Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. So, the brilliant ChrisCalledMeSweetie created a daily prompts list for January. I grabbed a random handful, mixed them up, and here's the result. It might be bad form, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Wolf out of the bag
Molly didn't think that Sherlock had actively meant to drop off the face of the Earth. He'd just left London after Mrs. Hudson's passing, and consequently forgotten she existed. Undoubtedly, he was pestering some pathologist way closer to his current location. Molly wished the poor soul all the fortitude in the world.
John had followed him during the move, and that didn't surprise her in the slightest – someone had to ensure there was at least some actual food in the fridge, and the blogger must have considered that his duty. Responsible man, John. And you couldn't find someone willing to tolerate and take care of Sherlock as easily as you could find a pathologist at the nearest morgue.
Still, as forgettable as she would easily admit she was, it was rude to disappear like that. Well, Molly was a smart girl and could do some sleuthing of her own. She was sure the Sussex cottage had been rented by the right John Watson, and if she popped by with a housewarming gift three years after they actually moved in...well, she would have done it sooner if they'd texted her. Sherlock bloody Holmes couldn't complain about people's snooping.
There was a yew hedge all around the cottage - well, the address was right, but she couldn't see it. It was so like Sherlock to pick the most poisonous option among the shrubs. She parked outside, grabbed the sad little succulent she'd brought along (she just couldn't resist when she discovered there was a hybrid called 'curly locks') and tried the gate. To her surprise, it gave way, so she just let herself in. She'd apologise later.
The cottage was farther away than she expected, but it just meant that she could admire the place. In the summer early afternoon sun, everything was bright and colourful – someone clearly had discovered his green thumb – and the buzzing of the bees was like a lullaby.
Too much like one, because of all the things that she'd imagined, she hadn't imagined her two all too active friends enjoying a bit of an after-lunch nap. In bed. Together. in their room on the ground floor, French windows – covered by bright green shutters – just barely ajar to let in the fresh air, heavy with the smell of flowers.
Oh well. Her gaydar had always been broken, but even she couldn't say that she was that much surprised by it. Should she turn around and leave? And maybe act like an adult and call next time she wanted to pop by? Yeah, she really, really should.
But just then Sherlock woke up, rolled over and decided to kiss his John, and that show kept her rooted to the spot. She was a bad, awful girl. But damn that was hot, even if she'd never had a chance to have it for herself, poor deluded fool that she'd been. And if they were awake, she could make some noise, let them know, and then have her housewarming visit. She would. As soon as her lungs started working properly.
Then...oh my God. She thought Sherlock had nestled back under the covers, and a dog was about to jump on the bed, and that would surely distract him so maybe she didn't even have to call out. A couple fuzzy black paws would surely be followed by the rest of the puppy. (Always a puppy, even if it happened to be a huge adult dog.)
And the rest of the pup did come out, huge and gorgeous and curly-haired...jumping down from the bed. Down, not up, and suddenly Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. A moment later, a blondish furred one followed. Between the two of them, the French windows were properly open...and the bed was empty. The bed was empty, sheets pooling without even a hamster inside to keep them raised.
So, either the boys had learned how to teleport (unlikely), or Sherlock had surrounded the cottage with a defensive drug field like the one at Baskerville (much more likely, to be fair but somehow, she doubted that John would let him), or...what? Her friends were, well, weres?
She pinched herself, while both dogs slipped out of the French windows. Her yelp wouldn't have been out of place from their mouths.
"Err, umm... Sherlock? John? Is that you, or do I need the antidote? I hope you keep the antidote handy, I really, really do."
The dogs shared a look. For a moment the black one seemed ready to jump or run, but the blond one shook his head, and they both trailed back in the room, with a positively disappointed look. For a moment She could see them working to close the French windows right back, with their mouths, and then nothing more.
Two minutes later, Sherlock and John came out, no dogs in sight.
"Molly," the detective said simply.
"He means what a pleasure." John smiled. "How did you find us?"
"If you want to keep your nest a secret, even you shouldn't use your real name, John," she said, smiling back.
"I told you so," Sherlock commented, with a grin.
"Anyway, huh...a curly locks for you," she said, giving John the little plant. "Well, another one, I guess." She laughed, a little hysterically. "So, that antidote?"
"What makes you think you need one?" John asked kindly.
"Because I saw what I saw. So, it's either drugs, or..." she shrugged.
"Saw, huh?" Sherlock said, frowning.
"Yep," she confirmed.
"Well, the cat's out of the bag, Mr. 'I'll notice anyone coming close before they even pass the gate'." John laughed. "Fine, not quite the cat."
"Her smell's just so familiar, I ignored it," Sherlock grumbled.
"You always do that with me. What else did you expect?"
"You not to be looking, actually. I thought you'd still be celebrating my not being around," the sleuth admitted.
"I don't celebrate my friends ghosting me. Even the sometimes annoying ones."
"Sorry, Molly." That was John, naturally. "But well, now you know. Thought we'd move before people could wonder why we looked so good for our age. The plan's moving about every ten years."
"You're telling me you're were...wolves, dogs, whatever." She sighed.
"We aren't telling anything, Molly. You said you saw," Sherlock replied.
"You can still have a cup pf tea with an old friend, can't you? I'm not even sure this is the weirdest thing about you two. And well, good thing I've always been Team Jacob."
John's eyes flashed with annoyance for a second.
"It was a joke, I swear. But it's not a joke that I'll be very pissed off if I missed your wedding."
"You didn't." John grinned at his beloved. How had she ever missed that about these two? "Come in, I'll put the kettle on."
