AN: I probably should have remembered to mention this last chapter, but inspiration for his fic comes from the wonderful mo-ho and her swaplock fanfiction as well as the indescribable joy of Lexie of artbylexie (look at her tumblr! It is full of wonderful!) fanart. With all that said, here's chapter two! Chapter three should be up sometime later this week once I figure out how to work with two sets of characters interacting when they have the same names.
Enjoy!
Molly Hooper was running late. She hated running late for work – she never ran late for work! – but here she was, out of breathe as she hurried into St. Barts and very, very late. It had been a terrible morning. Her alarm hadn't gone off and she'd awoken with a terrible headache and Toby had vomited a hair ball into her right shoe and-
It had just been a bad morning.
Ducking into the break room, she quickly pulled her hair up into its customary pony tail and tried to compose herself before heading down to the morgue. People had probably noticed by now that she was late. Some part of Molly assured her that no one would mind, they probably wouldn't even comment, but ordinarily she was never late! She hadn't even come in late the day after Sherlock's supposed death three years ago. Molly Hooper was many things and punctual was one of them. It was something to be proud of, that.
Maybe getting a cup of coffee would help disguise her tardiness?
She grabbed a waiting mug out of the cupboard and was in the process of pouring herself a cup of coffee when the break room door flew open and Sherlock Holmes burst into the room. Molly nearly dropped the pot in shock. Sherlock's face was flushed and he was panting slightly as he ran his fingers through his sweat drenched hair.
Oh god. What had happened to get him into that sort of state? Was Moriarty back? Was John okay? Was the hospital about to explode?
Sherlock's eyes alighted on her and a curious thing happened. His eyes widened and he blushed. "M-Molly!" he gasped, his skin rapidly approaching scarlet. "What are you doing here?"
"J-Just getting myself a coffee," Molly stammered, feeling herself flush as well. There was something about the embarrassed look on Sherlock's face that sent heat to all of her extremities. It was such an out-of-place look on the usually so composed detective's face.
"I could have gotten you that!" Sherlock said quickly, darting forward to take the coffee mug and pot from her. "You should have texted me. Cream and one sugar, right?"
Sherlock get her coffee? The thought was foreign to Molly's mind. "R-Right," Molly said, surprised that Sherlock even knew the way she took her coffee. Biting her lip, she watched as Sherlock rummaged through the fridge looking for where the creamer had gone off to. For some reason Sherlock seemed different to her today. It wasn't just the strange way he was acting either. It might have been her imagination, but had he gotten his hair trimmed or something recently? And when had he started wearing ties? Not that he looked bad in a tie – on the contrary, he looked delicious – but a tie was not a Sherlock thing to wear.
"Since you're getting me coffee, I might as well get you yours," she said finally, opening the cupboards again to pull out a second mug.
"You don't have to do that."
"Black, two sugars, right?"
Sherlock stared at her blankly for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin. "Right!"
She grinned back at him, pulling out the box of real sugar she hid kept hidden away and stirring in the right amount of sugar as Sherlock found the creamer and added it to her coffee.
With a smile still on his face he ceremoniously presented the mug to her with a little bow. "Your caffeine, m'lady."
Giggling, Molly accepted the cup and handed Sherlock his own. "Thank you, m'lord," she said quietly.
Something that looked almost like surprise flashed across Sherlock's face but it was quickly replaced by pleasure as he sipped from his mug. "Perfect," he declared, still smiling at her warmly. "I didn't realize you knew how I liked my coffee."
"Of course I know how you take your coffee," Molly said, brow furrowing. She made him coffee just about every time he stopped by the lab. How had he not noticed that before?
"Oh, of course," Sherlock said quickly, his face starting to flush again. "You probably observed how I made it for myself or deduced the coffee to sugar ratio from a stain on my lab coat or-" Molly's eyes narrowed at him. Was he making fun of her now? Deduced? "-or maybe I should just take this opportunity to shut up before I really embarrass myself. Usually you tell me to shut up about now and I always appreciate it since I tend to babble when I'm nervous. Not that you make me nervous or anything! Well, you do make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Nothing you do is in a bad way. Except Christmas, but I promised I wouldn't talk about Christmas any more. Everything you do is perfect because you're perfect, I mean, you're perfect to me and your hair looks so nice up like that – Oh god! I'm babbling. I'm sorry! I know you hate the babbling. I'll just shut up now. Shutting up! Promise! It'll just take me a-"
"Sherlock," she said, her voice firm even though she was anything but. Did he really just call her perfect? Did the man she'd fantasized over for years really, truly, honestly call her perfect? Something was wrong. Calling people perfect wasn't Sherlock. It wasn't Sherlock at all. "Sherlock, are you, are you alright?" she asked timidly, well aware that she was just as flushed as the man before her was.
