"What do you think about the name 'Harold'?" Mary twirled a strand of hair around her fingers as she talked into her phone. "You know, for the spider."
"'Harold' is a terrible name."
"You just offended so many Harolds in this country."
"Good, some Harolds need to be set straight that their name is a terrible name."
The two exchanged a few more words as Molly tried desperately to convince her friend that Harold was not a suitable name for the spider. She went on to suggest some that might actually border the realm of "regular pet names", like Strawberry Sorbet, Cookie Crumble, and French Vanilla (she was a bit hungry at that time).
The name Harold was not without a great amount of history behind it. It had been reference numerous times since the Harold West Saga had occurred.
The Harold West Saga began one years back, when Molly first started working at St. Bart's. A sixteen-year-old teenager by the name of Harold West was admitted to the hospital for a very aggressive strand of the flu. He had stayed at Bart's for three days, and Mary had been the nurse assigned to his care until he was released.
As friends sometimes do, Molly occasionally went over to the medical wing to chat with Mary and vice versa, and on that day, she decided to pay her friend a visit. Earlier that day, she received an invitation in the mail, indicating a wedding that's going to be taking place in two weeks between her cousin and his fiancé. This, in fact, was going to be the first wedding that Molly has ever attended, therefore it warranted the advice from someone more experienced than her in the field of attending such ceremonies. She had absolutely no idea whether she should bring gifts or not, what to wear, and whether she should bring a date?
All she knows about weddings came from the occasional films that are shown in the local movie theatre, but there was a great amount of doubt in her mind that the event would include bridesmaids smashing the cake, and the man or woman running off with someone else right before vows are said.
Therefore, during Molly's lunch break, she went and visited Mary, who happened to be in the middle of bringing lunch to, can you guess it, a certain Harold West.
She decided to follow the nurse in while asking about suitable clothes to wear for the event, and Mary listed several possibilities that are adequate enough. The boy, Harold, stayed silent, ate his soup, and unknowingly listened to their whole conversation.
However, it wasn't the conversation itself that held his interest, it was the speaker at the end of the sentences, who was, in this case, a certain Molly Hooper. He kept his gaze aptly focused on the pathologist, almost as if it were a scene in a romance film where a slow, intriguing melody suddenly starts blasting while a gust of wind blows everyone's hair back artistically.
Except it wasn't at all like that, and the two women continued conversing while the teenage sat back on his hospital bed, slurping the soup.
When Molly was forced to leave, the 30 minutes allotted for lunch spent, she did throw a small smile at Harold, grateful that he did not interrupt or complain throughout that time and left them alone. That was probably not the best course of action on her part as it strengthened the boy's further attachment.
Harold kept hassling Mary the few days that followed for information on the "lady in the lab coat who came in the other day". In order for him stop bothering her on the subject, Mary reluctantly told him her name and position at the hospital, but nothing more.
It turned out that he was a rather persistent boy as well, because he did some research on his own after being released and stumbled upon Molly's address.
Imagine her surprise when the doorbell rang and the soup-eating flu patient stood outside her flat.
He seemed harmless enough, so she did not want any police involvement. So she told him off kindly over a cup of chamomile tea.
Harold did not return to visit her again, but he had sent her a series of letters through the mail, requesting for the reason as to why he was rejected so bluntly. At this point, Molly thought the whole situation was positively laughable and inane. Part of her supported her original position, annoyed at the teen and his pesterings. There was a small piece of her mind, however, that did feel that he wasn't totally to blame for his socially ineptness.
But the annoyance won over and she replied just once stating that she has no desire to "get with" him, ever, and that she already is in a relationship, which was a lie but an effective one.
Attached also was a photograph of her supposed "boyfriend". It was, in reality, Sherlock. She had paid him a visit and requested the photo be taken as a favour, after explaining the whole situation at hand. He was amused, to say the least, and agreed.
Molly never heard from Harold West again, and she was relieved at that, but Mary insisted on bringing up the story at times, extremely entertained by it.
After twelve more tedious minutes of Molly and her friend debating possible names for the spider, she hanged up after realising that her cellphone was dangerously close to running out of battery power.
She went to plug the charger in when a text popped up from Sherlock.
There was a moment where dread washed over her, which had never happened before when Sherlock texted her. This time, it symbolised that he was ready to move forth with his plan that he so readily concealed from her.
Do you think you would be able to convince Mary to go on a coffee date with John? In fact, it doesn't have to even be a date with John, just get her out of her flat.
-SH
Oh god, please don't let it mean that he was going to break and enter Mary's place.
Oh god, please don't tell me that you're going to break and enter her place.
-Molly
Don't worry, if I find anything incriminating, I'll leave it alone.
