Disclaimer: I completely forgot about my little note here when this was first published. I do not own any rights to BBC Sherlock or it's characters, I simply enjoy writing new little stories for them. No copyright infringement intended.
Molly looked out into the cloudy London sky. Surely it would rain soon and break the dreadful humidity that clung to the city. She should be grateful that she didn't have to go out into the muggy mess. Today was her day off and she had no plans at all. That might have been worse than the weather though. There was plenty of food in her cupboards, all her furniture was dusted, laundry clean and put up, no dishes needed washing. One of the best parts of living alone was that it was easy to keep everything clean and tidy. And she normally relished not having to spend all of her days off doing chores. Not today though. Molly sighed and put down the book she had vainly been trying to read. It just wasn't interesting any more.
"There's nothing for it, Toby. I'm bored," she addressed her lazy tabby curled up on the sofa cushions. He blinked two yellow-green eyes at her and went back to napping.
"Well, you're no help," Molly sighed again with exasperation. "I'm not going into work on my day off just so I can have something interesting to do. I mean, really, what does that say about me that I can't find something to fascinate me outside of looking at dead bodies?"
That sounded strangely familiar. And suddenly the oddest thought sprang to her mind. She would go to Baker Street!
Standing outside the door marked "221" in non-descript bronze letters, Molly suddenly felt very nervous. The rush of adrenaline that had carried her out of her flat, onto the tube, and to the familiar front door had rapidly vanished into the hazy heat. She was just about to turn and run back home when the door burst open and John Watson came storming out, walking right into her.
"Oh, sorry!" he exclaimed, and then realized who it was, "Molly? What are you doing here?" A look of confusion swept over his face, dispelling the obvious anger his countenance had displayed upon exiting.
"Uhm, I was just...well it's...it's my day off…," Molly was flustered not just from being nearly knocked over by Dr. Watson but by the sudden necessity to explain why she was here. She had no idea.
"I've just...I mean...I thought maybe...thought you and Sherlock might have a case…or something…and maybe I could...I mean I know you get along fine without me...but I might be able to help...or something. It's silly, I'll just go," she stammered and tried to turn to leave.
"No, don't go," John reached out and took her arm, "It's actually handy you showed up. We just had a bit of a disagreement about his latest 'experiment' that maybe you can help clear up. If I'm lucky, maybe you just being here will make him behave a little better."
"I wouldn't count on it," Molly muttered under her breath as John pulled her up the stairs into the mad scientist's lab.
Sherlock was standing in the kitchen. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was wearing gloves and safety glasses. He seemed to not have noticed that John left at all. He just stared at the mass of glassware, tubing and chemicals assembled on the table.
"I swear, Sherlock, if something in here explodes I'm taking the violin for a week! We both live here and I have a right to eat in my own kitchen," John threatened. The anger that had driven him from the flat and into Molly had returned but was somewhat more subdued that before.
"Relax John, the reaction from these chemicals will produce some smoke and heat but shouldn't result in any catastrophic damage to the room. Now stop complaining and hand me that beaker," Sherlock droned. He was completely absorbed in the bubbling mess before him.
"What's all this then?" Molly piped up, handing Sherlock the indicated beaker. She surprised herself by staying but wasn't at all surprised that the two men had totally ignored her presence. The set-up on the table was certainly not boring looking. And what was that about exploding?
"Oh, hello Molly. Didn't think I'd see you today, but since you're here, put these on." Sherlock handed her another pair of glasses and motioned for her to join him in the kitchen. John just sighed and went to slouch in his chair. Molly would hopefully be able to keep Sherlock from shouting at him for a little while.
Molly peered at the liquids hissing and burbling on the table and then tried to decipher Sherlock's scrawled notes in a notebook nearby.
