We're just going to assume that Harry lives nearby John. XD
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Whenever John Watson received messages from Mrs. Hudson he feared the worst for his friend who currently resided in the same building as her. Either he had begun drugs again, he had tried shooting something, or she was getting multiple complaints from other tenants about noise.
So as he tried to juggle a crying Rosie and her almost empty oatmeal bowl in one hand and his phone in the other, he attempted to check the message that Mrs. Hudson had sent him. He was surprised to see that it was a picture message.
"Give me a minute Rosie, Daddy has to check his phone." he cooed to her as he finally got her calmed down enough for him to place her in her highchair and to place the rest of her oatmeal in front of her. She was still whimpering, but her brightly colored spoon spinning in the bland oatmeal seemed to distract her for a moment. Knowing he only had a few seconds, he quickly opened his phone and selected the message. What he saw...floored him. He immediately dialed Mrs. Hudson's number.
"Mrs. Hudson? Yes, it's John. What in the world are Sherlock and Molly laying on the couch for? No, he would tell me that, Mrs. Hudson, I know he - "
He paused as she explained that she had found them like that the night before and that they were still like that in the early morning. John balked.
"He never sleeps in past eight," he mused as John glanced at the clock that read 9:30 a.m.. Especially alongside a woman. A woman like Molly Hooper.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Sherlock Holmes would tell him if he had a...girlfriend. Wouldn't he?
As the doorbell rang, it startled John out of his thoughts and Rosie threw her spoon into the air.
"Oh, coming, coming!" John yelled as he stooped down to pick up the spoon and jog toward the door with his phone clutched between his shoulder and ear. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll see you soon all right? Goodbye."
Opening the door, he was met with the smiling face of his sister Harry.
"Hey John!"
"Hey, Harry, um, Rosie's in the kitchen," he gestured, small bits of oatmeal flying off the spoon.
"Ah, breakfast time, huh? Rosie, are you having some oatmeal?" Harry called out and Rosie immediately responded with a happy giggle.
"Thank you again for this Harry, I really appreciate it. It's going to take a whole lot of time to put everything back together again -"
"Don't worry about, dear brother. I'm excited to have Rosie for the week. Just let me know if you need me to keep her longer."
John shook his head as he pulled the empty bowl away from Rosie before she painted the kitchen with oatmeal. "No, no, it should be only a week. Besides, I don't want to stay away from her for that long. Do you still have that list of emergency numbers that I sent you -"
Harry smiled at him. "Don't worry about us John, you just worry about fixing everything up. Rosie's in good hands, aren't you?"
Rosie's smile lit up the room as Harry scooped her up in her arms.
John grinned as he picked up Rosie's bag and handed it to Harry. "So, I'll be over to pick her up on Saturday."
"Of course," Harry replied as she shuffled her way back to the front door. John followed and smiled as Rosie attempted to pull on Harry's hair.
"Hey little girl!" Harry laughed.
"Don't worry, you're not the only one. She does that to Sherlock all the time."
"Yeah but you've also said that Sherlock has the curls that bounce back, mine just sort of...hangs."
"Doesn't matter to her, hair is hair," John laughed as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Well, give my regards to Sherlock. Maybe I'll finally be able to meet the man?" Harry asked as she turned one last time toward her brother.
"Maybe," John responded. "He's going to be...busy."
Harry smiled sadly. "Of course. You better get going then. Say bye-bye to daddy, Rosie."
John bent down to kiss Rosie on the cheek. "Be good for Harry, Rosie."
"Oh she will. Be well, dear brother."
"Goodbye Harry. Goodbye Rosie."
Harry waved before she bent down to place Rosie in her car. John quickly backed into his flat for he knew that he kept watching his sister and daughter he would want to run down and take her back. He closed the door behind him and braced his back against it, giving a large sigh.
"It's going to be a long week."
It didn't take long for him to reach Baker Street, even if some of it was still blocked of by Scotland Yard. Greg was currently running an investigation into the explosion, but Mycroft had pretty much handled all of the minute details for him. Greg was just going through the motions at this point. He dodged around some straggling eavesdroppers, hoping they would hear or see something that clued them into what happened to the great Sherlock Holmes's home. They noticed who he was and attempted to get him to stop, but John acted as if they weren't there and slipped into the main door.
Mrs. Hudson must have heard him come in, as she wasted no time in sneaking out of her apartment and racing toward him.
"Oh John, I couldn't believe it. Did he talk to you at all? I had no idea - "
John cut her off. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I wasn't aware of anything. Are they awake yet? Sherlock and I need to start cleaning some of the small debris up."
