Author's Note: I don't own Sherlock or Cabin Pressure. Not that clever. The clever ones are John Finnemore, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. The only reason I wrote this was because I just LOVE the idea of Martin and Molly as a couple (suppose that's a spoiler in some sense). It started off on a whim and then became something of an uncontrollable fixation of mine. The story was just so darn cute I had to keep writing it. So here is the first chapter of what I hope will be something so sickingly sweet you might just get a cavity reading it.
Chapter One: Come Fly With Me
It had been a few months since Sherlock had left – died – committed suicide.
Molly had to get it right someday. In her mind she kept repeating Sherlock was dead so many times she started to have tears running down her cheeks at work. Everyone seemed concerned with the young pathologist's state of well-being. She had kept trying to convince herself she was fine, but in truth Molly Hooper didn't like keeping the secret. She had helped Sherlock fake his death because he needed her.
Seeing everyone fall to pieces over the suicide – fake suicide – of the genius detective was causing her to feel extremely guilty. The last time she had seen Sherlock he had told her she was one of the only people to know. That she had to keep this secret until he returned. He left then. For parts unknown to try and make sure Moriarty didn't have anyone left to hunt him down or hurt the people he cared for.
"Oh Molly, Miss Molly." The morgue worker was bundling up getting ready to leave the hospital when she heard the boastful sound of a voice she hadn't heard in so very long. She turned to see the perfection that was her sister, Tish Monroe stalking toward her with a huge smile and a heavy long lensed camera swinging from her neck. "Smile, love." Molly was blinded by the flash of the camera before she could say a word.
"Tish?" Molly rubbed her eyes as the woman swung her arms around her. The young woman shuttered at the embrace. She was tired of these kinds of embraces, but soon realized the hug was one of genuine happiness, not comforting. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't stop by to see my little sister?" Blonde, beautiful and busty Tish was the older of the two Hooper sisters. She was everything Molly wasn't, outgoing, street smart, and lucky. She was a perfect woman with a near perfect life.
"Well – we – um . . . haven't seen each other in a very long time." The mumbling that came from the thin lips of the younger Hooper was rushed. Tish laid a big wet red kiss on her sister's cheek. Molly smeared the lipstick across her cheek with a rub.
"Oh, you are worse than Alexis, little sister." Tish licked her thumb and rubbed the lipstick away. "You know she's almost four now. Loves horses and singing at the top of her lungs." Molly hadn't seen her sister or her niece in some time. She hadn't gone to family functions because she didn't seem to fit in. Her mother was a widow now with an active social life. Tish had her doctor husband and doe eyed little girl. Molly Hooper had dead people and Sherlock Holmes. Now she didn't even have her consulting detective anymore. Her eyes lingered on Tish waiting for the reasoning upon her sudden visit. "Lots has been happening."
"Here too." Her voice was soft. She didn't want to talk about Sherlock, but she knew that had to be the reason. Tish took a step back giving Molly a very good sense of concern on her face.
"I know you really cared about him, Molls." Molls. She couldn't remember the last time someone had called her that. Molly folded her arms across her chest watching as Tish fiddled with her camera. She raised it up and took another blinding photo.
"Why are you here, Tish? Not that I don't appreciate the visit, but it's been quite a while. Since Da." Her father's passing had left Molly in a rut. Back then Molly had thrown herself in her work, began working with Sherlock, trading one important man in her life for another. Sherlock had been there for her when she had needed him most, perhaps Tish was meaning to replace Sherlock.
"I've gotten concerned phone calls." Oh no. "A woman named Mrs. Hudson," Damn that land lady. That sweet woman with her big worried eyes and attempts to sweet talk her into seeing family. She should've seen this coming when Sherlock and John's landlady had offhandedly reminded her of her sister in Fitton. "And your boss here seemed to think you're being quite depressed since . . . well . . ." Tish didn't want to say it and neither did Molly.
The young woman shifted slightly. She knew she had been looking sad, but it wasn't because he had died. He hadn't died. That was the point; the secret was too heavy a burden for one tiny mortician to bear. It was because she was worrying about him every second now, wondering if he was okay if Moriarty was coming back to try and harm him again. She wanted him to be safe, to be careful and not careless. She had out right told him that. He had made her that promise telling her to do the same. Molly had wanted to read some romance in his statements however there was nothing to read. He had merely counted on her. That was all she was there for, to count. And so she counted when he needed her most.
"So," Tish broke into a smile. "I've decided to take you along for a trip."
"What?!" Molly took a step back. Trips with Tish were bound for disasters. She could recall handfuls of vacations Tish had claimed would benefit Molly and bring her back to life. Sun burns, bad dates, animal attacks, and unredeemable weather were always the results of these "vacations". "No, Tish, please."
"Come fly with me," Tish stalked forward in a very soulful singing voice. Molly shook her head, closed her eyes, and covered her ears.
