Summary: Mycroft gets admitted to the hospital with severe pneumonia. Sherlock and Molly meet in the waiting room.
A/N: I wanted to write some Holmes' brother stuff (again) and Sherlolly. And this happened. This one-shot is set pre-S1 and is AU.
If you enjoyed it, please review!
WAITING ROOM – a Sherlock season 1 AU prequel
Sherlock Holmes sat alone in the waiting room of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital in London. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair greasy and his hands were shaking. 'Please don't die on me, Mycroft.' He kept whispering to himself. His brother Mycroft Holmes was admitted to the hospital only the day before yesterday with severe pneumonia. And it was his fault. If Sherlock hadn't disappeared to his favorite new (and to Mycroft unfamiliar) drugs den, everything would have been fine. Instead, Mycroft had spent the past week searching for his little brother and his list.
Mycroft had caught a very bad cold that caused pneumonia but he hadn't allowed himself to stop searching for his brother, to take a day off from work to let his body heal. No, instead he did not sleep or eat properly – he just survived on cigarettes, coffee and salads (if he could find the time to sit down and finish it). He'd found Sherlock eventually, high on heroin in a London suburb.
The oldest Holmes' brother was admitted to the hospital later that day when he had breathing problems and his temperature had risen to 41 degrees. He didn't even want to go, but his girlfriend Anthea had made it pretty clear that Mycroft had no choice. Sherlock had come to the hospital immediately and furthermore he had spent all his time in at Barts. Sitting in a dull waiting room waiting for news on his brother's condition.
Footsteps were approaching, that caused Sherlock leaving his mind palace. A young woman sat down next to him, wearing jeans, a blue sweater and a lab coat. Her nameplate told Sherlock that her name was "Ms. Molly Hooper, pathologist-in-training".
''Hi," She said.
Sherlock nodded at her but didn't reply. A long period of silence followed.
"So why are you here?" She asked, then blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy or something. I'm just curious."
"My brother," He replied, staring into the distance. "Severe pneumonia. You?"
"My dad had a myocardial infarction and a cardiac arrest," She answered. "He's on the IC now, but I don't think he's going to make it. He has a past of myocardial infarctions and I fear this one will cause his death."
"You're a pathologist," Sherlock said out of the blue.
"In training, hope to be one when I've graduated. I don't think you're still in college, are you?"
"Nope. I graduated a few weeks ago. I studied chemistry."
"Got a job yet?"
Sherlock decided to play nice, even though he was tired, suffering from withdrawal symptoms and hungry. She was too vulnerable already, as an only child, with no relationship, and with only a few friends. "No, I want to work as a detective."
Molly smiled. "For the Yard? I mean no offense, but those idiots don't solve a thing. Mind you, I perform post mortems on many bodies for them and only 30% of the cases gets solved."
Sherlock laughed. "No, not for the Scotland Yard." He paused. "I want to work as a consulting detective."
"And that is? I have never heard of it."
"I invented the job. When the police are out of their depth, they consult me. And I solve cases for clients. I make use of the science of deduction and thus I solve the case."
"Interesting," She said genuinely. "What do you deduce about me, stranger?"
He stared at her and took his time.
"I deduce you are an only child, you are in your twenties, went through a rock and punk phase in your teens, did not grow up in London, your mother died young and you were raised by your father."
"Who sent me off to boarding school as soon as I was old enough." She said bitterly.
"You have only one or two friends – no two. Definitely two. And you have a cat."
"Impressive. Really impressive."
"Most people tell me to shut up."
Molly chuckled. "I'm not 'most people'. Do you happen to be Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes."
"I know you."
"From what?"
"Firstly, you went out with my friend Janine for three months. She sends her love, she's engaged now. And second, I help Mycroft out. I am the one who is responsible for the drug tests. Mycroft asked me to look after you."
Sherlock shrugged. "You do not know anything about me." He said with a dangerously low voice.
"I never said I do, Mr. Holmes. The only thing I know that your brother cares very much about you. He called me, actually, three days ago. If there were any young males brought in who had OD'ed on heroin and if I knew locations of new drug dens." She shook her head. "I am not a user myself but we had some fellas coming in who OD'ed, all from the same neighborhood. They kept talking in their sleep, hallucinating about a bloke named "Shezza".''
''Damn.'' Sherlock hissed under his breath. ''I knew I shouldn't use that name.''
''Mycroft knew enough.''
'Did your father really have a heart attack?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. "Or are you just here to tell me little lies to pity you so you can use me when I am most vulnerable and send me off to rehab."
"Chamber 10. Doctor James Hooper. It's on your left." He stood up and walked away from her - only to return a few minutes later. "You were right." He mumbled.
"Told you so."
"What now?" He asked. "Mycroft will eventually get out of this bloody hospital."
"I keep working as his helper. And I think you need all the help you can get becoming a consulting detective. At least, I can help you getting into the morgue."
"Thank you." Sherlock answered. "Ehm, do you want to go for coffee?"
Molly smiled. "I'd like that very much."