Title: Scandal in Sherlock
Summary: A Sherlock fiction based on that little scene between DI Lestrade and Molly at 221B. What I would liked to have happened, really.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, never have and never will.
Notes: This will be re-adjusted when I re-watch the episode to get things absolutely clear, and I did write this at 2 am. I also don't know anything about Lestrade's wife so I named her of my own accord.
Lestrade thought everything was on it's way up for the 'gang', as Mrs Hudson liked to call them. That was Sherlock and Watson (John – he mentally corrected himself), Molly and himself. He was back with the wife – well they had finally settled on trying to slowly see if it will work. Alexa had left due to his growing frustration and nicotine addiction. Moving on the present – well - cases were being shifted and the best time of the year was rolling around. Much like that annoying car Mycroft uses to circle Scotland Yard sometimes.
Lestrade stood in 221B Baker Street at what was a little Christmas get together. John had text him, telling him to come over and be indulged by Mrs Hudson's mince pies. Of which h had three but that's another line of the story. Lestrade was eagerly given a glass of champagne by John who was bustling around in a garish jumper. He smirked to himself as he immediately thought that John's aunt must have knitted it for him judging by the cuffs. How very Sherlock of him? This was the man who was still playing a solo on his violin. God, he doesn't half play well he thought at the time. The atmosphere was easy and almost as if the group had been getting together for years.
Lestrade had mused that they were one short of their crime fighting squadron, and realised why when Molly was ushered in. She looked flushed because of the cold wind that blew hell outside and was wrapped up in a nice thick coat, carrrying bags of presents. She smiled at everyone saying her hellos. Something dropped in Lestrade's stomach when he watched the scene begin to unravel before him. Molly, as lovely as she is, was putting on her act again. That wasn't meant to be cruel, and Christ it was in his own head. But the dimmed lighting, the christmassy lights strung up on the walls, and all eyes on her, made Molly Hooper shy and silly. She was the only woman in their team, and he knew this affected her more than it should.
He hung back as she took off her coat, and bloody hell didn't she look stunning? He short wired that thought by telling himself he'd only ever seen her in a lab coat so whatever she wore would have made an impression. She turned and smiled at him. Everyone was in a little cluster around the room; Molly looked at little off balance and a flicker across her eyes.
'It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it' Mrs Hudson.
'Like a drink?' he asked and had only recently been given the bottle by Mrs Hudson and had topped up John's girlfriend - whose name he had already forgotten- drink.
'Yeah, thanks' she said wrapping her arms around herself, getting used to the warmth of the flat he supposed.
'How's the hip?' Molly asked, and Mrs Hudson flapped her away.
'Oh it's atrocious, but thanks for asking'
'I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems' and Lestrade turned back, Molly's drink in his hand. 'Oh sorry w-' she stopped and he handed her her wine.
'Don't make jokes Molly' Sherlock stated from John's laptop.
'Thank you' she took the glass 'I wasn't expecting to see you. Weren't you supposed to be in Dorset for christmas?'
'That's first thing in the morning. Me and wife are and back together again it's all sorted' he said and he grinned, Mrs Hudson giving him a warm smile and an approving nod. Sherlock dismissed this completely and was interested in John's laptop again. He muttered:
'No she's sleeping with the PE teacher' not even bothering to look over and continued, eyes locked on the screen. Lestrade's mind came to smashing halt. Right, so explained some things but why would she agree to give their marriage another go if? He didn't have to ask Sherlock how he knew, and a great part of his head didn't want to know. He looked at the hand correspondingly the finger which his wedding ring was placed. There was a slight fading tan line to show it hadn't been there for months. He had taken it off out of sheer frustration with Alexa.
'And John, I hear your off to your sisters?'
'Yeah' his arm was on the back the chair Jinnette was sitting on.
'Sherlock was complaining. See?' and Lestrade rolled his eyes as Molly kept her eyes trained on Sherlock.
'For the first time ever she's cleaned up her act and off the booze' John said happily and Lestrade heard a distinct pupping noise before 'Shut up Sherlock'
'So you've got a new boyfriend Molly, and your serious about him?' he heard Sherlock and Lestrade listened, looking over at the scene from time to time. Molly cocked her head to the side curiously; her attention now on another man in the room.
'Sorry what?'
