Dedicated to all the beautiful readers and especially to Might Sword.
There was a noise downstairs. It was an odd noise that neither Sherlock nor John had heard in a while. John was writing up a case for his blog when the noise started. Sherlock was going through all the cases John had written, grumbling as John undermined Sherlock's intelligence. Who cares about how fast the Kardashians are going? It wasn't Sherlock's job to keep up with them, so why was John quizzing him? Sherlock blamed Mary.
"What's going on?" John asked to Sherlock.
Sherlock stopped scrolling through the blog and looked up at his blogger. "What? The noise? Paparazzi, John. No need to get flustered. Be a lamb and go find out what they want this time," Sherlock ordered. He looked down again at the poor writing of John Hamish Watson.
The blogger rolled his eyes and stood up, following the orders of the pompous and pretentious detective. Sherlock wasn't all he was cracked up to be. He didn't even know who Kim Kardashian was. John rolled his eyes again, thinking about how little Sherlock really knew about the world around him.
John reached a door. It separated him from the streets of London. With a sigh, he opened it and peered out.
"Good morning, everyone. Erm, can I help you? I'm not sure I've got enough sugar for all of you…" John trailed off with a weak laugh, looking at all the bright flashing lights.
"John, John!" everyone began to bombard him with questions.
"Er, yeah? One at a time, if that's alright…"
"How does it feel to be an internationally acclaimed internet superstar?" one of the journalists asked.
He was puzzled by that question. Internationally acclaimed internet superstar? Just those words enough made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, a what?"
As more people began to shout at him, John reached into his pocket for his phone. He picked it up and looked down to send Sherlock a text when one came through.
Get in the car, John. It's parked 100 meters on your left.
"If you'll excuse me," John slipped away through the crowd and walked down the road, looking for the car.
A window rolled down and a woman's head poked out. "Morning, John. I'd recommend you get in the car. My boss won't be happy if I arrive back without you," she told him.
John groaned and opened the door. For whatever reason, he trusted this brunette woman. He decided her boss was Mycroft and that he'd have a hard time not arriving for Mycroft. With all due respect, Mycroft was almost as pompous as his brother. The internet phenomenon, John Watson, climbed into the car and as soon as the door slammed, was whisked away from the commotion in front of 221B.
He was startled to find himself arriving at a television studio rather than a deserted warehouse, as per Mycroft's usual appointments.
~oOo~
Sherlock was having tea with Mrs Hudson in 221B. She was wearing her new purple dress that she was very fond of.
"Sherlock, dear, where's John?" she asked, her eyes skimming over the mess Sherlock had caused during his last bored phase.
"I don't know. Being swamped by the paparazzi, I presume," he replied while turning on the television, trying to infer to Mrs Hudson that he wasn't interested in chatting.
"No, I don't think so. The last I saw, he was walking away and then they all swooped off. Funny how they do that, travel in packs. You'd think they'd all be everywhere trying to get shots of different celebrities. Why travel in a large pack? You know, in the animal kingdom, they probably wouldn't travel together like that to get one person because-"
"Shut up for a second, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock demanded as he turned the volume up on the TV.
"And now we're here with John Watson, the famous blogger. How are you, John?" the fake lady on television asked.
"Yes, I'm well. It's a pleasure to be here."
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed. "That's John! On the television! It's John!"
"Pleasure's all mine. Now, tell me John, what inspired you to become the blogger that you are? You've made it far from the retired army doctor who came home from Afghanistan."
"Indeed. It all started so many years ago when I came home. I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, as my therapist often informed me, and, I don't know, it was a fluke, I suppose. I ran into one of my old friends, Mike Stanford, and he introduced me to Sherlock Holmes. It's all developed from there."
Sherlock frowned at the screen. What the devil was going on?
"What's it like working with Sherlock Holmes?"
"Er, haha! Yeah, it has it's days. Sometimes I just want to kill that bloody man and other days," John paused and shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Other days, Sherlock's really my best mate and I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for him."
"Naww! Well, he sure is a great sidekick for you, isn't he?"
"Oh, don't let Sherlock hear you calling him that. We all know what happens when he gets angry," John laughed and smiled over at the woman.
