Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to kraftykathy and Aphraelsan- Enjoy.
~ DELICATE MONSTERS ~
He enters the Morgue to the sounds of shouting, of objects being knocked over and thrown.
He can hear Anderson yelling bloody murder, demanding somebody come and help him; Not really being in the humour to help the man, however- Is anyone ever in the humour to help Anderson?-Holmes does not quicken his pace, nor does he worry.
If Anderson were truly badly injured then he wouldn't be able to spend so much time pacing and yelling, the detective knows well.
Thus, Holmes is merely mildly curious about what's going on when he turns the corner into the Morgue. He can see Anderson, red-faced and gesticulating wildly at another man standing on the far side of the room.
The other man's back is to him.
Holmes halts, cocks an eyebrow, about to wryly ask what's going on: Alas, this amusement lasts precisely as long as it takes him to see Anderson turning, his swinging his arm back to deliver a blow to the man he's arguing with.
For, with a start Holmes realises that the person Anderson's about to strike is Hooper.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the next few moments- and his reaction to this discovery- end up being a little… blurry.
And by blurry, he means panicked.
Without quite realising what he's doing, Holmes finds his feet carrying him swiftly forwards, his arms already out-stretched and preparing to pull the odious Anderson off of Hooper. What punishment he will visit upon the blighter while he's doing so is something which he refuses to think about, lest such calm consideration interfere with his desire to enact his revenge.
Such righteous fury proves unnecessary, however, for before he can take even three steps he sees Hooper jerk her leg upwards, slamming her knee into Anderson's crotch with unmerciful force before swinging her fist at his jaw and knocking him several feet away from her. He lets out a breathless, "Oomph!" before stumbling drunkenly backwards, unsure, apparently, whether to attend to his manhood first or his jaw-
The expression on Hooper's face offers an unsurprising lack of sympathy and it makes Holmes smile savagely.
As he watches she stalks forward, towering over the other man (well, as much as someone under five foot can tower) and glowering down at him.
Her wig is mussed (though thankfully it has remained on) and her eyes are blazing.
"Should you ever repeat that assertion about Holmes, Mr. Anderson," she's biting out, "then I assure you a bruised jaw will be the least of your problems-
Are we clear?"
And she turns, no doubt meaning to sweep out of the Morgue and walking straight into Sherlock instead.
Their bodies slam together roughly and both jump back as if they had been scalded; Indeed, the detective is so skittish he damn near trips over his own feet.
For a moment they merely stare at one another, each perturbed and embarrassed, Anderson and his mewling forgotten as they gape with wary, wide eyes-
Holmes opens up his mouth to apologise but as he does his attention narrows to Hooper's face- Or rather, it narrows to the damage which has been done to it.
The sight is rather awful.
Hooper's left eye is blackening, the lid swelling shut. The bruise at her jaw tells a similar story of fisticuffs, while a further glance down shows her limping slightly and that her knuckles are scraped and bloodied, doubtless from the same altercation. Holmes doesn't need his skills to deduce that her assailant is the same height and weight as Anderson, that much is bloody obvious.
It is only with great difficulty that he keeps himself from immediately turning around and going to work on the already-beaten Morgue attendant.
For rage, incandescent rage of the sort Holmes has rarely felt except when he has seen those he loves in danger fills him, burning through bone and sinew and hissing into his bloodstream. Making it boil. It's been a damn long time since he's felt so furious, and it's been a damn long time since he's been so determined to do something about it-
His gaze darts to Anderson, his body canting towards him in an obvious desire to enact revenge but before he can move he feels Hooper's small, strong hand lock around his wrist. Stay him. He blinks at her in confusion, not sure why she's holding him still but she shakes her head. Murmurs no.
He stares at her with a mix of disbelief and stupification and, very gently, she tugs him towards her.
"Come, check my nose isn't broken, Mr. Holmes," she says evenly, being sure to pitch her voice to its usual, pseudo-masculine level. "Young Phillip and I had a mere disagreement- It won't happen again, will it Phillip?"
And she shoots Anderson a quelling look, her cocked eyebrow a challenge. She is, after all, his direct superior. He grunts something out which sounds vaguely like acquiescence before turning his attention back to his injuries. He's managed to right himself slightly, and now he's curling into a ball, trying to control his breathing; His face is sweaty and dark red with pain and Holmes feels a visceral stab of pleasure at the sight.
