I know, I know...another story (I'm so bad, I need to work on my others) but this is a trial, if it works, great...if not, well...we'll see :) The drunk married AU was too tempting to stay away from :D Anyway, as I said, a trial...I hope you like it xx
It really was a beautiful city and he was actually rather honoured to be invited to solve a particularly puzzling case. A billionaire murdered in broad daylight in front of hundreds of people as he delivered a speech and no sign of a murderer or murder weapon of any kind…just the sort of case to bring him from his boredom – the only drawback was the location was miles away in Toronto, Canada, which meant flying. By plane. Something Sherlock Holmes was not accustomed to. Luckily, he had 'persuaded' Molly Hooper to join him for the journey; this had more than surprised John Watson and Greg Lestrade despite his claims it was merely for the requirement of her pathology skills.
John had expressed his worries about leaving his pregnant wife behind but at Mary's insistence, he found his bags packed and wedged awkwardly between Sherlock and Molly in the first class section of the plane. The journey itself hadn't been too bad although Sherlock had thrown his arms to the side during take-off; John raised his eyebrows when Molly seized the detective's hand and squeezed it supportively – it was almost accurate to say Sherlock was first off the plane when they landed.
They spent the first few days of their visit investigating the crime scene and interviewing witnesses, dodging the Canadian press as they worked. The army doctor watched his friends work closely together, muttering to each other in low voices and pointing over aspects of the wide conference hall – by the end of their second day, Sherlock had ruled out gunshots and knifing leaving something he was certain about: poisoning. This was where Molly came in…
"I need access to the morgue, Sherlock…they're not going to let me in," she protested as he marched her through the Hospital doors and down the corridors.
"Yes, they will…remember as we practiced," he reassured with a roll of his eyes as he shunted her towards reception; Molly gritted her teeth and shoved the slipping glasses higher up her nose – "trust me, you look very authoritive."
"Excuse me, I'm Doctor Molly Hooper, a senior registrar from St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London…I was wondering if I could view Mr. Loww's body…for some research notes," she added hastily, gesturing at her clipboard; she needn't have bothered, the receptionist barely looked up as she nodded towards the stairs.
"Down the corridor, first door on the right…"
Molly nodded and began teetering towards the stairs, the ridiculous heels Sherlock had insisted she wear clacking against the tiles. She felt him behind her and knew he was grinning; he slapped her shoulder proudly.
"Impressive…although, I think they'll notice when they prepare to commence the autopsy-"
"This is illegal, Sherlock…I have no authority here…if someone finds out what I'm doing for you," she trailed off as several student doctors bustled past, buried in their notes; she swallowed, her hands shaking as they rested against the door, "…if you're right and he has been poisoned, you think the autopsy reports will be faked…that's why you want me to do it?"
He nodded, standing by the door and peering through the small window; he didn't speak again until Molly had snapped on her gloves.
"You…are one of the only people I can trust…"
The pathologist swallowed and gathered the tools, bending over the body and frowning – someone had already started and simply covered him up.
"Sherlock…who exactly was Mr. Loww?"
"A politician responsible for several public health services cancellations and terminations…he wasn't respected and many people were furious at his policies. Many people were let down under his ideas…it doesn't make sense since he suffered from a rare heart condition that required constant treatment…it would have been simple to replace his medication with poison were you his doctor," he replied quickly, speaking more to himself as he glanced over his shoulder to find Molly bending down to glance at something on the floor.
"Well, someone has already started the dissection…Mr. Loww would have put many out of a job, right?" Sherlock nodded, turning to face her, clearly impressed. Molly straightened and examined the tool in her hand, "if I didn't know any better, Sherlock…I'd say we interrupted this person-"
Before she could finish, she was seized from behind and her mouth covered to muffle her screams; Sherlock lunged forwards for the metal tray but stopped dead when he noticed the silver metal of a scalpel held to Molly's throat. His eyes travelled higher to the older man, grinning toothily and pressing the sharp instrument to his pathologist's neck; Sherlock instinctively raised his hands.
"Very good, Mr. Holmes…no one would suspect the doctor, especially since he'd been seeing me for years-"
"-let her go…" Sherlock growled demandingly, inching closer to the metal tray; his throw wasn't as good as it used to be but his aim was spot on. The man gritted his teeth, pulling at Molly's hair and attempting to keep his voice level.
"No, no…my daughter lost her healthcare because of him…he let her down. I am a professional, senior medical expert but I couldn't save my daughter. She had a rare genetic disorder, Mr. Holmes…and the clinic supporting her-" he stopped, winding his hand through Molly's hair and pressing the scalpel tighter; Sherlock narrowed his eyes in hatred as he watched small spots of blood begin to surface to her creamy skin; almost there.
"Mr. Loww was only doing his job…your daughter wasn't abandoned…there were surely other clinics in the world-"
"You don't understand…he claimed to work for the people…he worked for himself…one less sleazy politician in the world…" the older man sniffed, allowing a stray tear to stain his face; Sherlock's eyes locked onto Molly's fear filled browns and he winked.
"Look, if you let my friend go right now, I promise you'll only get life imprisonment…if you don't, the police won't find you in one piece…" when the man merely chuckled, inching around the lab table towards the exit, Sherlock sighed and shrugged, "suit yourself."
The man whirled as Sherlock lurched for the heavy metal tray, swinging it as though it were a frisbee; he had calculated its weight and determined it would indeed travel towards its intended target. Molly gasped for breath and clutched at her throat when she was released, scrambling towards Sherlock; the older man swore violently, clutching at his head as he tried to recover from his disorientation.