'And your seeing him tonight, and giving him a gift?'
'Take a day off' he heard John mutter, and Lestrade couldn't agree more, so he walked over and placed a glass next to Sherlock.
'Sherlock have a drink' he said, but the man ignored him.
'Oh come on, you've all see the present at the top of the bag. All neatly wrapped with a bow, all the other's are slap-dash. Someone special then?'
He began his deductions on Molly, and how she was so obviously trying to impress someone. What with the way she dressed tonight, her hair, her present and how it matched her lipstick. Sherlock had continued to point this out, and Lestrade had the sudden urge to punch him, like he told the other Inspector not to.
He wasn't shutting up. Most of all none of the people in the room needed to be him to notice what he didn't see. Yes, Molly was trying to impress someone. That person was Sherlock Holmes. He was the only one in the room who didn't know.
'... Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts' Sherlock looked at the present as he read the tag and he faltered. Lestrade knew that the present was meant for Sherlock. The idiot. It was like Eastenders, any minute the credits with that infamous theme tune were going to descend. Surely.
Another pause and Lestrade's eyes jumped from each person in the room. Each looking more scandalised than the next. Looking at John he wondered whether the good doctor would be brave enough to put that in his blog.
'You always say such horrible horrible things. Everytime. Always. Always' Molly stammered and even though her back was to him, Lestrade could hear she was close to tears.
Sherlock said he was sorry. Okay, he did sound like he meant it and that the dark haired consultant knew he'd over stepped the line.
'Happy Christmas Molly Hooper' and he kissed her on the cheek.
Lestrade has never known 221B to be quiet like it was then.
Then a noise echoed around the flat.
'Oh no, that wasn't - I didn't'
'It was me' Sherlock said, cutting across her.
'What really?' Lestrade asked.
'My phone' he assured everyone and took it out. John said something about fifty seven texts Sherlock had recieved.
'Sorry what?' Sherlock turned his back and and Lestrade kept an eye on Molly, whilst intrigued at John's statment.
'Fifty seven of those texts. The ones I've heard'
'Thrilling that you've been counting' Sherlock sounded distracted as he took steps to the mantle piece, and John took a swig of his beer. 'Excuse me' he said and Molly kept her gaze on him as he picked up a very stylisly wrapped red present on the mantelpiece.
'What's up Sherlock?' John asked but the consultant walked past Lestrade, brushing him.
'I said excuse me' he said petulantly and Lestrade felt annoyed at his little show.
'Do you have a reply?'
Molly was taking swig, after swig from her glass of red wine.
It awkwardly moved on from that and Molly muttered something about her 'heels were killing her' and Lestrade wasn't surprised. She did get a cab and not walk from St Barts, right?
He had put down his glass and flapped his hands once in pointless expression. No one was looking. He turned, wondering where Molly had hidden. He found her in the kitchen part of the flat, leaning against the table.
'Sorry about-' they said in sync and Lestrade chuckled, then sighing and eyeing the kitchen.
'Thanks, it's fine. What are you going to do about?…' she asked and Lestrade looked at her, after he zoned out on a glimmer on the table surface.
'Ah well, I don't know. I've got two glasses of champagne and this' motioning to the wine glass 'and a couple of Mrs Hudson's hefty mince pies in my stomach, so I shouldn't be allowed to make any kind of decision at the moment' he grumbled and she smiled.
'Detective Inspector-' and Lestrade shut his eyes with a comical grimace turned grin when he opened them and saw her shocked face.
'Sorry, I'm off duty…it's Greg' and she nodded.
'Greg… uhm… do you think I'm stupid?' and that wasn't in anyway what he imagined she'd be asking him.
'Of course not. You're the bright star in Barts' and he really hadn't meant that to come out in the almost patronising way it did. 'Oh that was terrible. But come on Molly you know you make a difference. Why do you need me to tell you, you do?' All it took was a look from her and then she looked down again, the way he saw her do many times with Sherlock. Because Sherlock didn't tell her.
Lestrade breathed out. 'You look…' and Lestrade knew that he shouldn't have started that sentence because he didn't know how to end it. He saw Molly's eyes widen in expectancy, hope, and bashfulness. John's girlfriend came over and touched Molly's arm saying something low to her. John had gone upstairs and Mrs Hudson tipped her glass at him, so he wandered back into the living space.
