~ The Scent of Roses ~

For the 'Who?' prompt

In retrospect, the scene had been rather damning.

Mike had been at work at the opposite end of the lab, while Sherlock and Molly had been at the other, microscope between them, deep in discussion about some cultures Sherlock had set up a few days ago, and the results of the obscure experiment that Mike was certain would completely justify the commandeering of expensive medical supplies and equipment and ultimately prove vital to the safety of the free world.

Mike gave a snort of laughter at his own drollery. Though of course it was always possible, Sherlock being Sherlock.

In any event, Sherlock had just blown in and was still in his scarf and Belstaff, hovering over Molly who was, as usual, pretty as a picture and neat as a pin in lab coat and ponytail. What with the way the two had their heads together, the particular gleam in Sherlock's eye, and the smile in Molly's eyes and on her lips, it wasn't surprising that Bart's newest assistant director had jumped to conclusions when he'd peered through the glass in the door and then walked in, unannounced.

"Who the devil is this?" the prissy, pompous arse demanded.

Mike suppressed his amusement, knowing exactly how this was going to play out, but Molly and Sherlock turned to the idiot, the one startled, and, unfortunately, beginning to blush, the other drawing himself up and glaring haughtily at the mere mortal who'd dared to question his presence.

Molly said, "Dr. Pratt! I… um… this is Sherlock Holmes. He works with the police, you know."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Pratt's eyes narrowed. "The Consulting Detective Holmes? He-Made-Me-Wear-The-Hat Holmes?"

Sherlock's lip curled in contempt, but Molly said, quickly, "He is a consulting detective - he's helped the police with seemingly impossible cases countless times!"

Pratt said, "And is that what he's doing now?"

"Well… no. I mean…"

"Then basically you are giving your BOYFRIEND free access to our facilities? I had heard that this has been a regular occurrence in the past, but could not quite credit it - could not believe you or Dr. Stamford capable of such blatant disregard for rules and protocol. And yet, considering some of the rumors I've heard of your career here, Dr. Hooper, specifically with regard to your relationship, working and otherwise, with this person, perhaps I should not be surprised."

Molly had gasped and turned bright red at the outset of this unfortunate speech, right from Pratt's emphasis on the word 'boyfriend', and by the end of it, Sherlock's haughty glare had turned perfectly murderous.

Mike had basically ignored the mention of his own name, and really felt a little sorry for Pratt, because, as was inevitable, not three seconds after the director had paused for breath, the lab's phone rang, its jangling loud in the momentary but very tense silence.

Pratt cursed under his breath, turned and picked up the handset. "Dr. Pratt here," he snapped, but those were the last words he uttered for some time. He did gobble a bit, his puffed up indignation holding for a few moments, then changing to something approaching disbelief, then stubborn outrage, and then even that began to fade to a surprise that was increasingly tinged with horror as the one-sided conversation went on. Finally, he did manage to get out a few more words. "Yes, sir," he choked. "I… I shall report to him immediately."

He hung up the phone and seemed unable to help turning to Sherlock and Molly, again, incredulous.

Sherlock drawled acidly, "Say hello to Director McMillan for me, will you?"

Pratt closed his mouth, was seen to swallow hard, but stiffened his backbone for all that, and left precipitately.

Molly gave an audible sigh of relief.

Sherlock placed a hand lightly, briefly against the small of her back and said, "Mycroft's good for something, at least."

Molly looked up at him, and a speaking glance passed between the two.

Then Sherlock said, "Shall we continue?" and they both turned back to the microscope and the cultures.

And Mike chuckled quietly and went back to his own work, but could not help thinking, with fond amusement, Six bloody years they've been at it like this. Lord, when's the great consulting git going to wake up and smell the roses?

~.~