Molly Hooper's Day Off

by superstrawberryL

Molly's had enough. Enough of the cold room where all she sees are dead bodies. Enough of never getting anywhere with admitting her feelings to Sherlock. Enough of being lonely. Enough of everything. So she decides to take a day off. What could go wrong when the mortuary attendant is no where to be found and no one knows where she is. Filled with crack-ish and fourth wall breaking.

2. Chapter 2

I forgot to mention that this is like a fairy tale being told to the readers. Imagine it as one of those stories, told in a dimly lit room, a warm fireplace close by, and the narrator is wearing a bathrobe, a fez, and an ascot, just telling the readers a story.

And we once again press play on the story once more.

Molly Hooper's Day Off

Welcome back! I've hope you've gotten a snack and snuggled up and are more comfy. Shall we get back to the story of Miss Hooper, who's decided to take a day off of work?

Before we've gotten to Molly, let us take a quick trip down Baker Street, and up the stairs of 221B, where the brilliant and oblivious consulting detective and his flat mate and best friend have settled down—well, one has—for the morning. Or so we think. For Scotland Yard's in a bit of a pickle and Sherlock may be the only solution-

"Shut up!"

"What?" John Watson put down his newspaper and looked at his flat mate with curiosity.

Let me finish explaining!

"Of course Scotland Yard's in a pickle, why do you think they always call me?" Sherlock muttered, not hearing, or pretending not to have heard the narrator's complaint.

Well aren't you just an egotistical twat?

"And you are-"

"Sherlock! Who are you talking to?" John yelled, getting the attention of his apparently schizophrenic friend.

"Don't you hear that voice?" Sherlock tilted his head to his flat-mate.

"Voice? What voice?" John sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Well that's because you're stupid, you don't hear it." Sherlock dismissed instantly with a wave of his hand and settled into his thinking position of sitting on the balls of his feet, pulling his hands together in an almost praying position.

"Maybe something's wrong with you."

"There is nothing wrong with me." Sherlock shook his head, glaring at John.

"I never said there was." John looked up at Sherlock, both seeming to stare each other down.

And here's John Watson, army doctor and war veteran, just looking for a flat and mate to call his own.

"Okay, now I hear it. And it-"

"No, no. It's a he. And it is here somewhere." Sherlock observed, looking up.

"And it is a creeper," John said, looking around also.

Well at least I don't compete with a door knob over who has more feelings!

John stifled a chuckle at the comment. Sherlock looked scathingly at the ceiling.

And I also don't ignore the internet's comments about my sexuality, mister Watson.

"Okay, where is he?" John rose instantly to his feet, looking about the room. "Because apparently he has seen my blog's comments."

"No, he's seen tumblr," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Dreadful place. Much rather go to anywhere else in the tumblr kingdom."

"You've been on tumblr?" John asked, looking at Sherlock with a blank expression.

"Of course. More on your account though. Might want to make your password harder, hmm?"

"You've been on my account?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"So you've seen…" John trailed off, feeling more awkward as the minute passed. "You've seen…the um…"

Yes, John. That means he's seen the Johnlock. The Red Pants Mondays on your dashboard, the John jumper, the kittens, the shippings, the entirety.

Sherlock shuddered at the name. "I've even seen those artworks of the thing, whatever you call it, the purple shirt of sex?" Sherlock looked down at what he was wearing and sighed at the plum colored shirt. "Even the boat of my brother and Lestrade."

"You mean the ship of Mystrade?"

"Yes. Interesting uses for an umbrella those authors come up with. Even the pairing of Anderson and dinosaurs. Quite amusing," Sherlock nodded.

"Err…" John cleared his throat. "Where exactly is this mysterious voice then?"

"If I am not mistaken, John, we are in a story." Sherlock jumped out of his chair. "A fairytale."

"Of?"

"Ms. Molly Hooper." Sherlock put on his coat and his scarf and bounded down the stairs of 221B, John following at his heels.

Ooh, very good Sherlock. Now, Sherlock and John hailed a taxi and were bound for-

"Wait, wait, wait. Where exactly are we going?" John asked, one foot in the awaiting taxi.

Just then, John got a call from Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade himself telling John of case at the Yard.

"Ooh, you're good," Sherlock admitted, looking up. "To Scotland Yard, please," Sherlock told the taxi driver before getting in after John.

Well, dear reader, that ends the chapter before the real chase begins!

Adieu!