Would you consider doing #26 for me? Hope you're having a wonderful day! Take care always!
I combined this one with the next request because they all just flowed together (again; sometimes it just works out that way).
“Friends don’t last, they never last”/ “He would have really loved that…”/ “Don’t ever call here again”
“You’re wrong. You’re so utterly and completely wrong,” Sherlock said, his voice strangled like he was actually being strangled on the last word, bending his knees and leaning back from the force of her apparent wrongness.
“No, you are. I don’t even know what kind of person you are. I’m never talking to you again, you’re dead to me,” she said, turning back to her samples.
“So does this mean you’re going to get me naked, take pictures, then get out a scalpel?” he’d said, Mr. Punchline. So of course she had to stick to her guns, because some things were more important than flirting.
She did allow herself one last concession before she dug in (and oh, she knew this was going to make Verdun look like a weekend in the Cotswolds); she dragged her thumb across her throat and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth in a gesture meant to imply death.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, challenge accepted.
*
It only took him an hour of trying to wait her out before he got bored. He started to pick up specimen dishes and pens and whatever else was to hand, floating them in front of her face and making spooky noises in her ear. She ignored it, though she did take one of the pens because hers was running out of ink and she needed a new one.
*
“Molly.”
“Molly.”
“Molly.”
“MOLLY.”
She sighed heavily. “Sometimes it’s almost like I can hear his voice,” she said sadly, taking a moment to gaze mournfully into the middle-distance.
His phone chimed a text; he grabbed his jacket after reading it. “This isn’t over,” he said before disappearing from the lab.
She smiled.
*
She didn’t see him until the next day, when he came whirling into the morgue with John and Greg. She’d been expecting them since she looked over the list of overnight arrivals.
“Need to see Mrs. Murdoch, if you don’t mind,” Sherlock said, brusque as usual when he was on a case.
She ignored him.
She caught him looking heavenward and sticking out his jaw before he added, “Please,” like he had bamboo under his fingernails.
She looked up at Greg and John, innocence and bland cheer personified. “Did you two need help with something?”
They both looked confused, but they were the type to just roll with anything.
“Body of Mrs. Murdoch, if you wouldn’t mind. Please. And thank you,” Greg said, hesitating a bit at the end because he knew there was something going on and correctly assumed it was a lesson being taught; any other time it would have been a good guess.
“Coming right up,” Molly said, walking to the drawer and pulling her out.
She unzipped the body bag so Sherlock could examine her (she wasn’t petty enough to actually get in the way of a case); as he bent over the corpse with his magnifying glass out, it exploded.
Well, not so much exploded as forcefully ruptured; she was in an advanced state of decay to begin with and all the jostling must have finally been enough to force the gas and fluid through the wound in the abdomen.
“Pity Sherlock’s not here. He would have really loved that…” she said, a wistful kind of fondness in her voice.
“Ha ha, very cute,” Sherlock said, using the back of his hand to wipe the red off his face.
John and Greg shared a look that equated to do you know what’s going on? Nope, you? Not a clue, mate. Well, whatever, at least we were outside the splash zone.
*
She found a frame in her desk and printed out a picture of Sherlock from Anderson’s creepy fansite; she added a black ribbon and set the photo in his usual spot in the lab with some fake flowers and a few votive candles she’d scrounged from various supply cupboards and staff rooms.
He came back from wherever the case had taken him; he didn’t even notice it until he started to unload specimen containers and sample bags from his coat.
“Oh for— Really?”
She sighed heavily, tracing the side of his face in the picture. “Friends don’t last, they never last,” she said, heartbroken. “Out, out, brief candle.”
Sherlock loomed over her and blew out the votives.
“I almost feel like he’s still out there somewhere, looking down on me…” She glanced up at him, enjoying the way the muscle in his jaw twitched. “Almost as if I could reach out and touch him.”
She reached up, leaving her fingers hover just in front of his face without making contact. She knew that sort of thing made his hair stand on end.
*
She came home later that evening to find a trail of muddy footprints in her front entranceway, followed by a trail of muddy Spencer Hart/ D&G/ Hugo Boss from her front door to her bathroom door, which opened in a cloud of Sherlock-scented steam when she stopped in front of it.
Forget him being dead , she thought, getting an eyeful of Sherlock in just a towel. It is me who is dead. I have died. This monkey’s gone to heaven.
Nothing she hadn’t seen before, of course, including the scowl, but she had basically the same reaction every time.
Of course that’s when her doorbell rang; she wasn’t expecting anyone, but apparently Sherlock was. She cut him off as he started forward, dashing down the stairs before he could. He really did bring out the child in her.
She checked the peephole and oh goodie, it was Wiggins. She opened the door, because it might be something important.
