Lex here! Thank you all for reading! A few replies before we get started:
Hellscrimsonangel: well, as you might have gathered, it's not a one-shot (in fact, there's multiple chapters already written).
Nocturnias: Yes, it's me! Thank you very much. ;)
eccentripetal: I'm glad you like it! I'm SUPER nervous about this because 'The Full House' is such an amazing story. I hope you like where this ends up.
Kataraang0: Yes! Here's more! This series takes place in the months that everyone's still living at Casa de Cooper. ;)
Mrs Max McDowell: COOOOOKKKIIIIIEEESSSSSSSS! YUM.
coloradoandcolorado1: I'm glad you're enjoying it! I hope you like this next part.
PurpleYin: Here's more!
Thanks to those who added this to their favorites/watch! Drop me a line (a little :) will do!) so that I can express my love for you properly!
Last, but certainly not least, a HUGE thank you to Emcee Frodis who has actually become my Sherlock fandom soulmate. C, you are AH. MAY. ZING. In every possible way.
HERE WE GO!
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Less than nothing. Which is negative nothing. That's what's mine.
HOOPER HOUSE RULES
based on "The Full House" (Chapter 6)
Ch 2. Health Risk
"#2: No smoking."
"Really, Molly, don't be absurd," Sherlock's voice carried through the kitchen to be met with nothing but the tat-tat of Toby's tail flicking on the linoleum floor. He stared at Molly's handwriting on the refrigerator door for a moment longer, eyes flicking over the items on the list, his mind racing. Even as he stared at her confident lettering (interesting indeed), his fingers itched to hold a cigarette, needing to be able to think clearly but frustrated with his situation. He considered nicking another couple from the neighbors, but knew that Molly would know immediately.
Letting out a growl of frustration that had Toby hissing back, Sherlock moved back into the bedroom, pulling out the box of nicotine patches and slapping three on his forearm. He flopped himself down on the mattress, adjusting his head on the pillows as he waited for the nicotine to kick in.
Moriarty's reappearance had been nagging at Sherlock since it began, the behavior pattern not quite as obvious as he would have liked. At one time, it would have been exciting: the rush of the chase, the game that only they knew how to play. But things were different now. This wasn't thrilling. The puzzle was muddled, at best. Nothing made sense except the dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach since he'd heard Moriarty's voice on the other end of the phone, a gun to Molly's head. Hopefully, the leads that the Woman would bring in would help form a better idea of what was going on. This needed to end. The faster the better. But Sherlock knew that it wasn't to be. Bringing Moriarty to an end, even with a genius like himself, would take time.
None of these musings were new. In fact, they were the same boring rehashing of the same boring facts he'd had not long after his "death". Sherlock inhaled sharply in frustration, glaring at the ceiling of the bedroom.
The smell of Molly's shampoo hit him sharply, leading him to a room in his mind palace which he'd very firmly shut the door on on several occasions. Unbidden, the door opened to the pastel colored room in his mind. The fact that Molly even had a room in his mind palace at all was alarming at first; but he rationalized that being the only person that he could really trust at the moment, it made sense. Filled with obnoxiously light colors and a worrying amount of childlike jumpers, Sherlock wondered at the pile of things he had been avoiding cataloging. First and foremost being the cream and pink pillow by the entrance. He knew what it meant, what it represented, even as he also recognized that physically, this was the same pillow that was currently between his head and the mattress.
He stood up quickly, walking purposefully into the living room and flipping open Molly's laptop, starting a search. He knew what that cream colored pillow in his mind palace felt like, what it really was. He knew that it was warm and sighed lightly in sleep and that he couldn't help but pull it to him in the dark, not really settled in those rare nights of sleep until it was secure beside him. The feel of Molly herself in his arms was a development that occurred since the Woman arrived and he'd been purposefully pushing back the things that were nagging at him since it had begun.
He peered at the article produced by the search, his eyes quickly skimming over the details and references to professionals. Right near the beginning was the part that he was looking for. He didn't like it. Surely, there had to be something else. His next search proved to show much of the same thing, with words like "trust", "connection", "emotional intimacy", and "spooning", all by supposed "experts".
It was far from helpful.
He stood up again, his brain muddled with the information and the feelings that seemed to be swirling around in his body, egged on by that pastel room. It was longing, he admitted to himself, much like coming off a high.
He really needed a cigarette.
Maybe another nicotine patch would help.
The next thing he remembered was Molly calling his name frantically and her fingers pressing into his erratic pulse.
"Sherlock, what the hell have you done?" There was real panic in her voice and it roused him from the fuzziness in his brain. "I can't take you to a hospital, please, please, don't do this."
"No smoking," he managed to say, confused at the roughness in his voice.
"What?"
"Rule number two," he said, managing to give her a scathing look for even putting it up as one of the rules. He'd told her he wouldn't. Why did she need to make it a rule?
"Good Lord, Sherlock. But this couldn't have happened with just three patches, I've taken them off already," Molly said, continuing to monitor his pulse.
He leveled a glare at her. "It was a five patch problem."
She stopped and looked at him, her eyes widening a bit as she quickly pushed back the sleeve on his other arm. In two swift motions, she'd removed the other two patches, throwing them down on the ground.
He started to feel the trembling in his hands, and she held them tightly in her own, her small fingers digging into his palms. "Sherlock, what have you done?" There were tears in her eyes, and it churned his stomach to think that he'd put them there. Funny, it never really bothered him before.
No, as it turned out, this was a different type of churning. He managed to make it to the toilet before hurling the meager contents of his stomach, the shaking more prominent now. Vaguely, he registered the Woman's voice in the flat and Molly giving hurried instructions. He knew it had been at least three years since she'd actually treated a living person, let alone an overdose.
He hovered beside the toilet, knowing from experience that this was far from over just yet, and he wanted to save himself at least some semblance of embarrassment. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead and he did his best not to let his teeth chatter.
"Here," Molly instructed gently, indicating a couple of pills that he recognized as activated charcoal. "This will help."
"Yes, thank you, Molly," Sherlock answered, swallowing the capsules dry as the thought of water entering his system at that moment was completely out of the question.
"Will he be alright?" the Woman's voice came from just above him. Somehow, he'd ended up with his back pressed up against Molly, his head cradled against her chest as they sat on the bathroom floor, the cool compress to his head being kept on his forehead by her hand.
"He'll be alright soon," was Molly's reply, doing her best to make her voice sound sure. Her fingers were running slow motions through his hair and he finally felt like maybe the trembling might stop.
He visited the toilet at least twice more before he felt that maybe the real danger was subsiding.
"Don't you ever do that again, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said as he returned to her embrace. Her voice was low and forceful but he could hear the worry underneath the bravado. "I can't keep bringing you back from the dead."
He remained silent.
"Promise me."
He hated promises. They were empty words and were almost immediately broken.
"Make it a rule," came his answer, his eyes closed as she continued to hold him.
This earned him a small laugh, one he felt against his back as well as heard in his ear. "I just might."
He smiled.
"#2: No smoking. Since you are not, let's change this to NO MORE FIVE PATCH PROBLEMS. I'm a Doctor, for goodness sakes!"
So there it is, kids! In case you're curious, all the House Rules were written and posted on Molly's fridge pretty early on. The next chapters will be in time-sequential order, but not in "rule" order. ;)
Your reviews (I want to know who's hanging out in this house party) are precious to me. GIVE ME THE PRECIOUSSSSSSSSS.
cheers.
-Lex