"Has the fanmail been overwhelming? I know that you've basically become an overnight sensation, has that affected you very much?"
"Well, to be honest, I basically found out this morning when there were some paparazzi at the door. Sherlock demanded, as usual, that I go and find out why they were there and from then, I've found out how popular my blog is. I don't have a counter on the site anymore because it's frozen too many times or it can't go high enough, and I don't regularly check the comments so it really has come as a shock."
"And you're currently writing a novel, is that right?"
"Yes, yes. It'll be a lot about the cases and about life with Sherlock Holmes. I suppose all the Sherlock fans will enjoy getting an insight to his life."
"Don't forget everyone, John's new show, Busy Blogger on Baker Street will be airing tonight at seven. That should be great. What's it about, John?"
"Tonight's episode is a generalisation of all the cases we've been on, mainly the ones I haven't covered on the blog, but It'll be a lot about recreating some of the crimes and showing everyone what went on."
"That sounds splendid! I can't wait to watch it. Thank you so much for being here today, John!"
"Not at all. Thank you very much for having me."
Sherlock's jaw had dropped as he watched the interview. "What the-"
"Oh, I didn't know he had a new television series! Won't that be great to watch, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson bubbled before taking another sip of tea.
John's side kick?! Oh, no. This was not okay.
~oOo~
The not-so-famous private detective slumped his way into the morgue. Molly was sitting at her desk in the lab, being ever so careful to fill out this new form right this time.
"Doctor Hooper!" a voice boomed from the morgue.
The young pathologist jumped and rushed downstairs, not aware that she had ruined the form and she'd have to restart the paperwork. "S-Sherlock!" she stuttered as she realised who was standing there. "What's going on?"
The detective sunk into the nearest chair and sighed. "It's John," he told her, drama seeping into every pore of his words. "He's famous now and doesn't have time for his lowly side-kick," he grumbled.
"Side-kick? He has a side-kick?" she asked.
"Yes, Molly. Me, apparently. It's ridiculous. I don't have anything to do. I don't want to solve any crimes without John. Lestrade said he had a seven but John's busy right now." He looked around the morgue, tapping his finger in a random pattern.
"Well, I think there's a fair not too far from London. We could go out. I've just got a few forms left and then I'll be done," Molly informed the bored man.
"I suppose… can I help?"
~oOo~
After the catastrophe of realising she'd ruined the forms, Molly finished up and took Sherlock to her flat. She had to get changed and make up a bag. Molly instructed Sherlock to stay put (something he ignored). They took a cab out to the fair and that's when the magic all began. It was candy floss and popcorn galore. Sherlock had even agreed to go on the bumper cars with her. And oh how she bumped him. He had little control over the car but Molly was bumping into him at every opportunity she had, laughter emitting from her as she got closer to the detective. Sherlock began to smile as well when he saw how much fun she was having and she could see how much she was enjoying herself. It almost killed him to tell her it was time to go home.
~oOo~
The cab pulled up at Molly's flat and both the two parties exited the car. They walked to her door and stood facing each other, neither breaking the silence.
"I had a great time, Sherlock. You really should get bored more often," she teased him.
"Never fear. I'm bored regularly." He looked around, feeling bored then, too.
"Did you want to come in, or go back to Baker Street?"
Sherlock looked at her and frowned. "I should go home. John'll be waiting, not to mention Mrs Hudson."
The pathologist nodded at him and looked down at her shoes. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. Thanks for taking me to the fair. I had a great time."
"As did I. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
Molly gave a meek smile at him and Sherlock smiled back in return. He felt something was supposed to happen, he just wasn't sure what.
"Goodnight, Sherlock," Molly whispered out and turned to enter her flat.
"Wait," he burst all of a sudden. Molly spun around and stared Sherlock straight in the eyes. They stood facing each other, staring into each other's eyes while Sherlock held Molly's arm. "I- uh…" there was a silence as Sherlock gathered his thoughts.
Molly's face contorted into a frown as she watched the man struggle. "Wha-"
He leaned down and kissed her, halting her mid-sentence. She began to return the kiss, leading to a full on snog. He broke away after a few minutes and smiled at her.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
~oOo~
The amateur, consulting detective walked into St. Bart's to examine a body for the Detective Inspector. He wasn't very keen on Sherlock getting involved with cases, but he was willing to let Sherlock help. Sherlock was willing to take anything the DI gave him, even a two.