"I haven't heard anything. Be careful when you walk up there though, who knows what they're up to."
John balked. He didn't feel like imagining any sort picture that Mrs. Hudson was presenting.
"I'm sure they're just still sleeping. I'll go up and see - "
"About time you arrived, John, we have a lot of work to do."
John glanced up the stairs in surprise as Sherlock walked down them, a small smile on his face.
"Oh, Sherlock, you're awake," Mrs. Hudson stammered. "I haven't heard anything from you all morning…"
"It has been a quiet morning," Sherlock agreed as he motioned for John to follow him. "We'll see you to you business, Mrs. Hudson."
"Of course," she agreed as John was nearly pulled by Sherlock up the stairs and into his flat. John looked from Sherlock shutting the door to the main foyer where the other person in question was sitting on the couch, a red blush rushing into her cheeks.
"Oh, hello John," Molly whispered, giving him a small wave.
"Hello, Molly." John responded. He wanted to question her immediately, but he kept his tongue and knew that either Sherlock would tell him or he would be able to pull it out of him later.
"Molly has offered to help us clean up a bit," Sherlock mentioned. Molly stood quietly and John caught the sight of a discarded blanket that had been thrown to the end of the couch.
"I can grab some garbage bags," she muttered as she flittered past them and into the kitchen, closing the small door behind her.
John quickly turned toward Sherlock, a puzzled expression on his face. "Do you, uh, do you care to explain?"
"About?"
John gave a strong point toward the kitchen. "Um, Molly? Did she..stay over last night?"
"She did."
"...with you?"
"Isn't that what significant others normally do?"
John froze, the words that were forming on his lips falling away. "What?"
Sherlock looked at him as he walked around to sit at the only chair in the room. "I said isn't that what significant others -"
"Oh, don't be a smart ass. You know what I mean," John scoffed, trying to keep his voice down as they heard Molly clunking around the kitchen. Sherlock gave him a gentle smile, which threw John off guard. He almost never smiled, let alone when speaking about the concept of love or affection.
"Yes, I suppose you have already been informed by Mrs. Hudson of the situation," Sherlock paused and took a small breath.
"So, you and Molly are...together?"
He didn't answer right away. Finally, he looked John in the eye. "Yes, I do believe we are."
John's response was cut off by Molly returning to the foyer, her arms full of boxes of garbage bags. "Sorry it took so long, I didn't realize how many bags of supplies Mrs. Hudson had brought up here."
She handed John a few bags and placed the rest on the couch. Pulling some more out of the boxes, she walked around to where Sherlock was sitting. As he opened a bag, John watched out of the corner of his eye as Molly brought him a couple bags...and his hand caressed hers gently as she handed them off.
John averted his eyes, suddenly feeling like he had been eavesdropping on an intimate moment that he shouldn't have. Molly scurried back to the couch to grab some garbage bags herself, her face slowly blossoming to a cherry red. He decided that he should give them a little...push.
"I'm happy for you two."
Molly froze and Sherlock smiled.
"Wha - what do you mean?" Molly laughed, fussing with the bag in her hands that was conveniently refusing to open.
"I'm happy you're together. You deserve the happiness."
Sherlock stood and gently took the bag from Molly's hands and opened it for her.
"You didn't really think we'd be able to keep it a secret did you?" He whispered quietly. She smiled at him. John watched, floored at what he was seeing. His friend, the cold and logical man he had come to know, and the sweet Molly who ran her life on emotion and relationships. If someone asked him if Sherlock and Molly could ever be romantically together a year ago, he would have laughed at them. Now...he can see it. They were so opposite that they balanced each other out. Sherlock rooted Molly with his facts and figures and she pulled him out of his comfort zone that he had placed himself in since early childhood.
With a jolt John realized that it could work.
The next couple hours was filled with dragging full garbage bags to dumpsters and realigning knick knacks around the parlor. Molly seemed to become comfortable with being around John with him knowing about her and Sherlock to the point that John caught her grazing her hand against Sherlock's back or arm. He never brought it up but he met Sherlock's eyes once or twice and found a light there that he had never seen before. His smile never left his face, even when Molly went back into the kitchen to put the unused garbage bags away.
"What are you smiling at?" Sherlock muttered, flipping a pen in his hand.
"You," John responded. "And Molly."
Sherlock laughed. "Of course you are."
"Can you blame me? I'm just happy you took my advice."
