A day in Molly hooper's life. It's not romantic but I think you'd find Molly rather amusing. Everything belongs to Moffat, Gattis and the BBC. Please R&R :)
Guh…..heart failure, kidney malfunctioning, aneurysm, choking even…Not one black tongue, no suspicious rash or a freaky tattoo…What's wrong with these dead – wha ?! – HUMPH….I should be ashamedof myself…I'm thinking like that fathead…I really need to get out the morgue more, before I become a ghoul.
These were the thoughts that were running in Molly's head as she rested it on the sterile table, waiting for her shift to be over. She kept throwing bored glances at the wall clock, which seemed to be nursing a grudge against her that day – it kept dragging the last half hour left in her shift. She started a staring match with the clock – she wanted to know if it was possible to keep staring at a clock till the hours hand got to where she wanted it to be. Yeah, boredom can do dangerous things to people's sanity.
"Staring at clocks is not a healthy habit Molly; your time will be better spent helping me with these tissue cultures."
Molly jumped a little at this sudden intrusion in to her staring match. Sherlock never sneaked in like that, he swooped in banging the doors aside, as if the room was full of people he needed to impress.
"Ah…Hello Sherlock…no, I'd rather stare at the clock. I don't want to be caught in any of your experiments. I'll stupidly stare at this clock, and when the hours hand reaches 3'0 clock, I'll run out of this place – ''
"In to the waiting arms – sorry – legs of your cat? Don't be absurd Molly. Are you actually telling me you would find cat fur more interesting than suspicious, biological matter found in the sink, of a flat, of a healthy young woman who suddenly dropped dead?"
The b******d! He's pushing all the right buttons…hmm…a healthy young woman, suspicious tissue in her sink, it might be – NO! NO more ghoulish thoughts! One ghoul is too many for London, it doesn't need another one - "No, Sherlock, I'll stick with the clock. Yes, I only have a cat waiting for me, but that cat loves me and more importantly, I love that cat, so no. Staring at the clock it is. Besides", she said, getting up to get all her stuff together, "I thought you worked best when you worked alone. Why commit an aberration now, huh?" she finished throwing him a smirk.
By the time she got all her stuff together and entered all the required details in the log books, her half hour was up, and she left behind a very bemused looking consulting detective, to go home to her cat.
I know that my life is pathetic but I'd rather be pathetic than morbid. Wow… waiting for an unusual death so that I can have an exciting day?! Toby, here I come. No more dead bodies and sociopathic consulting detectives for me.
With these and other miscellaneous thoughts occupying her mind, Molly reached home. After finding a sufficiently old (and hence comfortable) night gown, she settled down with the staple unhealthy snack in front of the television, cat seated comfortably in her lap. She gave a deep sigh of relief and peace and gave herself over to the entertainment offered by the t.v channels. While randomly surfing through the channels, she caught a glimpse of an animation movie and stopped. The wicked queen was talking to her mirror, saying the classic line, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all" and Molly couldn't resist a giggle as she said to herself polar bear, you silly chit. You don't need a poison apple to kill it, though. Global warming is handling that part pretty well. Though I'd prefer poison apples. It's not like Global warming can be cured by true love's first kiss, hmm…
After seeing Snow white drive away with her prince charming, she got up cursing writers for stories that made young girls believe in charming princes. She got up, yes, but didn't know what to do next. Shopping? Got everything I need. Forensics journal completed the day it arrived. Groceries? Pretty well stocked. Ugh…there must be something to do in this God awful place…Music? Why the hell not… She plugged her mp3 player to her speakers and turned up the volume till she could feel the bass. I can always meekly stutter that the speakers have gone bonkers and that I was trying to get them to work if an annoyed neighbor complains she thought to herself smiling like an evil hag.
Some dance number was in full swing when she started dancing with her cat. The cat was on the table. She was holding its front paws and crooning to it the song that was playing, when she caught her image in the vanity piece in the hallway. Night gown askew, covered in stains from the dessert she devoured, hair all undone and holding a cat, she looked like someone fresh from Bedlam. Huh…O.k. Molly Hooper, looking any less ghoulish than when in the morgue? A broom stick is the only accessory missing. She looked away from the mirror and faced her cat.
She blinked.
Toby blinked back. And that decided it.
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An hour later she was bent down over a microscope, trying to analyze the cell structure of the mysterious tissue. To a surprised Sherlock asking the reason for her change of mind, she had replied, "I'm a ghoul as it is; I'd rather be a ghoul that solves murders than the one that communicates with cats."