So I've been trying to come up with a new story idea, and this one hit me in the middle of work...so I hope you enjoy it. It's kind of a short, funny fic. Not sure if it'll be more than a couple chapters or not. This takes place somewhere after the Christmas scene, and before Reichenbach. Just a what if situation. Lol.
Oh yea, I don't own any of the characters or places in this story. all props go to the creators of Sherlock, both in book and show forms.
Here ya go!
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Chapter One:
Of course it was raining. The one day she had forgotten her jumper and umbrella, it had to rain. Molly lived only a ten minutes walk from the doors of St. Bart's hospital. On any other day, this wouldn't be an issue. However, this had been a particularly bad day for the young woman already. She had woken up late for her normal morning routine. When she had showered and dressed, the sun was shining. She quickly fed her cat, toby, and grabbed a cup of coffee for herself. Only, instead of drinking it, she found it drenching her blouse, as she tripped over the brown tabby as it thanked her for breakfast. She quickly changed into the first shirt she could grab, a black vintage band tee. She ran out the door, almost forgetting to lock it. Then, once she reached the door to the front of her building, the terrential downpour started. Molly knew she didn't have the time to race back upstairs, so she quickly bolted down the street toward work.
By the time she reached the doors to St. Bart's, her ponytail was windblown and stuck to her neck. The dark T-shirt she wore now clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to imagine of what her figure looked like underneath. She walked into her office, ringing out the water in her hair. Molly shivered as she pulled on her labcoat and stepped into the morgue, immediately running into the chest of Sherlock Holmes.
''Ah, Molly. Finally showed up, I see.'' Sherlock said, his voice indifferent as usual.
''Uh, yea, sor-sorry I'm running a tad behind today.'' Molly answered.
She gazed up at him, suddenly realizing their close proximity. She backed up quickly and walked around him. She stepped over to one of the large metal doors.
''I'm guessing you're here to see Mrs. Alten, yes?" She announced as she opened the locker and pulled out the slab. Sherlock promptly stepped over to the other side, eyes flickering over Molly rapidly, drinking in the sight of her figure, the slight curve of her... he quickly away and down at the body of the dead woman.
''Yes thank you, Molly. Coffee, if you don't mind.'' He said, shrugging off his coat.
''Black, two sugars. Sure, I'll just- I'll go get that, then.'' Molly said shyly before leaving. She ran into John as she opened the door.
''Oh, hello John.'' She whispered, before walking briskly down the hall. John turned to watch her, before turning around and walking into the cold room.
''Sherlock, why is Molly soaked to the bone?" He asked upon seeing his friend gazing over a body in the corner. He walked to the corner slab, waiting for an answer. When he received none, John asked again, a bit more forcefully.
''Sherlock, listen to me. Molly was sopping wet, why?" He said, grasping Sherlock's forearm. Sherlock's head shot up suddenly.
''What is it, John? Can't you see I'm busy?" He responded, quite aggravated. His eyes met John's, seeing the usual authority they held when he wasn't as patient. John asked a final time.
''Molly Hooper, I just bumped into her. She was soaked. Why?''
''Because it's raining, and she obviously doesn't own an umbrella. Please John. Do try to ask less obvious questions in the future.'' Sherlock said before returning to his examination of the body. A few moments passed, and Molly returned to lab with two cups of coffee in her hands. She handed one to Sherlock's impatiently held out hand, and then turned, handing the other to John.
''Oh, thank you Molly. You didn't have to...'' John started.
''Oh it's alright.'' Molly said, half interrupting him. She turned to go about her work. As she passed, she unconsciously trembled, clearly succumbing to the cold her body was enduring. John and Sherlock both glanced after her, then gave each other a look of mutual understanding.
''Molly, are you alright?" John called after her, startling her from her concentration. She looked up at the pair, rather confused.
''Sure, wh-why do you ask?" Molly replied, trying to be nonchalant.
