A Different Kind of Friendship, a sherlock fanfic

A Different Kind of Friendship

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Property of the BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss. No money is being made from this. No copyright enfringements intended.

Author's Notes: Hello! This was a fun piece to write, and as i've never written Sherlock/Molly (romantic or friendship), this was quite interesting.

This was written for ImmunoMaster on , who prompted me to write a story in which Molly beings to talk to Sherlock's mantelpiece skull, until he catches her at it. I hope this was what you had in mind!

This story was beta'd by the lovely Adalind, who I can't thank enough for her help and support.

On with the story!

Summary: …or five times Molly talked to Sherlock's skull and one (or two) times Sherlock caught her doing it.

Molly wasn't new to the concept of talking to inanimate objects- as it had happened, Molly had kept a teddy bear that she had been given on her tenth birthday by grandmother, and found it often served as a very good sounding board. The bear had suffered through Molly's self-conscious teenage years, when it had been stuffed into a box for the majority of it, only to be pulled out just before Molly left for university. When Molly had been dumped by her first proper boyfriend on the early days of medical school, the first boy she could actually think of maybe settling down with one day, and buying a cat with, she had locked herself in her bedroom, grabbed Dabby the bear, and cried on his worn, furry shoulder for hours.

'H-He', Molly had sobbed, holding the bear tightly to her head. 'H-He doesn't love me, he-he said. I don't-I don't know what I did. I'm s-so stupid!'

Dabby lay quietly on the bed, squashed to her face, and said nothing.

'I don't have anyone but y-you now', Molly sniffed, curling up into a ball.

Somehow, after medical school and her registry, she had lost Dabby along the way. It was silly, really, clinging onto a teddy bear like that- but she wasn't going to deny that it had been a great comfort to have something to talk to that wouldn't judge her and talk back. But Molly had made her peace with it now, and had resigned to crying in her pillow and talking to herself, which she knew were the more mature, adult things to do.

In that case, then, she hated being an adult. Because, really, what was the equivalent of a teddy bear in adulthood?

'It's lovely for you to come to see me, dear', Mrs Hudson said, fussing over the teapot and rearranging biscuits. Molly sat at the table, and smiled politely, feeling self-conscious for some reason.

'I-It's alright,' she said, mildly. 'I just wanted to, erm, see that you were doing okay. You know. After….'

'Sherlock's death, I know, dear', Mrs Hudson said, quickly. 'It's been okay, very quiet, and I miss him so. But it's been a year now, and everyone has moved on- even John, I've heard he has a girlfriend, would you believe it? Mind you, I still haven't managed to rent out the flat yet.'

Molly blinked. 'It's not been rented? So…it's empty?'

'Oh yes', Mrs Hudson said, frowning. 'Sherlock's brother has been ever so good about it, said he'll pay for the up-keep until I find someone else. But funny that, because the flat has been on the market for months now, and no one's come to see it, not a peep!'

Molly tried not to smile. Knowing what she did about the man, which was mainly just information she had gathered from Sherlock and John, he had probably purposely prevented the flat from gaining new tenants.

'W-would you mind if I- I mean, could I', Molly said, feeling awkward. 'Could I go up and see the flat? Not to rent, I mean, just for…sentimental reasons.'

Mrs Hudson smiled at her sadly.

'Of course, dear', Mrs Hudson said, patting her hand. 'I'll need to dust the rooms soon anyway, the place is a bit of a mess-'

'I don't mind', Molly said, quickly. 'Juts a quick look'.

'Off you go then, dear', Mrs Hudson said.

221B was oddly eerie without Sherlock and John, and looked very empty despite the fact that everything had remained exactly as it was.

Molly stepped in quietly, and took in the Victorian wallpaper that she had never liked about the place, but now felt like home, and the worn out squashy chairs that Sherlock and John loved. She wasn't going to mourn, because Sherlock wasn't dead, but it was hard not to feel sad and forlorn standing in this ghost of a living room. She stepped towards the fireplace, running her fingers along the edge of the mirror above it, collecting dust. She walked over to the bookcases near it, the dust making her eyes stream. She read the covers of a few books that she could make out, laughing out loud at some of the weird titles. Frowning, she saw one of her own pathology books.

'That went missing ages ago', Molly said, to no one in particular. 'Bloody Sherlock, this was expensive!'

She pulled out the massive tome with as much energy as she could muster, causing a few other books to fall to the floor. Just as she was gathering the book to her chest, something fell with a loud 'thud' and hit her foot hard.

'Ouch!', Molly yelled out, dropping the book on the floor as she hopped on one foot. 'What-'

Blinking at the floor, she saw a turned-down skull next to her feet. Picking it up gingerly, she realised rapidly that it, actually, was a human skull.