Sherlock paused. "Before it's too late."
John didn't know how to responded right away, but he was interrupted anyway by hearing Molly's ringtone in the kitchen.
"Dr. Hooper speaking," her muffled voice said.
"Must be Barts," Sherlock said.
Molly walked into the parlor with her phone glued to her ear. "Today? It's nearly five o'clock." She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other end of the line. "Okay, okay, I'll come in. Give me about half an hour."
She hung up and gave a heavy sigh.
"Do you have to go into work?" John asked.
"Apparently there are officers from Brighton that brought a body to Barts and they need an autopsy right away."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why didn't they bring the body to a Brighton hospital?"
"Who knows, they might be booked. Either way, I've got to go," she turned to Sherlock and smiled at him. "See you tomorrow?"
"Of course," Sherlock responded. He followed her to the door and John lagged behind, letting them have their goodbye.
"Goodbye, John!" Molly called back.
"Goodbye, Molly," John responded.
Heaving a sigh John plopped down on the couch, rolling his neck slowly and closing his eyes. He heard the muffled voices of Sherlock and Molly as she walked out the door. After a few moments, he heard Sherlock's feet shuffle across the floor without him saying anything.
"What's wrong?" John asked, his eyes still closed.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock's gruff voice responded.
"I know you, Sherlock," John stated as he hoised himself forward to lean his elbows against his knees. His eyes opened to see Sherlock's concerned expression across the room. "You're worried about something."
"It doesn't sit right with me. They should have brought the body to a Brighton hospital...they have plenty."
"Well, like Molly said, they might be all booked."
"Impossible. Even if they were booked, if the officers needed an autopsy right away they would have put in a rush order."
"I'm sure Molly will give you all the details when she's done at work."
Sherlock looked at John quickly but then averted his eyes. Even so, he caught the questioning in them.
"I suppose."
….
To any outside observer, the walls of St. Barts are hard and cold but to Molly they were engaging and inviting. She enjoyed the normal quietness that Barts had to offer as she milled around the morgue doing multiple autopsies a day.
Today, however, the quietness had been disturbed.
Cop cars were blaring in front of the building and police were bustling around the bottom floors of Barts. As Molly walked into the main hallway she could see her boss, Dr. Milligan, talking to an uniformed officer.
"I can't have all of you in here at once. There are patients in here, you know."
"I understand, Dr. Milligan. But this case is turning into a massive manhunt. Is your pathologist here yet?"
The man looked skittish as he glanced at passing faces, hoping one would stand up to claim the title.
Dr. Milligan hadn't seen her yet. "Dr. Hooper will be here shortly. The body is in the morgue?"
"Yes." The detective responded.
"Dr. Milligan," Molly spoke as she came within earshot of them. Dr. Milligan's eyes flashed up to meet hers and she could see the apology within them.
"Dr. Hooper. This is Detective Shawn Andrews, from Brighton."
"Detective Andrews," Molly greeted, extending her hand. "Dr. Molly Hooper. How can I be of help to you?"
"I'm sure Dr. Milligan explained that we have an autopsy we'd like you to perform," he responded as they walked toward the stairs that would lead them to the morgue.
"Yes. Were you completely booked in Brighton?"
"Not...exactly."
As they entered the morgue she noticed the familiar gurney that now held a body with a white sheet over it. She cringed as she walked to her desk to find that officers that were currently lounging around her area had scattered files everywhere. She quickly tried to straighten them and put her desk back in order as Detective Andrews grabbed a second file from her desk.
"All right, all of you out of here. Let Dr. Hooper do her job."
Her eyes narrowed as they trudged out the door and she snagged her lab coat from its hook. "Okay, what's the story?"
"What?" He faltered, barely glancing up at her as he looked over the file.
"What happened?" She asked again. She made her way toward the body and grabbed some the tools that she would need out of their drawers.
"Um, he was murdered. Stabbed fifteen times."
"God," Molly breathed.
"But...there's….there's something else."
"Yes?"
Detective Andrews walked around the body towards her, closed his file, and finally looked her in the eye. "You were asked for specifically."
"By who?" She asked, pulling on latex gloves.
His face was hard as as he pulled something from his pocket. He handed a folded piece of parchment to her gingerly. She took it and turned it around to find in big black letters the words To Dr. Molly Hooper written on the outside of it.
"This was found on top of the body. The killer wanted you to do the autopsy."
Thank you for reading! This is getting to be so fun to write and I have plenty of ideas ready to go. Please, read, review, and enjoy!