"No." She felt like a four year old which would make her sister the nine year old that liked to wrestle her to the ground until she submitted to her ways.
"Let's fly. Let's fly away." Tish pried her sister's hands off her ears allowing Molly to open her eyes. Tish's face was round, flush, and full of honest intentions. "Only a week in the States. The capital in fact. It'll be fun."
"You always say that." Molly whimpered pouting her lip. "And then I end up paying for the airfare, the meals, and the –"
"This time it's cheap." Tish insisted. "A work trip. An assignment. About a dozen of photographers are headed there to see that panda bear give birth at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park. And we're taking a small charter flight. The kind Da first started off piloting." Molly made a face. She hated how Tish could make bad things sound appealing in the moment.
"That's not fair." Molly insisted fiddling with the buttons of her coat. "Tempting me with furry critters. Baby furry cute things." Tish only smiled at her triumph hooking her arm with Molly. "What's the name of the company we're flying?" Being the daughter of a pilot the young woman knew some things about certain air companies, which ones were safer than others.
"MJN Air. Affordable according to an anonymous source. And safe. Their web site is a real kick." Molly should have asked her sister as they left the hospital more, but she wanted to relax her mind. Besides MJN sounded like a nice bunch of letters to fly on.
There were around a dozen other photographers piling onto the plane. Tish had stated that they were all freelance photographers pitching in to get the best photos they could. Molly knew they'd be civil on the plane. Tish had brought her on various freelance trips, one to Australia to see a protest, one to Africa to snap photos at wild animals. Every time the plane hit soil it was everyone for themselves. She was just glad the pushing and shoving wouldn't begin for a few hours. When money was involved people could get real nasty.
Molly swallowed trying not to let out a whimper. She hated the confined space that was awaiting her. Tish tugged on her with a large amount of force. The younger woman nearly tripped over her own feet. Once plans had been made to go on this week long trip to the states, the elder Hooper sister had made herself a needed accessory in Molly's flat hindering every decision the woman was to make on her choice of travel wear.
"No, no, Molly," She had snatched the faded pink ruffled blouse from the pathologist's hand tossing it across the room. "Too cutesy. You need some sex appeal. Some real honest to goodness sex appeal. Where is that dress I got you for your birthday? Was it a few years ago?" Molly had watched her sister lurking about, rummaging through her closest as the young woman had nibbled on her lip trying to sort out other clothing articles to pack.
The dress in question was stuffed in a bag within a box within another bag on the corner of the top shelf of Molly Hooper's hall way closest off the kitchen. The dress she had worn last Christmas to 221B Baker Street. She knew her sister always had good taste so she had finally decided to break out the dress, however the results she got were mixed from absolutely stunned to harsh criticism. After Sherlock's absence, Molly couldn't bear to look at the thing anymore let alone wear it.
"You haven't lost it have you?" Tish raised a slender blonde brow. Molly only nibbled her lip and turned her head. "You have! You've lost that beautiful thing! Oh Molly it would have been perfect for you. Get you out there and noticed."
"What if I don't want to be noticed, Tish?" Her voice was so soft someone who didn't know Molly liked to talk quiet and sweet like wouldn't have been listening clearly, but Molly's older sister heard her. "What if I just want to be me? Not over the top or anything like that. I just want to be plain old silly boring Molly Hooper. Same boring job. Same boring life. Same boring kitty." Her brown faced cat seemed to purr on cue crawling out from a pile of abandoned clothing. "Sorry Toby." Tish only smiled looking sincere.
"I just want you to be happy, Molls." The brunette woman went to open her mouth, but a slender white finger snapped onto it. "And don't tell me you are because you aren't. I'm your sister, Molly. Despite not seeing you for some time I still know when you aren't exactly . . . well . . . brilliant. You aren't brilliant, sweetie. And I just want you to feel absolutely amazing. I want you to feel like sunshine is all around you. That everything is right with you."
It was then that Molly saw it. She didn't know why she didn't see that slight crease in her sister's face before. The wrinkled worried line wasn't for the younger Hooper, but Tish was worried for herself. She needed this trip more than Molly. It was always that way. Whenever something was wrong with Tish she would pull Molly into a trip somewhere, just to get away from it all. Take a well needed step back. Molly only smiled at her sister folding her arms and giving in without questions. Molly was good that way. She didn't ask too many questions. She'd let her sister have her secrets until they needed to be set free. Maybe her and Viggo had had a fight. She remembered they did that sort of thing a lot. Molly promised herself she'd to be there for her sister.
So she wore red. She hated the bright fire engine red dress that exposed her shoulders. It was form fitting and made her look like a demented pirate wrench. Molly swore the only reason Tish had fitted her with the thing was to make her small breasts look a bit larger. She wore a brown wool coat over it to hide any curves she had; only being able to get away with it only because it was freezing out. She had on a black and white checkered scarf that matched her sister's clothing. Molly could barely walk in the shoes Tish had dug out from her closest.