'I never gave Sherlock a skull', Molly said out loud, frowning at it. 'And I would know if he took one. I think. I'd know if he did.'

She turned the skull in her hands, its set jawline making it look like it was frowning.

'Hello', Molly said to the skull, looking around to see if Mrs Hudson had come upstairs. 'My name is Molly. Erm, Molly Hooper'.

The skull frowned at her still, and said nothing back.

'This is mad', Molly said to the skull. 'It's-It's fine. I'll put you back where-'

The bookcase was a mess of fallen books, and if she thought about it now, she had no idea exactly where the skull had been.

'Never mind', Molly said. She looked around, her eye spotting the mantelpiece above the fireplace. 'How about I put you up there?'

The skull looked a lot more comfortable on the mantelpiece, and Molly wondered if the déjà vu feeling she had now meant that she had seen the skull there before.

'Is this where you used to live?', she asked the skull. 'I mean, it seems like….where Sherlock would put you. What were you doing in the bookcase?'

The skull was silent.

'Sometimes I feel like hiding too', Molly informed the skull. 'M-Mostly when I'm at work because, well….just because I guess. And normally around Sherlock, when he's mean, but I d-don't think that will be a problem for a while.'

Molly brushed the top of the skull, wiping away any residue dust.

'Don't worry, he hasn't abandoned you', Molly said. 'It must be lonely here all by yourself. I-I get lonely to. But I have Toby, I guess, so I'm okay'.

The skull said nothing, as always. Molly sighed.

'This is stupid', she said, to herself. 'I'm losing my mind. I don't- I'm just going to go.'

She looked at the skull one more time before leaving the room, and then closed the door. She had no idea why she felt like she was abandoning a small child.

Molly rushed into her flat after work, and tried not to slam the door shut. She was fuming, angrier than she had ever been, even when she was mad with Sherlock.

'It's not fair', she said to the empty room. She felt fed up, angry and lonely, and now she had no one to talk to. Toby, who had gathered at her feet lazily had now trodded off, probably sensing her madness. Unable to take it, Molly groaned outloud, shoving her face in a cushion on her sofa. What she wouldn't do to have someone to vent to!

What she wouldn't do to have someone to talk to!

Molly sat up. There was someone.

It had been a month since Molly had last seen Skull, and she quietly let herself into 221B, having made excuses to Mrs Hudson about having left something there last time. Well, technically she had, as she had forgotten to take the pathology textbook the last time she was there.

'Hello', she said, awkwardly. She sat on the arm on what was John's chair, she knew, and looked at the skull on the fireplace. 'Me again.'

The skull listened quietly, the light of the room making it seem friendly.

'I know I shouldn't- well, I shouldn't bother you', Molly said, not caring how weird it sounded out loud. 'I don't think I'm bothering you because you're technically dead, but I just needed to talk to someone. I know I'm not even supposed to be here'.

In Molly's mind, the skull was telepathically giving its assent and was agreeing to listen.

'I-I've been passed over for a promotion', Molly explained. 'Again. I mean, I don't-I don't know what I'm doing wrong; I always go to work early, I work overtime a lot without asking for the extra pay and I always, always make sure I've filled out the documents correctly. But Pendwick got it.'

The skull said nothing.

'Before him it was Thomas, before that it was Sanjay,' Molly moaned. 'I used to do Thomas's filing, for goodness sake, how did he get in b-before me? I deserved that promotion, I know I did!'

The dust around the skull fluttered around as Molly breathed hard in its direction. Then she suddenly gasped as a realisation hit her, and she picked up the skull, making it face her.

'Do you think it's because I'm a girl?', Molly asked, incredulously. 'That has to be it, doesn't it? The director is male, they're all- oh my god, it's because I'm a w-woman!'

The skull wobbled in her hands.

'Linda said they wouldn't even look at her application', Molly told the skull. 'That has to be it. But how-how can people do that now, Skull?'

She put the skull back in its place carefully.

'You need a new name', Molly informed the skull. 'A nice one. I wonder when you died? If it was a long time ago and you're a guy, then you probably think they're right not to promote me.'

The skull stared at her.

'It's the 21st century', she said to the skull. 'I deserve to be promoted, no matter-no matter what you say!'

The skull agreed.

'…I spent fifty pounds on that dress that Christmas, and Sherlock didn't even say anything about it. He completely embarrassed me in front of everyone. But I think you were there, so-so you probably know that', Molly said, eating a sandwich.

It was a few days before Christmas, and Molly had agreed to house keep 221 for Mrs Hudson while she was at her sister's over the holidays. After work that day, she had decided to check if the Baker Street flats were okay before going home, and somehow found herself in 221B in John's chair, with a sandwich from Speedy's.