"Y-Yes," Sherlock said firmly. He took a long sip of coffee and stared at the wall to the left of Molly's head. "I'm just a bit out of sorts today. Running late."
Molly licked her lips and took a sip of her own coffee. "Me too. My alarm didn't go off."
"Ah." Sherlock's face was starting to reach a normal colour again. "Sally didn't wake you?"
"Sally?" Molly asked, confused. Who was Sally? Did he mean her cat? "Oh, I think you mean Toby. Yes, he ended up waking me. Wouldn't leave me alone in bed until I got up." She smiled at him warmly, the smile quickly fading when she saw the look of shock on Sherlock's face.
His eyes were frozen on her face, his eyes wide as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. "Toby?" he said, voice weak and Molly thought the hand holding his coffee cup might have actually been trembling as he stared at her.
"Y-Yes," Molly said, suddenly unsure again. Why was Sherlock acting so oddly? "I've told you about Toby before."
"No you haven't," Sherlock snapped, slamming his mug down onto the counter. He winced, biting his lip as he stared at the cup, an empty look on his face. "Sorry," he said after a moment. "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."
Apologies now? What on earth had happened to her Sherlock Holmes? The nearly trembling, embarrassed looking man in front of her was hardly the Sherlock she was used to. Was he sick? Was this some sort of disguise he was working on? Was he – Was he making fun of her for some reason?
"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, holding her coffee cup in front of her like it was a shield.
Sherlock looked up at her and smiled widely even though his eyes screamed pain. "I'm fine. Just fine. So," he said brightly, "is it to be the lab or the morgue this morning?"
Wasn't that the sort of thing he was supposed to decide? With how odd he was acting, Molly didn't dare ask. "Morgue," she said, reaching for the coffee pot to top her mug up. After a moment's hesitation she filled Sherlock's up to the brim as well. "I have a few things to finish up there."
"Morgue it is then," Sherlock said brightly, picking up his coffee mug and whirling towards the door. Holding the door open for her, he grinned at her with that strange happy/sad smile. "Coming Molly?"
Something was seriously off about Sherlock, Molly thought to herself as she returned his smile. But for the life of her she couldn't figure out what. "Y-Yes."
They got into the lift together, Sherlock hitting the button to take them down to the morgue. Molly bit her lip, staring down at her cup of coffee in the awkward silence. She didn't understand what was going on. Why was Sherlock acting so odd, so human? Usually he was the cool, collected master of emotions. She'd never seen him blush before. She hadn't even thought him capable of blushing before!
"So," Sherlock said slowly, shuffling his feet as he stared at the lift door. "Toby. Is he nice?"
Molly frowned. Since when had Sherlock shown any interest in her cat? "I suppose. It's just nice to go back to my flat and have someone there who's happy to see me."
"I bet," Sherlock grumbled, glaring at his coffee. They stood there in silence for another long moment. "Have you been seeing each other for long?" he suddenly blurted out in a rush.
She blinked at him, baffled. "I've had him for a little over four years now if that's what you're asking."
"Four years!?" Sherlock sputtered, spilling his coffee a little. "You've been dating this fellow for four years and you never mentioned it before now!?"
"What are you talking about?" Molly asked, gripping her coffee tighter. "Sherlock, Toby's my cat!"
He stared at her. "Your cat? You have a cat?"
"Yes! Toby! You've met him."
Sherlock sagged in relief. "Toby's your cat," he sighed, a loopy grin coming over his face. "Not your boyfriend, a cat. Wait. You have a cat? I thought Sally was allergic."
"Who's Sally?"
The lift doors dinged open and Molly swept out the doors before Sherlock could answer. She had a sinking suspicion that she knew what was wrong with Sherlock and it wasn't a particularly nice thought. He wanted something from her. Something big. Something she would be hesitant to give him. After all they had been through together – after she helped him fake his death and hid him until his fall related injuries healed – he was still resorting to petty tricks to make her do what he wanted! It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve to be treated this way!
"Molly wait!" she heard Sherlock cry from behind her and she stopped, realizing that she'd nearly been running down the hall towards the morgue. Sherlock caught up to her, his coffee spilling everywhere as he hurried down the hall. "Are you – Are you alright, Molly? You seem a little off today."
Yes, he wanted something from her. It was all so obvious now. Stupid, stupid, stupid Molly! Thinking that it could ever possibly be anything else. "I'm fine," she said shortly. "What do you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock blinked at her, taken aback. "What do I want?"
