Just a heads up, I'm doing NanoWrimo this year (50,000 words in one month) so may be updating a lot in procrastination, or not much because I'm actually writing my novel! This chapter is dedicated to SammyKatz, and is a two parter because I didn't want you guys to wait too long for an update. The second part will be coming soon,aAs always thank you very much for all your reviews/follows/favourites, enjoy!
P is for Pub
Time spent at the pub with Tom was not the worst thing in Molly's world, but when your baseline is child autopsies, especially those of non-natural causes, everything is a little skewed. Pub time used to be a group of hospital staff, and gradually expanded with partners and other friends and friends until the number got so large that naturally, the group fragmented. Instead of enjoying a half of pale ale with her friends and winding down, Molly now spent pub night with four of Tom's friends and one of their girlfriends who wouldn't stop talking about some show about a load of rich, spoilt brats in one of the posher London boroughs. Thankfully the weather was starting to get warm and the days a little longer, so they were sat outside, and Molly could people watch while pretending to listen the woman whose name she had forgotten. Gazing out over the Thames she couldn't help but have a sense of foreboding, London was too quiet, the terror threat had been lowered and there was talk of a sensible decision being made by the politicians in Westminster, with the latter enough to make anyone suspicious. She sighed to herself, decent weather and nothing but inane chatter (as close as she could get to peace and quiet) would only last so long, best enjoy it. Her enjoyment however was all of 10 minutes and 32 seconds before an unmistakable coat billowed into her eye line.
"Oh no." Molly muttered to herself, wanting nothing more than to jump into the river and let it carry her out to sea. She could do without a public lecture as to why she shouldn't have eaten marshmallows yesterday and now the western economies would now suffer grievously as a result. Much like how her going out on three dates with a guy from IT meant she should no longer have a social life or Armageddon would come. Sherlogic was not her favourite thing. Irritatingly he was walking straight towards her, a powerwalking John was trying to keep up with him, venting at an exhausted Lestrade. As they got closer it appeared Sherlock was carrying a bag, one of her bags to be precise. This did not bode well for any of them, that bag was not meant to be used.
"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, dumping the bag on the table in front of her making half of the group jump. She simply glared at him until John and Greg arrived moments later, somewhat out of breath. Luckily for them, having to deal with Sherlock was momentarily paused as his phone rang. He rolled his eyes at the number on the screen, and there was no guessing who was calling.
"I'm going to your stupid crime scene, I just needed to pick up a few things on the way." He snarled down the phone, hanging up before the person on the other end could answer. Roughly an hour earlier Sherlock had been thoroughly enjoying an experiment involving how to add powdered dye to washing powder without the person who is using it noticing. Then his phone had rung, and Mycroft waffled on about some sort of national security crisis and a body washed up on the side of the Thames, and discretion amongst other ignored topics, such as how much mummy had enjoyed drinks out with Molly. At which point he hung up, had a cigarette and went to alleviate John from the boredom of his actual job. They had picked up Lestrade from New Scotland Yard and Molly's bag from her flat before venturing towards the final destination, which took far longer than it should have. Needless to say, Sherlock was a little agitated.
"Come on, time is of the essence," He barked at Molly, ignoring her glare and abject refusal to stand. The stand-off didn't last long, and Sherlock simply picked Molly up off the bench and threw her over his shoulder, securing her with one arm and carrying the bag with the other.
"Put me down!" Molly exclaimed, more in surprise than expectation of actually being put down.
"Your legs are too short," He replied, walking off nonchalantly. Molly rolled her eyes and gave the others an exasperated wave as Sherlock carried her off towards, what she assumed, was a dead body.
"You cannot take him anywhere!" Greg sighed, deliberating whether to follow or call in his unit.
"If it's Mycroft, that means it's at least an 8." John's head fell into his hands, anything 8 and above required supervision. He sent a brief text to Mary saying he'd been kidnapped by Sherlock, so she wouldn't worry.
"John, what's going on?" Tom asked, he was getting more used to Sherlock's antics, but he didn't appreciate his fiancée being carried off by another man in front of his friends,
"A new case, nothing major." Greg tried to quash any more questions, it wouldn't be long before the area was evacuated and the place crawling with agents.
"Actually, something quite major, don't expect Molly home for at least 3 days." Mycroft appeared behind Greg,
"What's going on Mycroft?" John asked, he needed to know just how much babysitting this case would entail.
"Walk with me, I'll explain on the way." Mycroft replied, before turning to the group of friends Molly had been extracted from and putting on the expression his mother had so maturely dubbed 'the scary face', and giving them a concise warning. "If any of you so much as mention this set of events in this context to anyone you will find yourselves arrested and imprisoned very quickly. I will know. Good day."
"Here we go again!" Tom proclaimed, bitterness coating every word. He downed the rest of his pint, trying to ignore the pitying looks from his suitably terrified friends.