I NEED YOU - SHERLOCK
NOW? WHY? - JOHN
MOLLY IS CLEANING! - SHERLOCK
PLEASE - SHERLOCK
Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, never said "please". Didn't happen! So when John Watson saw that text on his mobile he figured that something more than a cleansing was going on, and, making a cursory farewell to his wife and infant daughter, set off for 221B Baker Street, thinking to himself all the while that he knew nothing good would come of this situation.
The situation being the fact that Molly Hooper had moved into Sherlock's flat, occupying John's old bedroom. Surprisingly, to John, at least, this was entirely the detective's idea. He knew that the two were great friends, Molly having long since gotten over her stammering infatuation with the man, and Sherlock having, in turn, coming to respect the pathologist's intelligence, kindness and loyalty. But living together was something else. John was not entirely sure that the similarities of their natures would make up for the vast opposites of these same natures. Or would Molly actually manage to kill Sherlock with kindness before he got around to actually killing her?
When John arrived at the flat, the place was steamy, but not in a good way. On one of the warmest days of the summer so far, the air conditioner had been turned off, and all the windows opened. Fans, some borrowed from Mrs. Hudson, and one industrial variety which looked like it had come from St. Bart's, moved the air around the flat. Sherlock Holmes sat languidly in his chair clad only in pajama bottoms and a tee shirt.
"So, what's the problem, mate?" John opened the conversation.
"I told you, John. Molly is cleaning. Do keep up!"
"So, what's with the fans? And the open windows?"
"She said the flat smelled too much like the lab at the hospital! That it needed a complete airing! I liked the way it smelled, John."
"Well, she may have had a point there, Sherlock. You have let the place go a bit since I left."
"Mrs. Hudson…"
"Is not your housekeeper, Sherlock. And she is getting a bit old to be scrubbing up after you. Consider yourself lucky that Molly is willing to do all the heavy work. Where is she, by the way?"
"I told you, she cleaning. Currently, the kitchen."
John had not seen the young woman when he entered, and since he had not heard her greeting, he just assumed that she was absent. But, following Sherlock's eyes, he found her on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor and reaching into all the nooks and crannies between the appliances. He noticed that she appeared to have earphones in, and was moving to the rhythm of whatever music she was listening to. John watched for perhaps longer than was proper for a happily married man, mesmerized by the movement of her hips, and, to be honest, her bum, in the tight gym shorts.
"She seems to be doing a good job, Sherlock," John cleared his throat before he spoke.
"She's doing an excellent job, John. But not at cleaning!' Sherlock sighed, and sank further into his chair. "Although, to be completely honest, I suppose she is doing that relatively well, too."
"Sherlock, what are you on about?"
"John, Molly is very...distracting.
"Distracting, Sherlock? To you?" John had an evil smile on his face as he said the words. He was looking at his friend carefully, but said friend was still gazing at Molly's dancing derriere. "Remember, Sherlock, it was your idea that she move in here."
"Of course it was! It was all part of my master plan. But Molly seems to have her own ideas about moving up my timetable!"
"Masterplan? Timetable?"
"Yes. Pay attention! First, I move her into your old room. She grows accustomed…"
"To you face, Sherlock? Really, she's known you longer than I have, I think she's already grown accustomed…"
"...to living with me! Then I move her into my bedroom…"
"And how do you accomplish that, Sherlock? Hypnosis? Drugs?"
Sherlock merely glared at him. "Then, in a few years, a move to the country to raise children and bees. I suppose we should get married sometime before the first child. Mummy would prefer that."
John Watson could barely move his lips to speak, and when he did, his words came out in a bit of a squeak. "Sherlock, when did all this happen? Why don't I know anything about it?"
"Perhaps you should listen to your wife more, John. I'm sure Mary guessed my intention as soon as I asked Molly to move in."
"So what's the problem, mate? Move up the damn timetable!"
"I don't like being manipulated, John. And Molly has turned out to be master of manipulation."
"How so?"
"Ah, you see the fans, don't you John. You missed the earlier incident, when, obviously overheated from cleaning the bathroom, she let her hair down and stood in front of the large industrial model, running her fingers through it and sighing rather seductively."
"Ah!"
"And just after that, when she took a damp cloth, and swiped it around her neck, moving her head languorously from side to side, before moving down to the upper curve of her breast…"
"Alright, I get the picture…"
"So, I need not even mention the banana incident?"
"Please don't, Sherlock!" John shifted nervously in his seat. "And you believe that she is doing this deliberately?"
"Of course she is, John!"
"And what do you intend to do about it?"
"I intend to accept my defeat graciously, John. At least then we can turn the damned air conditioner on again!"
Molly rose from the floor, walked over to adjust the thermostat, and moved to close the windows against the stifling heat. "Hello, John," she winked at him as she headed toward Sherlock's bedroom.
John Watson seemed a bit stunned, "How did she…? Why? Sherlock, explain!"
"You really don't observe very well, John. The music ended quite a while ago. Molly heard every word I said, as I meant her to. Now, shouldn't you be getting home to your wife? Maybe she has some cleaning to do?" And Sherlock Holmes followed his pathologist into the bedroom.
John sat contemplating the situation for a moment, before certain sounds coming from down the hall suggested that it was time to leave. Cleanliness may be next to godliness, he thought to himself, but certainly not in all circumstances!