Domestic life with Sherlock Holmes. How would Molly Hooper describe such a strange and wonderful thing?
She contemplated this as she typed quickly on Sherlock's laptop, sneaking glances at the consulting detective while he made breakfast in nothing but his underwear and his half- open robe, grunting in frustration as he fought to keep the pancake from sticking to the pan.
Molly giggled and stood from her seat, taking the pan and spatula from him and scraping the almost- perfect pancake onto a plate. Sherlock scoffed, "I could have done that." he said.
"Sure you could've," She retorted, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before drowning the pancakes in an equal mess of butter and syrup.
"That looks disgusting." he said
"It's good, and you still have to make some for yourself. You're not working cases anymore, Sherlock Holmes. You need to take care of yourself." She said.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but complied nonetheless.
This was their life; just breakfast and movies and not much going out. If they did, by some strange chance go out, Molly made sure to wear a blonde wig and loads of makeup while Sherlock donned western style clothing that, at first, had made Molly burst into a fit of laughter. Americans really were strange people.
"I look ridiculous." he argued.
"You look sexy, it's just strange seeing you in normal clothing." Molly assured.
"You look rather... sexy yourself with that hair color. Though I do prefer the brown on you, it compliments your eyes." Sherlock said.
Molly smiled and pressed her lips to his, "Can't have everything you want."
It had been almost two months of just this; normal, average life with Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. They cooked meals, they went to bed on time, they watched T.V. Just everyday things they'd never gotten around to doing in London.
They hadn't contacted anyone from Baker Street since they left, as it would easily give away their location. However Sherlock had ties with certain people, so if anything happened to their friends or loved ones, they'd know about it instantly.
It would be a lie for Sherlock to say that he didn't enjoy this; alone time with the woman he loved, away from all the danger. But then, he also loved the danger; he got off on it, it was like his own little high.
But still he loved the way Molly never flinched when she heard a noise outside, or how she slept through the night without crying out in her sleep. That much, neither of them missed.
In fact, they'd become so accustomed to their new, domestic life that they didn't even think twice before opening the front door. And Sherlock admittedly blanked for a moment when the man flashed a crooked grin before taking the gun from his pocket, aiming it at Sherlock's head.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes." he said, his thick accent almost foreign to Sherlock now.
Molly came around the corner soon after, "Sherlock? Who's at the do- shit!" She exclaimed upon seeing the man hold Sherlock at gunpoint.
"Molly, stay back." He said, but her reply was interrupted by the sound of windows smashing and guns being loaded. Within seconds, the once quiet room was filled with loud boots and loaded guns, too many of which were pointed at Molly.
"What do you want?" Sherlock spat.
"Isn't it obvious? We want you dead, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock laughed, "I've stopped pursuing you, we haven't heard from you in months. And you don't want us dead, you ignorant buffoon. If you wanted to kill us you'd have done it by now, nobody's aim is that bad." Sherlock spat.
One man pushed the gun further against Sherlock's head, something that made Molly freeze up completely.
"Shut the hell up." The man warned.
"What. Do. You. Want?" Sherlock asked once more through clenched teeth.
Molly was close enough to take Sherlock's hand in hers as the men awaited orders from the man facing Sherlock.
"I want you to come with us, Mr. Holmes."
Molly cast a nervous glance over to Sherlock, and he just nodded in reassurance. The men kept their guns pressed to their back as they walked to the van with tinted windows.
Sherlock knew Molly was scared, and that it took everything inside of her not to scream out when they searched the two for weapons before practically throwing them in the back of the van.
The doors closed with a loud clang, and Molly crawled into Sherlock's arms, "Sherlock," She said shakily.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
"I'm fine, are you?"
"Yes." he said.
Where the hell are they taking us?" She asked, her voice so small and scared.
"I don't know. They won't kill us, Molly, don't worry." he said.
Molly shivered, "It's not me I'm worried about."
"What? We're both fine, they wouldn't hurt you, and they won't hurt me. They need us for something." Sherlock said.
Molly just shook her head, changing the subject immediately, "Okay, okay. We'll be alright then?" She asked, and Sherlock nodded.
They both relaxed a bit upon the realization that they weren't going to die, for now that is. "We were so close." Molly muttered, pissed off that their little bit of normal had been taken from them. It wasn't fair.
"Just breathe." He urged.
"I love you." she said, looking up at the two big, glassy eyes that met hers in the darkness, "I love you, too." He said.
And that was the last that they spoke as they rode along in the silent dark of the black van.
They stopped not two hours later, just when Molly thought she couldn't take the hard floor of the van any longer.
"You ready?" Sherlock asked, and Molly nodded despite feeling a little nauseous. Now is not the time for this, she thought.
They followed the now heavily armed men into a rather nice looking restaurant that turned out to not be a restaurant at all, but yet another underground fucking lair.
Sherlock almost screamed in annoyance as they entered the building, traveling many flights of stairs before anyone said a word, "You'll go in alone. The boss wants to see you." The short man that greeted Sherlock ever so nicely at the door informed.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" Sherlock remarked as the remaining men turned their backs to stand guard at the door.
Nobody said a word, and Molly grabbed Sherlock's hand, the two pushing open the heavy metal door Sherlock knew was probably bullet proof.
There was a dark haired man with his hair greased back sitting at one of the nicest mahogany desks Sherlock had ever seen, his hands folded on top of a small yellow notepad.
"Sit." he said.
Sherlock nodded to Molly, who occupied one of the two cushioned chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Sherlock sat last.
"I suppose there's a reason you went through all this trouble to get us here. You had to have lost us when we left London, then you must have been tearing your hair out once you found out we left England all together. At least you've finally found us. Took long enough, I suppose."
"If you're done talking, Mr. Holmes." the man said. His voice was deep; deeper than Sherlock's, even.
"So? Go on with it, then. What is it you want?"
The man sighed and rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling muttering something inaudible to himself before he continued,
"Mr. Holmes, Ms. Hooper. We need your help?"
AN: WhAaAaAaAtT?! Yeah, I know I said I'd keep up with this fanfiction but I'm just really lazy okay? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was rather fun to write. Hope all is well with you guys.
XXXDanielle