Summary: Molly Hooper formed an ability an ability to hear and see ghosts after being involved in a car accident years ago. Terrified by the ghosts that surround her, she is unable to life an ordinary life, let alone strive for one, until she meets Sherlock Holmes one fateful night. Sherlock is an ambitious CEO of the acclaimed 'Homer Holmes' hotel chain. His sole desire to grow his fortune has rendered him a cold-hearted business man who tends to measure the value the worth of those around him in terms of money and function. After Molly seeks employment in his company and he becomes familiar with her ghost world, Sherlock comes to trust and eventually fall in love with her. But will he be able to help her overcome her fears and take control of her life once more?
A/N: That's the gist of the story. Sorry, I'm terrible with summaries. Hope you like it anyway :)
It was a dark and stormy night. As dramatic and somewhat cliché as that sounded in her head, that was all Molly could think of to describe the raging weather outside. The unreliable weatherman had promised a cloudy evening with a small chance of showers. Only now did she consider herself a fool for having hoped he was right. Such dreary weather had a tendency to set up a sinister mood her special circumstances could do without.
Molly drew out a controlled breath before resuming her activities. Separating the trash and other mundane tasks normally helped her stay calm, but their therapeutic effect didn't seem t be working for her that night. She couldn't help but flinch when a rather loud stroke of thunder broke through the night sky. At that moment she was rueful of Mrs. Hudson's decision to leave the high windows bare (not that anyone could reach up that high to set up curtains anyway). As if called on by her thoughts, the cheerful landlady called out to her from the balcony above.
"Molly, would you be a dear and clear out the 3rd floor room? It would seem that it's vacant again." Heart rate picked up speed at the mention of the room. She really had been trying to avoid that floor since the previous tenant's departure. Though she groaned internally, Molly was able to deliver an enthusiastic 'sure' to the sweet landlady. After all, she was the night manager, and with Mrs. Hudson's hips, the room wouldn't be ready in time for the new tenant that was to arrive in two days.
She was already walking up the stairs when Mrs. Hudson spoke on. "I would help dear, but I'll be needing my soothers." Molly gave her an understanding smile as she watched the landlady retreat back to her room.
Her heart rate picked up and the sense of dread in her abdomen weighed on her with every step she made up to the room. Maybe there won't be anything, she tried to reassure herself. She could be working herself up for nothing. Upon arriving at the half-open door, Molly cautiously nudged it. It creaked slowly to reveal that the room was in fact empty. Drawing out a relieved breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, she set about surveying the room. The previous tenant had been neat. There was barely anything left behind save some dust bunnies and scattered trinkets.
Deciding that it was easier to dispose of the things first, she began to pick them up one by one. It wasn't until she had reached out to open the top dresser that a chill ran through the room, followed by the lights flickering in and out. Please let that be a blown fuse, she prayed quietly to herself. She glanced toward the and noted that the corridor lights were still on. The crazy seemed to be contained to just this room. Somehow, that wasn't much of a comforting thought.
A bolt of lightning struck through the window, lighting up the room momentarily long enough to see a huddled form at the corner. A terrified squeak escaped her when it turned to give her a curious look. The look itself was unnerving, especially when she realized the corners of the mouth extended to the ends of its sallow face. It wore a tattered nightgown that fell to its ankles. She felt herself stuck in that spot, unable to will herself to do the very thing she wanted to in that moment. The apparition was now walking slowly towards her with a wide grin that faltered when she glanced once more at the door. That seemed to have angered it for its mouth tore open to let out a frightening screech. That was the final catalyst that freed Molly's senses long enough to run out of the room in terror.
The lights above her turned off one by one, indicating that it was chasing after her. She cursed her choice to have the top floor room as she huffed her way up the stairs. Heart thundering through her chest, she slammed her front door behind her and dove for the nearest corner to retreat to. The door rattled after for a moment before it stilled. Besides the howling weather outside, it seemed that all was alright with the world.
