room floor.
"You're probably right, Sherlock. I've never actually seen you do anything like this, have I. Perhaps I should call Greg…"
"Who?"
"Lestrade for help. I'm sure he's quite the handyman. After all, one can't be an expert at everything, can one?"
"Reverse psychology will not work, Dr. Hooper. Nor will appealing to my vanity. I simply do not enjoy manual labor…"
At this point, Molly decided to pull out all the stops, and launched herself from her position on the floor to wrap her arms around the tall man's shins. "Please, please, please! I'm completely stuck here."
"I must say, during my pubescent years, I often fantasized about women throwing themselves at my feet, but building a bookcase was hardly what they were requesting in my fantasies, Molly," Sherlock said with a heavy sigh.
Molly let go of his legs, and looked up at him. "Really, Sherlock. You had fantasies like that?"
"Yes. Molly, and one day I shall tell you all about them. But, for now, I assume you have instructions for this disaster?" Sherlock shrugged out of his overcoat and suit jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He took the proffered sheets of paper, but frowned when he realized they were in Swedish. "This may take a bit longer than expected, Dr. Hooper. How about some tea?"
After making the tea, Molly sat on her couch, at Sherlock's insistence, leaving the work to him. All he would allow her to do was hand him hardware as required, and offer encouragement. For her part, Molly rather enjoyed the sight of the usually dapper detective bending and lifting, flexing muscles, and showing off his arms with his rolled up shirtsleeves. She could definitely imagine what the women in his fantasies were asking for! A few hours later, Molly Hooper had a beautiful new wall storage unit, and a new appreciation for the talents of the world's only consulting detective. Unfortunately, she was also asleep on her couch when he covered her with a blanket and let himself out of the flat.
It was just two nights later when Sherlock made another run to Molly's flat in an attempt to assuage his latest bout of boredom. This time he opened the door slowly, surveying the sitting room for projects before entering. Safe. He walked in slowly, but was taken aback from some rather colorful language coming from the kitchen, in Molly Hooper's rather delicate voice. At the sound of a loud bang, and a splash, he made a dash for the kitchen, only to find his pathologist halfway under the sink, water rushing out onto the kitchen floor. He quickly removed his outerwear, and dove under the sink with her, cramping them both in the small space.
"Give me the bloody wrench, Molly!" he ordered, as he was cutting off the water supply. By the time he had the water turned off, they were both lying in a small pool.
"What did you need the wrench for, if all you had to do was turn off the water supply?"
"I didn't need it, Molly. I just didn't trust you to do no further damage! What did you think you were doing? Don't you have a building manager to take care of these things?"
"The new building manager is much more interested in my plumbing than my kitchen's, Sherlock. It was only a small leak!"
" 'Was' being the operative word, there, Molly. Now it looks more like a small lake than a small leak," the detective said as they sat together on a puddly floor. "If you could find me some dry trousers, I'll get to work on the leak," he added with a sigh. Granted, he was no longer bored, but this was hardly the cure he had in mind.
So, Molly found herself sitting on a kitchen chair, handing Sherlock tools as required, while he was stretched out on the floor, half under her sink.. He was working shirtless, wearing only a borrowed pair of sweatpants, which, when wet, clung tightly to his well-formed posterior. Molly was enjoying the view, and looking forward to the next time his naked chest made an appearance from under the sink, when she heard his mobile signal an incoming text.
NEED A CONSULT. BODY IN TRAFALGAR SQ - LESTRADE
BUSY - SH
I THOUGHT YOU WERE BORED - LESTRADE
I WAS. NOW I'M BUSY - SH
BODY IS TRANSVESTITE DRESSED AS HER MAJESTY - LESTRADE
ON MY WAY - SH
"Have to go, Molly. Duty calls." Sherlock then turned the water back on, waved at the sink and took a bow, before asking, "Are my trousers dry, by any chance?" Unfortunately, in Molly's view, they were, so he dressed and took his leave.
The third time that week that boredom overtook the world's only consulting detective, he almost decided to wait it out at home. His forays into boredom relief at Molly's flat had so far not come up to his expectations. Granted, she now had a new shelving unit and a working sink, but he had nothing whatsoever to show for all his efforts. But, thinking to himself, that third time's the charm, he once again headed for the small flat of the small woman.
Molly Hooper was sitting on her couch, watching crap telly, and, much like Sherlock Holmes, bored. There were a dozen small projects which she should be working on. She could clean her pantry, or wax her floors. Perhaps rearrange her closet. But she was determined that the next time Sherlock made his way here, she would not burden him with another task. She would sit with him, bask in his presence, even listen to his relentless retelling of his latest cases. She was still thinking this, when she heard the door to her flat slowly open, and saw a head full of dark curls peek in.
"Sherlock! Bored again? You really do need a hobby."
"I was thinking along the same lines, Molly. But wood-working and plumbing are definitely not my first, or second, choices. No projects for tonight, then? Everything in working order?"
"No, it's safe to come all the way in, you git," Molly said with a laugh, so Sherlock did. He removed his coat, and flopped down on the couch next to Molly, who started to rise. "Where are you going?"
"I thought I'd make us some tea. You know you always want tea, Sherlock."
"Not tonight, Dr. Hooper. I would like to discuss my new hobby. You did say I needed a hobby, you know. To relieve boredom. You know, Molly, you look a little bored yourself. I think I have the perfect solution." And Sherlock put both arms around her waist, and pulled her closer, nibbling on her neck as soon as it got within reach.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?"
The detective now reached under her legs, and pulled them both onto his lap, as he bent her backward a bit towards the couch cushions. "My new hobby!" he said just before his mouth closed on hers. Molly could her a soft moan, and quickly realized that it was herself.
"Sherlock!", she said, breaking for air. "I didn't know you could do that! I mean, I didn't know you did that! I mean, that you knew how to…"
"I've been told it's like riding a bicycle, Molly. Once you learn how, you never really forget. I may be a bit rusty, but I assure you, I can ride a bicycle with the best of them. Besides, you didn't know I could put furniture together, or fix plumbing, either. You learn something every day, as they say. Are you ready for today's lesson?"
All Dr. Molly Hooper could do was nod, as the love of her life once again proceeded to cover her face, neck, and parts southward with lovely slow kisses. He certainly didn't seem bored at the moment, and if Molly had her way, he never would be again.