"You're only ever this nice to me when you want something. So what do you want this time?"
"I – Nothing! I don't want anything, Molly," Sherlock said. He hesitated for a moment, staring at Molly's shoes. "But what about you? What do you want?"
"Me?" Molly nearly squeaked. She stared at him, feeling her face starting to flush. Sherlock had never asked her what she'd wanted before. He'd never seemed to realize that she could actually want things that weren't making him coffee or helping him in the morgue. She couldn't handle this today. Not with the headache that continued to pound between her ears. Not when Sherlock was blushing and staring at her shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Who knew, perhaps today her shoes were interesting to him. Maybe he could see the signs of her terrible morning and Toby's hairball and running through the streets of London after she'd missed her bus and-
"Sherlock," she sighed, the hand not clutching her coffee coming up to rub the bridge of her nose. "I-I can't. Whatever this is, I just can't. Not today."
Sherlock's head jerked up and he stared at her in obvious concern. "Molly-"
"No," Molly interrupted, holding out her hand in silent pleading. "Just take whatever it is that you want and leave me alone, Sherlock." She couldn't look at him anymore. Turning, she hurried down the hall towards the morgue and safety that came with being focused on work. This was it, she promised herself for what had to have been the thousandth time. She was bloody well over Sherlock Holmes now, starting today. She wouldn't worry about him or wonder if he had been eating properly or set aside body parts for him or-
A hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her and turning her back around. Sherlock, a grim look on his face, took her coffee from her unresisting hands and set both of their mugs down on the hallway floor. Their hands free he stepped close to her, one hand coming up to smooth back the hair she'd failed to capture in her ponytail while the other one rested gently on her hip. "Molly," he said seriously, his eyes dark with concern. "What's the matter? What should I do? What do you need?"
Against her will, Molly flashed back to another conversation. One where she'd been the one offering and Sherlock had been the one taking, like always, and-
Sherlock inched closer to her and her mind went white. Her hand reached up against her will to clutch at his elbow in an attempt to keep herself upright. Oh god, her knees were shaking and her heart was hammering in her chest and she could smell Sherlock. She could smell the tangy smell of his shampoo and a faint chemical odor like the lab and the scent of orange marmalade. There was a bit marmalade in the corner of his mouth and she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. He'd eaten breakfast today, her mind thought hysterically. Good.
She took a step back, trying to get herself back under control, and Sherlock took a step forward, cupping her cheek with his hand. "Molly," he said again, his voice like velvet. "What do you need?"
She looked up at him. Looked into his eyes, so full of concern and puzzlement and something darker that she refused to put a name to. She licked her lips.
"You."
SH-MH-SH-MH-SH
"Late," Molly Hooper snapped as Sherlock Holmes breezed through the doors of the morgue, John Watson at his heels.
Her proclamation made Sherlock hesitate, his gaze locking onto the smaller woman. That was an odd greeting from the woman who typically started fawning as soon as he entered the room. She was sitting at the counter, a look of complete and utter boredom on her face with her arms crossed over her chest and something that was very nearly a pout crossing her lips. She looked normal enough, although he hadn't seen that particular jumper on her before and he hoped that he would never see it again.
His eyes scanned her form quickly looking for clues to her bad mood. Her brow was pinched, most likely a headache and her fingers tapped restlessly against her arm, she had been impatiently waiting for something. For him to appear? Why would she wait for him? Her hair was down and loose. Odd, Molly typically wore her hair up so that it wouldn't interfere with her work. Also, there was a curious lack of cat fur anywhere about her person. Had something happened to the wretched feline she called a pet? She also seemed to have lost quite a bit of weight recently. Nine pounds it looked like though that hideous jumper was throwing his calculations off. He frowned, disturbed by that observation. Molly was already too small to be losing so much weight.
If something had happened to her cat that, combined with her headache, would be enough to set the usually mild mannered pathologist on edge. This would take careful maneuvering if he was to keep his lab access in place. Females could be so unreasonable.
"Molly!" he said, smiling wide enough to produce the dimples as he filled his voice with artificial warmth. "You look particularly lovely this morning. Have you done something new with your hair?"
Molly hummed a non-comment and stared at the wall. "Did you bring me coffee?"
Sherlock felt his lip twitch as John started to grin widely. He could practically see his blogger mentally praising Molly for suddenly growing a backbone. Well, he for one didn't like this Molly Hooper. Right now he should be inspecting a body as Molly fetched him a coffee. Fetching her coffee had never been – nor ever would be – part of the plan.
"No," he said firmly, struggling to keep the warmth and dimples in place.
