A Billion Degrees Out


Molly could just cry. Of all the days for the ridiculous heat wave to hit London, it has to be on her day-off. The one day of the week when she's supposed to be relaxing, resting, doing whatever she so pleases. The one day of the when she's not at her cold morgue, for which she's rapidly beginning to develop a longing.

Longing for a room with dead bodies. No wonder no one wants to be with you, you weirdo.

She shakes her inner voice off, and an idea comes to mind. She was supposed to give her nephew an inflatable pool for Christmas, but their trip to London got cancelled due to her brother's work and so the gift just remained in her closet, collecting dust. She could throw on her bathing suit, mosey on over to her building's garden, inflate the pool, fill it with water, and then act like a child and wallow in her oasis.

The idea seemed perfectly sane, and it is working quite well, what with her wide brimmed hat and her sunglasses and a pitcher of iced tea and a book, her little pool in the middle of the city turning out to be a fantastic way to both beat the heat and spend her day-off.

That is, until a certain black spot shows up in her sunshine.

"I didn't know you turn into a six year-old on your days-off, Doctor Hooper."

She sits up immediately, pulling her towel from the side of her inflatable pool, trying to cover herself up. In hindsight, her swimsuit wasn't even revealing. "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock looks at her as if the answer was supposed to be obvious. "I'm bored."

Molly sighs. "So?"

"Do something with me."

"Sherlock, I'm literally trying to cool myself down on my day off. Don't you have a best friend that lives with you with whom you can do things? Hmm, what was his name, oh yeah right, John?" she asks him sarcastically.

"John is preoccupied at the moment."

"As am I."

No response from the detective.

"Go away, Sherlock."

"There's room for two in that pool."

"I told you, I'm on my day off. For once I want to be lazy and—What?"

"I said there's room for two in your inflatable pool."

Molly can barely register what he's trying to say. "Oh no. No. You're not invading my pool. No you—Sherlock!"

Sherlock Holmes can only smirk as he strips down to the bare essentials (i.e. his boxers), climbing into the pool before Molly can even get over the blush that can now be mistaken for as sunburn.

"Hmm, quite snug, but the water covers us both just fine, doesn't it?"

Molly Hooper absolutely hates heat waves.

Or not.


Note: The author sends thanks to sillythings, who provided this prompt, and who is also an amazing writer. The author would also like to encourage her to do the challenge. You know you want to.