Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity.
Summary: Molly counts. She Promised to help him. But, the reality of saving Sherlock ends up leading to places she never expected. Sherlock needs her again, but this time she must save John.
Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated.
I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Molly sighed and shook her head. "You didn't give me time. I can't believe you shot my bloody phone!"
"Really?" John blows out his breath, and leans on her shoulder in relief. "That's. Good. So. Shall we cabbage on?"
"John, were you going to…tonight?" She hasn't caught up. "Why?"
"Ok. No. Possible. Probably no. Fuck if I know, " he says as he pulls out two shot glasses and sets them in place of the items she'd seen earlier.
He raises his glass and says, "To Sherlock." He slugs the liquor back in one swig. Molly does the same, making a face. She feels she needs it after walking in on who-knows-what here at 221.
Molly and John drink several shots and it is going to her head a little. She is no light weight but keeping up with Johnny's-gotta-gun was simply going to have her blacked out in less than an hour.
"Let's play 'Wit's End' for drinks?" she says as he fills her shot glass again.
John fills his glass, sets the now half- emptied bottle on the table and he smiled and shrugged, and then said in a confused tone, "I don't think I have ever heard of that one. How does it go?"
"Oh it's easy. We played at Uni all the time. First sit over here." She patted the couch and he moved next to her. "Two parts. One person asks a question…about anything…and usually there is more than one player, but this will still work. The person who asks the question touches the person they want to answer, which we only have each other for an option but so long as contact is maintained, the person being touched has to answer and keep talking without any distraction, it doesn't have to be the truth, it can be silly, or embarrassing or anything. But the idea is for the person answering to get the person that ask the question to laugh or stop talking because they can't think of anything to say, lose their wits. Between the touching and the scrutiny, the person who asked the question is trying to make the other lose their wits too. So the one who asks has to keep a straight face and the only thing off limits is tickling, because that makes most everyone laugh, and pain, such as pinching is ok too, but nothing that would harm, but in the meantime, the one being touched is trying to get someone else to laugh or be shocked with a funny, ridiculous or even a shockingly true answer. Whoever loses their wits first has to have a drinky-poo, then they get to ask next. Do you have a timer?"
"Yeah, I think I do. When you say touching though, give me some idea what that entails?"
"Oh it can be anything really, I mean you can't grope and molest the speaker, but my roomie was kind of noted for fanny slaps, but her best move was that she was a magician with neck rubs and nobody could keep speaking once she got hold of a knot. James Heckford had a secret weapon that he pulled out when he was losing badly, as in once he got a bit bashed, in that he had a bit of a footy-fetish and could make anyone jerk away or giggle when he'd lick toes, but he was pretty competitive and that was a bit extreme. Most people do something silly, but some use the serious approach. It just depends."
"What if I kiss you?"
"Well obviously that wouldn't work beings I have to talk. You can't tape their mouths shut or try to feed them or any of that sort of thing. It is mental power, which goes progressively south because of the drinking. Not physically preventing someone from carrying on, so to speak."
John smiled at her wickedly and shrugged, sitting back down and placing the kitchen timer between the glasses. "What happens when the timer goes off and nobody has lost their wits?"
"Well in a bunch of people, everyone drinks, to keep it interesting. Beings anyone not picked wouldn't have much fun otherwise. But with two, the turn just passes."
"Ok. You're going to lose, but we can give it a try, until I get thirsty. You go first. Ask me something." He holds his hands out offering her access and consciously pulling his face into a placid stoic mask.
Molly set the timer and held it while she thought. "Tell me the most frightening thing that ever happened to you as a child?" She set the timer down and held it until he began speaking.
"Well, let me think here for a second. Oh, there was a cat that lived next door and I was about ten, I think. My sister takes me out of the house one night to go peek through the curtains of these two old drunk men who lived up the way. They used to argue and at night they would be drunk and it was entertainment for half the neighborhood, because they did the most amazingly ridiculous things. Food fights, throwing things and the most creative and entertaining curses, ever to grace the day. This night they were being boring, just glued to the telly and sipping tea. We started home and there is the cat, having been run over. Anyway, Harry's torch lands on it and there is an eyeball of the poor…hey Ouch?" John grabs his chest in protest, absolutely speechless that her first move was a twisted nipple which he hadn't experienced since ATR.
"Drink," she says smugly.
John complies watching her and shaking his head with a small grin. "Playing like that are we?"
He resets the timer, his voice is low and silky as he asks, "Tell me your deepest darkest fantasy…about Sherlock." His eyes narrow waiting for her to react.
She takes a deep breath and nods for him to let go of the timer. "I have a lot of those, John Watson. Probably the worst is that he comes to the morgue in that silly coat of his and he doesn't say a word, just shuffles me into the cold storage in that intimidating way he...had." John takes her hand and bends his head to her palm, kissing it then looking up at her as if he might be cataloging her reactions. Molly ignores him, not missing a beat. "And the lights are off and he slams the door on us and pushes me up against the wall yanks my skirt up and my knickers down and takes me right there. But of course, it isn't really a fantasy, so much as a memory. Because he used to do that all of the time—"
"What? You're joking!"
"Yes. I am. Gottcha. Drink." She raises her chin, pleased with herself and hands him his glass.
John grumbles as his brain goes from pure shock to understanding. "Yes. Yes, you did. That, was bloody brilliant. Very sneaky. You were just pulling my chain?"
Molly shrugs, and plops her chin on her hand. "Doesn't have to be true. My job is to make you lose your wits with what I say."
John bursts into laughter and is still chuckling as he says, "I see I am going to have to step up my game a little here or you are going to have a very drunk man on your hands and it will not be a pretty sight, I assure you." He makes a face as he takes his shot and shivers a bit afterwards. "Now where were we? Oh, your turn."
Molly looks at the ceiling and around the room. "Who was your greatest lover of all time and why?"
John takes a deep breath and his tongue worries his lower lip for a second before he nods for her to let the timer begin. "This has to say between you and me. I can't have this getting around. But it was a man." He glances at her shyly and Shivers just a little as Molly puts her hand gently on his knee and lets her fingers twist toward his thigh. "He had an enormous cock. He was completely insane in bed, had no boundaries. He could suck like a tornado and you have met him." John looks her in the eye and whispers, "Mike Stamford."
Molly's face went from almost neutral to the tiniest display of almost hurt to pure horror as she gasp, "NO!"
John hands her the glass and shakes his head with mock pity. "No. But that is a very delicious color of pink you turned when you thought I meant Sherlock. Bottoms up."
She lets her breath out and takes her punishment. "That one should require a double. I will never get that picture out of my head. You are only the fifth person to ever make me drink." She grins at him and sets her glass down refilling it. "That was very naughty."
"Not as naughty as this." John pulls her over on top of him and nips at her neck sliding his hand along her chin. "Give me six good reasons you won't let me make love to you tonight. I know you're aroused. You want too. I want to. Six. Good. Reasons."