AN: I had a wonderful amount of support for the first chapter so I thought I would expand this a bit. It was actually meant to be a one-shot, but I forgot to set it as 'Complete'...ah well, now I have an excuse to do some more writing.
As per the many requests here is another little look into the marvelous mind and subtly of Genius Molly. I was hoping to write from John Watson's perspective but couldn't quite get a perspective/plot that I liked. Ah well. Maybe next time.
Enjoy, and let me know what you think :)
Cheers,
Voi
Detective Inspector Lestrade considers himself a smart man. Not a genius, but smart. Most cases he can solve on his own and if not, well, he's not too proud to ask for help. Years of experience have taught him who to rely on in a pinch.
And it's not Sherlock Holmes.
Well, sometimes it is. But only some times.
Other times…most times, it's the writer of these mysterious cards.
Looking at the bottom of the most recent card, at the familiar initials that are embossed into the stiff cardstock, Lestrade shakes his head.
He's been getting these little white cards for years, since he made inspector actually. Small, unobtrusive things, they had shown up the first time he had found himself struggling with a case. They had pointed him in the right direction.
The first time it had unnerved him, that these cards, this mysterious person, had seemed so knowledgeable of each crime. But now, years later, the appearance of the white stock rectangles were almost comforting.
Of course, he still dutifully submitted each card in with the evidence and waited for the lab results to come back. They always came up negative for any trace of identifiable material (as they had for the past several years) but Lestrade was as committed to the proper process of things as he was smart.
But something had changed not so long ago, and for once Inspector Lestrade found himself privy to one of the universes most intriguing secrets.
He learned the identity of the mysterious benefactor, the brain behind the cardstock and initials.
M.H.
It had been not more than a year ago when he had found out.
An early morning case of robbery-gone-wrong had meant Lestrade had arrived at St. Bart's to find it nearly deserted. The card was the last of the evidence that needed collecting and while he had been on his way out he had spotted a familiar face.
Light glinting off her name tag, Dr. Hooper, Molly Hooper, had seemed to be in good spirits despite the hour.
"Morning, Molly, here already?"
Coffee in hand, he had had more than enough time to wake up. She, sans coffee, seemed equally perky.
Sunny and optimistic even when she was on her way to examine yet another corpse, she smiled.
"Yes, it's been a bit of a busy one. Strange, but I've seen stranger. " She eyed the card in the bag curiously, "What's that? Love note?"
"Hmm, oh this?" He laughed extending the card with a flourish, "Hardly, more like a clue card. It's been massively helpful this time."
"Oh well that sounds nice. " Molly chirped as she bent closer to inspect it, "You never know where help will come from. Though there are some obvious choices."
"Indeed." Lestrade nodded, but paused mid-gesture as he saw another familiar figure at the end of the hallway. It seemed this morning in particular was packed with familiar faces.
"Say Molly, over there – that's Sherlock's brother isn't it?"
Molly glanced over then smiled albeit nervously, "Yes, his older brother. He comes in from time to time."
"Do you know what his name is?" Lestrade asked curiously, "I've seen him a few times around the city but we've never been formally introduced.
His companion nodded in sympathy, "Well, he's not nearly as chatty as Sherlock, but he goes by Mycroft Holmes."
"Hmm…Mycroft."
Nodding slowly, Lestrade eyed the initials again.
Mycroft Holmes.
M.H.
"He's as smart as Sherlock, isn't he?"
The mousy pathologist smiled bright enough to match her yellow jumper, "I think he may be smarter…though I don't think you want to say that with Sherlock around."
"And he's good…solving crimes and things."
"I've never seen him at a crime scene. More your department isn't it?" Molly asked, "But then, chances are he'd be at least as good as Sherlock."
"Yeah..."
Lestrade nodded absently as the pieces began to fit together. Waving goodbye to Molly, he had made it nearly down the hall when the eldest Holmes turned and left. The silence brought the final moment of clarity.
It all made sense now. Sort of.
He had always wondered at them, those initials.
Now he knew.
After all – who else could it be?
M.H.
He really should have said something. He had received years of help, so a simple 'thank you' was almost too little. But what exactly did one say to the man who single handedly helped capture countless criminals and all with less pomp and circumstance than his younger brother.
How did one thank a genius so subtle that their names remained a mystery even to those who relied on them most?
He wasn't sure he could quite make the connection: the cordial and almost cheeky M.H. with the man Sherlock Holmes only grudgingly called his brother. Wasn't he supposed to be cold and impersonal?
But then, everyone had their secrets didn't they?
Lestrade could do with having one more than Sherlock Holmes.
M.H.
Who would have thought Mycroft could be so helpful?