''Because you've hardly said two words. You're soaked from head to toe, clearly didn't have time this morning to grab your umbrella, most likely you were running late. You have a splash of coffee on your shoe, but it's dried, which means it was from this morning in your flat. Also explains why you're wearing a different shirt than your normal routine blouse. You spilled coffee on yourself this morning, obviously after tripping over your affectionate cat. Tiny hairs embedded in the pantlegs of your trousers. It didn't start raining until you'd left your flat, so you braved the elements, thus resulting in you being soked and a tremoring mess.'' Sherlock answered her, barely taking a breath. John looked at him, then back to Molly, who was smiling slightly.
''Gotta love Mondays.'' She chuckled softly, shaking her head a bit before shivering once more. John approached her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, still wearing a small grin.
''Molly, your lips are turning blue. You've got to go home and warm up.'' He said, concerned for the way her face paled, making her lips appear more purple. She shook her head fiercely before arguing with him.
''I can't. Busy day. I have at least five bodies to do today, plus all the paper work. No, no I'll be fine.'' She nodded, trying to sound convincing, and again shuddering with the cold. John sighed, before looking at Sherlock, who merely went back to his work.
''Aha!" He suddenly shouted. ''Alright John, phone Lestrade and tell him to go apprehend Mr. Alton. I'll explain the details later. Good day, Molly. Thank you for the coffee. Do go get some scrubs and change at least, you'll be of no use to anyone if you catch cold.'' Sherlock turned, grabbed his coat, and swiftly waltzed out of the morgue. John turned to follow him, before looking to Molly one more time.
''Molly, please at least go change, he's right. You're likely to fall ill if you don't get warm.'' He said. Molly nodded her head slightly.
''Okay, thank you for your concern, John.'' She said to him before he turned and rushed out the door to catch up. Molly sighed to herself. 'Too much to do, I'll be fine.' She thought to herself.
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The next day Molly was in the lab. She felt absolutely hellish. She sniffled, pulling out a tissue to wipe her nose. She was distracted enough that she hadn't heard the door behind her open and close.
''You're sick.'' Came the low baritone voice. Molly jumped on hearing it, and turned around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. He looked over her small frame, analyzing her. Molly shrugged before a small sigh escaped her,
''So it would seem, yes.'' She answered in a mall voice. She looked away for a moment, which was long enough for Sherlock to step further into the room, toward her. She looked up in time to find him towering over her.
''You didn't listen to my advise then.'' He said, seeming almost hurt. She nodded her head lightly.
''I sort of got caught up in the day. Sorry.'' She whispered.
''Right, well you are taking the day off, then. I'll phone Stamford.'' Sherlock stated as he pulled out his phone, sending a text to Mike Stamford. Molly turned to object as he reached around her, grabbing the lapels of her labcoat, and quickly shucked it from her.
''Sherlock, I can't!'' She began, literally fighting against him as he put her arms through her jacket. He looked down at her, before his lip curled into a half grin. Stamford had stepped into the lab, and Sherlock nodded his gratitude. Suddenly, Molly felt herself being lifted up by strong arms.
Sherlock hoisted up the small pathologist and slung her over his shoulder, before walking out the door to the lab and down the hall of St. Bart's. Molly fought him all the way from the lab until he dropped her into the cab outside.
''What the bloody hell, Sherlock?'' She asked, eyes wild. He merely hummed as he gazed out the window. The cab pulled up to the front of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock paid the cabbie, and quickly grabbed up Molly again, this time carrying her bridal style into the warm flat.
John looked up from his paper, to see Sherlock swiftly walk past with something in tote. He looked down again, before doing a double take, as he heard the 'thing' make a disapproving gasp. He met the gaze of Molly Hooper, as Sherlock dropped her onto the sofa. She looked less than pleased, glaring up at Sherlock as he crossed the room to John.
''She's ill, John. You're the doctor, make her better.'' He said, before crouching on his chair. John looked between Sherlock and Molly, his brain finally catching up with the odd events.
