DEAREST
A Sherlock fanfiction by Hrlyqin, based on properties owned by their respective creators.
CHAPTER NINE
It was a Tuesday. It was cold and rainy. John had worked a long day (not to mention not getting any sleep the night before) and now here he was, knocking at the upper door to Molly's flat.
This was becoming a sadly frequent occurrence.
"John!" Molly answered the door and let him down the stairs. "Thank you so much for coming. I just can't seem to get it to stop dripping."
"Not a problem." He said, which was almost entirely a lie. But he was a nice guy who was fully convinced of the way in which a gentleman should behave, especially to an expectant mum. He headed into the kitchen to take a look at the faucet. If her sink didn't stop with the drip, Molly's ability to offer him tea would be severely impeded.
While he started fiddling, Molly leaned against the counter shifting her feet. "So Sherlock is on a case still? He was playing the violin all night."
"Yeah. It's just a missing husband but he'll take what he can get these days. I think Inspector Lestrade has them nearly convinced to let him do police consultations again."
"Oh that will be such a relief for you."
"I'd say that I would at least get more sleep but you know..."
They both laughed a little bit and John gave the faucet knob a strong twist.
"All better."
"Looks like it just needed a bit of muscle." she said in a coy voice.
Right then. John could see that it wouldn't do him any good to put off the conversation. "Listen Molly, I think we should talk."
Molly gulped a little but recovered nicely. "Of course, would you like some tea?"
"No, no tea. Let's just sit down."
He led her out to the living room and helped her get comfortable on the couch before sitting next to her and adopting his gentlest bedside manner.
"Molly," he started,"I know this must be hard for you. Your life has changed completely from what it was a year ago, and I know what that's like. I also know you must be lonely, and it's not easy living here. People always coming and going. The violin music. The explosions. The smells."
"Sherlock trying to shave Toby." she interjected.
"That was for a case, and he apologized. Anyway, I'm saying that I know you are in a bad patch right now, and I want you to know that I consider myself your friend. Just a friend. But a good friend."
"You do?"
"Yes, and as your friend, I need a favor."
"Anything. Just name it. You've been so nice to me."
"Stop making excuses to call me down here. Today it was the faucet. You needed help moving the sofa last week. You've been here for almost 4 months now and I'd like us to be past all of that. If you want company, you can just ask."
For a second, Molly looked like she might cry, but she swallowed deeply and nodded. She cried at absolutely everything these days. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just think about what I said, okay? Okay then. Better get upstairs. Molly. Toby."
He gave the cat a little rub and went upstairs, stopping for a minute to chat with Mrs. Hudson about an idea of hers. He felt quite accomplished - two successful conversations with women in less than an hour. He was on a roll.
Opening up the door to his flat, he was visually assaulted by the state of things in the living room. There were papers everywhere. It looks like they might have been in stacks at one point until Sherlock couldn't find something he was looking for. Now they looked rather like a tornado had hit them.
In the middle of all this, sitting on the floor with what had probably been the offending missing paper, was his roommate.
"Thanks for cleaning up." he said as he came in.
"Don't mention it."
"Is all this about the missing husband?"
"Not missing. Dead. With quite a lot of personal insurance."
"Your work does always bring out the best in people." he muttered. "I had a talk with Molly."
"No more John the handyman?"
"Nope. I talked with Mrs. Hudson too."
Sherlock, sensing that whatever John wanted to discuss may need at least the outward appearance of his attention, set the paper down and waited for him to continue.
"We think Molly might need a little cheering up, and the baby's almost here now, so Mrs. Hudson is throwing her a shower."
Sherlock gave himself time to carefully think through several possibilities before he replied. "And this." Pause. "Involves us how?"
"Mrs. Hudson's going to handle all the decorations and favors, the invitations, so I'm in charge of food. I thought Angelo's or Busabas."
"And my contribution?"
"Well we talked about that. We think the best thing you can do is... just let us handle it. It would actually be great if you weren't even there at all."
Sherlock stood up, using the full power of his height against John's to stare the man down. "You think I'll do something to ruin it."
"Yes." John said matter-of-factly.
"Say inappropriate things, make people uncomfortable, put some type of experimental compound in the cupcakes."
"Yes." John agreed again.
"You don't want me to help at all?"
"Yes."
"...fine."
"Fine."
"Alright then."
"Yep."
John looked at Sherlock for a minute longer, trying to figure out what was going on in that head, then he turned away and visibly shook himself as if trying to break a spell. "I'm famished. Have we got anything in?"
Despite Sherlock's agreement that he did not want to be a part of the party planning, John found him tagging along to talk to the restaurants about catering and helping Mrs. Hudson lick envelopes. Mrs. Hudson of course cooed over the help. John couldn't decide if she didn't know Sherlock at all or if she knew him better than anyone else.
Despite tradition that a baby shower should be an all-female affair, about half the guest list was men. More than half, if you counted Toby. John had wrangled the feline and taken him upstairs while Mrs. Hudson sent Molly out on an errand so they could set up.