"Very…very Bond, Sher-lock," she rasped, rubbing at her neck and refusing to succumb to the tears plucking at her eyes; he snapped the handcuffs around the criminals wrists, chaining him to the desk in the corner of the room. Molly breathed out deeply and gasped when she felt herself lifted from the ground and deposited onto a metal bench, Sherlock stepping between her legs with his hands at her throat ever so gently, "…what are you…doing?"
"Checking for injury…more thorough than any doctor," he glanced at her, smiling softly as she met his eyes, "…you were very good. Almost brilliant. I'm impressed."
"Learned…from the best," she wheezed and Sherlock chuckled, flushing ever so slightly pinker. The criminal, whose eyes had been darting between them, rolled his eyes and made a disgusted sound as he heaved himself into a sitting position.
"Jesus Christ, call the police, already…I can't listen to much more of this…"
He was ignored as Sherlock simply winked at the pathologist, returning her to the ground after finding satisfaction she was safe; the Canadian authorities were soon informed and the criminal arrested, shouting all the while how he was a hero amongst the people. John had arrived not long after and breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well…almost a week and we did it…quite easy when it came down to it."
"I do like to be certain," Sherlock smiled, stuffing the phone back into his pocket and turning to his friends, "now what? We're two days ahead of schedule."
Molly shrugged and shifted uncomfortably on her feet; John turned towards the exit of the Hospital and sighed, nodding pointedly.
"Before we do anything, mate…we'd better speak to the press. They'll want to know," he sighed sympathetically as Sherlock nodded, already setting a steady pace out of the Hospital…
After a lengthy twenty minutes speaking to the press, the trio returned to the privacy of their hotel room where the detective was planning to stay until their flight back to the peacefully brutal London; however, John and Molly had suggested they spend the evening celebrating the success of the case and make the most of the bar's exotic drinks. Sherlock shuffled on his uncomfortable stool, watching as Molly threw back a bright blue liquid and winced; how did he get himself into these situations. A more important question seemed to be why had she changed from the sensible uniform he had provided into a short dress, highlighting the length of her legs and slender neck. He glanced at his drink and frowned when he noticed it was half-finished; that must be why he noticed it more than usual. The music was still loud and unbearable but the alcohol was certainly helping; he found himself smiling as he clinked his glass with the army doctor and pathologist, immediately feeling himself loosen up as the searing liquid hit the back of his throat.
Daylight streamed through the partially drawn curtains of the large hotel room, illuminating Sherlock Holmes' peacefully sleeping body; his eyes flew open as searing pain shot to his brain.
"Oooh…"
He groaned, running a hand over his face; he frowned when he discovered a cheap almost tacky ring accessory on his right hand. His vision blurred and he resisted the urge to throw up, rolling over and colliding with something soft. He pulled away and threw back the covers, his eyes widening as Molly Hooper was revealed; she was quite obviously naked and snoring open-mouthed next to him; this was the moment Sherlock realised she wasn't the only one of them clothes less. He dropped back against his pillows, his head spinning from the force of his hangover. He attempted to glance around the room for more evidence – upturned tables, clothes abandoned in every corner of the room, love bites – and swallowed hard, his mind whirling. He turned back on his side and jabbed Molly hard in the middle of her back, hoping she'd realise of her nakedness before rolling over to face him.
"Sher…lock, ooh," she whined, throwing the covers over her head; after a moment or two, Sherlock heard her gasp and she returned to the daylight, blushing frantically, "…I…did you…what happened?"
For once in his life, Sherlock looked utterly lost as he shook his head, pulling the covers higher as Molly shifted away from him; she fidgeted uncomfortably, rubbing over her head and ignoring the small contact of the cold ring against her forehead. Finally, she turned to him and tilted her head.
"You don't think we…had…sex, do you?"
"Oh, my God…John's not under there too, is he?" Sherlock asked uncertainly, completely ignoring her question. Molly opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by an arm appearing at the end of the bed, sticking straight in the air.
"Nope…I'm down here…" he whined, the top of his head becoming visible as he hauled himself into a sitting position, "and my head is fucking splitting…" he turned to his friends and raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily through his squint, "have a good night?"
"Have you been there the whole time?" Molly squeaked, embarrassment flooding through her and John rolled his eyes, whimpering as he unsteadily wobbled to his feet, attempting to tuck his shirt into his trousers.
"I assume so, my back's killing me…why does it- oh," he caught sight of some lacy knickers protruding from a pair of abandoned trousers. He visibly shivered, equally mortified as the detective and pathologist. His eyes were drawn to a document lying on the table; Sherlock shook his head, turning to face Molly.
"We…we can move past this…for all we know, we, uh…were hot in the night and…you lost your hotel room key. I had space in m-mine…and you stayed, removed all your clothes, innocently gave me love bites, I returned the favour and we…fell asleep?" He suggested, hugging his knees to his chest as Molly groaned, throwing her hands over her face. John had returned from the side room, clutching the document in his hands and wearing an enormous smug grin.
"Well, congratulations…Mr. and Mrs. Holmes…" he held out the certificate with their signatures and folded his arms when Sherlock snatched the paper, his eyes widening, "…you got married?"
He was answered with a stunned silence, the newlyweds peering at the paper half in amazement, the other half in horror; John rolled his eyes and dived for his phone, grumbling at the whirling in his head, he swallowed and turned to the two still gaping in confusion before quickly peering over each other's bodies.
"Um…I think I may have an answer," the 'Holmes' turned to the army doctor, nodding in simultaneous encouragement; John was still watching his phone as though it were a bomb, "…my phone was recording all night…on video."
Ok, I know the case was dumb but I needed to get it going somehow, lol...thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it xx I am just so glad to get this out here to be judged by you wonderful people...if you liked it, it'll certainly return ;) xx Thank you so much for reading and thank you even more for putting up with me :D xx