Serves him right, the damn bastard.
"Come, Holmes," Hooper repeats. "My nose hurts- I'd like to get it checked now, if you please."
And she tugs gently on his arm again. Gestures to Stamford's office, at the back of the Morgue. For a moment Holmes's gaze flicks between he and Anderson, the desire to harm the man who harmed his woman refusing to abate. The desire to make sure Anderson knows precisely how many protectors the young pathologist has in her corner crowding out his wiser, more gentlemanly tendencies.
But then-
"It was just a disagreement between two lads, Holmes," Hooper murmurs, her grip on him tightening, and he belatedly realises what she's trying to say. What this must look like. He meets her gaze and he sees it there, the knowledge she can't say out loud: Holmes can't be so protective towards a fellow man. He wouldn't be so stricken, even at the thought of someone harming Watson, or his brother. He wouldn't try to fight their battles, he wouldn't be horrified at the notion that anyone raised a hand to them.
No, he wouldn't expect to defend a fellow man at all, not unless he was severely outnumbered.
And if he is to help Hooper maintain her disguise, he realises, then he cannot react to her injuries any differently than he would were she any other man.
He must not be tender. He must not be gentle. She must be a comrade to him, nothing more.
Bitterness wells in his mouth, his lips pulling sharply downward as he realises what he must do. What's expected of him. He only hopes that once he and Hooper are away from prying eyes he will be able to show her his true feelings at seeing her so hurt and make sure she is well.
So he takes a deep breath. Nods. Draws that cloak of calmness and hauteur which he so often wears around himself and looks snidely down his nose at Anderson, before turning his attention back to Hooper.
"I'll need light," he says sharply. "We'd best bring you upstairs to one of the private wards to have a look at that."
She inclines her head tightly, letting go of his wrist. He can see from her expression that she understands he has mastered himself sufficiently to do as she requires.
"Right you are," she says calmly. "Let's get started then."
And she steps promptly away from him, heading towards the stairs which lead to the part of the hospital dedicated to the living.
By some miracle Holmes manages to follow her, and he manages to keep himself from pulling her close until they're safely ensconced above.
Once they've entered the first private room they could find and locked the door, he turns back to her.
She's standing, staring pointedly at her feet, her hands stuffed in her pockets. It makes her look like nothing so much as a recalcitrant schoolboy.
Now that they're alone- and that the initial rush of anger is calming- Holmes finds himself tongue-tied, unsure what to say to her. After all, he still has no idea what set her off this morning.
"You could check my nose," she points out quietly.
Holmes takes a couple of small, ginger steps closer to her and he notes the way she curls her hands into fists in her pockets, as if she has to force herself not to take a step back from him.
He finds the realisation surprisingly… unpleasant.
"Dare I ask what happened?" he says nevertheless, tipping her chin gently upwards and probing her face as gently as he can.
A faint smile tilts her lips before she frowns, hissing in pain.
"Anderson said something which was not to my liking," she replies shortly. "He made an off-colour comment about you and Dr. Watson, the latest of many, as no doubt you know. But this time… This time…"
She sighs, puffs a small, irritated breath out through her cheeks.
It looks rather… sweet, Holmes can't help but notice.
"This time," she's saying, "I wasn't of a mind to turn a deaf ear. I told him to mind his language and his manners, that he wasn't to speak of you thus. So he pushed himself into my face, tried to force me to back down-" She shakes her head in exasperation.
"You'd think he assumed I'd never been in a fight, the way he behaved-"
Holmes blinks. "You've- You've been subjected to violence?" he asks, surprised and a trifle horrified.
She shoots him a look of disbelief. "Of course I have," she says. "I was a poor student making my way through medical school, you've no idea how many ignorant toffs I had to fight off-"
And she suddenly trails off, cheeks reddening. Eyes to the ground.
Her shoulders hunch in on themselves and it takes Holmes a moment to realise that she believes she just insulted him.
He won't have her thinking that.
Frowning, (and hoping he doesn't make things worse) he takes this opportunity to step close to her. Put a hand on her shoulder. He's rather relieved when she doesn't shrug it away.