He was in the act of fitting a collar with a bowtie on it around his neck when Sherlock came out of his bedroom, dressed much more fully and formally than when he had gone in.
"Sherlock, I told you, you don't need to come."
"Nonsense. You know how much I love a party." he said in a tone that implied that he loved anything but."John, is that cat wearing a bow tie?"
John said something under his breath about bow ties being cool, but Sherlock swooped in and snatched the cat away, stripping him of his formal wear.
"What's your fascination with Molly's cat?" John asked, giving up on talking him out of going.
"Cats are fascinating creatures John. Think of dogs. Dogs hunt. They guard. It makes sense that humans domesticated them. Goats, cows, all of the animals early civilizations brought in to their societies served some purpose. But not cats. There is a theory that instead of being domesticated by humans, cats were attracted to the rodents living in human settlements and simply showed up and imposed themselves. They served no real purpose but were still taken in as pets. In that sense, humans never domesticated cats at all. Cats domesticated humans."
"And yet you don't know that the Earth goes round the sun."
"That knowledge has never been useful to me. The behaviour of cats, on the other hand, has helped me with any number of cases."
"Of course."
Mrs. Hudson had everything set up in her flat by the time the boys got down there. The food was on platters in the kitchen and the rest of the guests were enjoying themselves in a living room festooned with blue and white ribbons, pandas and elephants.
"Come in, come in. We're just waiting on Molly now." She tried to take Toby from Sherlock but the pale man retreated to a chair with his furry friend. Mrs. Hudson made introductions all around while Sherlock mentally filled in the details of each person present.
Meena, a friend of Molly's from work. A nurse. A chubby freckled woman who had no doubt picked a profession which would allow her to smother people with all of her unused love and affection.
Caroline, who Molly knew from school. Caroline had only become friends with Molly so she could have someone to feel better than, and those feelings hadn't changed over the years.
Tosh, who Molly had met 'socially'. Sherlock suspected the circumstances were embarrassing to Molly. Also, Tosh had been involved in at least one lesbian affair.
Mrs. Turner, the neighbor, who thought it was chic and bohemian of her to attend a shower for an unwed mother.
Cyril and Robert, Mrs. Turner's tenants. Although they professed to be deeply in love and a shining example of gay commitment, Cyril had recently rekindled his relationship with his ex-wife.
Sherlock was still deducing minute details about the crowd when Molly entered the building, calling out to Mrs. Hudson as she opened the door.
"I've got your custar-"
"SURPRISE!"
Molly clapped her hand to her cheek and looked delighted. She was led into the room and given the seat of honor as the party began.
John ferried out the food and compliments were passed around as he presented the satay.
"I've always loved thai food. It makes me feel so sophisticated." Molly said.
"But the peanut sauce, straight to my hips." said the nurse as she dunked her meat into delicious calories.
"I lived in Thailand for awhile...Oh but that was before I got married of course."
Sherlock snapped his head sharply towards Mrs. Hudson and her comment. Surely she did not mean what he took it to mean...
After that, the event was rather dull. He was bored nearly witless, made even more bored by trying to behave himself. After an hour, he excused himself before he could be roped into playing Pin the Sperm on the Egg again.
He slipped upstairs and pulled out his phone. He did prefer to text but he knew how his brother abhorred it.
Mycroft was bent over the sink in his hotel room, all the necessary supplies laid out on the counter beside him (bleach, sponges, baking powder and so on). He wiped his hand on a towel and answered his buzzing phone.
"I hope you truly appreciate what I have just suffered through."
"Sherlock. Today was the shower, I take it?"
"I almost lit myself on fire as a distraction. You'll enjoy the video footage."
"You have news for me?"
"Nothing has significantly changed. Molly is still relatively isolated. No one in her immediate social circle is a threat. No one suspicious has been following her or watching her. How are things on your end?"
"Blood stains are such a chore to get out of good fabrics."
"Try vinegar. You'll be home soon then?"
"In time for the birth."
"Enjoy the rest of your vacation, Mycroft."
The brothers hung up and Mycroft continued with his washing up. He missed home. He missed his office. His assistant. He really was glad that he would be back in London's arms soon.
Going back out to the main room of his hotel, he set his luggage out to begin filling it. Most of what he had brought would sadly need to be destroyed now.
Laying across the bed like a corpse in repose was his umbrella. Corpse was an appropriate term for it now. It had several gouges through the fabric (knives), a few perfectly circular bullet holes, scorch marks and large hacks and chips along the handle (more knives). Most telling of all was the battered metal tip and topmost part of the umbrella. If one were going by appearance alone, it looked like it had been shoved through something wet and messy.
It was really going to be difficult to replace.
A/N: The theory Sherlock cites on a cat's lack of domestication is credited to J.A. Baldwin.
As always, this chapter was approved by that font of brilliant, Roxann-Michal. Also thanks to my repeat reviewers, hope to hear from you again!