"Morning, Rodger," Sherlock called as he entered the morgue. "How is your wife this morning? Oh, let me guess, she's decided to go through with the divorce? If not, she will tonight. You still reek of women's perfume. She'll smell it the instant you arrive home. I have to say though, Rodger, you haven't cheated on your wife at work before. You're sinking to a new low," he called out.
Rodger was up in the lab and it was just him and Sherlock in the morgue/lab. No-one would hear what Sherlock was sprouting out. No-one would tell Rodger's wife.
"Erm, excuse me, who are you?" a feminine voice called out from behind him.
"Don't worry, I'll turn a blind eye. Just walk out as though you haven't been sleeping with Rodger." Sherlock said while retrieving the body of Mr Ferguson.
"I'm the intern. Who are you?" the voice asked again, bitterness seeping into her tone.
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Another incompetent idiot. He spun around to tell her who he was and why he was there when he froze. The mousey intern stood there, staring at him with curiosity and slight fury. The girl stood out to him. She had a quite reserved nature to her and he began to deduce.
Deceased father, two older brothers, one successful, one not, stress, date tonight, same bloke as yesterday, very nervous, shaky hands when nervous, life ambition is to be a pathologist here at Barts, definitely not sleeping with Rodger, gullible.
"My apologies for the wild accusation. Clearly they were meant for someone less… committed to a relationship than yourself. The name's Sherlock Holmes. And, you are?" he asked, dragging his eyes up and down her frumpy, coated body. She was wearing many layers, it wasn't like Sherlock could even admire her.
"M-Molly Hooper," she replied before walking towards him, hesitating on every step.
"Molly Hooper," Sherlock said as though testing the name on his tongue. "Well, I'm here for the DI of Scotland Yard. I'm just investigating a body."
"Oh, a policeman, are you?" she asked, confusion resting in her eyes.
"No, consulting detective. Also a private detective. I haven't quite decided what suits me best…" he trailed off and looked down at the body, giving occasional flicks of his eyes towards Molly who was studying him with determination.
"Consulting detective suits you more," she answered.
"Hmm… yes, I think I can swing that way. Thank you." Molly's cheeks flushed red and she nodded a bit. "What can you tell me about Mr Ferguson's body?"
"Erm, the autopsy was performed by myself with the guidance of Mr Horace-"
"No need to be so formal, Miss Hooper," Sherlock teased before letting her continue.
"I- er, yes, well, cardiac arrest. If you ask me, that's not quite right. There were no signals pointing to that."
"Yes, it's because it wasn't just cardiac arrest, it was a poison that stopped him from pumping blood. To put it simply, the poison halted the heart," he told her before pointing to the few indications on his body.
"That's not what Mr-"
"Well, that's the same man who couldn't even keep his affair secret from his wife for longer than three minutes. Nonetheless, you've done well, Molly. I may even consider you." He looked up at her and smiled a little. If he flirted with her enough to get her interested, she'd be more inclined to help him, something that would benefit seeing as she'd be getting a job there in a few years. "Until we meet again, Miss Hooper." Sherlock bowed a fraction and winked at her before rushing out of the morgue.
For the next few years since then, he pulled out the stops to get her onto his side and to be his slave, if you will. No harm, no foul.
~oOo~
John was still busy in the media. He was rushing about, writing his book in his free time, and filming his very successful television series. It was being broadcasted over the world and the success of John's blog skyrocketed.
His wife, however, was not as excited as John was. He was coming home very late and leaving very early in the morning. Their baby girl, Poppy, was being harassed by the public as well. Mary couldn't even walk down the street without having people take photos of her and her child.
The blogger, television star and author got into bed that night and smiled over at his wife. After a short pause she smiled back and kissed him.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
Mary gave him an are-you-really-that-oblivious look that Sherlock often gave him. "Not really, John. This newfound fame isn't working for Poppy and I."
John wrapped an arm around his wife and sighed. "Do you want me to stop? Say the word, love, and it's over. I won't go back to the studios, I'll avoid everything, I'll destroy my book, I'll put the blog aside. Say the word, Mary."