“Shezza asked me'a bring ‘ese,” Wiggins said, holding up an IKEA bag. She wondered when Sherlock or Wiggins had ever set foot in an IKEA.
She grabbed the bag just as Sherlock reached past her to take it.
“He died. He’s dead. Don’t call here ever again,” she said, closing the door in Wiggins’ face as he opened his mouth to protest.
She took the bag with— she peered inside, jeans and a hoodie, one of his 'disguises’ (more like an excuse to dress like a normal person)—Sherlock’s things to the kitchen, where she set it on the breakfast bar before she went to start tea for herself. Sherlock began to rifle the bag almost immediately; she turned around just in time with the filled kettle to see the towel drop before he stepped into his pants. She didn’t know if it was better or worse that he was facing away.
“Exactly how long are you planning on keeping this up?” he asked conversationally, running his thumbs under the elastic of the pants and giving a little wiggle to settle everything.
“I kept it up for two years, last time,” she said contrarily, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to be talking. Bollocks.
Sherlock turned and looked at her; there were a few different conflicting emotions on his face when she was only expecting an expression of annoyance, exasperation, or triumph. He quickly schooled his face into something less… open.
“I thought the only dead people you talked to were on your slab.”
“You’ve been resurrected, it’s a miracle. Didn’t even take you two days, beat both Lazarus and Jesus,” she said, letting the moment pass because she got the feeling there was something really big there, too big for something so silly as a joke taken to the extreme.
“Oh good, I was afraid I’d have to get out the Ouija board to ask you for a cup of tea. May I have a cup of tea?”
“I suppose. Going to make myself a sandwich for dinner, do you want one of those, too?” It was an olive branch, of sorts.
“I should have time before I need to head out again. Thank you. And cut it on the diagonal this time, cutting it vertically is just weird.”
Here we go again, Molly thought. It was what had started the whole thing in the first place.
Hello to my favourite fic writer :) for your prompt challenge: AW and EM please. x
Boom, five prompts rolled into onegiant sitcom trope. I combined two asks for this, since one justkind of flowed into the other for me. Sorry I’m making you guysshare. Also, could be vaguely Tom-verse.
“But, I said I love you.”/ “Be serious for two minutes, please.”/ “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?”/ “This is where you impress me, right?”/ “The floor is lava.”
“Will you watch Rosie tonight? Kate had to cancel at the last minute and it’s Debbie’s engagementparty. I love you,” Mary said, sticking out her lip and givingthe puppy dog eyes. He’d only taken the video call because he’dthought it something important.
“No, busy, have Molly do it,”he said without glancing away from the other window as he typed hisresponse to a prospective client.
“But I said I love you. We haveto leave before she can get here, it’s all the way in Croydon,”Mary said.
“Fine. But phone Molly and tellher to come here straight after work. Mrs. Hudson’s on a minibreakin Blackpool with Mr. Chatterjee. Again.”
Mary beamed at him before ending thecall.
*
“Oh, what a cutie! Is she yours?”
“No, just sitting for a friend,”he said, turning and pacing back toward the windows, patting Rosie onthe back in the vain hope of a burp that was only air this time. “Now, back to why you’re here…”
“Oh! Yes, sorry. Well, you see,I think my stepfather is trying to kill me. I found this in my bed,”she said, opening the carrier bag she’d brought and producing anempty plastic box. "Bugger. It was still there when I was inthe cab…“
*
"Molly! Shut the door and get upon a chair. Quickly!”
“Wha—? Why?” she said,pulling the door closed.
“Because the floor is lava,”he said sarcastically. "There’s a venomous snake loose in theflat, probably Agkistrodonpiscivorus by the client’s description. They’resemi-aquatic and not prone to climbing, so this should be relativelysafe.“
She gave him a flat look. "Beserious for two minutes, please. You don’t even have a client.”
“Because she ran when she figuredout the snake was loose in the flat and that it actually waspoisonous. Now get. On. The. Chair,” he hissed, pressingRosie’s head against his shoulder and covering her ear just in casehe was louder than he thought he was being.
Finally, finally, she realized he wasbeing completely serious and clambered up on the chair next to thesofa.
He heard movement behind him, comingfrom the bookshelf; he thought it best to be on the other side of theflat just in case they could climb. Probably safe to walk across thefloor, considering its position, but one could never be too careful. He pushed the side table a bit closer to the desk to make bridgingthe gap to the desk easier.
“What are you doing?”
“Fairly obvious,” he grunted,thinking he really needed to fix that wobble sometime, beforelevering himself onto the desk.
“Oh my God,” Molly said,throwing her hands in the air.
