Author's Note: I want to give a huge shout out to all my wonderful followers and reviewers! Without your encouragement this chapter would not have made it out so soon, so thanks to lvPayne, varjaks, Rocking the Redhead, Doctor WTF, Nocturnias, Dasumi, Zora Arian and finally the Anon Brit who pointed out a cultural error-thank you so much! I really do aim for authenticity, so if spot anything else please let me know. Enjoy.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0 o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o
Chapter 2.
The night after Sherlock offered her the job he texted her at 11:14 p.m.
Meet me at 4678 E. Burton St. Take a cab and get off at the Brighton Office building.-SH
She changed out of her pajamas and ran a brush through her hair before leaving the apartment. The Brighton building appeared to be closed for the night, so she texted him back.
It's closed. How do I get in?-M
She received no reply, but a doorman emerged from the shadows and opened the door. He was handsome, though very unlike Sherlock. He had dark skin and a happy manner.
"He's waiting for you upstairs, room 515, Molly."
"How do you know my…never mind." Sherlock must have mentioned it to him. He nodded and motioned towards the elevator. Room 515 was a conference room with a twenty foot table in the middle. The chairs had all been moved to the interior wall, leaving a clear view from the conference table to the street below and the two apartment complexes across the street. Sherlock was lying face down on the table, elbows propping up his binoculars. When he heard her enter he held up a second pair for her. When she paused he sighed and patted the table.
"Come on then."
With as much grace as she could muster she slid onto the table and got within an arm's length of him. "W-what are we doing here?" She asked.
"We're surveilling."
"What are you looking at?"
"The apartment complex on the right. You'll take the one on the left. Focus on the women. Take this," he said, handing her a notebook. "Write down everything that you think is an unusual habit or action. Bottom to top floor, left to right."
She didn't ask anything else, but let out a yawn. He set a cup before her which she drank from and sputtered, "What is this?!"
He brushed some liquid off his shirt, "It is six shots of Espresso mixed with chocolate syrup. I drink it when I am on surveillance. It helps my mind bridge the gaps made by lack of sleep." His cupid's bow popped at the 'p' in sleep. "If you keep spitting at me this might not work after all."
She stared, mouth open, "You made me coffee?"
"No, the barista at Speedy's did. Look, before you spend too much time reading into this-I need my assistants at their highest functioning capacity. You cannot be at that state after a ten hour shift considering that it is near midnight. Consider it part of the pay."
She hoped he was lying, being brisk as usual-so she brought it up to her lips and continued to drink it. Shite, it tasted awful. Never mind-if he had brought it especially for her she was going to drink it. She looked into the binoculars.
"Isn't it strange that none of them have their curtains closed?" She asked.
His lips tightened before he spoke, "No. The bedrooms are built next to the hallway and this is a nine to five office building. None of them have any reason to suspect they are being watched."
She gulped. She lived across from an office building and didn't close her curtains regularly either, the thought hadn't crossed her mind. What if someone had been observing her? If so, she hoped that they hadn't seen that particularly shameful night when she'd killed two bottles of Pinot Grigio in one setting and started dancing with Toby to the soundtrack of South Pacific. She thought about making a crack at the world's only consulting peeping Tom, but thought better of it. In any other circumstance she would feel bad for snooping on other people, but if Sherlock was investigating someone in these buildings, they were probably fairly unscrupulous anyway. After looking at what appeared to be perfectly normally flats and some of their owners, her eyes rested on one woman in particular. She lived alone it seemed, with a dog. Golden Retriever, to be exact. The furniture in the living room was sleek, almost sterile looking. In fact, the whole apartment seemed sterile, the only pops of color being the blue and orange abstracts hanging gallery-style on the wall behind the dining room table. Everything was symmetrical.
The woman was blonde and short, curvy, wearing jeans and an orange jumper. She reached into a brown bag on the counter and pulled out a bottle of what Molly thought was whiskey and proceeded to pour herself a glass. She then put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and carried her glass to the coffee table in the living room, where she turned the telly on. The dog sat patiently in front of her as she sat down and the woman looked around before patting the couch. The dog jumped up and the action made Molly think of how often she sat on the couch at night, stroking Toby. She felt a kinship with this lone woman. When the microwave dinged she got up and took the popcorn out, setting it on the counter. She retreated to the bedroom and emerged a moment later, wearing a nightgown that looked like it had been borrowed from the set of Little House on the Prairie and it clicked. This was who he'd been looking for.
"Sherlock!"
He leaned over, "What?"
"That woman! The one on the fourth floor…fifth in-she can't live there." He moved his binoculars in the direction of the apartment.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because! Look at what she's wearing!"
"Positively ghastly. What else?"
