This was a prompt fill for an Anon on tumblr, and might be one of my favorite things I've written so far. I hope you all like it too!
I am also changing the rating of this story to T, because, while I don't mention anything explicitly (trust me, NO ONE would want to read that), it is implied. :)
John Watson sits with his wife on his left, while Greg Lestrade resides on his other side. Mrs. Hudson scurries in from the kitchen, arms laden with a tray covered in sandwiches. She sets it down on the table and plops down in what used to be John's chair. The group looks curiously to Sherlock Holmes, who had requested their presence this evening.
The consulting detective appears to be waiting for something, and he perks up as the front door opens, revealing the silhouette of Molly Hooper. She stops when she sees the people in the sitting room and gapes at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Now?" she mouths, head darting between the detective and his guests. He gives her a brusque nod, striding over and wrapping his hand around her wrist. He pulls her to his former position in front of the fireplace, and the pair turns to the curious onlookers.
"Molly and I-." He is cut off by a sharp jab to his ribs from the petite pathologist standing beside him. "Fine. I-." He glances quickly to Molly and, when he sees her nod in approval, continues, "Ihave some news I would like to share with all of you. While it may come as a colossal shock, Molly and I began a romantic relationship and have been seeing each other for the past three months. We- I- am sorry that I kept this secret from all of you. Molly did wish to tell you right away."
He closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of abuse his friends are sure to bestow upon him. When the room remains silent, however, he quickly opens his eyes and looks at the others. There is no surprise on any of their faces. In fact, they appear to be holding back their amusement. Sherlock turns to Molly only to see an expression of confusion likely mirrored by his own.
Finally, after a torturous five minutes, John Watson speaks up. "Sherlock…. We kind of knew that, mate. In fact, we've all known about the two of you for a while. You two are rubbish at hiding your feelings."
"And at controlling your libidos," Mrs. Hudson pipes in. "Honestly, Sherlock, dear, these walls are not that thick." Matching red splotches appear on the cheeks of both the detective and his pathologist.
Molly, tears of embarrassment welling up in her dark brown eyes, tries to discreetly inch over to the door when Sherlock grabs her hand and entwines their fingers. He squeezes her hand reassuringly and turns back to glare at the group. Nobody, not even his closest friends, are allowed to make Molly Hooper cry in his presence. Well, aside from Sherlock himself. He gulps down his guilt at that thought.
"Well, now that that has been cleared up, how did you figure it out? Please do enlighten us with the details."
John's head shoots up to meet the detective's angry stare. "Are you sure? It might cause you even more mortification." When Sherlock does not answer, only continues to glower at them, he swallows. One by one, they divulge their stories.
Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Hudson is the first to discover their relationship.
She is tidying up after her supper, debating whether or not to force her tenant to eat something today, when a loud bang from 221B causes her to drop the dish in her hands. She silently curses her clumsiness (The loss of her mother's china plate really is a travesty.) before hurrying up the stairs and barging into the flat.
She expects to find Sherlock lounging around in the sitting room, inconsiderately shooting at the wall again, and is astonished to find the room empty. She hears more sounds coming from the direction of the detective's bedroom, hastening down the hall in her rush to investigate. What in the world could he have gotten himself into this time?
She nears the door and pushes it open hesitantly, dreading what she could find on the other side. A feminine giggle halts her movements, and she peeps her head through the crack. She chokes down a gasp when she sees Sherlock laying on the bed, with Molly Hooper –
(Mrs. Hudson's retelling is cut off by a squeak from the woman in question, whose hands are covering her mouth. "I believe you can skip over that particular detail, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock says gruffly, his arm now around Molly. Mrs. Hudson sends Molly an apologetic glance, but Lestrade, John, and Mary look slightly disappointed. Sherlock bites down his retort about them and urges the older woman to go on. With a final glance at Molly, she does.)
