It was a Tuesday night when Molly Hooper arrived at the pleasant-looking suburban home with a large handbag on her shoulder, sensible shoes on her feet, and a determined look on her face as she rang the doorbell. It was not the first time she'd been here, nor the first time for such a reason, but she always felt it was better to be on her guard than not.

"Meena, Tom," Molly nodded at her coworker and Meena's husband. "I'm here for your son," she said in all seriousness.

"Could you please rephrase that, it makes you sound like a movie villain," Tom Aylesworth grimaced. "But thanks for looking after George Rad, we really appreciate it."

The long-haired brunette nodded briskly, then turned to her coworker. "Meena, if you eat spicy foods tonight, please do it in moderation. It seemed to irritate George Rad the last time I was over."

Meena was neither surprised nor irritated. "You tested the bottled milk, didn't you?"

"Of course," Molly answered.

Her coworker sighed. "Maybe you don't get along with Sherlock Holmes because you two are far too alike," she said, "I heard he was caught experimenting on paint chips to determine which would be the most flammable."

Molly wrinkled her nose. "That would explain the skittishness of the lab workers, those bloody idiots." Then she shoved the couple out. "Go, your child isn't paying attention, and will likely stay that way if you leave quickly and calmly."

"You've seriously got to start watching action movies, just so you know what not to say to parents," Tom snorted, but led his wife quickly and calmly out the door.

Molly left the television on for about three minutes after the car drove off, then switched it off. "Now, where were we," she said, pulling out her tablet. She clicked on an app, and then sat next to the curly-haired boy on the sofa, his eyes as large as his father's, and his smile as wide as his mother's. "Ah, the circulatory system." She enlarged the screen so that he could read along with her, if he so chose. "Let's review." Her voice changed to a slightly more pedantic pace and tone as she read aloud, " 'The circulatory system is a vast network of organs and vessels that is responsible for the flow of blood, nutrients, hormones, oxygen, and other gases to and from cells. Without the circulatory system, the body would not be able to fight disease or maintain a stable internal environment – such as temperature and pH – known as homeostasis.' "

Her mobile pinged, and she sighed as she pulled it from her pocket. "Oh, for once it's not your parents, it's Watson. I don't think you've met, your mother won't bring you to work, for some odd reason." She read the text aloud, "Would you do us the honor of being my daughter's godmother?" She barked out a laugh, startling both herself and the infant beside her. "Oh, that was unexpected," she said, then muttered aloud as she typed back, "No, I'm already a godmother. I've reached my limit for looking after live humans."

Then she made a face at the infant boy, "Besides, I hardly know him or his wife. I would think at least the wife would have some gullible friends to babysit, she seemed to have a bit more common sense."

Her mobile dinged again. Her nose wrinkled again. "I should have made Mycroft Holmes block his brother and Watson from this phone, but I suppose that would've been too much to ask, after having his flunkies scrub through it," she shook her head. Then she grinned in a conspiratorial fashion, "It was awfully funny to see the older Holmes dressing down his younger brother, especially while the younger was coming down from an overdose." Then her tone changed yet again, this time more menacing, "And so help me, if I ever catch you doing drugs in a recreational fashion, I will throw you to the tender mercies of rehab so fast, your head might fall off. Then again, if you're stupid enough to do it like Sherlock Holmes, you weren't using your head in the first place." To his credit, the infant didn't look scared, but neither was he gurgling foolishly. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

She huffed a sigh, then read the next text aloud. "Molly, please, we need another godparent. I'm already the godfather, for some reason. John doesn't want his alcoholic sister to be godmother, and I think we need a female who isn't an octogenarian former exotic dancer. SH" The next text read, "Please don't tell Mrs. Hudson I said that. SH"

Molly Hooper rolled her large brown eyes, then typed back, "No. Try your brother." Then she smirked at George Rad, who merely burbled and reached for her tablet. "I don't blame you. The circulatory system is more useful and entertaining than why Watson, et al. think I should be their godmother. Isn't there a rule saying I can only be a godmother once? If not, there should be." She cleared her throat, and, after swiping on her tablet, continued to read, " 'While many view the circulatory system, also known as the cardiovascular system, as simply a highway for blood, it is made up of three independent systems that work together: the heart (cardiovascular); lungs (pulmonary); and arteries, veins, coronary and portal vessels (systemic), according to the U.S National Library of Medicine'." She added, "Not that we should believe Americans all the time, but science, unlike people, can't lie."

