Thank you all for the wonderful support, I've had some fantastic prompts! The wedding will be covered, under W for Wedding, as I've got too much to put in before that happens; S is for Speech Writing for example. For now, the next instalment, enjoy!
H is for Highlighter-man, Helicopter
Molly and Tom had gone away for the bank holiday weekend to visit family; they were attending a large garden party hosted by Tom's parents in the heart of the Sussex countryside. Molly was praying for a murder-less weekend, she didn't fancy explaining Sherlock to all of Tom's relatives. The Saturday passed without so much of a whisper from the detective, they enjoyed a couple of games of Stoolball, music, and copious amounts of Pimms in the Sussex sunshine. Sunday started off normally, breakfast on the patio, followed by helping prepare the food the BBQ later. A loud noise above the house disturbed the peace, and drew everyone outside, upon seeing the helicopter Molly's heart sank. It landed in the field next to the house, and out came an immaculately dressed gentleman who, despite the weather, was carrying an umbrella.
"Miss Hooper, if you would kindly follow me, your assistance is required, and promptly." Mycroft said the words Molly was dreading, she gave him a look that could not be considered friendly and he raised an eyebrow,
"You'll have to take that up with my brother," He said casually, asking her unanswered question, Molly grimaced, the last thing she needed was for Tom's family to be exposed to Sherlock,
"He's not here, is he?" She asked, already knowing the answer. That didn't stop her jumping when a low voice boomed out behind her,
"Of course I am! You really think I'd leave you alone with him?" Sherlock grinned, Molly's face fell further, that did not bode well.
"Really, this couldn't wait until tomorrow?" She was dangerously close to sounding like she was whining.
"Nope," Sherlock answered, popping the p. He was in a disgustingly good mood, that could mean only one thing: there was a murder. Oh joy.
"I'll get my things," She sighed, resigned to her fate,
"No need, I've got them," He said, pushing her bag into her arms. Tom's cousin had come over to see who the strangers were, and came into the conversation at a less than opportune moment,
"You've been through her things?" Tom could feel his temper being to heat up,
"Many times," Sherlock shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"Excuse me?" Tom's cousin barked, Molly glared at the detective,
"Inappropriate Sherlock." She hissed, holding back the need to stamp on his foot.
"Sherlock? Are you that detective bloke that flung himself off a roof and then came back to life?" The cousin asked, obviously trying to hide the fact she read John's blog, and every newspaper article written about him,
"Boring, there's a body you'll want to see," Sherlock rolled his eyes, he hated fan girls, they were a waste of his time.
"What?" Exclaimed another relative, clearly Molly's profession wasn't disclosed to the family,
"You're going to enjoy this one; it looks like he's been soaked in fluorescein, practically glows in the dark. Nothing that could have caused his death observable on the outside, definitely soaked after death, wasn't drowned in it," Sherlock made no attempt to hide his glee, unfortunately for Molly; she didn't notice that his description had put a grin on her face too.
"Well when you put it that way, how can she refuse?" The other relative said, her words dripping with sarcasm.
"I wouldn't elope with that man if I were you, he's your half-brother, your father had an affair." Sherlock snapped, unimpressed by the interruptions. "Also I want his liver," He added as an afterthought, looking down at Molly,
"You can have a kidney," She bargained, the relatives that were listening in became more confused as the conversation reverted to what was entirely normal for the pair, but not for the general public.
"Fine, but I want an arm," Sherlock sulked, he much preferred livers to experiment with, kidneys were too variable.
"Fine, an arm and a kidney," Molly shook her head in despair, ignoring the looks her relative-in-law to be were giving her. A distant wailing caught Sherlock's attention like that of a meerkat sensing a predator.
"Come on, before John and Greg get here," He said shortly, indicating towards the helicopter Mycroft had already re-boarded.
"Right so, male, how old? Weight? Height? Any idea as to cause of death?" Molly fired off questions,
"40 -50, average height and weight, non-smoker, I've got a few ideas," Sherlock answered, his usual smirk on his lips.
"Right, let's get him on my slab then." Molly proclaimed rubbing her hands together in anticipation, momentarily forgetting where she was. As the two turned to leave, a small frown passed over Molly's face,
"Don't worry, there's a spare bra in your locker," Sherlock said a little too loudly, this time Molly did whack him in the arm,
"Again, inappropriate!" She chided, shaking her head when he simply rolled his eyes at her.