"Come on," Tish hissed pulling the young woman toward the stairs of the plane. "Hurry up. They aren't going to wait for us. Well . . . they might. We're looking quite fantastic this morning if I may say so myself." Tish smoothed out her black mini letting her long lovely legs be the star of her ensemble. Tish's coat was high collared and ebony exposing a bit of her neck and most of her cleavage in the low cut top white top.
"I bought these shoes, years ago. They barely fit." Molly was dreading not tossing them out last year. Her feet hated her for the decision.
"No time for complaining," Tish was forcing her forward a bit. "On the plane, Miss Hooper." Molly's eyes widened as she bumped into a dark haired woman who's eyes looked surprisingly cruel. Molly just sucked on her lip and ducked her head.
There was going to be a lot of regret after this trip was over. Molly could sense it, but the young woman merely straightened herself up, took the necessary steps up into the aeroplane, and gave a small nod to the overzealous steward before finding her seat.
"Are you really taking pictures of panda bears?" The steward had Tish's ear. It wasn't a hard thing to snatch onto. The blonde Hooper was always happy to chat up strangers especially the ones who were going to be serving her.
"They get lonely, Molls." Molly remembered her sister's voice when the younger woman had asked why exactly she had spent nearly their whole dinner after the funeral of Glenn Hooper chatting with the hairy waiter. "They need to be assured that we appreciate them." Molly merely sunk into her seat snapping her window shade down.
"Oh," Tish said softly. Molly looked up to see a mocking frown on her sister's face. "No fair. I usually get the window seat." Molly nuzzled her chin against her scarf and collar of her coat.
"Well if you hadn't been so busy chatting the steward up about panda bears you would've gotten it." Tish accepted defeat at the words sinking into her chair.
She unbuttoned her coat shrugging it off before looking to Molly with a tilt to her head. The tiny brunette sighed letting her fingers reveal the horrid red dress. Tish smiled patting her black coat on her lap.
"There," The blonde fiddled with the ruffles on her young sister's dress. "So much better. Not at all like a snow leopard." Molly secretly wished she was a snow leopard. A baby one. With rounded dots on her fur and big blue eyes that needed love. And claws, she couldn't forget the claws, a defense; she needed a defense at the moment. "And now you're thinking about baby snow leopards." Oh, her sister still knew her.
"Just one." Molly grumbled.
"Well at least you aren't thinking about-" Bing Bong. The familiar noise of the cabin address went on. That's usually when it could all sink in for Molly. She'd put on her belt and –
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Oh no. "This is . . . well . . . this is your captain speaking, Martin Crieff." Molly didn't hear the rest, only her sister shouting her name as she flew pass the steward nearly knocking him over as she made her way to the bathroom.
Tears. Right. She was crying. She was crying because of that voice. That smooth, be it not as confidant, voice that reminded her too much of a certain sort of dead consulting detective. He wasn't dead. Molly's tear ducts should have remembered that, but they didn't. They were streaming tears and embarrassing her on board an aeroplane of people, lots and lots of people. And her sister; her sister who hadn't shed a tear in . . . well . . . ever.
The door to the bathroom snapped behind Molly giving a click of the occupied sign for anyone who thought they could bother her to see. She rubbed her eyes glad her sister had been so focused on the dress that she had forgotten to paint her up with makeup. The pathologist held her hand to her chest feeling her heartbeat quicken. It wasn't him. Even Sherlock couldn't hide his confidence that well. The captain had sounded so uncertain of himself and his position that Molly knew, she just knew, it couldn't be him. Sherlock wouldn't fling himself in public right then and there. It would be an idiotic move on his part. So this Captain Crieff just happened to be an airline pilot who just happened to sound like the very person that had just happened to fake his death and use her as an anchor.
All happenstance Molly, The brunette told herself trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. She was scared. Perhaps thinking it was him. Perhaps thinking she might go to prison if they found out. Or more likely terrified that he would end up caught by the people that were following him, threatening John and all the others.
"It's only an airline pilot. Da was an airline pilot. They're thoughtful, caring, and human. Not at all like…" She looked in the fogged mirror repeating it to herself. Warm tears still ran down her cheeks. She sniffed rubbing the tip of her pinkened nose. "You will be fine. This is all going to be fine. Everything is fine, Molly Hooper." A knock came at the door.
"Miss," The steward seemed a bit chirper and a bit concerned. "Are you alright? You ran really fast to the bathroom. It was actually quite brilliant."
"Molly," Tish was talking now. This was getting more embarrassing. "We're taking off soon. And we can't take off with a girl trapped in the toilet. I'm pretty sure that's against protocol."