"I'm investigating exothermic reactions. Specifically interested in which combinations of household products can result in burns but that don't produce any immediately fatal fumes. I'm assuming John would prefer I not gas him as well as not blowing us up," Sherlock briefly explained, scowling in John's direction. Unfortunately, his flatmate was already actively ignoring him. Sherlock scoffed and returned to his work.
"Keep away from bleach then. It'll cause burns but is nearly always fatal, chlorine and all. What else have you tried? Have you got any strong acids?" Molly asked.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and the hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. He passed her the list of already attempted trials. It was always nice to have a willing assistant, even better when that assistant was as well educated as Molly. He wondered only briefly why she was there at all. He hadn't summoned her, but he certainly wasn't going to send her away. Not when she could be so delightfully useful and entertaining.
For the next couple of hours the pair worked in relative ease in the kitchen. Molly had helped him with several new trials and a few of the combinations proved very exciting. They conversed briefly but stuck entirely to the topic at hand. After a bit, John had relaxed and started watching some telly. It was almost like living in a normal flat, although he had to admit he had forgotten a lot of what was 'normal' after coming to live with Sherlock. Maybe he should invite Molly over more often.
Suddenly there was a loud pop and hiss from the kitchen. John's head shot up and watched as a stream of foam erupted from a beaker and streamed over the kitchen table. The mess was going everywhere. What had they done!
Molly squealed, but not in any kind of real alarm. In fact, it looked almost as if she was smiling. Yes, she was grinning madly and her eyes were shining. Sherlock for his part was equally impressed by the cascade of bubbles. There was a faint smell of lemon and vinegar.
"What a fantastic reaction, Molly. Why didn't we try this one earlier?"
"Because I knew it would create such a mess, but it is so worth the clean up isn't it?" Her hands were on her hips as she admired the puddle of foam dripping over the table's edge onto the floor.
"Ah, yes, I suppose the other trials will have to be on hold now."
"What on earth are you two doing!" John shouted from the sitting room. "I told you, no explosions!"
"You told me no explosions, this was Molly's idea." Sherlock flatly informed him, gesturing to the now somewhat embarrassed pathologist.
"Oops," was her quiet reply.
"Molly! You were supposed to keep him under control!" John looked equal parts upset and confused. Since when did innocent Molly Hooper cause trouble? She was the calming presence in their little world of chaos and she always, always was able to reign in the unruly detective. "I'm disappointed in both of you. Now clean it up. I'm going out." He knew that dealing with Sherlock was frequently like babysitting, but now to have two of them. At least the smell wasn't too bad.
"Sorry, John, I'll get this mess cleaned up. Promise," Molly murmured as John stormed out the door and down the stairs.
"Oh, don't worry about him. This is hardly the worst thing to happen, probably won't even rate the top 25 worst things John has experienced. He keeps a list you know and berates me about it constantly. Tedious." Sherlock muttered as he reached under the sink and got a bucket and some sponges. He handed them to Molly.
They worked in silence for several minutes, mopping up the floor and table. Molly moved all the glassware and instruments that needed cleaning to the sink and started to fill the basin with hot water. She realized that although it was the most bizarre idea she'd had in a long time, coming to play assistant to the madman (now carefully noting the results of their little experiment in his notebook) had been the furthest thing from boring. Molly was also pleased to find that during the whole morning she hadn't stuttered or blushed being in his presence. Being focused on the work allowed her to push her infatuation to the background of her mind.
For the first time since meeting Sherlock Holmes she got a good look at him without feeling flustered. She noted the concentration on his face and could almost see his mind working. It was like seeing the gears that made mechanical toys work. As a child she'd always been interested in finding out what made things 'tick' so to speak. It's why she had chosen to work in pathology, she wanted to know what was underneath. And in that moment she realized that although he tried to hide it, there was a very real and very passionate mind at work underneath his cold exterior. His mind was brilliant and she got an intellectually satisfying feeling working with him that few men were able to provide. Smiling to herself she returned to the work in front of her scrubbing flasks and beakers. This was the start of a beautiful friendship, maybe even something more.