The three friends sat in the aptly named sitting room at 221B Baker Street waiting for the fourth friend to join them. John and Mary Watson were settled together on the couch, sipping tea provided by Mrs. Hudson, who was currently bedding down their young daughter, Claire, in her flat below. They were heading out to a club, in a dodgey part of town, to observe the nefarious goings on, and report their observations to Scotland Yard. They had dressed for the occasion, flashy enough to pass as party-goers, but subtle enough to fit in with the working class crowd which frequented the venue. Molly Hooper was pacing nervously. She wore tight jeans, a low-cut blouse, and high boots, an outfit designed to give her an edgy, almost aggressive look. A look which was instantly belied by her nervous demeanor.
"Sherlock! Come on, for god's sake! What's taking so long?" the small woman bellowed impatiently, but when the detective made his appearance, finally, she had to concede that the wait was worth it.
Sherlock swept into the room, all cheekbones and confidence. His bespoke black suit fit every angle and curve of his body perfectly. His usually unruly curls were coiffed to perfection. A black silk shirt was showing under his suit jacket, several buttons undone to display an enticing expanse of neck and chest.
"Bloody hell, mate, you look like you're dressed for dinner at the palace!" John was the only one to speak, as both women seemed incapable of forming a coherent thought.
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Dinner at the palace requires a tie," Sherlock responded calmly, then turned to look at Molly. "Do you like it, Molly?" To which the pathologist could only respond with an open-mouthed nod of the head.
Mary Watson had found her voice however. "Makes sense, I suppose. You will certainly look out of place. Like a babe in the woods. And no copper could afford a suit like that, that's for sure! And you look like money! You'll probably be the first one of us approached, with everything they have to offer"
"Just what I was hoping for. Glad you agree," the detective nodded curtly.
"But Sherlock, what is what they're offering isn't just simply drugs, of one kind or another. There are a lot of gangs operating in the area. Some pretty tough individuals, male and female, and I emphasize the female! Maybe we should switch partners? I may be able to deal with an overly aggressive admirer much more readily than Molly, after all."
John Watson looked slightly insulted. "What about me? What am I, chopped liver?"
"Perhaps," said his wife with a smile. "But Sherlock is much more of a pate, dear. Which is, of course, just chopped liver, but of a much smoother and attractive variety."
"I don't want to be the cause of a marital rift, here, so let's just stick to the original plan. Molly and I will be fine together. Everybody remember to observe everything, no matter how insignificant it seems. If you're approached about purchasing any illegal substance, get details. As many as you can. Lestrade will need any information we manage to gather. Shall we be on our way?"
John and Mary rose together from the couch, while Sherlock took Molly's arm to lead her down the stairs. "Sherlock, I won't have to kill anyone to protect your honor, will I?"
"I don't think it will come to that, Molly. And my honor is hardly worth defending anyway!" Sherlock said with a laugh, trying to calm her nerves. "We'll be fine. Don't worry. The dangers of Hackney are highly exaggerated."
The night at the club had gone according to their expectations. Virtually every member of the party had been approached, at one time or another, by strangers offering varying illegal goods, and services. Sherlock, as he had predicted, had been the most popular recipient of these offers, although quite a few of them had nothing to do with the sale of drugs. And, at least two individuals, one of each sex, or seemingly so, had approached him to ask if his services were for hire. Molly had shooed them off with a proprietary air, making it rather plain that they were encroaching into her territory, while Sherlock looked on with an amused smile. He seemed to be enjoying the evening immensely, while her nerves were becoming increasingly frazzled. Mary found the whole thing rather amusing, as Molly found out when she rejoined the married couple at a table in the corner, leaving Sherlock to troll the room.
"My god, Molly, that man needs more minding than a toddler!" Mary was referring to the constant stream of women that Molly had had to shoo away during the evening.
"Yes, well, he is being particularly charming tonight. Evidently he rather enjoys flirting with dangerous women!"
"That could explain that whole Irene Adler thing, I suppose? Maybe you should try being dangerous, Molly?"
"How dangerous could I be at my size, Mary? Besides, he'd never see me that way. I've let him walk all over me for years. How dangerous is a carpet?" Molly was once again glancing over at the consulting detective, who was once again being cornered by a particularly aggressive female admirer. The pathologist put down the drink she had been nursing for the entire evening. "What do they say, Mary. 'A woman's work is never done.' Here goes Molly to the rescue once again!"
Mary looked over to where Sherlock was practically being pushed into the wall of a dark corner by a definitely aggressive woman, one hand moving up and down from his shoulder to his elbow. God knows where the other one was! For once, the man had a look of utter helplessness on his face, and Mary was not so sure that it was feigned. After all, women, and their moods and desires, were not his area of expertise. Mrs. Watson decided to keep the situation under observation, just in case some intervention was required.
Molly approached the couple with a friendly smile. "Will," she said, using the agreed upon alias, "I thinks it's time we left."