She gave him another look, one he couldn't interpret. "I don't want to make you unhappy. I mean, it's affecting Poppy and I, not in a good way."
The blogger nodded and kissed Mary's cheek before bringing her into a hug. "Alright."
~oOo~
The consulting detective arrived at the morgue the next day, fear scrawled across his face.
"Molly! Molly Hooper!" he yelled out.
The meek pathologist rushed from the lab and jumped into the morgue, looking at Sherlock wide-eyed.
"What? What's wrong?" she asked.
"Homicidal maniac, terrorising London. And he's on the roof. Let's go." He turned around and began to walk out of the morgue.
"B-before that, could be, I don't know, talk about… us?" she squeaked out.
"I'm telling you, Molly, the killer is on the roof," Sherlock told her before grabbing her hand and pulling her to the elevator.
"One, this sounds like Moriarty all over again. And two, I want to talk to you about yesterday," she told him as he dragged her away from her work.
They entered the elevator and the doors slid shut behind them. "It was nothing, Molly. Spur of the moment. Now please, some silence." He jumped into his mind palace and blocked the outside world, trying to piece together the last of the murders.
A sudden jolt threw Sherlock from his thoughts. "What did you do?" he barked at Molly. The elevator was frozen in place and the lights had begun to flicker.
Molly looked at him wide-eyed and her jaw dropped. "M-me?" she stuttered out, feeling tears well in her eyes.
The detective gave a frustrated sigh and sank onto the ground. The entire elevator had gone pitch black and they were stuck in a confined space together, both on high alert and both feeling upset.
"Morning, Sherlock," the voice of Jim Moriarty said through the PA system, startling Molly who jumped.
"Sherlock, what's going on?" Molly asked as she felt her way back to a corner and sunk into it.
"Molly, please, the men are trying to have a conversation."
She froze with fear, unable to comprehend that Moriarty was still alive. Jim began to giggle and moved away from the microphone to laugh. Molly felt along the ground for Sherlock.
"S-Sherlock? Where are you?" she asked as she reached her hands out.
Sherlock held out his hand and grabbed hers straight away.
"Well, isn't this cute? Ooh, Sherlock, before I forget, I saw your boyfriends show on TV last night. I was portrayed in such a bad light. Where on earth did they get those ghastly photos? I asked Sebastian to destroy all evidence of my life but, look Seb, my baby pictures." There was the sound of skin on skin contact and Molly winced at the sound. "Don't worry, Molly. He gets a kick out of it. I really should use another form of punishment; a punch and dislocated jaw really isn't doing much for him nowadays."
Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand and scooted closer to him. "Sherlock, I'm scared," she whispered out.
"It'll be ok, Molly. Lestrade knows we're here," Sherlock comforted, kissing the top of her head.
"No phone service, I'm afraid," Moriarty said, leaning back in his chair.
"No matter. Free WiFi," Sherlock spat back as he flicked his phone on.
~oOo~
For a few more minutes, Moriarty caught Sherlock up on what he'd been up to, what he had for dinner and what Seb was making that night. There was a knock on the door of the elevator and a muffled shout of John Watson. "Sherlock, Molly, are you two in there?"
"Yes, John. Did you get help?" Sherlock asked.
"I did. I know how you're always raving about how smart you are so I got you something." There was a shuffle of paper as something was pushed through the door. "I got you a paper clip and a blank page. I hope it helps. Lestrade and I are going to the pub for a pint. Let us know when you plan on joining us. Have a nice day, Molly," he called back out.
"That twisted little shi-"
"John! It's Moriarty!" Molly screamed out. "He's on the PA system!"
A small voice whispered into Molly's ear. "I'd recommend you take that back or I'm afraid there will be a lot of blood spilling from your neck," Jim threatened, a cold object pressed against her throat as he spoke.
"Wait, what?" John called back.
"She was just joking, John. If you're not going to help us, I suppose I best figure out how a paperclip is going to save the day," Sherlock interrupted the conversation, knowing Molly would burst into tears or have a quiver in her voice that'd give it away.
"Alright. Bye you two." John called back.
Unbeknown to them, John was outside with Lestrade and the technicians who were working to get the situation under control. Anderson had been payed by John to sneak in and talk like Moriarty.