Having caught her breath by then, Molly nervously surveyed her dark room for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Relieved, she gingerly got up to her feet, only to fall back down when the face terrified her back to the floor. Everything screamed in her to flee again, but she knew what she had to do. She stood her ground and looked up at its face. Slowly but surely, the ghost's features reverted to the face of an old woman who, despite her form moments ago, looked warm and kind. Why can't they just look normal from the start? She shut her eyes, waiting for her body to catch up with the situation. Even before the old woman spoke, Molly knew what it was going to be. A request. They almost always wanted something from her.
"Right now?" Molly almost whined. She knew it was only early evening but she wasn't willing to go anywhere what with the unpleasant weather outside. But the ghost relented, giving her an imploring look she couldn't turn away from; not that she needed it. She knew the ghost would harass her to no end until she got what it needed from her. Having only managed to sleep for 3 hours that week, Molly wasn't willing to endanger what little rest she would be able to have that night.
'Please' the ghost whispered, reminding Molly she had to make a decision immediately, not unless she wanted to be harassed for the rest of the night. With a reluctant nod, she got up and head back to the 3rd floor with the ghost literally breathing down her neck the entire time.
"So Mr. Hope—" Sherlock began.
"Please, call me Jeff. Mr Hope was my father."
Sherlock provided a tight smile when inside he was actually fuming. The man in front of him. Jeff Hope, age 58 whose occupation was a cabbie happened to have a house on a piece of valuable land he so happened needed to acquire.
He had convinced the surrounding residents to sell; so had Jeff until six hours ago when he called to deny the offer. Purchasing his home was crucial for his expansion plans, and so Sherlock had no choice but to visit him personally with his assistant, John Watson, to renegotiate. They were now in the man's living room with a set of tea he estimated should not cool before he was done rectifying the situation.
"If you're unhappy about the price then I would be willing to negotiate a higher—"
"I don't want your money," Jeff interrupted. The more he looked at the man the more irritated. Was he just being greedy? No, his body language suggested some protective element, however, money had never failed to and was about to try again when Jeff explained.
"My wife doesn't want me to sell."
"Sorry," Jeff turned to John who had spoken up. "do you mean your dead wife?"
"Yes." He smiled warmly. "Her spirit is with me in this house."
Sherlock retreated further back into the seat and had carefully lined his hands under his chin and was watching Jeff. Normally a posture of contemplation, John could also tell by his tightening jaw that he was irritated and thought it best if he were to explore this line of conversation.
"Her spirit is here?" John asked cautiously.
"Yes she is, and she doesn't want me to sell."
"And uh, how did you realize that that was her wish?" Although he had not formed an opinion as to whether the man was crazy or not, John couldn't help but be curious to find out where Jeff was going with this.
Jeff looked past them to the table under the mirror and the they turned back to see what he was looking at.
"That white rose. It was her favourite."
"Ah" Sherlock said, apparently having understood something. Noticing John's utter confusion Jeff explained. "When I first agreed to sell the house last week, it started to wilt and die but," his face lit up at the recollection, "when I came to reconsider that decision, it suddenly bloomed back to life."
John was amazed to see Sherlock offer an understanding smile. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was somehow touched.
"Well then I suppose I will have to talk to her then." Sherlock could tell that Jeff was utterly convinced that his wife's 'spirit' was present and that was enough for him to carry on with his intention. He jumped up to his feet, much to the surprise of the men and walked towards the flower in question.
"May I?" Sherlock asked politely, gesturing towards the flower. John wasn't sure where he was going with this, but it was clear he was it was going to be insulting.
"Mr. Holmes," he called out in warning. Jeff looked up at Sherlock warily before letting him continue. He gave a polite smile before scanning the small craft basket on the table He fished out a small pair of scissors before focusing on the flower in question. Clearing his throat, Sherlock addressed the rose.
"Mrs. Hope I have learned from your husband that you do not wish him to sell the house. I however, must acquire it. Are you really against this? If so, please nod your head, otherwise I will have to cut your rose bud off."
Jeff shot up angrily. "What the hell are you doing!"
"I'm negotiating with your flower wife." Sherlock replied as a matter of factly. "But if you are concerned about the the nod being too rash then I can speed the conditions along." He then returned his attention back to it.
"I will give you to the count of three to nod your head or show some other fantastic gesture to indicate your opinion. If before then you have not done so, then I assure you I will trim your rose and have your husband sign over the house."