"Whatever you say, my love," Sherlock responded with a seductive smile, trying to disentangle himself, but the woman was not letting go. He looked more than a bit uncomfortable as the woman's hand tightened its grip on his arm.
"No need to leave with the little twist. I can take care of you, Will. And little Willy, too. There's a lot more of me to love," she said, rather suggestively pushing her more than ample bosom into the detective's chest. "We can have a lotta fun."
"No thank you, uh…"
"Lottie's the name. Remember it, you'll be screaming it later, Will."
"Well, thank you for the offer, Lottie, but I'm otherwise engaged, as you can see," Sherlock once again tried to disentangle himself from her hands, and boobs, and, evidently, a leg which had somehow positioned itself in a very inappropriate location, causing his voice to raise in pitch just a bit.
But as Sherlock's voice rose, Molly's seemed to deepen. She leaned in close, invading the taller woman's personal space, and spoke in a menacing tone. "Listen, you slag. I can see you're gaggin' for it, but this is my own personal posh totty. So go find your own, or get rat arsed, I don't care! Just let him go. Now!"
"Just what are you gonna do if a don't. You don't wanna give me and my friends any aggro, huh? I'll return him after a nice rogering. Only slightly the worse for wear. Probably."
The woman spoke with such confidence that she was amazed when Molly leaned in even closer. "Know what I do for a living, you anal crumpet. I'm a pathologist. I cut up bodies all day. I know just where to cut you so you'll be dead before you hit the floor. You won't be able to make a sound. In a place like this, your mates will just assume that you're completely bladdered, passed out on the floor. Maybe someone will figure it out when the slip on the pool of blood gathering around you, but by that time, we'll be long gone. I've already got a scalpel in my hand. Now, think to yourself, if you can manage it, 'Is he worth it?'. Because you're about to find out, one way or the other."
The women stared at each other for a moment or two, Lottie stealing a sideways glance at the "posh totty" otherwise known as Sherlock Holmes. The tension eased as Lottie pulled slowly away, releasing her hold, nodding to Molly in acquiescence. "All yours, then, luv. Hope you enjoy him!"
"I will," Molly replied, winking. And as they walked away, toward the table where John and Mary awaited, Molly slipped her hand down to fondle Sherlock's bum, giving love-em-and-lose-em Lottie once last taste of what she was missing.
As soon as they approached the table, Sherlock spoke. "Time to leave, I'm afraid. Molly may have started a war."
John snickered, saying, "A little girl on girl action hardly constitutes a war, Sherlock."
The detective nodded in the direction where his erstwhile admirer was currently talking to several equally rough looking female friends. "I said 'war', and I meant 'war', John. And, since I am apt to be the spoils of this particular war, I believe retreat is definitely the better part of valor. Don't you agree, Molly?" He looked down at the now pale woman by his side, who still had her hand planted firmly on his arse. She nodded quickly in assent, and the four friends rapidly made their way to the door, hailing a cab for the trip back to Baker Street. The rear seat was rather crowded, so Sherlock pulled Molly onto his lap, over her objections. "Really, Dr. Hooper, you have just spent the past several minutes with your hand tracing patterns on my ass. Surely you can manage to sit quietly on my lap in a crowded taxi!" Molly Hooper turned bright red, and quieted immediately, but the trip to Baker Street, for her at least, seemed endless.
As soon as they arrived, Sherlock handed out paper, and urged everybody to write down every single detail about every nefarious individual who had approached them, and what they had offered them. "Does that include Lottie?", Molly asked, having recovered sufficiently to attempt a bit of humor.
"Yes, Sherlock, why don't you tell us what the woman had on offer? Or what she thought you had on offer? And why did she go so pale when Molly leaned into her?"
Remembering the remark about the pool of blood, Sherlock could only say, "She would have gone a lot paler had Molly followed through on her threat!" He turned to look at the pathologist. "Did you really have your scalpel out, Dr. Hooper? Or was that a bluff?"
"Bluff. My scalpel was in my bag, on the table next to Mary."
"Well done! Brava! I believed you, and evidently Lottie did as well. Although I must say you did go a bit far, just to protect my honor, Molly. I probably could have gotten away with a brief snog in the back alley."
"I don't think she would have settled for a snog, Sherlock. And I knew that I wasn't going to kill her, but I couldn't count on you not to, if she had gotten you into that alley. Also good to know that all it takes to get a snog out of you is rampant aggression and big boobs!"
"Her boobs were rather prodigious," John put in, apropos of nothing. Mary punched him in the arm. "Much too large, in fact, in my humble opinion!"
"Good boy!" Mary mumbled, barely under her breath.