Molly sighed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "Well, fetch it then."
John snorted in laughter.
The smile dropped from his face. "The coffee?"
"No, no," Molly said dismissively, looking at him finally. She frowned slightly as she took in his appearance as if there something about it that bothered her. "The bodies, of course."
First she expected him to bring her coffee and now she wanted him to do her job? A scowl slid onto Sherlock's face and stayed there. "What bodies?" he asked coolly, eyes narrowing at her.
Molly clocked her head to one side and stared at him for a long silent moment. "You've lost weight," she finally said, her frown deepening. "Nearly ten pounds. And your hair is longer. It doesn't suit you. Change it back."
The near cataclysmic silence that followed was broken by DS Donovan entering the room, mobile in hand. "Hey Sherlock, John," she said pleasantly in greeting which, in and of itself, was wrong for a great deal of reasons. "Something's up at New Scotland Yard and Anderson says we should get started without him."
"Anderson!?" Sherlock growled, the wrongness of the day starting to affect him. "Why would we wait for Anderson?"
Donovan blinked at him, a puzzled look on her face as Molly continued to stare at him. "Are you alright there, Sherlock?" she asked. "You seem a little tense."
John held up his hands quickly before his flatmate could say anything unforgivable "Alright, alright," he said soothingly. "This has, honestly, been great. I mean, just remembering the look on Sherlock's face is going make me laugh for years to come. But-" he stressed the word pointedly, "I think we've all had our fun and it's time to drop the joke. I mean, we are all here to solve a murder after all."
Donovan and Molly exchanged a puzzled look.
"Why would you be here to solve a murder?" Sally asked, crossing her arms as she stared at John.
"I don't understand why you won't bring me the bodies," Molly said to Sherlock.
"Me? I'm here to help Sherlock. You know, like I always do," John said, looking at Sally, surprised.
"It's never been an issue before," Molly continued. "I get a case, you bring me the body. That always worked before."
"You're never here to help Sherlock," Sally frowned. "Did you get sacked or something?"
"Nonsense," Molly interrupted before John could say a word. "His hangover is indicative of overindulgence during a date – as evidenced by the recent polishing of his loafers, his best 'date' pair that he's mistakenly worn again this morning – not drowning his sorrows. Despite John's protests to the contrary, he is rather fond of his surgery and would still be drunk if he had been let go."
"Don't do that," Sherlock growled, glaring intently at Molly.
She looked at him, surprise crossing her features. "Don't do what?"
"Pretend to be me."
Molly frowned, an insulted look on her face. "Why would I want to pretend to be you?"
"You are acting a bit like Sherlock, Molly," John said helpfully.
"Oi!" Sally snapped, glaring hotly at the shorter man and pointing a finger at him. "Lay off. Molly's acting like Molly. It's Sherlock that's acting all freaky."
John's lips pursed in annoyance. "Why do you always call him a freak? He's not a freak!"
"I'm not calling him one!" Sally protested loudly. "I've never called him that."
"Your attempts at deductions are obviously an attempt to mimic my typical behavior," Sherlock said, stepping forward so that he and Molly were standing inches away from each other. "Likely, this is a misguided attempt to garner attention. "
"Attempts at deductions!?" Molly cried, deeply insulted. "I'll have you know I've spent years perfecting the scientific methods I employ to make my observations."
"You always call him that!"
"What are you even on? You're the one who's always calling Molly a maniac!"
"I would never-"
"That is exactly what I'm talking about. I am the one who has developed the science of deduction. You are simply a simpering-"
"Oi, wait just one minute, poncy-boy! Finish that sentence," Sally snapped, her attention suddenly riveting back to Sherlock. "I dare you."
"-pathetic, sorry excuse for a-"
"That's it!" Donovan shouted, ripping Sherlock away from Molly and putting herself between them. "You great git! People like you are the reason Molly had to fake her death!"
Sherlock recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "She what?"
"No," John said, rubbing at his temples. "This is- Sgt Donovan, that's just wrong. Sherlock is the one who faked his death-"
"Sherlock helped me fake my death," Molly corrected softly, her voice small and her face puzzled as she frowned.
"But-"
"How can you not remember Molly faking her death?" Sally demanded, incredulous. "It was in all of the papers for weeks! I punched you at her funeral for calling her a maniac! Nearly got sacked for it." At John's blank look she sighed in frustration. "Come on, John! That Irene Adler psychopath? Samantha Moran? Is none of this ringing any bells for you?"
"I think," Molly said very slowly, "I think something very odd is going on."