As the chopper was flying off overhead, John and Greg came running around the side of the house,
"Oh the bastard, he's gone isn't he," John panted, the question directed to no one in particular.
"You've just missed him; he's run off with Molly again," Tom said through gritted teeth
"Mycroft and his sodding helicopters. We were going to come and get her before he could arrive and spoil everybody's day," John was apologetic as one could be when they were chasing down a socially inept genius for damage limitation unrelated to the top secret murder case they needed to solve as soon as possible.
"Too late," Tom's bitterness was not lost on Greg, who was beginning to get more than a little cheesed off at the young man's attitude to Molly's job. Tom shook his head, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit is and took a long drag.
"Since when do you smoke?" His cousin asked, shocked by his behaviour.
"It calms me down." Tom replied simply, taking another puff.
"If you find any in odd places at Molly's don't smoke them, I don't know what he adulterates them with." John warned, he knew Sherlock liked to play around with anything he could get his hands on, and wouldn't be past experimenting on Tom to see what effects different compounds could have.
"I thought they were Molly's, I keep finding Nicotine Patches, thought she was covertly trying to quit." Tom shrugged; it wasn't his fault that everything normal in his life had suddenly become some sort of hazardous unknown. John's phone went ping, as if right on cue,
"For Christ's sake, Sherlock says to stop stealing his cigarettes. I would, I threw some away once and all my socks disappeared. He hid every pair of socks I owned, for a month. If I bought a new pair, they disappeared too." John ran his hand through his hair, he'd been trying to help the detective quit by throwing the cigarettes out. He didn't account for just how outraged the curly-haired man would be.
"He hid all your socks," Greg laughed, for someone who prized himself on rational thinking, Sherlock could be highly illogical sometimes.
"He said he was originally going to donate my entire wardrobe to his homeless network, but settled for just hiding my socks in the end. When he gave them back, it turned out he'd put a different composition of itching powder he'd come up with in each one." John winced at the memory, it took about half an hour for the effect to take place the first time, and left him looking like he constantly needed to go to the toilet. On top of that, they couldn't find a way to stop the itching, something Sherlock was far too pleased about. John had spent the next day with Molly, clearing out the biohazards in the fridge. Boundaries had never been Sherlock's strong point, but when John threatened to throw away all his experiments, he quickly learned them.
"He made his own itching powder?" Tom asked, why would anyone do that? How would you do that?
"He's a chemist, hence why you should never accept anything he offers you, or leaves lying around. He makes up his own versions of things because he's Sherlock and he always knows best." John explained, subconsciously scratching his hand.
"Will Molly be coming back?" Was the obvious question, the look on Tom's face said he knew the answer before the question left his lips.
"Doubtful, if Mycroft's involved then it doesn't bode well. Look, Tom, you love her, we get that. You met her while things were different, ok. You have to start accepting that this is her life, and was for a long time before she met you, even before Sherlock knew John, those two have history." Greg replied shortly, the young man's attitude was not sitting well with him.
"What sort of history," One relative asked sharply,
"Oh please, he's the most asexual being on the planet. Molly gets enough grief off Sherlock; she doesn't need you adding to that. Do I make myself clear?" Greg could see that John was getting as fed up and he was, best to lay all the cards on the table.
"He's the problem," Tom muttered under his breath,
"Let me make this simple for you. We are Molly's friends; we care for her wellbeing, and want her to be happy. If you upset her, you'll have a military doctor, a long serving police officer and a sociopath whose brother is the government to answer to. Understood?" Greg was getting quite irate; it was not fair on the pathologist to have to deal with two sulking man-children. "The alternative is that Molly will just deal with you herself. I wouldn't anger a woman who knows her way around a scalpel. Come to think of it I wouldn't anger a woman full stop."
"Which is why your wife keeps cheating on you, come on there's work to do!" Sherlock appeared out of nowhere, ushering the two other men off the property,
"Yes your highness," Greg mocked, as much as he hated Sherlock commenting on his marriage he knew the taller man was right.
"Didn't you get in the helicopter?" John asked, confused as to where he'd been hiding all this time,
"No John. No room, you should know by now my brother doesn't travel without Anthea," Sherlock explained, as if to a five year old.
"Fair point, right, see you later," John grumbled, making a minimal attempt at some sort of manners. The drive back to London was going to be a long one.