“Always knew you thought highly ofme, but that’s really a bit much,” he said, stepping down ontothe second desk chair before preparing for the leap to the coffeetable. Rosie seemed to be enjoying herself at least, if all theshrieking baby-laughter in his ear was any indication.
“So this is where you impress me,right? You hand me the baby and then you find the snake and wrestleit like Steve Irwin?”
“Noooo, I called a herpetologistfrom the London Zoo to come and collect it,” he said slowly. “Is it like a cartoon inside your head all the time, or is justwhen you’re with me?”
Molly scowled, then cocked her head asthey both heard the front door. "Wow, your friend is reallyfast. I mean the Zoo isn’t that far, but the traffic right now—"
“It’s not the herpetologist,though she’ll be delighted to find a second reptile in the flat,”he said.
“Wh—”
“Don’t come in!” Sherlockshouted, covering Rosie’s ear again.
Mycroft, idiotic and arrogant asalways, mistook that for an invitation to stroll right in as thoughhe were the guest of honour. He surveyed the room, smiling in hisstupid condescending way.
“Oh, the lava game. And you lethim pull you into it, too. Honestly Ms. Hooper, aren’t yousupposed to be the adult?”
“There’s actually a snake on thefloor, you should, ah, probably get on a chair,” Molly said,eyeing the distance between all the raised surfaces in the room. Shewas going to give up her chair and try to make it to the sofa.
Mycroft rolled his eyes so hard hiseyelids fluttered, jaw going slack from the sheer tedium of his verycoexistence with mere mortals. Molly hopped onto the coffee table.
“North American swamp adder, alsoknown as a water moccasin or cottonmo—” Sherlock clarified,holding out his hand to help Molly onto the sofa.
“Yes, I have taken biology, I’mfamiliar,” Mycroft said, hauling his bulk onto the chair Mollyhad vacated.
“Mm, I’m sure. Wouldn’t besurprised to find copies of Snake Lover’s Digest shoved underyour mattress.”
“Says the man who has a stack ofGuns & Ammo next to his bed.”
“They’re not next to the bed,they’re next to the toil—” he cleared his throat and lookedaway. "Nevermind.“ Really, he had nothing to be ashamedof, Molly kept the Journal of Clinical Pathology (and a fewothers) next to hers.
"Quite. Mother always said you’dget haemorrhoids, but you never did listen.”
“You’re a haemorrhoid,”Sherlock retorted.
“And you’re both setting a shiningexample for Rosie,” Molly said, giving Sherlock a Look beforeturning one on Mycroft.
“She’s only five months old,”Sherlock dismissed. "Right. Sorry,“ he said when Molly’slook went from ‘you’re on thin ice, mister,’ to 'I’m going to startcounting in minute, do you want me to get the spoon?’
*
"You’re not going to breathe aword of this to Mary and John,” Sherlock said after Dr. Lacertaleft the flat. He’d phone Lestrade later to see about an attemptedmurder charge for the stepfather.
“As much as I would love to seethe look on their faces when I tell them their only progeny was putin mortal peril by her Godparents—”
“Hey!” Molly interrupted.
“You are an accessory,”Sherlock reminded her, sotto voce.
“Pfft, what else is new?”Molly said, throwing one hand in the air and walking back to thekitchen with Rosie. "Mycroft, are you staying for dinner?“
"Seeing as I know the kinds ofthings my brother keeps in there, no, but I thank you for your kindoffer,” Mycroft smiled tightly.
“A little medical waste never hurtanyone,” Molly cooed at Rosie, leaning into the fridge. "Well,maybe some people, but that’s only because they don’t follow properstorage and disposal procedures.“
Mycroft lifted his eyebrows. "Atleast this one won’t be at the centre of an international incident orcausing a sex scandal, though one involving the trafficking of humanremains isn’t exactly a step up. Really, brother mine, your taste inwo—”
“Don’t you have somewhere else tobe?” Sherlock snapped, looking nervously at Molly’s back.
“At the moment, no.”
“Fine. Why are you here, anyway?”
“Mummy and Daddy will be in townagain at the weekend. We have dinner reservations for seven onFriday.”
Molly came into the lounge with a platebalanced on one hand, keeping it well away from Rosie. "Are yousure I couldn’t interest you in some finger food?“ she asked,serving Mycroft like a cocktail waitress.
Sherlock bit his lip; the look onMycroft’s face was priceless. She’d put the fingers from the saladdrawer on crackers and garnished each with a half of an olive.
"Do consider a vasectomy. Ishudder to think of what the two of you would produce,” Mycroftsaid once he’d regained his composure.
“Actually… Probably going towant to change that dinner reservation from party of four to party offive,” Sherlock said, looking meaningfully at Molly. They’dhave to get it out of the way sooner or later.