John noted that Jeff was all but ready to implode. He didn't doubt that Sherlock would do it, and that was the problem.
"One…"
"Is he serious?" Jeff looked desperately at the baffled John.
"Two…"
"Sherlock!" John hissed. How in the world did he expect to win this if he was pissing off the client?
"Three…" Without hesitation, Sherlock cut off the head of the rose, the bud falling uncermeoniously into the pot.
"Now Jeff," he said turning back to face the pale man, "if you've come back to your senses would you sign the document like we had agreed."
"You have no right!" Jeff spluttered, pointing an accusatory finger at Sherlock who sighed.
"No," he drawled. "But I am aware of your financial and medical circumstances. I believe you were recently diagnosed with something terminal. A tumor of some sort yes?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes knowingly when Jeff stiffened at the suggestion of the illness and so continued.
"Probably something head related like an aneurysm going by the medication you left on your kitchen counter for the headaches. You cannot afford not to die and leave your children penniless whom, if I may add, are actually very keen to the idea you selling this house. So please do yourself a favor and sign on that dotted line so that my assistant and we will be on our merry way."
"H-how—" Jeff stuttered.
"He's observant," John responded.
Offering only a smile, Sherlock gestured to John to give the man.
For a split second, Mr. Hope was about to rip the paper in half when he seemed to think better of it and begrudgingly took the pen offered by John to finally sign the paper.
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Sherlock offered a more genuine smile to the defeated man now. Happy that his plans were on schedule again, he figured he could offer that much.
"Your boss is a cruel bastard you know that?"
"People have said worse," John smiled apologetically before standing up to join Sherlock out the door.
"Congratulations Jeff, I've made you a very rich man tonight. Have a good night."
It was a miracle Sherlock hadn't been punched yet, John thought to himself. Jeff looked like he was itching to do so.
"I don't care what you say, I know my wife is here! Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there! Don't make fun of a person's sincerity."
With the contract signed, Sherlock felt he had some degree of freedom to express his irritation. "You may enjoy your deluded assumptions about the after life. I will continue to live comfortably with what I can observe."
"I swear you should be struck by lightning for your words!"
"Then I welcome myself to be struck by lightning right this moment."
To indicate just how serious he was, Sherlock stepped out into the rain and dropped his umbrella for a few seconds, embracing the heavens to strike him. John looked on with alarm, half convinced that something would actually happen when nothing did. Satisfied that he had made his point, he politely gave Mr. Hope a slight bow before walking to his car, a flustered John in close pursuit. Before they could enter, Sherlock stopped to address Jeff once more.
"Friendly word of advice, you might want to go back to the hospital for another check up. A change of medication might be in order."
Molly turned back towards the home she had just left. After her frightening encounter with Mrs. Wilson's ghost, she had one through with her request to delivered checkbook she had left back in the 3rd floor room to her son, James Wilson. It might have been the large family, or the miserable atmosphere, but no one really questioned her presence when she interrupted their waking for the dead woman.
Apparently Mrs. Wilson had left behind documents to secret savings account she had opened for a son, and wanted him to receive it right after her demise. It was much to Molly's displeasure when she heard the son discuss plans to bet on a horse the following week with the hard earned money his mother had saved up to pay for his existing debts. She couldn't help but feel outraged for the late Mrs. Wilson, and was astounded when the ghost looked on with much content in her eyes before disappearing.
Molly was relieved to see her ghost move on, but now she had to figure out a way to get back to Baker Street. She had taken a cab to get here but was doubtful she would be able to hail one at this time of night. Thankfully it wasn't raining as hard as it was before and so she resigned to walking along the road in the hopes that a kind driver would give her a ride.
She hadn't made it down two blocks before encountering yet another ghost. Fortunately for her apparition seemed to be interested in helping her, and provided Molly with specific instructions to get a ride from a certain car that would be passing by after 5 minutes. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, a sleek black car drove up the street.
"Must be my lucky day!" she squealed in delight as she waved enthusiastically at the car.
"Do you have to be a prick to everyone you meet?" John and Sherlock were sitting in the car when he had finally blown up. "He was a mourning widower for Christ sake!"
"You are aware that I am your boss and thus have the capacity to fire you for insubordination?" Sherlock drawled.