'It was a nice party though', Molly said conversationally. 'It-It makes me miss Sherlock a lot. I wonder how John's doing. I wish I c-could tell him Sherlock's okay. But-But Sherlock would kill me if I did. I'm not sure why I can't though.'

Molly regarded the skull.

'Hey', she said, as a thought struck. 'Did Sherlock ever talk to you?'

She thought carefully.

'Did he kill you?', Molly asked, slightly horrified. 'It sounds like something Sherlock would do, kill someone and keep their skull. Bu-But he can't have done.'

The skull glared at Molly.

'I know, it's a silly idea', Molly said. 'Don't worry, I was just being mad.'

Molly was crouched on the floor on 221B, holding a lamp and a magnifying glass, shining light on the skull. The skull sat on the ground, frowning at Molly.

'Don't worry, I know the floor is hard, but we'll have you back on the mantelpiece soon', Molly said, soothingly. 'I just- I need to know. I'm sure you're curious too.'

Molly looked carefully through the magnifying glass.

'Your size is generally smaller than the male average, and you seem a bit thinner too', Molly confided. 'About a couple of millimetres too thin. Hm.'

She turned the skull over.

'I know this is a bit degrading, but don't worry', Molly said, clinically. 'I'm a doctor, I've done this lots of time, on lots of other skulls.'

Molly looked carefully at the back of the skull.

'The ridge of your temporal line isn't very pronounced', Molly informed, turning the skull back over to face her. 'And the lower orbit of your eye sockets have a much sharper ridge than I see in some- yes!'.

Molly sat up on the floor and crossed her legs, and held the skull up next to her.

'You are definitely female', Molly confirmed, smiling. 'I'm so glad! I've always wanted a female friend, b-but I've never been very good at making any.'

She stood up and put the skull back on the mantelpiece. She smiled at her friend, but then groaned.

'I was going to call you Yorick', Molly said, sadly. 'I always liked the name Rick.'

Molly looked thoughtfully at skull.

'Bella?', Molly asked. 'Jennifer? My mum used to say she wanted to call me Jennifer.'

Skull said nothing.

'I'm going to call you Ophelia', Molly said. 'Yes? Yes.'

When Sherlock came back, Molly felt almost annoyed. It was harder to talk to Ophelia now, what with Sherlock occupying the flat so that Molly couldn't sneak in anymore, and there weren't many excuses she could make to come to Baker Street.

And then Sherlock started taking her on cases.

'….I think it was a blunt force trauma, but then Anderson said there was some damage to the trachea, but that can't be right,' Molly said to Ophelia.

Sherlock had gone out to buy chips after Molly had practically pushed him out- finally, finally she had time to talk to her friend.

'Sherlock agrees', Molly continued. 'But I don't- I don't think I'm made out to be a detective, you know. I know….I know Sherlock only asked me because John won't come. I mean, I don't mind, it's just…I'm tired.'

Ophelia sat contently in her place, listening carefully.

'Being hit by a cricket bat must hurt', Molly said. 'I would ask you, but I can tell by the thinning of your parietal bone that you most likely died of a disease. Is dying painful? I always wondered-'

'What are you doing?'

Molly blinked at the skull, wondering why Ophelia had such a deep voice, before realising the sound came from behind her.

'S-Sherlock!', Molly squeaked, standing up quickly.

Sherlock stood in front of her with a bag of food, looking suspicious.

'I was just-', Molly began.

'Why were you talking to my skull?', Sherlock demanded.

'I wasn't!', Molly said, shrilly. 'I was just- I was just checking it'.

Sherlock said nothing, staring at Molly. He walked over to her, reaching for the skull.

'Fine', he said.

Molly sighed in relief.

Molly came to see Sherlock the day after John's wedding, only to find out that Sherlock was having a shower. Wondering whether to stay or leave, she set down the bag of food she had brought for him- knowing that Sherlock would rather die of starvation than go to Tesco- and stood next to the fireplace.

Ophelia looked at her forlornly.

'Hello', Molly whispered. 'I know it's been a while. Don't be mad.'

Ophelia glared at her.

'It's not my fault!', Molly hissed, stamping her foot lightly. 'It's S-Sherlock's fault! What excuse do I have to come here everyday? You saw the look he gave us when he saw us talking.'

'What are you doing here?'

Molly jumped, realising that Sherlock had now caught her talking to an inanimate object for a second time. He was staring at her oddly wearing only a towel around his waist, his skin glistening from water and the humidity of the shower. Molly tried not to blush and wondered how Sherlock managed to seem so unyielding without hardly any clothes on.