It was a a good couple of minutes, before John came back down stairs having no luck with Sherlock and Jinette left Molly. She teetered and he held her steady. He - for some reason - could feel Mrs Hudson's eyes on them both. A soft, warm gaze.
'Molly, I think we should make a New Year's resolution together' he sighed and she looked all-bright-eyed and innocent. Lestrade had a twitch to put his hands in her hair and just pull, marring her innocence. He blinked and the twitch vanished. 'We both need to learn when to zone in and out of Sherlock's speech' and this earned him a little laugh. She nodded, and then shook her head, smoothing down the dress.
'I guess your right. Sometimes I feel like throwing my clipboard at him'
'Haven't done that with me have you?'
She giggled but replied 'Other than the time you hadn't had your coffee'
Lestrade remembered. He had been very snappy and impatient with everyone. Mycroft especially drove him to near insanity. When he arrived at the morgue to see Molly, who had been leaning over corpses and thoroughly examining every inch of the victim, he had snatched up the report without a word. Clearly the memory was showing on his face because Molly said 'But you said sorry' and he remembered popping his head around the door and apologising.
'You said something funny though. Uh, I think it was 'see you later –'
'Kid. Yeah' now why did he go and say that? He could have just said bye see you tomorrow, no he had to do a Streetcar Named Desire impression and say See you later, kid.
'That's good, you sounded like Stanley from Street-' and Lestrade's eyebrows went up a bit, and he heard laughter and music coming from the living space. He had completely forgotten about the others in the flat.
'Well it's better than Miss Hooper I suppose' he conceded and she rolled her eyes. It had been an older MD who, as long as Lestrade had known him, had called Molly Miss Hooper.
'Greg is better than Les-strayed' she put the emphasis on end and attempted a east London accent.
'You know about that do you?' he chuckled, moving closer to the table and half-sitting on it. It was then that he notice she had dropped a remarkable height, and that was because her heels were off, placed next to her.
'Oh yeah, jokes spread, especially in this job. The girls in the morgue said yo…' but she stopped and pursed her lips. If he had more confidence and was arrogant he would be sure she blushed. 'Well they talk' she finished and he smirked.
'What they say about Anderson?' and she gaped and lightly swat him on the arm.
'You shouldn't encourage comments about your own sergeant' she admonished.
'Really? You have no dirt what-so-ever?' he pressed and she squirmed.
'No' she quietly said.
'Molly Hooper, I've had suspects who lie better than that' he teased.
'I'm not going to say anything that maybe held against me if I later rely on it in court' and he took one glance at the tiny smirk on her lips burst into laughter.
'That bad huh? Oh Christ' he managed to say after he stopped laughing.
The evening slowly panned out and when Lestrade thought it was time he left he said his good byes. He was down the stairs of 221B when he heard clicking on the steps. Swivelling, he saw Molly carefully coming down the stairs. She must have had more red wine than he thought. She reached him, and he opened the door, stepping out into the snowy Baker Street. Speedy's was all packed up.
'Do you mind if we share a taxi?' she asked, her make up smeared ever so slightly and her hair had lost it's curl and was more natural like she was at the morgue.
'Yes' he replied and he saw her eyes drift downwards.
''Cause I won't be in it. My car is just over there' and he tapped her back, urging her forward and they walked over. Once in the warm confines of his car, Lestrade squinted back up to 221B and he was sure he had seen Sherlock's shadow at the window.
Oh, he's getting too old for this.
It struck him, while they drove that he hadn't ended that sentence from earlier. Molly sat quiet to his right.
'Molly – I didn't say it earlier but – you look lovely' and she blushed.
'Thank you. That's really kind' and he shook his head, tapping his fingers on the wheel.
They stopped outside her place and she put her and on the handle.
'Merry Christmas Molly' he said sincerely, and Sherlock's words sounded in his ears.
'Merry Christmas' she said getting out of the car. She stooped little to see him.
'Oh and you don't look that bad yourself Detective Inspector' she said and shut the door, leaving him with little smile.
He was at his own flat, ready to get some sleep and possibly thinking about how he was going to approach Alexa about… well… everything.
He was very nearly getting peace and serenity when his phone bleeped. Telling him that he had to come in.
Come in and visit the morgue. He groaned to himself but got up and headed out.