First off, thanks so much for the reviews and author/story favorites and follows. You guys are amazing. Secondly, this chapter was written purely on a whim. It's been a rough and tiring few days and I figured maybe we could all do with a tiny bit of humor. Hopefully it's not too horrible. And third, if there's anything you guys would like to see happen then please feel free to leave it in a review or pm me!
Ducks in a Row
Twenty six weeks old
It's early afternoon when Sherlock's phone buzzes on the table, drawing his attention from his conversation with John by the fire. His hand flashes out to grab it, seeing Lestrade's name take up the screen. He smiles victoriously as he reads the contents and looks at John, who can tell just by watching that they've caught a case.
Even though he won't say it, he's been waiting for a case almost as long as Sherlock has.
"What it is then? A murder?" Sherlock looks up and nods, excitement flooding his features as he searches for his coat.
"Yes, a good one it seems to. Lestrade's got nearly half the force down there and they haven't a clue. Of course it's nothing surprising, they'll hire nearly anybody these days let alone someone with actual intellect." John rolls his eyes but ignores the comment, ready to follow Sherlock downstairs when he remembers something and stops dead in his tracks.
His eyes flash back towards the bedroom. "Uh, Sherlock? I think we've forgotten something."
The detective turns around and looks at John with a raised eyebrow, looking skeptical. "And what would that be?"
"Your daughter."
Sherlock pauses, clearly just remembering Annabelle who had been asleep for the last hour. He turns to call for Mrs. Hudson but quickly remembers she's out and hasn't the slightest clue when she'll be back. Biting his lip he glances at John. And John of course, can read his mind like and open book.
"No. Absolutely no way in hell Sherlock. She's a baby for god's sake!" he protests loudly, but Sherlock just sighs and rushes past, into the bedroom where John can hear him rustling with something. He pinches the bridge of his nose and waits for Sherlock to come back, nearly falling over when the dark haired man returns wearing the baby carrier with a sleepy and confused Annabelle riding inside.
Suddenly the urge for a case goes right down the drown.
"Sherlock, no. Do you have any idea what Molly would say if she found out we took your daughter to a crime scene? Not to mention Lestrade wouldn't even let us in."
Sherlock just snorts. "Of course he will. He's desperate so there's no way he'll turn us away. Now, are you coming or not?" as he descends down the stairs John is tempted to stay right where he is, but after all his time spent with Sherlock and the thought of Annabelle being his only company he quickly runs down the stairs and dives in the cab just in time.
Sherlock just grins smugly as Annabelle babbles happily.
…
The crime scene isn't too terribly far, fifteen minutes if the traffic wasn't heavy and near enough to the tube that they could always take it home need it be. It's in a large brick house tucked away on a corner in a nice and obviously wealthy neighborhood, not hard to miss on account of the numerous flashing lights and officers that flag the front and the surrounding area.
Sherlock has the taxi stop a few yards away, hopping out after he throws some bills overt the seat and John follows wearily. He doesn't like this and the fear of Molly finding out from almost anyone at this scene makes him feel a bit queasy.
They make their way to the front of the house, trying to ignore the stairs and the obvious laughter pointed in their direction. They see Sally standing behind the yellow tape, trying to hide a grin and failing miserably.
"Well, looks like you really can't stay away can you Holmes?" she glances down at the baby and her brow furrows, she knows there's no way Lestrade is going to let him in like this.
"I haven't got time for small talk sergeant. I need to go see Lestrade." Biting her lip Sally contemplates not letting him through, but in the end she figures he'll end up finding a way and she lifts the tape to let him by, meeting John's gaze.
"You'll keep an eye on them?" she asks. The doctor gives a nod that suggests it's the only reason he's here and Sally doesn't doubt it one bit. Somewhat satisfied she watches them approach the front door and sighs. She would never get tired of this job.
The inside of the house is as nice as the outside, with pure white walls and delicate furniture filling each room. The body is upstairs in the master bedroom and they find Lestrade standing outside the door, his face morphing into shock and embarrassment when he sees the trio walking towards him.
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Christ, really Sherlock? You know she can't be here; this is a murder scene." The inspector leans against the cream colored wall and pinches the bridge of his nose and John has a strong urge to run all the way back to Baker Street.
