A Molly & Lestrade fic
Chapter One: A Scandal in Baker Street
This story will have six chapters and I hope you adore the clever chapter names as much as I did laughing at them. It's rated M for later chapters. Thank you to the lovely Anon on tumblr who told me to write this, sorry it's so crap. I'm hoping it'll turn better in the next chapters. Enjoy!
«You always say such horrible things...always, always...» Her own words were ringing in her head as she stepped out into the cold London night. She'd made an absolute fool out of herself in front of her friends and co-workers and she thought it was best to escape it as soon as possible.
«Stupid, stupid..as always.» she muttered to herself as she tried to flag down a cab.
«He didn't have his light on.» Molly was startled by the voice behind her.
«Sorry?»
«The taxi. His light wasn't on. You'll have a hard time finding a free one tonight, want me to drive you home?» Lestrade had followed her outside.
«Oh, no I- that's fine, really. Don't want to bother you.» she blushed.
«It's no problem at all, Molly. I'd rather do that than be inside with them.» he glanced up at 221B.
Molly smiled. Greg was the only person she had ever worked with who had treated her with kindness and really, what was the problem to be driven home by him? Maybe he felt he had to do it because she was so little that she needed protection in big bad London town. Her smile faltered slightly as she realised he probably saw her like a daughter or something.
«Uhm, well..» she glanced up and down the street to see if she could see a taxi, but she couldn't see any. «Okay then.» she nodded.
Lestrade's car was parked around the corner from 221B, it was gently covered in the snow that had fallen for the past two hours. He shivered as they got into the cold car.
«Don't worry, it'll warm up soon enough.»
«Oh, it's okay, my coat is warm enough for me.»
«Yeah, you're lucky. I would want a coat like that, but I probably wouldn't look good in it.»
«I'm sure you'd look good in anything.» Molly giggled before she realised what she had said. Was the wine getting to her head?
«Not as good as you.» he smiled back.
Molly's eyes widened. Was this flirting? If she'd only been better at it when she was younger she would probably recognize when someone was flirting. But he was a married man, wasn't he...he was off-limits.
«I'm sorry about your wife.»
«Thanks, Molly.»
«And I'm sorry that Sherlock blurted it all out like he did.»
«Don't apologize for that dick, Molly. He would've told me anyway, might as well embarrass me in front of friends and get it over with.»
«What will you do? Oh, god, sorry, that's really rude, never mind.» she muttered.
«It's fine. I guess I have to end it...but we've been together for so long. It'll be odd not to have her in my life. I guess she got bored of me and my work.»
«But you're a detective inspector...how can anyone get bored of that? I bet you have brilliant stories to tell when you get home for dinner.»
«That's the problem though, isn't it? I rarely make it home for dinner...»
«Oh...»
«Yeah. Maybe she's better off without me.»
«Greg...she's the one who...c-cheated. You're better off without her.»
«Am I, Molly? Am I?»
«You're a detective inspector of the Scotland Yard. Need I say more?» she smiled.
«I guess you don't. At least I know one good thing about my life.»
«And what's that?»
«I don't annoy Sherlock nearly as much as Anderson.»
They both laughed as the car pulled to a stop outside her flat. Molly got out of the car and stumbled slightly on the wet snow, but luckily she didn't fall.
«Want me to walk you up?» Greg had gotten out of the car himself and was now standing next to her, looking up towards her door.
«That's fine, really. I'm sure I can make it.»
«Okay then. Well, have a great evening, Molls. Oh, and forget what Sherlock said. You've got lovely lips and -» he stopped, blushing.
«Uhm, t-thanks.» she blushed back before she turned around and walked up the stairs to her flat.
Greg was cursing his stupidity or his lack of thinking, he could just picture Molly in her flat now; laughing at him. But she had been sweet and kind to him tonight, maybe she was right. Maybe it was time he got a divorce...why shouldn't he? His wife was clearly in love with someone else or at least not in love with him enough to not hurt him. Greg sighed as he sped past the London shops to get back home. Fighting on Christmas eve...how fun that would be.
Molly locked herself into the flat and saw the DI drive away. At least the night had ended well, in some form or another. She was now prepared to get out of the fancy dress, have a nice cuppa and possibly watch some telly. She hadn't been able to watch Glee, not after Jim from IT had watched it with her. She'd tried once after the whole bombing event that went down in London, but she thought about him and got sick after a few minutes. Not even Kurt's singing voice felt good any more.
She walked to her kitchen and put the kettle on before finding some earl gray tea. She was just about to put some sugar in her cup when her phone rang, it wasn't a number she recognized.
«Hello?»
«Miss. Hooper. I hope I am not interrupting your evening.»
«No, you're not. Sorry, who is this?»
«It's Mycroft Holmes. There was a body found about an hour ago and I was wondering if you could examine it.»
«I thought Mr. Blake was on hands this evening.»
«Yes, but it is not a common body. We need someone with...skill.»
«Oh.» Molly blushed. «Sure, I can be there in 20 minutes. Should I text you when I'm done?»
«That would be lovely, Miss Hooper, thank you ever so much.» He hung up quickly.
Molly turned of the kettle, no relaxing evening tonight. But maybe that was better, now she didn't have to spend it alone. She walked back into her room and got out of her dress, she pulled a warm red jumper over her head and some blue jeans over her legs. This would do, no one to impress tonight. She realised that the jumper was a Christmas-y jumper and smiled at the thought. She may be surrounded by death in the lab, but she still wanted to be cheerful as she did her job. Plus, dead people couldn't judge her looks.