John scoffed. "Bite me. You know I'm the only capable assistant within a hundred miles that's willing to baby-sit your man-child self. And it helps that you're my best friend."
Sherlock mustered an offended scoff but it wasn't enough to disguise the flattered smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"So you really don't believe in ghosts?" J
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the question. "Oh please. The whimsical ideology of ghosts is a pathetic projection of people's innate desire to hold on to the dead or relinquish their regrets. The very notion of anything supernatural is ludicrous at best. I mean seriously, possessing a rose bud?"
John shrugged his shoulders. "Anything's possible."
"Did you stop to think that his hallucinations could be brought on by his aneurysm?"
John paused to consider that point. Sherlock was right about that. Still, it was no excuse for being a git. "Well you didn't have to burst his bubble like that."
"Then I should mention he was clearly trying to compensate for his ruined marriage. Yes," Sherlock assured when John raised his eyebrows. "They were separated while she was alive. Might have been because he was an alcoholic—did you notice the shaky hands?—his illusions may also have been brought on by his guilt for disappointing her and not wishing to make drastic changes about the house she obviously took meticulous care of."
"And you knew all that from the living room?"
"The evidence was there if you looked hard enough. Now if you're done criticizing my mannerisms, I would like to go home now." With that curt statement, Sherlock grabbed the newspaper beside him and roughly turned the pages to read. John was silent for a few moments.
"You know, you could be a detective what with that profiling thing you do."
"Why in the world would I concern myself with the problems or well-being of others?"
John laughed at his indignant tone. "You're in the service industry."
"It's the money that interests me."
Obviously, he thought. "And what do you do with all the money you earn?"
"Make more of course."
John stared at Sherlock who had not looked up from the newspaper during the exchange. "I take it back. A dragon suits you better. Hoarding your fortune."
John looked at the rear-view mirror in time to see a smirk before returning his attention back on the road. The unexpected weather was a bit difficult to drive safely through. "I see you made the headlines again." he said, referring to the front page of the newspaper. "What poor duchess was caught up in a raunchy affair with you now?"
Sherlock frowned at the suggestion. "It's hardly an affair if I ignore her attentions. And it's not a duchess but an adulterous reporter of some sort given the alarming shade of colors she tends to wear," he said distastefully upon recalling the pink suit she wore. "This picture cropped out her husband who was also present when it was taken. Blind fool," he muttered. "Doesn't even know his wife is a serial adulterer."
He sighed in frustration. "Why do I seem to attract desperate people with nothing better to do? I'm not even her type!"
"You can be charming when you want to be," John smiled. He immediately bit back a laugh when he felt Sherlock glaring quite pointedly at his back.
A comfortable silence fell upon them as John drove on until he noticed a figure standing outside up ahead.
"Sherlock?" he said, slowing slightly. "Someone's trying to flag the car down." The word 'trying' was may have been an understatement. The woman was practically jumping up and down to get their attention.
Sherlock glanced up from the newspaper to see a woman waving at the car. "Ignore her," he responded curtly. "I make it a habit not to pick up suspicious persons off the road."
"But we're nowhere near a main street for her to get a cab."
"Not my problem."
Sherlock smirked when he saw the woman's smile fall as they drove right past her. Almost immediately, a blinding flash of lightning struck in front of the car, causing John to hit the breaks hard.
"What the devil!" Sherlock cried when his forehead hit the front seat in front of him. "What happened?"
John stared widely out the windshield. "Dunno. I think lightning struck or something." Mr. Hope's curse came to mind. No, it couldn't be. Probably a coincidence.
He knew it was unlikely, but felt the need to ask. "Did you hit anything?" Sherlock sighed in relief when John shook his head and settled back in the chair. "Well then let's carry on bef—" His words were suddenly cut off when his side of the door was jumbled open and the woman they had passed squeezed right in.
"Thank you so much! For a second there I thought you would drive past without noticing me."
Molly's face beamed at the strangers in the car who had stopped for her. Obviously the dumbstruck look on the men gave her no pause to realize they weren't expecting her at all.
A/N: I hope that wasn't too bad. The next chapter will be uploaded in a few hours. Review if you like/don't like (but especially if you like :D)