So after the hard work of my last story (crimes are always hard work) this is a bit of light fluff. I'm dedicating it to my good friend Lilsherlockian1975 she has supported me and advised me and been my unfailing cheerleader and although we've never physically met I count her as one of my best friends. She's been feeling ill recently so I hope this helps to perk her up.
It's rated M because there will be smut and a lot of it in later chapters...that's all Lil's fault as well.
I own nothing but am eternally grateful to those who brought Sherlock, in all his guises, into our lives.
Chapter 1
Molly Hooper had always enjoyed sketching. At school, when she had been choosing what GCSE's to take, Art was the one frivolous subject she had allowed herself; tucked away in amongst all the sciences that she knew she had to take to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. She even liked to think she was rather good at it. At least her Art Teacher had believed so and had encouraged her as much as she could.
Molly had reluctantly had to turn down taking A Level Art though as she had had to concentrate her efforts on her career. As she had made her way through University the hours were so long and the work so demanding that she had no longer had the time to dedicate to her drawing and it eventually became all but forgotten. Just a couple of old sketch pads stuck in a bag at the bottom of her wardrobe.
That had all changed a few days ago when she had seen an advert about an adult evening drawing class at her local Further Education College.
Molly had hummed and hawed but in the end she had plucked up the courage to make her way there, in her lunch hour, for the open day. She had surprised herself with how nervous she was as she went in to enquire about the times and costs but the staff were really warm and welcoming and she found herself signing up and paying her deposit before she could get cold feet and change her mind.
That afternoon, in work, she was buzzing with excitement which soon caught the attention of one Sherlock Holmes. He had been trying to work on his latest cultures but was increasingly distracted by Molly who was almost dancing around the lab organising her work. He tried to ignore her at first. Then he tried to deduce her and when all that failed he had no other option but to ask her.
'Molly for God's sake enough is enough. Why exactly are you so exuberant?'
Molly spun around looking embarrassed almost as if she'd forgotten he was there. Sherlock felt a tickle of irritation at that thought.
'Oh..err..nothing. I mean, no reason. No reason at all.'
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, 'well clearly there is a reason. Since you got back from your long lunch you've been practically buzzing with energy. You didn't come back with any new purchases and given your lack of attention to your phone, even though you received two new text messages in the last hour, you didn't meet or make a date with a new man. So what is it?'
Molly was about to tell him when it occurred to her how much more fun it would be to keep him guessing. So instead she smiled at him almost slyly, 'no...no, I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to figure it out for yourself.'
He frowned at her, 'why on earth would I want to waste my time doing that?'
She smiled again, 'I'm not saying you should. I'm just saying I'm not going to tell you. It's up to you if you choose to spend time on it.'
With that she picked up her files and exited the room. Sherlock watched her go feeling a stab of frustration. He huffed and settled himself back down to his slides. Of course he wouldn't waste his time on such a trivial problem. Molly Hooper was of no interest to him whatsoever.
A little voice niggled at the back of his mind that that wasn't true. He tried to ignore it but it was no good he tried to work on for another hour but he just couldn't regain his concentration at all. He glanced at his watch sub-consciously noting that Molly's shift had finished half an hour earlier.
In the end he threw on his coat and scarf and made his way back to his flat in Baker St. He contemplated whether he should call in and see John but decided against it. Last time he'd arrived after six it had apparently been Elizabeth's bath time and Mary had happily forced him to take part.
He had no issue with being part of Elizabeth's life, in fact he was looking forward to charting her growth and intellect based against that of her parents, but bath time had been particularly fraught and he'd ended up very wet which he'd strongly suspected had been more due to Mary than Elizabeth.
As he entered Baker St. he rolled his eyes at Mrs Hudson shouting, 'is that you Sherlock?'
'No, it's the King of England. Who else do you think it might be!?'
She came out of her flat wiping her hands on a tea towel. She'd obviously been baking given the flour on the edge of her sleeve. Sherlock had to admit he hoped it was his favourite biscuits that she'd been making.
'Queen of England, dear.' She replied smiling.
His brow furrowed, 'what?'
'We have a Queen of England not a King. Do you want a fruit shortcake biscuit? They're fresh out of the oven...or are you too busy?'
'Well...' He looked up the stairs as though he had a case waiting but they both knew he couldn't resist one of Mrs Hudson's fruit shortcake biscuits.
She smiled and patted him on his arm. 'Tell you what, you go up and relax and I'll make you a nice pot of tea and pop a couple of the biscuits on a plate. I'll be up in a minute.'
Sherlock knew he'd have to put up with her company for at least twenty minutes but to be honest it suddenly felt better than another evening rattling around an empty flat by himself.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
The next day he'd forgotten all about the conundrum of Molly Hooper. He tried to find something to do with his time and occupy his mind but it seemed as though London and life in general was conspiring against him.
It was late September and deadly, mind-numbingly quiet. Not only were there no cases or murders on his radar at the moment but Lestrade had even had the audacity to go on holiday!