"She let the dog on the couch. The apartment is meticulous and it's a black couch-would you let a Golden Retriever on a black couch? Look at what she's drinking too-whiskey."
"Maybe she likes whiskey."
"She does, but she doesn't own the apartment."
"What brings you to that conclusion?"
Then she knew he was testing her. He knew that everything she was saying was right, but he wanted to see just how far back her logic went. Eager to prove herself she continued, "Look at the wine rack in the hallway-it's huge…and stocked. She just did everything a normal woman does; goes home, feeds pet, turns the telly on, gets into her pajamas…everything but the favorite drink. The whiskey was in a brown bag on the counter- meaning it's not what she usually drinks. If it were it would've been in the cupboard. I don't care who you are-everyone has a designated place for their standard." She sounded triumphant and Sherlock flashed a brief smile that set her heart pounding.
"Well done, Molly Hooper. I think you will do just fine."
Molly blushed and set her binoculars down. "Is that what you were looking for? A house sitter?"
"Yes. Although it isn't her I'm interested in. Her sister works for the government and I think she intends to steal some plans from the office above her."
"Her sister?"
"Yes. A twin, whose established residence is in Kensington. However- she has been getting mail at a post office box here in Bayswater for at least two months."
"How do you know that?"
He smirked, "This one's not too bright. When John and I saw her getting mail at her regular post, she fumbled for the keys and then had to try both of them in the lock. She was squinting, ergo she'd forgotten her glasses- easy to do because she always wears contacts anyway and, not used to carting them around must have forgotten them at work. She needs them to see close up, which is precisely why she could not see the neighborhood initial stamped on either key. Narrowing down the possible apartment buildings after I knew the initials was really… child's play."
"So why are we here?"
He sighed, "Just when I thought there was hope for you. Think." His voice took on a cold edge during the statement, so much harsher than the excited tone she'd heard a moment before and she involuntarily recoiled.
"You think this is where she plans to bring the plans when she's done with them."
His face softened slightly, "Bingo."
He spun off the desk and grabbed his coat from the back of one the chairs. "Shall we catch a cab? There's an experiment waiting for me at home that should be done just about now." Wordlessly, she nodded. As they left the building the doorman came out of the shadows and Sherlock paid him, bringing his index finger to his lips. The doorman smiled at Molly and handed her a folded piece of paper. Sherlock seemed to not see the paper and looked outside for a cab.
"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes, Molly."
"That's Dr. Hooper to you." Sherlock said, his tone reminiscent of a block of ice. He successfully hailed a cab and Molly sighed when she looked at the clock inside-almost three in the morning. Her shift would start in five hours and she'd be relying on Red Bull to get her through the day tomorrow, having exhausted her stash of precious Mountain Dew. She knew it was a bad habit-as a doctor she hated energy drinks and knew that they were almost as bad as cigs for the body, but the teenager in her would always love them. Mountain Dew was special because she had her cousin Carl from America send it to her. There was a British version of it, but ingredient restrictions in the U.K. altered the taste to the point that it was no longer satisfying. They were halfway to 221b Baker St. when Sherlock broke her from her reverie.
"What are you thinking?" He asked.
"I'm thinking about America."
Sherlock dropped an eyebrow in a disapproving fashion, "Why on God's earth?"
She smiled and felt mysterious for the first time since she'd met the world's only consulting detective. "Because they have something I want." She shoved her hands into her pockets and felt the piece of paper the doorman had given her. She pulled it out and was about to open it when Sherlock snatched it from her hands.
"Just what I've been looking for. It's like you read my mind Molly." He said, charming smile gracing his face. He proceeded to use it as a wrapper for his nicotine gum.
"I think I'd better stick with the patches, this gum does nothing for me." She looked at him, shocked. "I-I believe that was for me."
"Oh was it? Pity, it would have been quite interesting if you had suddenly developed mind-reading capabilities. Even so you did well enough tonight for a beginner, although you did miss a few important details. Ah, here we are. Goodnight Molly."
He handed her money for the cab. "Night, Sherlock…sleep tight."
"Sleep tight? Why would I want to sleep tight? What does that mean exactly? Have my muscles tensed, sleep with the sheet wrapped taut and tucked in on the sides? What?"
Molly laughed out loud, "F-forget I said anything, Sherlock."
He had a frustrated expression on his face as the cab drove off. She couldn't hear him shout down the street "I don't even sleep when I'm on a case!" Try as she might, Molly couldn't get the image of Sherlock lying in bed with his muscles tensed and sheets wrapped deliciously tight about him out of her head. It was going to be a long day.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Love it? Hate it? You know what to do. Thanks for reading!-D. Holland