'Lo all! I decided to start a Sherlock/HP fic just cause I think I've always wanted to have a witch!Molly story and well, I guess this is what you end up with when you've been reading excessive Sherlolly and having intense debates about the Slytherin House in general with your friends in around the same time periods haha c:
Do be so kind as to drop a review and tell me what you think of this! x
Disclaimer: Sherlock and Harry Potter most definitely do not belong to me! All credit goes to respective owners and their undeniable brilliance!
Enjoy!
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She was used to it now; being overlooked. After all, she was only Molly Hooper here.
Her decision to go to a university and reenter the Muggle world after the War ended was definitely one of her better ones. Working at a morgue, especially one with such a large influx of corpses was slightly morbid work, but Molly knew she could handle it; she had, in fact, just been in a war.
But of course, she hadn't completely severed herself completely from the magical world, Merlin knew she wouldn't be able to take that. She still held a small job for the British Ministry of Magic that payed quite well: reporting and covering up any magical deaths that the Aurors might not have been able to get to in time. There was a surprising amount of dead werewolves, vampires, and wizards that came up and she had to quickly Portkey them to the Ministry before anyone took their records. It was a good, albeit exhausting sometimes, job.
Suffice to say, Molly had become quite competent at the portus spell since she'd arrived at St. Bart's.
And there was also Sherlock Holmes.
The man possessed a mind of pure brilliance; he could deduce almost anything about a person with just a glance. He never even caught a whiff of her little secret though, for which Molly was undeniably thankful and maybe-just-a-little-bit disappointed. All Sherlock probably thought about her was that she was a silly little girl with a huge crush on him, and that she'd do just about anything for him in exchange for a false smile and an even more artificial compliment.
So Molly was only slightly ashamed to say that yes, she did find that he was aesthetically pleasing and that yes, she did have a teensy crush, but honestly, she was in desperate need of something at least normal-ish in her life.
Blaise always told her that holding a crush would do her a world of good. Draco would just roll his eyes and tell her that if whomever had managed to catch her attention also happened to do anything to harm her in any way, shape or form, then well… it was something that she wouldn't want to repeat in front of an audience, that's for sure...
Then one day, the lovely little world that she had created around herself in Muggle London came crashing down when Zabini and the Ferret decided to barge into her morgue, bringing along with them their usual smothering aura of happiness.
"Blaise? Draco?"
"'Lo, cara." "Hey midget." A tongue- Molly's- was stuck out petulantly.
Molly could only hope that they'd stay calm when Sherlock decided to deduce them, especially Draco, who had a notoriously short temper in spite of all the cheerfulness that he was exuding. Maybe John could rein his detective in this time? Molly knew the balance of probability said it was unlikely.
Oh sweet Circe and Morgana, speaking of deductions… "You grew up with an extremely wealthy family, a very spoilt child. Went to… boarding school where you met our dear Miss Hooper," He swept an icy-blue-grey gaze back around to focus on Molly for a second before turning back to her now-expressionless platinum-blonde friend. "and the man standing right next to you. You've done things you've regretted very much, you've fought some kind of war recently, but you haven't been to Afghanistan recently, nor Iraq. So some kind of small-scale civil war then. And strangely enough, you see Molly Hooper as a…comrade-in-arms? You act like she fought alongside you when I should think I have substantial proof against that notion."
"And who are you to say that she did not do her part on the battlefield?" Blaise interjected with a silky-smooth voice; the voice only put into use when he was negotiating contracts with people he disliked - almost everyone - his dark-brown-almost-black eyes narrowing dangerously at the detective.
"Oh! So you admit it?" He looked positively gleeful at the admission of a conflict.
"Of course, it's not something that we'd hide." Draco shrugged nonchalantly.
"Hm. She's a weak little thing, it would be against her nature to partake in any kind of fight." Sherlock scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in Molly's direction.
"Sherlock!" John hissed. "You can't just go around saying things like that to people!"
"I can and you'll find that I just did."
The ex-army doctor groaned frustratedly into his hands and sent a quick apology for his best friend to the Malfoy heir, who waved it off easily.
"Hm. You also grew up in privilege, neglected by your mother and dead father. No siblings," Sherlock began again with Blaise, who had an expression of mild interest plastered on whilst his eyes smouldered, "same boarding school, met him and her. You lost people important to you in that civil war. Originally Italian, but you moved to England when you were… four? No, six. Currently unemployed, close friend of Molly's but I can't see why. You two have no reason to be associating with each other, you run in completely different circles and the same with the other one," he gestured to Draco, who was looking even more frosty by the second towards Holmes-the-younger. John noticed the building tension and sighed quietly to himself. "She is of the middle class, vaguely intelligent, overall boring. You, on the other hand, are from the highest of the upper class, cunning, clearly much more interesting…"
Blaise sucked in a breath in an effort to assuage his temper and Molly silently glided over to Draco, sensing a potential crisis and placing one of her hands on top of his in an attempt to put out his easily-ignited fuse. The blonde's face remained closed-off, but his silvery eyes appeared to be less icy when he looked down at her.
"I think you'll find that you're wrong about her, Mr Holmes." The tanned boy told the detective lightly, almost as if he was trusting Sherlock with a well-kept secret of his. "Mary Margaret-" "Blaise, as much as I love you, please don't call me that." "-is much more resourceful than you could possibly imagine." He finished, giving the woman an expression of fondness just as she looked at him with amused irritation.
He clapped his hands together loudly, slinging an arm around his petite friend and gently guiding her out of her own morgue. "Come now, cara! Drake and I have a favour to ask of you…"
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Please tell me what you think! To continue, or not to continue? x