When they finished writing all their notes, Sherlock gathered up the papers. "I shall gather all the pertinent facts and information into a report, and sent it to Graham in the morning. Thank you for your assistance." They could tell from his tone that they were being dismissed. When John approached Molly, asking if she wanted to share a cab, he was interrupted by the detective. "Don't be daft, John. You reside in opposite directions, and the taxi will be crowded enough with Claire and all her accoutrements. I'll see to Molly." John shrugged, and went to join his wife, who was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, collecting their daughter.
Molly grabbed her purse, and made for the door, but was stopped by her host asking, "Where are you going, Molly?"
"To hail a taxi, Sherlock. To go home."
"Don't be ridiculous. It's the middle of the night. Even when there are sufficient taxis on the street, you have a hard time flagging one down. You are too timorous. You need to be more assertive, more confident…"
"John's getting a taxi." Molly sighed. "Perhaps I should wield a scalpel. Would that make me look more assertive, do you think?"
"Perhaps, but it might attract a police car rather than a cab, don't you think? Anyway, I ordered a cab for John and Mary a while ago. It should be here any minute." As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
"Did you order one for me as well, then?"
"No, I thought you could spend the night. You don't have to be at work tomorrow, I know. Perhaps you could help me assemble these notes, and write the report for Gareth."
"I don't know any Gareth. I know a Greg. Greg Lestrade."
"There. See how helpful you can be! Come on, do it for your posh totty!" Sherlock said with a wink.
"I knew I was going to regret saying that. Damn!" She watched as Sherlock Holmes gathered the scraps of paper and put them into a semi-neat pile on the table. "We can take care of the report in the morning, I suppose. We have some other things to discuss, Molly." He rose, and began to slowly approach her.
"What things, Sherlock?"
"Well, Molly, don't you think calling me a 'posh totty' is really rather objectivizing. And really, that last comment about 'enjoying' me. Really, Molly, that could have been considered a bit of a challenge, don't you think? Do you think I could make you enjoy it, Dr. Hooper? Do you think I could rise to the challenge?" And when he finally reached her, and moved her gently back against the wall, Molly was confident that he was, indeed, rising to the challenge, literally and figuratively.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" she asked, but she knew exactly what he was doing as his lips moved to her neck and his arms closed around her. This was his revenge! For coming to his rescue, for seeing him in a moment of weakness. He was using her weakness against her. He was her weakness, and he knew it. After a moment or two, sensing something off about her reaction to him, Sherlock pulled away, and looked down at the woman in his arms. "Is something the matter, Molly?" His voice sounded full of concern, devoid of his usual arrogance. "You really don't like it? I may be a bit out of practice, but I can't have forgotten everything!"
"You practiced a bit with Janine, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I didn't like it, and didn't give a damn whether she did, either. But I want you to like it, Molly. But evidently you don't. Does this mean you don't fancy me anymore?"
"Stop it, Sherlock. We both know what this is about. You just want to remind me who's in charge, you want to put me in my place. How dare I refer to the great Sherlock Holmes as my 'posh totty'! And put my hand on your bum!" Molly was turning bright red as she relived the events of the evening. "Oh god, Sherlock. I put my hand on your bum!"
The great detective was beginning to realize that this was, perhaps, simply a misunderstanding of his intentions. "Yes, you did, Molly. And I wish you'd do it again. Now would be a good time, so feel free!" Almost without volition, Molly's hand began to move across the smooth surface ofthe black silk shirt, around to his back, and slip toward his arse once again. A small groan escaped the detective's throat as he moved his hips closer to the woman in front him, who exhaled a tiny exclamation, "Oh!" He took this as a sign that he should once again snog her senseless, an idea which seemed to appeal to her as well.
"Sherlock, can we leave Lottie out of the report, really?"
"Of course. Especially since she took me for a male prostitute, and was trying to negotiate a discount when my knight with a shining scalpel turned up. Perhaps she thought you were my manager, but when you didn't negotiate anything, you then you became a client. She was probably just jealous that you could afford the exorbitant price I quoted her."
"How exorbitant, you git?"
"Believe me, Molly, you can't afford me!"
"Then I might as well go home, then," she said quietly, pulling slightly away in a sulk.
"Not to worry, love. I'm sure we can work out some sort of barter arrangement, or something. But the first time someone teases me about being a rent boy, I'll know where it came from, and the price goes up!"
"Understood," she said as he moved an arm around her to guide her down the hallway to the bedroom. As they walked side by side, her hand once again lowered to cup the firm cushion of his bum.
"Molly, you hand is on my ass again."
"Sorry. It seems to have become a habit."
"Just try not to do it in public so much, Dr. Hooper. People will talk. And if we spend all day grabbing each other's bums, we're not likely to get much else accomplished. Besides, there are plenty of other things which are about to, hopefully, become habits."
"I thought I couldn't afford you?"
"I'll run you a tab. We can settle up in fifty or sixty years. I'm sure you'll be happy with the service. Satisfaction is guaranteed, after all."
They finally reached their destination, and as Sherlock kicked the door closed behind them, Molly whispered, "Sherlock, will you be adding the value added tax?"