'Why are talking to my skull again?' Sherlock said, his voice strange.

'I'm not!', Molly said, rubbing the top of the skull with her sleeve. 'I'm cleaning it!'

'You're lying, I can tell by the perspiration catching the light on your forehead and the size of your pupils', Sherlock said, demandingly. 'You're talking to my skull.'

Sherlock moved around Molly to grab the skull with one hand, holding up his towel with the other. Molly didn't know whether she was embarrassed or curious or just aroused, but her face felt like it had gone up in flames. She tried to shut up the part of her brain that was curious about what was under the towelled…portion.

Sherlock walked around her quickly, dropping the skull in his haste. Molly swooped in, catching the skull as it fell.

'Careful!', Molly said, jerking out of her aroused state. 'You're going to hurt Ophelia!'

Sherlock stared at her in shock. 'Ophelia?'

'The skull', Molly said, checking the back of the skull. 'She has a very delicate parietal bone.'

Sherlock just stared.

'Molly', he started. 'While I may not be one to judge, I think you may have actually lost your mind.'

Molly glared at him.

'Fine,' Molly said. 'I know she's a skull. I know it's weird. But you of all people can't say-say I'm mad!'

Sherlock considered her for a moment, looking thoughtful, momentarily forgetting to hold up his towel. Molly watched as the towel slid dangerously low at Sherlock's hip.

'His name is Gary', Sherlock said. 'John named him.'

'Her name is O-Ophelia?', Molly said. 'Look at her temporal line and her- her eye sockets.'

Sherlock plucked the skull from her hands, accidently shoving his shoulder on Molly's face, drops of water entering her mouth.

I might as well just lick him, Molly thought, before stopping her train of thought.

'Ophelia is an idiotic name, taken from a fictional character known for her weak disposition and frail mind', Sherlock said. 'It's my skull….I'll rename it.'

'What? No!', Molly said. 'I looked after her for over a year. T-that's her name now.'

Sherlock looked at the skull.

'I'll name her Violet after my mother', said Sherlock, solemnly.

Molly wished she could hit Sherlock hard with a stick.

Molly knocked on the door of 221B, looking at her feet.

Sherlock opened the door, looked at her, and made to shut the door.

No', she said, quickly. Molly grabbed the floor before he could close it, pushing her feet in between.

'It's n-not fair!', Molly said, shrilly. 'I need to talk to her!'

'Violet is busy', Sherlock said. 'I'm using her for a case.'

'But you have John!', Molly exclaimed, shoving her way in. Sherlock moved out of her way.

'John is busy with his wife, and I am working', Sherlock said. 'The skull belongs to me.'

Molly sniffed hard, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

'P-please', she said, miserably. 'I broke up with T-Tom.'

Sherlock looked her up and down, taking her crinkled clothes and messy hair.

'You may use Violet for five minutes', Sherlock said, sitting down in his chair. 'Don't disturb me or you will regret it.'

'Ophelia', Molly reminded him.

'I don't understand how marriage changes a relationship,' Sherlock said, irritated. 'All that it is is a paper that states everything they're already doing. For once, I agree with Mycroft. Societal norms are moronic.'

'It's the thought', Molly explained. 'N-No one wants to be alone forever, and marriage…I don't know. I think it makes it seem more secure.'

Ophelia sat on the table besides them, forgotten.

'You and Tom weren't compatible as a couple', Sherlock said. 'His need to mimic…others…only exemplifies his insecurity and need for attention. I presume he was a clingy boyfriend.'

Molly nodded miserably.

'I understand now why you felt the need to talk to Violet so regularly.' Sherlock said. 'But she's still mine. Find another moron to go out with.'

'Her name', Molly said, her teeth gritted. 'Is Ophelia.'

Sherlock walked into the living room in the morning and then froze. Molly was curled up in his chair, fast sleep, holding Violet in a tight grip to her face. Sherlock blinked at them both, an odd feeling in his chest. He looked around, and then looked at Molly again, who was now drooling on the skull.

One hour later, Molly woke up wrapped in a warm blanket, which she then realised was Sherlock's coat. She looked up to see Sherlock sitting besides her.

'You can have partial custody', Sherlock said. 'You can collect her every weekend but you have to make sure to have her back by the end of Sunday. But I have one condition'.

Molly rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her mood substantially improved.

'What is it?', Molly said, hopefully. Sherlock smirked.

'Her name is Violet,', Sherlock said, smugly.

That's all folks! Hope you guys liked it! Please read and review, and comments are very helpful for encouraging the plotbunnies. Also, if you liked this story, or any of my other stories, please follow me on tumblr (link on profile). Thank you for reading!