She was lucky to see a taxi with his light on as soon as she stepped out of her flat and she was at St. Barts within minutes. She got her ID card out as she stepped through the doors and into the lab, her coat was hanging at its usual place and soon she was ready.
She found the journal on her desk, but it didn't provide her with very useful information.
Identification: Unknown – Jane Doe
Notes: Severe trauma to the head, no possible facial identification.
Cause of death: unknown, most likely from bullet holes visible around her chest.
Molly sighed and turned the page for her own notes as she walked up to the body on her cold metal table.
«Let's have a look at you then.» Molly removed the sheet and cringed slightly. She was used to seeing horrible wounds, internal organs outside of the body etc, but this was something new. She really hoped the poor woman had passed before they had made her look like this. Her head was completely bashed in and she understood now how an identification based on her face was impossible. She doubted the poor woman's family would even recognize her, if she had any. «I'm so sorry...» she said as she got to work.
About an hour later she was finished and she texted Mycroft back. He told her that they would be coming soon, but she had no idea who they were.
15 minutes later he and Sherlock strolled in and she realised she should've known.
«There was no need to come in, Molly.» Sherlock said as he walked up to the body, now covered in the white sheet.
«That's okay. Everyone else is busy with...Christmas.» She looked down on the body. «Uh, t-the face is a bit sort of..bashed up, so..i-it might be a bit difficult.» Sherlock must've known this woman and she felt it was always hard to lose a...loved one. Was she a loved one? She removed the sheet from the woman's face and glanced up at Sherlock.
«That's her, isn't it?» Mycroft asked Sherlock.
«Show me the rest of her.» Molly hesitated only for a moment before she removed the rest. «That's her.» Molly stopped and watched as Sherlock strolled out of the lab. How did he know that it was whomever it was from her bo- Molly blushed at the thought.
«Thank you, Miss Hooper.» Mycroft said politely.
«Who is she?» she interrupted him before he had a chance to walk out. «How did Sherlock recognize her from...not her face?» she blushed.
Mycroft gave her a small smile before he followed his brother. Was this the woman? The woman Sherlock had gotten those...texts from? Molly gave a small sigh as she covered the body up again. Why was she still interested in Sherlock? It made no sense. He was, or had been, seeing someone else, someone better looking.
«That's it, Molly. You've tried and you failed and now it's time to move on. You should've done ages ago.» she removed her lab coat and pulled on her jacket before placing the body where it belonged. She checked the autopsy report and felt content with it and put it in the files, she could edit it in the morning or something.
On the way home she thought about her relationship with Sherlock. She had been blown away when she first met him. He was arrogant, sure, but very good looking and brilliant. She'd developed a crush on him, but nothing she did worked. She'd asked him out, failed, applied lipstick to her small lips, failed. She was surprised when one guy showed some interest in her. She agreed mostly because Jim seemed like a nice guy and it felt nice to be seen again by the opposite sex. But that had failed on more levels than she could possibly have known. He was gay and a fraud and a criminal mastermind who had just played her, just like Sherlock did when he needed something. She knew Sherlock, of course she did, but she was still...stupid enough to like him. Not any more though, she had to get a distance between him and herself, let this crush fade away.
If there was one thing Molly knew about herself then that was the fact that she's a creature of loving. She liked to help whenever she could, be there for her friends and co-workers and be kind to everyone. This led to people assuming she was easy to step over, to be ignored when she wasn't needed or to ask favours when they were needed. She realised this of course, but it was better to love the world than to be cynical about everyone. She was young, but she had learned a lot about family, friends and death. You had to appreciate the world for its wonders, not pity it for all the pain and war that went on. There were good people out there and she wanted to be one of them.
Greg had gotten home to find that his wife wasn't in. He guessed she would be down at the pub, but he had no intention of looking for her. He sat down on the computer and dreaded the trip to Dorset in the morning. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed...what if he just skipped it? Went somewhere else, alone. He had a one week holiday, why should he spend it with his cheating wife? The woman whom had promised to stay with him, to never cheat again, the one who had cried and begged him to take her back. He was such a fool, wasn't he? Sherlock was right, as he always was. He typed «Holidays for singles» on google and hit enter. The fourth entry seemed good and he clicked it. «Holidays for one,» it said «give you the chance to find your own corner of paradise – or simply to relax and escape the crowds for a while with a single room all to yourself.» Greg was sold at once. This was what he needed, a holiday just for himself without the stress of London surrounding him. After an hour on that website he had managed to order a flight and a hotel. For tomorrow. He smiled as he ran up the stairs and collected a bag to put some clothes in. He'd never done anything like this before and it felt thrilling. He was finally doing something for himself. He'd booked a flight to Majorca, to the Palma Nova resort and he had to leave his house in an hour or two if he was supposed to make it to Stansted Airport. He finished packing everything he needed for a week and went downstairs. He thought about calling his wife, but decided on leaving her a note. Greg walked out of the house, locked the doors and got into his car and smiled. «This is it, Greg. Your week. Listen to Molly, you're better off without her.» he backed out of the drive-way and headed out onto the motorway with a grin on his face
He hoped that when he returned, his wife would be gone and that he would be well-rested. He deserved this and he had only just realised that, thanks to one brilliant Molly Hooper.
We both know this won't work. I've left for a spontaneous holiday. You don't love me any more and my love for you is fading. We're better off without each other and you need to understand that just like I have. We'll sell the house and split the money to start a new life. Enjoy Dorset.
Xx Greg.