"Back off, Jim," Sherlock threatened.
"Ooh, the brave Sherlock Holmes threatening little old me. Some things never change."
Sherlock smirked as he realised what had happened (it was the beard that gave it away, and his deodorant) and reached up to grab Anderson's neck. He brought him away from Molly and whispered into his ear, trying to keep his voice down to continue the charade with Molly.
"Well done, Anderson. Just not good enough. Now, pretend to kill me and we'll sneak out of the elevator," Sherlock demanded.
"I guess this is it, Sherlock Holmes," he said before pretending to stab him. Sherlock's hand went limp in Molly's and Anderson pulled him away.
Molly began to cry as "Moriarty" removed the body. "SHERLOCK!" she called out while grasping for the man, panic washing over her.
Anderson and Holmes snuck away from her and managed to get to safety.
~oOo~
After getting a bite to eat with Anderson, Sherlock walked to where the gang were waiting for him and Molly to demand to leave.
"S-Sherlock?" John stuttered as he realised his friend was there, not in the elevator as expected.
"Yes. What?"
"Y-your… fu-."
The technicians opened the door to reveal a sobbing Molly alone in the small space. She was huddled in a corner, tears streaming down her face.
"I got another donut while I was out. Can I interest you?" Sherlock asked John.
Molly's head snapped up as she heard the voice and gasped a little. What was going on? "Y-all of you?" she looked at them and sighed. Of course, it was all a joke- a joke played on the unsuspecting Molly Hooper. Eyes welling yet again, she jumped up and ran out of the elevator and out of Bart's.
"So, she thought it was all real," Sherlock commented while taking a bit of John's neglected donut. He ignored Lestrade's wishful gaze at the delicious and turned around to go back to Baker Street.
John ran to keep up with him, walking by his side. "I've got a few things to tell you. First, you need to go talk to Molly and explain that the joke was meant to be on you and she wasn't meant to be involved. Also, Mary and I decided to stop all this fame nonsense. It's affecting all of us; Poppy, Mary, me, you. Thoughts?"
"No."
"Excuse me?" John asked as Sherlock stalked out of Bart's.
"I'm not talking to Molly about that; that's absurd."
"Well, what about giving up the fame?"
"I don't care. It was five seconds. And your show wasn't even that good. I could learn more from your blog than that rubbish book pitch. As for Mary and Poppy, nope. They weren't affected, no-one cared. It was just you and your big head. You weren't spending time with any of the people who care for you."
"Did you just say you care for me?" John asked, feeling a little flattered.
"Not at all. I said you've been neglecting those who care such as Mary and Poppy. I have no time for emotions and such."
"Yes, but you love Poppy."
"Who couldn't? She's adorable. I shall train her," Sherlock told John as they walked further and further away from Bart's. Sherlock realised how stupid he was and hailed a cab.
"You are not training my daughter!"
"Too late," Sherlock replied as he slipped into a cab.
~oOo~
Everyone seemed to forget about Molly Hooper. No-one explained to her the joke. No-one remembered to clear the air. Why was it always her?
When John and Sherlock next went to the morgue, Molly didn't say a word, even after Sherlock offered a once in a life time opportunity to go on a date with him if she helped them that day. Instead, she finished her work and at the time she was supposed to end, she got up and walked home, swapping with Tara. Sherlock hates Tara so he followed Molly's lead and walked out of Bart's, John trailing along like the puppy he is.
She had begun to talk to them a few days after the incident (like she wouldn't succumb to talking to Sherlock eventually) and life continued the way it always did. It was only a few years later that it was mentioned and John explained the whole thing. Straight away, Molly forgave all involved.
A/N: hey guys,
I hate to say goodbye, but I think this is it for now. I might come back soon with a story, but I suppose we'll see what happens. In the meantime, a huge thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed/favorited/sent in a prompt/PM'd me. I have really appreciated all the response and messages you've all sent- you're beautiful!
A huge thank you to Mighty Sword for the many prompts I have received!
This isn't the complete end though guys! I'll be back with a short story soon (holidays are right around the corner!) and I'm always here if you want some Beta reading or some assistance of any kind.
TL;DR: thanks for being great! C U soon!
xxx