So... massive apologies are in order for the delay on this fic, even bigger apologies if you're waiting for an update for the other one... Fingers crossed life picks up soon and my apathy abates. Enjoy all, and as always, thank you all very, very much for your support on this project it means a lot.
Q is for queueing, questions, queso and quavers
In hindsight deciding to drive anywhere on a bank holiday had been a bad idea. Molly and Tom were essentially trapped in a stuffy metal box for the foreseeable future thanks to a broken down car, a broken down caravan (two separate incidents), and a multi vehicle accident that occurred six hours ago in a different county. It was by no means as awful as Christmas traffic but it wasn't far off. Miles upon miles of roadworks, coupled with terrible public transport that stops running the minute the commuters whisper they may be thinking of taking a day off, leads to carnage on British roads during holidays. It could be said that the brits built their roads purely to spend hours partaking in the most British of traditions: queueing. Frankly Molly and Tom should have known better.
Their journey should have taken 4 hours, and they were 3 hours in without having reached halfway. The atmosphere was fractious, they'd run out of chocolate and couldn't agree on a proposed alternative route. The sat nav said one thing, Molly and the map said another and Tom was adamant that they'd be fine on the motorway after the next junction. Just to add fuel to the fire, Molly's phone wouldn't stop ringing. She had invested a lot into this holiday, she'd bribed the brothers with bile ducts and brownies and threatened them with their mother, so she was damn well going to enjoy it! However, upon checking the caller, it transpired that both John and Sherlock's mother were calling her. This did not bode well, Tom didn't know about her mummy-sitting, and he was irritatingly suspicious of any phone call with John since Sherlock regularly used John's phone as he was too lazy to use his own. She managed to send a subtle text to John while Tom was ranting about how the people in the car in front had crisps, but not just any crisps, quavers. He was convinced that he hadn't eaten quavers in 15 years and that now he knew they still made them he must eat some immediately. Molly however was not sharing in this nostalgia, and found she cared very little for what Tom's school lunches had consisted of and the strange (and not strangely endearing either) way that his mum had cut his sandwiches until he was 18. If anything it was mildly disturbing that his mother had made his lunch every day until he left college. His inane reminiscing, however, played into Molly's hands, not only did she not have to contribute, she could continue with her conversation with John with ease.
It transpired that Sherlock had been taken in for questioning by Hertfordshire Police after a debacle involving a cheesemonger, two frogs and because these things only happen to him, and international cocaine smuggling endeavour. Someone needed to get to him before he needed bailing out, and unfortunately Molly was closest, and the only one who may be willing. John and Mary were wedding planning, and Sherlock's parents were off on a city break on the continent. Mycroft was conveniently uncontactable, although this unusually extended to mummy (Mycroft made sure mummy could always contact him in case of Sherlock related emergencies), making Molly concerned that she really was the only one available to help. Well, as it didn't look like they were going anywhere fast a small detour couldn't hurt? They'd only got so far as Luton and Sherlock was causing havoc in Stevenage, which was only down the road, and from there they could get on the A1 (M) which could serve as a good compromise for an alternative route to their final destination in South Yorkshire. The problem was how to approach the subject with Tom, he had been getting better recently, but was still prone to flying off the handle with very little in the way of provocation. It wasn't quite lunchtime, but she could probably wangle it, food was usually a safe bet.
"How do you fancy some lunch in a nice town? Not a grim service station?" Molly asked, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, the last thing they needed was for him to go off on one now.
"What were you thinking?" He countered, intrigued hopefully about the options and not why she was asking.
"Come off at the next junction and follow the sat nav, I'll plug it in," She replied, having found a delightful country pub type establishment just outside Hitchin. He nodded and took the exit without fuss, although the sat nav had other ideas about the route and they ended up on the narrowest roads Tom had ever encountered, leaving them no choice but to crawl through the middle of the Hertfordshire countryside. Eventually, after navigating the tiny villages of Kimpton, Whitwell and Langely, they ended up in The Rusty Gun, a restaurant/shop/pig farm. The food was superb, and the atmosphere warm, giving Molly courage for the next step of her plan.
"Can we pop into Stevenage before we get back onto the motorway please? I've forgotten something and I need to go to ASDA," She hoped he wouldn't google where the nearest one was, as there was a perfectly decent ASDA just up the road. Thankfully, the large burger he'd just eaten seemed to have made him nice and pliable, and they set off back down the country roads and into the concrete and roundabout infested town of Stevenage. The police station was just over the roundabout from ASDA, meaning Molly could go into the supermarket to buy 'lady things' as Tom was appallingly male when it came to anything menstrual there would be no questions, before sneaking off and bailing the curly haired idiot. The only possible hitch in her plan was the curly haired idiot himself, if he'd done this for a reason or was simply trying to mess with them all, then her chances of getting back within a reasonable time would be extremely slim. As luck would have it (and it would seem all her luck had come at once today), he was strangely compliant, almost thankful. It was quite disturbing if she was honest, but it meant she got back to the car in a non-suspicious amount of time and they could continue on their journey with Tom none the wiser. Having successfully negotiated this potential mine field Molly wondered to herself if this may actually work out after all. That was until they got back on the motorway and Tom started singing along to One Direction, that was inexcusable.