Finally Lestrade straightens up and points inside the bedroom. "You have five minutes, but she stays out here."
Sherlock offers an eye roll but for once there's no arguing. He has John remove Annabelle from the carrier and the doctor holds her close and takes her down the hallway, away from the commotion. He pulls out his phone and glances at the time, chewing his lip and realizing they've got less than two hours before Molly will be back at Baker Street to meet them. He pockets the device again and turns around when he hears muffled yelling coming from the bedroom and Sherlock comes storming out followed by Anderson and Lestrade.
"I'm telling you that you are wrong. All of you are wrong. This man was clearly killed by someone he knew; not a random burglar." Sherlock shouts, throwing his hands in the air. He turns around and jabs a finger into Anderson's chest, mouth open and ready to fire a string of insults. John can tell this is quickly going downhill and while holding Annabelle closer to him he grabs Sherlock's arm and heads for the staircase.
He calls over his shoulder to Lestrade. "We'll be in touch; you know where to find us."
They quickly leave the house, ignoring Sally's I told you so stare and heading back to the main road to catch another cab. If they're lucky and traffic isn't bad they should make it back before Molly gets home. John thinks perhaps he shouldn't hold his breath.
…
It's been years since John Watson felt as uncomfortable as he does now.
Under the scalding gaze of one Molly Hooper, the urge to crawl under a rock and never come out has never been so strong. Beside him Sherlock seems to be faring much better, completely stoic and unaware of the trouble that's headed their way and the desire to slap him fills John quickly.
After what seems like an eternity of silence Molly speaks. "So Sherlock, what have you got to say this time?" she looks pointedly at the detective who squirms slightly, but never breaks.
"I have no idea what you're talking about?" he tells her, his voice smooth and even. In that moment John almost envies the man's ability to lie right through his teeth.
"Oh don't give me that rubbish, you know exactly what I'm talking about! You took our daughter to crime scene for bloody crying out loud." her voice raises to a level John's never heard, anger mixed throughout. It sounds nothing like the Molly he knows and he wonders just how badly they've managed to screw up.
Apparently though, the thought is not cast on to Sherlock, and all he offers is an eye roll. "Oh come on, it's nothing serious. I wore that ridiculous pouch anyways like you said."
Molly's hands ball into fists as she inches closer to him. "That's not the point! The point I'm trying to make is that this is one of the most irresponsible and selfish things you've done Sherlock. And until you realize that I'm not sure I want to be around you."
She whips around on her heels and disappears downstairs where Mrs. Hudson has Annabelle and the two men, one slightly more stunned than the other, sit on the couch in silence. Sherlock turns to John and the doctor admits that he looks terribly regretful.
"I suppose that wasn't my best idea?" he asks and all John can do is laugh, shaking his head.
"Far from it my friend; but you know there's still time to apologize right?" Sherlock sighs, rising from the couch and heading to the door, slipping on his coat.
He stand outside Molly's flat longer than necessary, trying to find the words to make things better but coming up empty handed. Frustrated and somewhat exhausted he knocks on the door, ready for the day to be over and for Molly's anger to be gone.
She must know it's him before she even opens the door because she watches him with her arms crossed and head cocked to the side, obviously not surprised. Without a word she opens the door and lets him in.
They go to the kitchen where Molly's cooking and she returns to her spot by the counter where she begins cutting up potatoes. The stony silence makes Sherlock uncomfortable and he shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair.
"Is she asleep?" he asks, referring to Annabelle. Without looking up from her task molly nods, her ponytail bouncing. Sherlock wishes she would just say something to him but he knows deep down it's his mess and he's the one who needs to fix it. He takes a step closer to her and stills her hand with his own.
"Molly, look at me please?" grudgingly, she obliges and glances up, meeting green eyes. She purses her lips and waits as Sherlock inhales deeply.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry for being so irresponsible and making you doubt me. It's the last thing I want." he leans in and presses his lips to her neck, the soft flesh just below her ear.
"Can you forgive me?" the ache in his gut intensifies as he waits for her answer, because he's scared to lose her. After all this time spent fighting he fears being the one to lose it all. But just like she does every time, Molly Hooper swoops in to save the day.
"Of course I can, you idiot."