A/N: I received three prompts to choose from for the 2018 Molly Hooper Appreciation Week. Being unable to pick just one, I thought, why not do all three? Thus this cracky little fic was born. Each chapter will fulfill one prompt. Enjoy!

Prompt #1: Magic AU where Mary is a witch with a penchant for love spells, and she decides to "help" Sherlock along into being with Molly but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Chapter 1: A Meddling Witch With A Penchant For Love Spells

"Oops."

Molly groaned. "What do you mean, 'oops'?" she demanded, turning to face her friend, coven-mate and current pain-in-the-arse Mary 'The Meddler' Morstan.

"I, uh, may have accidentally sent Sherlock back in time. Or into the future." She peered into the depths of her cauldron, brow wrinkled in what her warlock lover John Watson would no doubt consider 'adorable confusion'. She looked up at Molly. "Sorry."

She didn't sound sorry and she didn't look sorry, which would have roused Molly's suspicions if they hadn't already been at high alert. "Well, get him back," she snapped.

"Yeah, see, that's part of the problem," Mary admitted, actually sounding a bit contrite this time. "Not only am I not sure if I sent him 300 years into the future or 150 years into the past, I also might have accidentally erased his memory. Temporarily!" she hastened to add as Molly gaped at her in horror. "It wasn't supposed to work this way," she muttered, returning her attention to the potion in her cauldron.

A hideous foreboding seized Molly. "What, Mary?" she asked, stepping closer. "What wasn't supposed to work this way?"

"It was just supposed to be a simple love potion," her friend replied sheepishly. "Not the bog standard 'oh make him fall madly deeply passionately in love with someone he doesn't have any feelings for' folks usually ask us for. This was more of a designer potion - meant to reveal hidden emotions, force them into daylight, stop them from being repressed and ignored. I guess instead I, uh, created a potion that took ALL hidden desires and made them reality."

Molly felt a little sick, knowing where all this was heading. "So the hidden desire you accessed in his mind wasn't that he was in love with m-someone," she corrected herself hastily, "but instead his desire to get away from that someone."

"Not necessarily," Mary said, laying a comforting arm on Molly's shoulder. "I think that's where the time travel comes in - I think maybe the love potion worked but he also needed time to process it."

"Right, so that explains the time travel." At least she hoped it did. "And the memory loss? Temporary memory loss, you said?"

"That one's a bit trickier," Mary admitted. "But I think it might have to do with him stubbornly refusing to face those feelings, even if he now has plenty of time to do so. Idiot," she added, not quite under her breath.

"Right." Molly gave a sharp nod, rolled up her cloak sleeves, and said, "Send me after him. If nothing else, we can't leave a wizard of his power loose in either the past or the future. Who knows what havoc he could wreak if his memory's gone? With our luck he'll either utterly fuck up the timeline or he'll end up a warlord in some post-apocalyptic hell. Especially," she added with a glower, "since he seems to need an exterior conscience most of the time. And John's out busy cleansing the Afghan efreets that idiot Najeem summoned and you're-" she gestured vaguely at Mary's noticeably rounded belly "-not in the best position for careening through time. Which leaves it down to me."

Mary nodded solemn agreement, one hand reaching down to stroke her belly and further bond with the precious little witch-to-be that still rested safely within her mother's womb. "OK," was all she said. But as she raised her wand and began the gestures that would help send Molly to wherever Sherlock had ended up, her friend was certain she saw a telltale smirk on her lips.

Of course, Molly thought resignedly as she felt the bonds of the time-spell tugging her out of one existence and into another. The brat did all of this on purpose. Accident my withered granny's a-

She vanished from her current like a soap bubble being popped-

...and found herself smack-dab in the middle of the late 19th century morgue.

With herself as the apparent victim about to be autopsied.

By none other than Sherlock Holmes.