Listen, after the the Christmas debacle and the “how did he recognize her by…not her face” incident in the morgue, I figure Molly might ask Irene for a few tips to get Sherlock’s attention. Okay, give me some time and I’ll see if I can’t do some flash fic for this. In the meantime, feel free to provide your own bit of flash fic in the comments below.
I’ve got to head off now to go to a Seattle Sherlock Convention planning meeting (and it’s a bit of a journey for me involving bags and things).
Whoof! Finally. Here’s a bit of flash fan fic to go with the image.
by J.H. Watson
~ 750 Words
Sherlock Holmes frowned at the text message on his phone.
“Something wrong?” John Watson asked. They’d only been back in London for a couple of days after the Baskerville case and Sherlock was already showing signs of boredom.
“I don’t recall taking my riding crop back to Bart’s.”
Sherlock flashed his phone screen for John to read. It said, “Found your riding crop in my lab. Come at once. Could be dangerous. – Molly”
John stood up as he said, “I’ll get my gun.”
“I’ll get a cab.”
To say Molly had a crush on Sherlock was to say that London is crowded, the British tabloids are ruthless, and Brits like beer. Miss Hooper, however, was sweet — pathetically, naively, charmingly sweet. Her sweetness was the matter to the anti-matter of Sherlock’s arrogance. In a desperate ploy to convey her willingness to engage in a romantic, and please Dear God sexual, relationship with the brilliant but misanthropic consulting detective, she performed endless acts of kindness to him. And Sherlock took every advantage of her — except the ones she’d hoped he’d take.
The two men arrived at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital a few minutes later and strode into the lab used by their pathologist and friend, Molly Hooper. She was no where to be seen.
“Molly?” Sherlock called out.
Molly Hooper stood up and stepped out from behind a lab station. She was biting on a riding crop held by one hand, a pair of handcuffs dangled breast height from the other hand. She wore nothing else.
Nothing at all.
Both men stopped. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. John Watson blanched. They remained that way for at least five seconds before Molly shrieked, dropped the handcuffs and riding crop and ducked behind the lab station.
“You might want to close your mouth, Sherlock,” John said.
Sherlock moved then, grabbing a lab coat from a hook, and moved within reach of the station and held it out with his back toward Molly.
“Right. I’ll just go back to the flat,” John said as he turned to leave.
“Why?” asked Sherlock.
John turned back and stared at his friend. “Your joking, right?”
“Sherlock, you two want to be alone.”
John stared at Sherlock. Sherlock furrowed his brow as he stared back for a full ten seconds attempting to get the message. John finally sighed and rolled his eyes upwards in appeal.
Molly Hooper stood up at that point and stepped out. The lab coat was buttoned from top to bottom. Her hair had been swept up into an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. She was looking at the floor and her face was flushed as she said, “It’s okay, John. I should have known it wouldn’t work.”
It was not only that her voice sounded deflated, she appeared shrunken, collapsing in on herself. A wave of pity and empathy washed over John. He wanted to hug her, hold her. No, he wanted Sherlock to hug her and hold her because that’s what Molly needed. He gestured with his head to Sherlock towards Molly.
Sherlock simply wore his puzzled expression as he looked from John to Molly and back to John. John sighed again, grimaced, and nodded more emphatically towards Molly.
“What?” Sherlock asked.
John shook his head before saying, “Molly, it’s alright. Really. Very romantic. Sorry I ruined it for you.”
“Ruined what?” Sherlock asked.
“What? Not good?”
“No, no,” said Molly. “Forget it. Go away.”
John took Sherlock’s arm and tugged him towards the door. Both were silent for several moments until they were out of the building and back in a cab. Then John glanced at Sherlock and asked, “Did you get her measurements?”
The men exchanged a look and both burst into giggles.
“Well, she did say it could be dangerous,” John said before another fit of giggles.
“I wonder where she got the idea?”
John stopped laughing and looked sharply at his friend. “You don’t think?”
“She’s in America in the witness protection program.”
John slowly replied, “Right.”
“She’d be an idiot to risk breaking cover.”
“Oh, right,” John answered distractedly as he watched the CCTV cameras go by.
Back in the lab, Molly finishing buttoning her sweater and wiped the last tear from her eyes. She dug through her oversized bag and pulled out her phone. Once the Twitter app had loaded she typed:
@Whip_lash Total FAIL! John was with him. Humiliated.
A moment later Molly’s phone pinged a reply:
@mollyhooper Text him ‘Let’s have dinner.’ Guarantee reaction.
##### END ######