"Agreed." A thoughtful look was beginning to cross Sherlock's face. "And when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains-"
"No matter how improbable, must be the truth," Molly finished.
Molly and Sherlock stared at each other, mentally sizing the other up. John and Sally stared at the two of them.
"What the hell is going on?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
Sally and John glanced at each other warily. "Not in the slightest."
"Molly's hair is down. She never keeps it down when she's working."
"Sherlock's shirt is unbuttoned. He detests it being unbuttoned at work as he has an irrational worry that bits of his autopsies are going to slip down it."
Sherlock and Molly circled each other slowly, their eyes riveted to each other as they spoke over each other, deducing out loud.
"Her shoes are also of a type worn for running, not for standing still for hours."
"Similarly, his tie is missing. Sherlock's vast tie collection is as noteworthy as it is ugly."
"Cat hair is missing from her clothing. Molly never leaves her flat without giving Toby a 'cuddle.'"
"While he's typically careful to keep the worst of the dog fur off his clothing, Gladstone's fur is absent from the hems of his trousers."
"You're wearing jeans. You never wear jeans."
"Your watch is missing. You're extremely fond of that watch."
"And of course the most glaring difference-"
"Your unreasonably annoying and rude behavior?"
Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "I was going to say the same for you."
Molly scowled at him.
John and Sally glanced at each other before turning their attention to their flatmates again. "I'll repeat. What's going on?" John sighed loudly.
"This," Sherlock said, a smirk forming on his lips as he gestured at Molly. "Is not Molly Hooper."
Molly's scowl deepened. "And this," she said looking at Sally pointedly, "is not Sherlock Holmes."
Sally and John stared at them blankly. "Are you high?" Sally asked after a long moment. "Because I have absolutely no problem with hauling you in for possession again if you are."
"I'm clean!" both Sherlock and Molly protested at the same time. Blinking in shock, they eyed each other wearily and took a step back.
"Cocaine?" Sherlock asked very quietly after a long moment of staring at her.
Molly gave the very slightest shake of her head. "Heroin."
They both frowned and looked away from each other.
"Okay," John sighed again, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, fine. So. So, if he's not Sherlock Holmes and she's not Molly Hooper, then where the hell are Sherlock and Molly?"
The doors to the morgue burst open and two figures lurched inside, attached at the lips and staggering as they attempted to walk and undress each other at the same time. Oblivious to their audience, the man – tall, dark, and wearing a tie – pressed the woman – short with her hair pulled back into a ponytail – into the counter and lifted her up so she was seated upon it. She obligingly wrapped her legs around the man's waist and he moaned into her mouth as he deepened their kiss.
John felt his mouth drop open and – from the quick glance he took at the others to make sure that he wasn't the only one seeing this – Sally's mouth dropped open as well. Sherlock on the other hand just seemed completely baffled and Molly was glaring daggers at the intertwined couple.
The man had the woman's cardigan half unbuttoned and she was working his tie off without either of them taking the time to make sure they were, you know, alone as they rapidly undressed each other. Something had to be done before this went any further and not just because, for reasons he couldn't understand, the amorous couple shared an uncanny resemblance to Sherlock and Molly. The very same Sherlock and Molly who were standing not five feet away from him glaring instead of being locked into a passionate embrace.
Maybe he was dreaming? But why he'd be dreaming about Sherlock snogging Molly was beyond him. Maybe this was a nightmare?
Nightmare or not, the other Molly's hand were getting dangerously close to the other Sherlock's belt and if someone didn't do something soon this dream was definitely going to become a nightmare.
John cleared his throat loudly. "E-Excuse me?" he said a little too hoarsely and a little too loudly for his taste. "Um. Hi?"
The other Sherlock and Molly leapt apart, Molly's head hitting the top cabinets behind her as the other Sherlock staggered back, tripped over his own feet, and pitched to the floor. And yes, now that they were apart, the pair of them were still doing a good job of looking like Sherlock and Molly. Something terribly strange was going on.
"Oh my god," the other Molly gasped, covering her now beet red face with her hands and cringing away from them. "I never- I'm sorry! I never do this type of thing!"
"I should hope not," the first Molly said, her arms folding over her chest as she glared at her twin. "Such behavior is highly unprofessional."
"Indeed," Sherlock agreed, crossing the room to loom disapprovingly over the other Sherlock who was still sprawled out on the floor. "This is a place for work, not for juvenile groping."
At the sound of her own voice the other Molly's head jerked up to stare at her twin. On the floor, the other Sherlock gaped up into the furious glare of himself.
In this moment of abject confusion, Sally Donovan summed up everyone's thoughts the best.
"What the everloving hell is going on?"