This time, her mobile rang, rather than dinged. "Oh, for f-," she caught herself, "really?" She frowned when she saw the ID, then answered, "Hello."

"Dr. Hooper, please refrain from making ridiculous suggestions to my brother," the elder Holmes' cultured voice said. "He might actually take it seriously."

"You make more sense as a godparent than myself," Molly said, "you actually know these people and are in a position to protect them. And if you can't take the bugs out of my phone, could you at least put in a Watson and Holmes, er, your brother, blocker?"

There's a gusty sigh from the other end. "If I had the wherewithal to block my brother, I would," he muttered, "and the bugs are for your safety, Doctor."

"It's not safe if your brother can get to it," she retorted.

"And I'd rather not be a godparent," he said with some asperity. "It would require me to deal with," he paused, "smaller humans." The last word was said as if that were a preventable defect rather than a fact of life.

"And people tell me I'm cold-blooded, metaphorically speaking," she blinked. "Very well. Neither of us will be the Watson child's godparent. Problem solved."

"From what I've come across, the GCSE Bitesize site would be an adequate site to read from for a toddler," Mycroft Holmes continued, as if the problems of bugging her mobile were negligible. "The British Heart Foundation likewise has a site that has large pictures to accompany it. I'm surprised you simply clicked on the first site that came up."

"Read this," Molly raised two fingers in the air, not caring if the infant saw it, then hung up. She narrowed her eyes, then clicked on the British Heart Foundation site. " 'Every part of your body needs a fresh supply of blood in order to work normally. It's your heart's job to make sure that this is pumped out regularly,' " she read aloud. She had to admit, George Rad was rather happy with the large and colorful (yet inaccurately colored for definition purposes) heart at the top of the page. It was simplistic, but she supposed that was a small price to pay for the small boy patting at the picture of the heart.

She quirked her mouth to the side. Well, she supposed looking after Sherlock Holmes would make Mycroft Holmes qualified as a babysitter, and she snorted. Then she continued to read in her pedantic tone as George Rad stared and occasionally reached out to touch the various depictions of the circulatory system.

It took a couple of hours, but George Rad fell asleep, and Molly Hooper caught up on her regular reading material from various forensic sites.

She honestly forgot about the other godparent silliness, being too damn busy with slicing into bodies, finding that one of the newbies had actual promise as a lab technician and training the hell out of him, and minding her actual godchild from time to time, until an obviously alcoholic Watson called her up before work a number of months later. "Could," he tried to clear his throat, "could you look after Rosie for me?" His voice was rough and his nose sounded clogged with tears.

"Watson?" she frowned. "This is Molly Hooper. Who am I supposed to look after?"

"What?" he sounded as confused as she was. After a pause, he groaned. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I, I'll call someone else."

"All right," she said, but frowned. Strange.

Then she texted another rarely-used number. "Why aren't you looking after this Rosie?"

"It's my fault her mother died. SH"

She blinked. These people have the worst timing and the worst luck. She repeated the earlier question and added some commentary. "Why aren't you looking after this Rosie? He sounded confused and drunk, he shouldn't be left alone with a small child."

"Can't. He won't let me. SH"

She rolled her eyes. "Like that's ever stopped you before," she both muttered and texted.

"I'm serious. He's very, very angry with me. He should be. SH"

She sighed deeply, then started when the kettle whistled. Once she made her cuppa and had a couple of calming sips, she re-read the texts. And finally texted, "Get someone, anyone, to take that child. Call 999 if you have to." And then she proceeded to block Watson's number on her mobile, figuring if the two men were at odds with each other, Watson couldn't find a way to get past the usual security measures. She really didn't want him drunk-dialing her again, honestly, it was rather irritating.

Then again, it's not like she knew them all that well, and vice versa. Enough to be acquaintances, but not enough to be a godparent, dammit, and definitely not enough to get embroiled in what seemed like a soap opera. Certainly, if there were two grown men who chased after criminals for fun, one of whom played dead for a while, and yet ended up with a neglected child and a dead wife, nothing seemed out of bounds to put them into bizarre situations.

It's not like she's got the moral high ground, she thought as she got ready for work. There are reasons she's in the morgue, and only one of which is because she's very good at her job.

[Sources are & British Heart Foundation, thank you! . & . /heart-health/how-your-heart-works/your-heart-and-circulation]