Chapter 12- When s*** hits the fan.
Sherlock was working. Her dad was off apologising to Sarah for not making it into work and possibly helping out for nothing to make up for it. Bill had gone home to his, surely, lovely wife and troublesome children that she may, or may not, end up babysitting.
Samantha was bored of Sherlock looking in the microscope at some pollen grain he had found in that horrible pair of trainers he had found in the basement flat, 221C, earlier. If only something interesting would-
The door to the lab opened revealing a mousy looking woman that could be a few years younger than Sherlock with strawberry blonde hair tied up so that it hung over one shoulder. Her makeup was subtle but not done very well nor very badly.
'Hello, Molly,' Sherlock said without even looking up from what he was doing. His tone suggested he couldn't care less if she were there or not.
A few moments after her, a young male entered and he also looked younger then Sherlock but not as young as Molly. He had dark hair and blue eyes that could rival the sky on a bright summer's day. He wore a tight fitting grey shirt and black skinny jeans that showed the colourful bright yellow of his boxers. Molly smiled at him as he put an arm round her waist. They were dating, that much was obvious to Sam.
'Sherlock, this is Jim,' Molly started, 'he works upstairs in IT. It's how we met, actually, an office romance. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes and…' Molly couldn't figure out what Sam's name was. 'Sam Watson,' She finally supplied.
Sam struggled to restrain her eyes from rolling when Molly started to ignore her. She knew what guys wore, straight guys didn't wear-
'Gay,' Sherlock muttered, finally taking his eyes from the microscope, confirming her suspicions. Sam shot him her infamous 'Mary' glare.' I mean, hey,' Sherlock corrected, hastily, upon seeing it.
Jim meanwhile had moved from Molly's side to what Sherlock was doing. 'I've heard a lot about you.' He started touching some items on the worktop and, inevitably, knocked something over and onto the floor. This time, Sam didn't even bother restraining her eye rolling. Jim placed the fallen item back on the worktop, slipping something under it, and smiled at Sherlock who continued to ignore him.
'Good on you, Sherlock. Ignore the stupid fool,' Sam thought to herself.
When Sherlock didn't reply or even look at him, Jim seemed to get the message. 'Right it was nice meeting you.' Still no response so Sam decided to be polite. 'Yeah, you as well.' Jim looked at her with equal measures of disgust and dislike showed clearly in his blue eyes. Sam just raised one mocking eyebrow.
He turned to Molly, arranged another date and then left without a further word. Molly, however, turned on Sherlock with anger flashing across her eyes.
'What do you mean by 'gay'?'
Sam didn't see her father or the Consulting Detective for a while after the little encounter with Jim from IT. She had thought it wise to stay at the flat and do some studying rather than chase Sherlock around London. That, she deemed, was her Dad's job.
The morning after meeting Jim, and solving the trainers and some guy who had faked his own death to run off to Columbia to start a new life away from his debts, she found herself eating breakfast in a small diner with Sherlock and her Dad. Well, the Watson's were eating breakfast; Sherlock was looking incredibly disinterested tapping away on the table.
The bloody pink phone was sitting innocently on the table.
Her gaze was so focused on the phone that when it went off, she almost, almost, jumped out her skin. Sam could see the Dad stop eating and watch as Sherlock looked that the message which meant the Bomber had found a new voice.
Three pips sounded followed by the revealing of a picture. The women looked familiar.
'Who is that? That could be literally anyone,' Sherlock complained.
John glanced at the photo. 'No, it's not.' He gestured for Sam to get out of her seat.' You're lucky that I've been more than a little unemployed for the last four years and you're lucky that Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much daytime telly.' Sherlock continued to frown as John walked up to the counter and picked up the TV remote. He proceeded to flick through channels until the very same woman that was on the pink phones screen appeared on the television screen. John shot his daughter a triumphant look to which she rolled her eyes at.
She turned back to Sherlock. 'You boys have fun.'
A/N: Hello there! I feel so bad as this story is nearing the end (not that I've written it down yet). I have written chapter 13 and have sent that to my wonderful beta, IzzyDelta. She is a babe for putting up with all my grammar mistakes.
Hope you liked it.
I-O-U-a-picture
PS Have a look at my buddy, Slightly Improbable, if you like Avengers, Sherlock or Doctor Who humour. I spend a lot of my time annoying her and she puts up with me so she kinda deserves something... I think sugar who have been easier but I think she'll like this as well.