A/N: My T rated contribution for Day 6: "I'm stressed, you're dying." Thanks to writingwife83 for encouraging this Manager/Comedian AU! I made it a late 60s/early 70s AU because why not?
Sherlock threw himself onto the cracked leather sofa with a groan. "God, I'm stressed! Got any cigarettes?" He peered hopefully up at his manager, who was sitting behind her desk and frowning at him.
"No," Molly snapped. "And you're not stressed, I'm stressed! You -" she pointed accusingly at him "- are dying!"
He pouted and threw himself into a semi-foetal position, facing the back of the sofa. "It's not that bad," he mumbled.
He heard the sound of Molly's chair being pushed back, followed immediately by the sound of her sensible heeled shoes clicking along the lino directly towards him. He could picture her clearly: the beehive with the pencils jammed into the back of her head, the cheerful yellow blouse under the cherry-patterned suit jacket with matching pencil skirt, the stockings with a run in them (she always had a run in them by lunchtime, it wasn't difficult to deduce even if he hadn't seen her lovely legs yet this evening…)
Then her hand was on his shoulder, jerking him to face her none-too-gently. "Yes, Sherlock," she said, her voice hard but her eyes - those big, brown eyes he'd been unsuccessfully trying not to notice since she'd first started working for her father - were soft and sympathetic. "It is that bad. Why can't you just admit you made a mistake? Call him," she urged, nodding toward the phone on her desk.
Sherlock huffed and turned away again. "He's the one that left," he grumbled, not for the first time resisting the urge to tell Molly…what, exactly? He'd offered his condolences on her father's loss and accepted her as his manager when others had deserted the firm rather than work for a woman. "Why should I be the one to call him?"
"Because you're the one who started the fight in the first place, which means you're the one who needs to apologize," she said firmly. "No, not just apologize - you need to beg John to come back. Because frankly this act is nothing without him. Yes, you're funny, but without John as your straight man?" She shook her head sadly. "You're just Costello without Abbot. Martin without Rowan. Laurel without -"
"Yes, all right, Molly, thank you, I get it!" Sherlock said, stung by her negativity. Molly was never negative, she was a ray of sunshine in a dark world, and her disappointment bothered him more than any disapproving lectures by his brother Mycroft ever could. "I'm a failure, I should just get out of the comedy business and go into government work like my brother wants me to!"
"No, you shouldn't!" Molly said fiercely. He blinked over at her in surprise. "You absolutely should not waste your God-given talents to go and, and - what? Sit behind a desk from nine to five? That would be a waste and a shame! You need to call John and get this act back on its feet!" She stretched over to the edge of her desk, reaching for the phone, but it was just too far for her.
She really was a tetchy little thing, he thought admiringly as he uncurled his lanky form and sat up, easily grabbing the phone and settling it on his lap. He looked down at it, then over at Molly. "I suppose," he said reluctantly, "that my words to John could have been construed in a negative manner -"
"You told him marriage was just a way for a woman to trap a man into boring domesticity!" Molly interrupted him with a glare. "That sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side! Even after you met Mary and decided you liked her, you still tried to convince him not to marry her!" She caught her breath and looked at him through wide eyes, as if something had just occurred to her.
He could tell exactly what that was before she spoke, and thus forestalled her. "No Molly, it's not Mary I've fallen for, I can assure you of that."
"Oh." She pursed her lips. "Well, I know it's not exactly accepted for people like you, and of course John's happily married, but if it's going to hurt you to work with him again, I can arrange some auditions. Perhaps we can find you a new partner. I hear Philip Anderson is available now that Sally Donovan dumped him - he really should have told her he was married," she added with a rueful grin. "And don't worry, your secret's safe with me, even though I know I don't count to you, I want you to know you can trust me-"
"You don't - Molly Hooper!" Sherlock said in outraged surprise as he realized what she was implying. "You do count and for the record, I've always trusted you! I stayed, didn't I? When the naysayers were claiming that the firm would go downhill under a woman's hand? Brought in additional acts for you? Got my brother to - well, never mind that," he added hastily. He'd never told her Mycroft was the anonymous investor who'd shored Hooper Talent up for the first few months after Henry's death.
He took a deep breath, turned to face her, the phone forgotten. "As for my feelings for John…he's my friend, or at least he was and hopefully will be again after I apologize - and I will, I give you my word. And not just for the act." He reached out and gently took her hand between his. It was so little, but so strong. Just like the rest of her. "As for my feelings for John, he's not the one I've fallen for either."
A little frown creased Molly's forehead. "Then who-?" she started to ask, her eyes going wide and mouth dropping into a little 'Oh' as the penny finally dropped.
He couldn't resist the temptation; he leaned forward and kissed her, ridiculously pleased when she reached up to clutch his jacket by the lapels and kissed him back just as ardently. "This, this isn't just pity or gratitude or something is it? Because if it is -"
"Nope," he assured her with a grin. "It's the real deal, baby." He winced. "Sorry if you like me calling you that but it won't happen again, it was a bit of an experiment, but it's really not my area."
Molly silenced his babbling with another sweet kiss. "It's all right," she said softly, wiping away her lipstick with the pad of her thumb, a sensation he found he quite enjoyed. "I quite like hearing you say my name, Sherlock." Her expression turned slightly wicked. "I think I'd really enjoy hearing you groan it in my ear while we're having quite a lot of sex!"
Sherlock's eyes lit up, but Molly simply lifted the phone off his lap and held it up in front of him. "Which we can start doing after you call John and apologize."
Sherlock had never dialed faster in his life.
(John accepted the apology after some prompting from Mary, and Holmes & Watson were soon headlining clubs all across the UK and Europe. Although never famous enough to make it across the Pond, staying local was perfectly fine with both men and their wives - especially after the next generation started to arrive!)
End note: The title comes from the old saying "Comedy is a serious business."