-SH
Although she tried to restrain herself, Molly managed a slight snicker at that comment. She wasn't sure whether that was actually sarcastic or said in all seriousness. Sherlock could be unpredictable in that he could make jokes, or what resembled a joke, at unbefitting times, and incredibly solemn in moments of hilarity.
When and for how long?
-Molly
Half an hour. And make sure that she doesn't return for forty minutes.
-SH
Molly sighed. She made a mental note to never owe Sherlock something or be in his debt ever again. It seemed so long ago that a decision was made to lie about the Huntington's test, and now, she regretted every part of that. It made everything so much more complicated than it needed to be.
However, in a dark recess of her mind that she would like to keep hidden, Molly somewhat enjoyed this. It wasn't right, she knew, to be glad about this situation, but it did make her and Sherlock grow more together, not even necessarily in a romantic sense. Although that would not be absolutely terrible. No, but it did make the consulting detective seem more human and ordinary, as a person who did have emotions and want revenge and can be unreasonable at times.
It wasn't totally selfish to think this way, right?
Molly picked up her phone again and dialed, "... Hey, Mary, up for some coffee in half an hour?"
The door to Mary's flat was unsurprisingly simple to unlock without a key. Sherlock was even slightly dubious that this would constitute as a breaking-and-entering if a lock hardly required any breaking to do the actual entry.
Most "security systems" that people purchase for their homes are absurdly simple to bypass, and it even saddens him to think that the homeowners are foolish enough to believe that their property was secure from all outside threats just with a few alarms and high-tech lock systems.
Mycroft had actually been the one to educate him on the subject matter of lockpicking and averting detection when forcing entry into an unsuspecting home.
The knowledge itself has been quite useless up until now, as he had no reason to elaborately break into other people's homes, even when on cases. Most people were thoughtful enough to leave a window or two open. Otherwise, his connection to Scotland Yard and Lestrade were enough for him to gain access to most places.
The first to greet him when he entered Mary's place was the tarantula that he heard (eavesdropped) so much about. A witness to his crimes.
Sherlock had been partially relieved that it wasn't a cat Mary had adopted, although the logic behind that was, well, illogical.
He hadn't had too many fun experiences with cats in the past. There had been a time, when he was five years old, that his grandmother own a very ancient grey tabby of some indistinguishable breed. It had been on a Christmas day when his parents brought them to the old woman's house that Sherlock met the cat for the first time.
Toddlers are not known to behave well around animals, and since Sherlock was a particularly obnoxious toddler, he certainly did not behave well around animals.
From what Mycroft told him, he was apparently particularly curious about the cat's eyes and the way the pupils changed sizes so fast as a result of differing amounts of light. The curiosity then apparently drove the toddler to want to touch the eye.
Cats, like most animals, have an antipathy to having their eyeballs poked and touched by young boys.
The cat then decided to retaliate by growling and pouncing at him with unsheathed claws.
It didn't intend to execute any permanent damage, merely as a show for the strange boy to stop trying to touch its eye, but Sherlock had taken it a different way and ran to his mum, shrieking about a murderous cat.
Looking back on it now, Sherlock almost want to cover his face in embarrassment for his clueless past-self. The cat was not to blame, it had been provoked, and he wondered at how the younger Sherlock could have thought that prodding an animal's eye warranted any other outcome.
However, no matter how much he tells himself that the feeling is unreasonable, Sherlock simply cannot shake the feeling of slight unease around felines.
So yes, he was relieved.
A quick survey around Mary's flat told him that she had vacuumed the place a day before and tidied up as well. There were a pile of magazines and newspapers piled at the foot of the coffee table, and he was surprised to find that they were mostly filled with current news. He hadn't thought of her as someone who follows the current happenings. That disappointed him somewhat, as he was seldom wrong about people.
Also present was a box of glazed donuts on the kitchen counter, tempting any bystanders that might land their gaze on it.
Sherlock suppressed all of his urges for food and told himself that he needed to be entirely focused on the task at hand. They were only a cause for distraction, and he needed to make use of all the forty minutes that Mary will be gone.
Molly had sounded a bit curt in their texts, and he guessed that it was because of her assumptions about what his plan was. Defying all reasonable speculations, he actually considered this scheme to be mild by comparison. All he intended to do was mess with the resistors in the flat's parallel circuits. That way, turning on a mere hair dryer would cause the voltage to increase steeply, causing an electrical breakdown.
No big deal.
A/N: This note might be a bit lengthy, so feel free to opt out of it anytime.
Anyway, firstly, forgive me if I get anything wrong factually with the electrical technicalities, as it had been so long since I've learned about Ohm's Law and everything related to that (8th grade, was it?) Secondly, I must apologize profusely for these infrequent updates. There has been so many distractions lately, but hopefully, the updates will pick up. I definitely do see an ending in sight with this fic, which is good, as I do have an unfortunate problem with finishing stories.
Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! It really motivates me. :o)