"Well, actually I'm not certain about that, Ma'am." The steward told her sister. It was all a bit muffled. "Skip! Can we take off with a photographer trapped in the toilet?"
"Actually she's not a photographer. She deals with dead people." Tish always knew what to say. Molly leaned her bum against the sink staring at the door rubbing her eyes. "I'm the photographer." A blaring snap came followed by a long winded wow from the steward.
"You're quite good at that." The steward said. Molly rolled her eyes wondering why her married sister was flirting with the steward on board a cheap charter plane.
"Yes, yes. Let me through." He definitely wasn't Sherlock. His voice was shaking and even as he rapped on the door there was no confidence to him. "Miss, Miss, I'm afraid we can't take off until you have vacated the toilet." Molly sniffed checking her face again. Oh she really did look awful in the bright red dress. "Now. Please?"
He sounded so sweet. Definitely not Sherlock. She had seen him try to act sweet. It didn't sound so sincere. She sighed letting out a breath. She gripped the handle opening it to reveal the source of the sweet Sherlocky tone.
"Oh." Well that was surprising.
He looked a bit like him, but only a bit. With his captain uniform and hat . . . well . . . Molly Hooper thought he looked a bit . . . well . . . lovely. Especially with his complexion, pale, but paler then Sherlock. His hair was the proper color ginger, not too bright, but not too faded. Then there were the eyes, brilliant, brilliant, blue. And he was short! The last proof she needed that this wasn't the supposed dead fake genius come back to haunt her. Sherlock couldn't make himself shorter.
"I'm . . . uh . . ." He cleared his throat a bit. "I'm going to have to ask you to take your seat."
"Oh, right, yes, um," The syllables seemed to blend together as Molly Hooper spoke.
She started to move herself forward; however given her lack of confidence in her shoes, and the wear and tear she had given running in them, she began a backwards tumble. Her right heel snapped off causing Molly to lose her balance falling backwards, back into the toilet. Whether it was on instinct or need she had grabbed the captain for support. Down went both Martin Crieff and Molly Hooper onto the bathroom floor. Martin seemed to land directly on those ruffles. Right between Molly's breasts.
Both of their faces flushed red. Molly wasn't sure if the captain was struggling to get off or if he lingered a bit too long, but eventually they both scrambled up. Martin muttered long stringed apologizes as he helped her. His hand was warm in Molly's hand.
"Ow," Molly winced out as she attempted to stand.
"What? What's wrong? What happened? What?" Captain Crieff asked looking her over. Molly snapped her teeth together feeling the sting.
"My ankle." Molly ran her fingers along her right ankle. Damn. "Oh, it's sprained." She could feel it swelling up. She looked up at the captain who seemed to be very helpful and concerned in that moment. And warm, surprisingly and wonderfully warm. "I . . . um . . ." Blue eyes. Blue eyes. Look at those lovely lovely blue eyes. He is actually concerned! "Ice. Yes ice. To . . .um . . . bring down the . .. um . . . swelling?" Why was that a question? "Yes the swelling . . . in my anklely hurty part of the foot area." Somehow the very knowledgeable about the body morgue worker forgot what words were.
"Right, yes, of course," He seemed breathy in that moment as he looked about. "Yes. I'm so very sorry for this."
"No I am. I ran and then fell and then delayed the flight and you're busy with the flying . . . or the preparing to fly because we aren't in the air yet and that is my fault and I should be saying sorry, so, I'm very sorry, Captain." Her face was hot. Molly imagined it was red too.
"Molly!" Tish was after her soon crowding the hallway. She looked down at the swollen ankle. "My word! What has he done to you? My poor little sister!"
"It was an . . ." Martin stammered.
"Accident!" Molly shouted. "An accident. Just need ice. No fusing or asking silly questions. Just ice and my seat and flying. Well . . . Captain Crieff will be doing the flying, not me. Especially with a sprained ankle." She looked to the captain with a smile who seemed to return it.
"Yes, well, Arthur, will, um, get you ice for that." Captain Crieff said once more before turning to head off to the flight deck. He then turned again to address Molly with creased brows. "And I really am-"
"Sorry." Molly assured him chewing her lip. "I know. So am I. Won't happen again, Captain." She noticed then the tiny little twitch in his lip when she called him captain. She liked it.
Arthur, the steward, came around helping her along to her seat with Tish. Molly hobbled a bit catching grumpy faces of fellow passengers. She pressed a small bag of ice cubes on her ankle before Arthur walked away to get himself ready for takeoff. Tish snapped them both in.
"Well, you sure know how to make travelling exciting, Molls." Tish declared grinning like a cat that caught a canary. Molly closed her eyes for a moment hoping to forget the whole incident. "And you were honored with meeting the captain. Young, ginger, and quite handsome."
"Yes," It was a bit of a whisper. "Quite the captain."