Then to top it all John had texted him earlier to explain that Elizabeth had come down with chickenpox and whilst it wasn't serious he had determined to stay home, with Mary, and keep at eye on her. The term 'precious first born' floated through Sherlock's mind as he read the text and he rolled his eyes as he restrained himself from flinging his phone across the room in frustration.
He'd eventually been forced to go through his own emails to see if there were any private cases worth his time but there was nothing; at least nothing worth getting dressed for. And why in God's name did people continue to think he'd be interested in following and photographing their unfaithful partners. If they were that untrusting and or infidelious they may as well just get divorced and be done with it. In fact marriage and all its failings should just be outlawed once and for all. Pointless, sentimental rubbish.
It got to after lunchtime and it was only the fact that he was running the risk of Mrs Hudson coming up to check on him which finally had him showering, dressing and heading out of the flat to Barts. He had nothing particular to do there but he lived in hope of Molly being able to relieve his boredom by highlighting an unusual autopsy or even letting him help her with some tests.
As he pulled the door too on Baker Street a black car rolled to a halt in front of him. He closed his eyes in mute frustration knowing exactly who it was and just for a moment he contemplated walking away and ignoring him.
The blacked out window hummed down, 'there's no point ignoring me brother, I'll just follow you to Barts so you may as well get a lift there at least.'
Sherlock rebelliously stuck his hands in his pockets for a couple of moments before relenting and climbing into the back of the car.
Mycroft had slid over to the far seat and Anthea, his PA, sat opposite him on a small fold down seat; their knees almost touching but not quite.
'Mycroft, what brings you all the way to Baker St? No wars to keep you busy?'
'I have plenty to keep me busy at the moment. It's you I'm concerned about Sherlock. Things seem a little...quiet at the moment. Do I need to worry?'
Sherlock snorted, 'what, that a lack of cases will send me sliding into another drug induced coma. No brother, I've learnt my lesson there.'
A sudden memory of Molly slapping his face had Sherlock almost reach his hand up to rub his face but Mycroft arching an eyebrow as he deduced his younger brother had him quickly returning it to his lap.
'Anyway, I'm not completely bereft of work. I'm continuing my study of tobacco ash and have various experiments on the go at Barts.
Mycroft's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, 'ah yes...Barts and the delightfully attentive Ms Hooper. Are you sure you're not putting yourself in harm's way by spending so much time there...with her?'
Sherlock gave Mycroft his most withering look, 'Doctor Hooper is nothing more than a good friend and a useful asset, not that my relationship with her or anyone else is any of your business. Especially given your own weaknesses.' His eyes flicked to an oblivious Anthea still busy tapping on her phone. He was rewarded with seeing Mycroft's lips flatten into a tight line and the tips of his ears turning red.
'Just let me know if you need help Sherlock. I worry about you and so do our parents. It wouldn't hurt you to ring them every so often.'
The car drew to a halt outside the main entrance to the hospital and Sherlock had rarely been happier to see it. 'Thank you for the ride Mycroft. Don't feel the need to check up on me again though, I'll be fine.' He walked away wishing he felt as convinced by his own words as he had sounded.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
He checked in the labs first but found them empty so instead he carried on down to the morgue. He wasn't sure why but after his run in with Mycroft he felt strangely unsettled and he felt as though he needed to be with someone who could wash the feeling away.
As he pushed through the double doors it was a relief therefore to see Molly. She was clad in her familiar regulation white lab coat, her hair braided over one shoulder with her goggles on, deep into an autopsy on a grossly overweight man who had no doubt died from some form of heart disease.
She glanced up at the noise of the intrusion and her face broke into her normal grin at the welcome sight of him. 'Hey Sherlock, what brings you here today? Do you have a case coming in? I haven't heard anything about it but I'll be free soon.'
He took off his scarf and coat and threw them over an empty trolley. 'No, no case. Lestrade is still away and most of the other detectives won't call me, at least not unless they get desperate. I thought I'd come over and see how my experiments are doing and whether you've had any interesting deaths but I see this one is very run of the mill.' He glanced down into the open chest cavity as he spoke seeing all the expected signs of a massive heart attack. He sighed would there be nothing to excite his interest today.
Molly grimaced, 'no, sorry. It's all been very same old same old today, nothing different.' She hesitated before continuing, 'I do have to run a couple of tests though on some samples from a previous body, for toxins, possible case of asbestosis, if you'd like too...I'm sure you're too busy though...' She tailed off, glancing up at him briefly as she carried on working.
Sherlock was equally nonchalant as he replied, 'well, I could spare an hour or two, just to help out...if you've got a lot on.'
Molly smiled to herself knowing she'd guessed correctly that he was bored and looking for something to occupy him.
'Well, like I say I'll be done here in a minute. Why don't you get us both coffees and I'll meet you up in the lab?'
'Me?'
Molly glanced up at him again with her eyebrow raised, 'yes, you! You're a grown man, a Consulting Detective no less. I'm sure you can deduce where the kettle is. Mine's milk, one sugar.'
With that she flicked on her voice recorder and started reciting some of her findings, effectively dismissing the slightly startled Sherlock.
A slow start but setting the scene. I'll update mid-week