After seeing, well, that, Mrs. Hudson quickly and quietly shuts the door and scurries back to her flat, considering the scene she had just witnessed. A smile slowly blossoms on her wrinkled face at the knowledge that Sherlock has finally found himself a companion. And such a nice girl, too.
She begins to question her earlier assessment when she spends the rest of her evening pressing a pillow over her head, trying to block out the noises coming from the flat above her.
John and Lestrade, as it turns out, find out together.
John finds the detective inspector pacing outside the entrance to the morgue, periodically glancing at his phone. He looks up when he hears the doctor's footsteps and sighs audibly as John gives him a knowing look. "He texted me to come immediately to St. Bart's, and the bloody git isn't even here yet!"
"Surely Molly can let us in," offers John, trying to appease the stressed DI. He understands Lestrade's frustration, having been left waiting by Sherlock Holmes too many times to count.
"I can't find her either!" Lestrade shakes his head before seeming to come to a decision. "Fancy a cup of coffee? Maybe they will have magically appeared by the time we get back."
John agrees, and the duo walks towards the lifts when a door slams open in front of them. Without completing understanding why, John pulls Lestrade into a small alcove, out of sight. They peer around the corner only to see Sherlock with his forehead pressed against Molly Hooper's. The two are giggling quietly at each other, and John and Lestrade share a look of pure amazement.Sherlock Holmes is actually giggling. John silently wonders if he should take a picture before focusing once more on the scene.
"We had better dash back to the morgue before they become suspicious. Come, Molly!" With that, Sherlock grasps the pathologist's hand and drags her down the corridor, oblivious to the presence of Lestrade and John.
Lestrade's mouth repeatedly opens and closes, and he points towards the corner around which the couple has disappeared. Finally, the dam breaks, and they break into a fit of laughter, nearly doubling over in their delight.
"Did you notice the state of their hair?" Lestrade asks once he has control of himself once more.
"Yes, and I definitely did not miss the fact that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. I sincerely doubt they were in that supply cupboard collecting microscope slides." Laughter overtakes them again until Lestrade's phone alerts him to a new text message.
"Bastard has the gall to ask where I am. As if Iwas keeping him waiting."
The pair scurries back to the morgue, internally delighted at the information they have just uncovered.
Sherlock is quiet after their tale, glaring at the two men who are chuckling immaturely on the sofa. Instead of reprimanding them, however, he turns to Mary, who, throughout the entire conversation, has remained unusually quiet. She simply stares up at him, refusing to answer his unspoken question.
He lets out a huff at her stubbornness (although, secretly, this is one of his favorite attributes of Mary Morstan-Watson). "And Mary? How did you find out about Molly and I's relationship? Did you stumble upon us as we ate together at that café Molly loves so much? Catch us sneaking a kiss at one of you and John's numerous dinner parties?" His tone is smug, and Mary smirks at him, glancing quickly at Molly. I am going to enjoy knocking that grin off his face.
"No, to all of your ridiculous theories. Although, with the inability the two of you have to keep your hands to yourselves, I'm surprised I didn't observe anything untoward."
"Then how?!" Really, only Mary can infuriate him this much. She really is a perfect match for John.
"Simple, really. Molly told me."
Four heads turn simultaneously to gape at the cowering pathologist, who is now looking everywhere but at Sherlock. "Molly? Is this true?!"
"Yes," she mumbles, raising her head to look up at the detective.
"I thought we decided to keep our relationship a secret, at least for the first few months."
"No, you decided! I wasn't planning on telling anyone, I swear! But I was just so happy! I had to share my joy with someone! So, when Mary confronted me about my good mood, it kind of… slipped out. Are you mad?" She tries to pull her hand away from his, intent on leaving, when Sherlock cups her cheek and presses a quick kiss to her lips.
"I'm not mad, Molly. I just wish you had told me." The couple smile lovingly at each other, heads moving slowly inwards, until a cough from behind them interrupts the moment.
"Yeah, still here," John reminds them.
Please leave me a review to tell me what you thought! I would like to improve my writing, or know what kind of stories you guys like to read!