"They beat me too," he says quietly. "Too clever for my own good, they said. Too odd. Too different." He looks away, the pain of the memory making his mouth curl. "They called me deviant. Said I was freakish-"
She looks up at him suddenly, her brown eyes dark. She takes his face in her hands with surprising tenderness. "May I thump them too?" she asks dryly and Holmes smiles. Shakes his head. He leans his forehead on hers, sighing as she slowly slips her arms around his waist and pulls him closer. She feels suddenly little, despite her fierceness.
He finds that he likes it.
"They're just idiots," he says. "Anderson. Those boys who beat and chased me. Those boys who hurt you. They're all still stupid, jealous morons and that will have to be enough of a punishment."
"If you say so." And just like that, the stress seems to go out of her. She blinks up at him and he reaches out. Brushes his thumb softly across her cheek, then her lip. She hisses in pain but when he flinches and tries to pull away she doesn't let him.
On the contrary, she holds onto him tighter. Holds his gaze. The heat of it makes him shiver.
"Check my nose, Holmes," she says and, still gripping his hand, she tows him towards the examination table. Turns towards him expectantly. He lifts her easily and sets her upon it, the warmth and nearness of her setting his senses alight. She sits, her short legs swinging in space; after a moment, in order to facilitate his getting close enough to touch her, she parts her thighs and allows him to stand between them.
Despite himself, Holmes swallows as he does so.
"You needn't worry," she murmurs, "I'll not take advantage." Now, it seems, it's her turn to redden. "I doubt I've the right, considering how I behaved earlier this morning."
Holmes frowns, seeing his opening. He hopes he can say this right. "Was there a reason you spoke thus?" he asks quietly. "Or did I just… Did I just go and spoil things?
I do have form for that, I am aware-"
"It wasn't you." And she shakes her head, her hands coming down to clasp his. She takes both, lifts them to her lips and presses a kiss to each of his knuckles in turn. "You did nothing which requires apology," she says softly. "You merely touched upon some memories which I find rather painful."
"Memories to do with this?"
And he pulls one hand free, slides it up her hip to the place where he'd touched her this morning. She stiffens slightly but doesn't pull away, merely hooks her calves around his thighs, pulling him closer. With another sigh she wraps her arms around him until they're chest to chest. She lays her head upon his heart, ear turned to listen to its rhythm.
The silence stretches out.
"It's not something I like to talk about," she whispers eventually. "Remembering Seb and all that happened after the accident is rather, well, rather horrible."
He thinks he sees. "So Seb was your husband?" he asks and she blinks. Looks up at him.
"No magic," he says, guessing the cause of her surprise. "Merely observation: You're of too advanced an age to have never been married, Hooper. Your comfort with the, ahem, the act of marital love suggests that last night was not your first dalliance, even if it was mine.
"And the fact that you managed to move to London and attend medical school means you must have had access to funds with which to support yourself, funds no husband or father would access for such a purpose-"
"I could have an independent income," she points out.
He shakes his head. "Unlikely. If you had one of those and were intent on living as a man then you'd have set up a fine practice in a wealthy area- You've more than enough talent to do such a thing." He shoots her a small smile. "But no, you stay in the Morgue, in a dark environment where nobody would ever think to look for a woman-" He frowns, something occurring to him- "Almost as if you're keeping out of sight-"
"And if I am?"
The words are whispered, her teeth worrying her lip. Holmes frowns down at her, trying to deduce her but as always he finds himself blinded by, well, by sentiment where she is concerned. For a moment he thinks of asking her what she means but then she reaches up suddenly. Kisses him. She pulls him forcefully to her, arms tightening around him as she holds him with the fiercest grip he's ever felt.
"I'll tell you," she murmurs against his lips. "I'll tell you someday, Holmes, I swear to you on my sweet young Thomas' grave. But not today." She nips his lip. "Not today, sweetheart."
And with that she pulls him down to the examination table and kisses him passionately. Within moments she has him panting, and desperate for her, as desperate as she seems to be for him.
They're in there an hour, "checking over her injuries," and by the time they emerge Holmes has an engagement to dine with her at Baker Street that night.
A/N For those who are curious, yes I'm aware that Hooper mentioned both a Seb and a Thomas. What could that mean..? (Dum dum duuuumm!)