''Hold on, Sherlock, did you drag her all the way here?" He asked. He turned to Molly, knowing he'd get more of a truthful answer. She rolled her eyes before answering him.
''Actually, he carried me here.'' She stated, before sneezing. Sherlock stood up again, appearing slightly distressed.
''You see?" He said, pointing at her. ''She's fallen prey to the cold, and I need her. She's the only competent pathologist at Bart's.'' He continued on like a little boy. ''Now, be the good doctor we both know you're capable of being, and FIX HER!" He pointed again, before he went back to pacing across the flat.
John sighed, and looked at Molly. She returned his gaze with an understanding smile, before nodding. John fetched his medical kit, and proceeded to examine Molly. After a few minutes, he gave her a couple of pills for her cold. He stood and turned to Sherlock, who was brooding in the kitchen over his microscope.
''Right, well I THINK she's going to live.'' He said sarcastically. He looked at Sherlock, who seemed to be ignoring him. John continued speaking.
''I'm just going to make sure she gets home alright, since you dragged her all the way over here.'' He smirked.
''Carried.'' Sherlock replied dryly. John had returned to the living room to take Molly back to her flat, only to discover that she had curled up on the sofa, and was fast asleep. John smiled, and quietly returned to the kitchen. Sherlock glanced up from a moment.
''Aren't you taking her home?" He asked impatiently. John shook his head, before tilting it in the direction of the sofa. Sherlock's eyes followed the invisible line that John's head drew toward the living room. They slowly fell onto Molly's sleeping form. He let a small grin escape past his lips, before reenforcing his shield. John noticed the action, even so. He smirked before speaking in a half whisper.
''I'm just going to go to the store, probably get some soup for her. Let her sleep, Sherlock.'' He said, a warning tone in his voice. Sherlock grunted in response. John rolled his eyes before turning and exiting the flat. Moments after, Sherlock was out of his chair, and walking toward Molly's still form on the sofa. He reached over the edge of the couch, and grabbed a blanket. He carefully draped it over her, and took his place in his chair. He watched her, noting how her lips opened slightly when she exhaled, the way her hair fell over her face and draped on her shoulders. He saw the way her chest moved as she inhaled a slow, steady breath, and the peaceful look her face held as she slept. Sherlock felt his stomach do a small flip. He went to his mind palace to store away the new information. He hadn't heard John return, and then leave again, stating something about his date. He also hadn't heard Molly wake up, and remained unaware that she had stayed, watching him with wonder. Sherlock was brought out of his thought by the smell of coffee. He looked up, to see Molly padding out of the kitchen with two mugs in hand. She smiled sweetly at him as he eyed her.
''I made coffee.'' She said quietly, handing him a mug as she sipped from her own. He took it in hand, fingers grazing hers. He noted her cheeks blush as she took her position on the sofa again. He felt something deep in his gut stir as he took note of her flowing hair framing her jaw.
''Are you feeling better?" He asked lowly. She nodded back at him, sipping her coffee again. He watched as the liquid flowed past her pinkish lips, gazing with boyish curiosity. Again, the agonizing twinge in his middle stirred. Molly took note of the way his face suddenly contorted into a look of pained confusion.
''Are you okay, Sherlock?" She asked, sounding as equally worried as he appeared. He looked up at her, before nodding a little too brusquely. Sherlock sipped his coffee, stealing another glance at her from over his mug, resulting in another jab from within his core. Suddenly, Sherlock placed his mug on the side table and stood up. His stride was quick as he made his way to where she sat. Her eyes shot up at him, the worry only growing. His long, slender fingers reached for the cup as he gently pulled it from her hand, setting it aside along with his.
His eyes returned to hers as he hovered above her slightly. He slowly breathed, as did she.
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Oooh, what's going to happen? Find out in the next chapter. Lol. Review if you please. Thanks peoples!
