Behind Greenhouse Two
Summary: Molly has a late night meeting with Sherlock behind Greenhouse Two. (Teen!Lock and Potter!Lock)
Rating: G
A/N - SAW3 Day One - (Canon Compliant - A Scandal in Belgravia) or (Non-Canon/Head Canon - Teen!Lock/Uni!Lock/Early Friendship)
I’m going Teen!Lock today, with a side of Potter!Lock for funsies.
The Baker Street Wiki lists Molly’s birth year as 1979, which is the same year Hermione Granger was born. In my head (at least) Sherlock is a year or two older than Molly. (See a tweet directly from Arwel Wyn Jones showing the prop tombstone seen on screen - https://twitter.com/arwelwjones/status/411624610233585665 - which has what appears to be January 6, 1977.) Therefore, at the point that this fic is set, Molly is a fifth year Hufflepuff and Sherlock is a seventh year Ravenclaw.
Behind Greenhouse Two
“This is silly.” Molly wrapped her robes tighter around her chest and peered into the surrounding darkness. It wasn’t that she was worried about some sort of beast creeping out of the Forbidden Forest; it was the threat of one of the professors discovering her meeting a seventh year (Seventh year!) boy behind Greenhouse Two after curfew that made her anxious.
Not that there was any chance they’d be caught in a compromising position, because why would Sherlock Holmes-one of the handsomest boys at Hogwarts, in Molly’s probably biased opinion-ask a little fifth year Hufflepuff like Molly Hooper to meet up behind a greenhouse for anything illicit?
Utterly inconceivable, just ask anyone.
Molly would have been giddy if Sherlock had asked her to meet him for a late night make-out session.
Sadly for Molly’s unfulfilled secret fantasies, that wasn’t the sort of relationship they had. Sherlock was one of her best friends. She wouldn’t trade that friendship for a measly few weeks of kisses and gropes, not for the world. She’d rather volunteer for one of the Defence instructor’s infamous detentions.
“I’m deadly serious. You need to learn how to protect yourself after . . .” Sherlock was incredibly earnest. She knew he must have been thinking of Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter’s warnings that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned. “We both know that idiot Umbridge wouldn’t be able to teach you how to get away from a niffler, much less a real threat.”
“I admit she’s not very good,” Molly conceded.
Sherlock huffed, “She’s incompetent.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Anyway, I’m already lea-“ Molly cut herself off and bit her lip. She didn’t think Sherlock would rat them out, but Hermione Granger had made it abundantly clear that something Very Bad would happen if the wrong person found out about Dumbledore’s Army and Molly wanted nothing to do with whatever that Very Bad thing was.
Sherlock loomed over her with his hands on his hips. “I already know about Potter’s extracurricular activities. He’s good at defence, no doubt about that, but he’s not me.”
“Hoo,” Molly scoffed. “Rather full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“No, that’s-“ He spun away from her and ran his hands through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. Potter will be busy trying not to die when it happens, he won’t be able to come rushing in to save you.”
Molly gulped. “When what happens? What do you know, Sherlock?”
“Nothing for certain. Just whispers in the air. An increasing surge of anxiety in the some of the other pure-bloods after the morning mail deliveries. For instance, one of the Slytherin sixth years hasn’t received a package from his mother since Christmas. His allowance isn’t coming in, which means the family finances are being diverted elsewhere.” Sherlock looked up at the night sky. “Then there are the signs in the stars. I’ve been working with Professor Firenze to try to interpret them, but it’s all so frustratingly imprecise.”
He moved closer until he was looming over her. “An east wind is coming. I don’t know when, but it’s coming, Molly. And you need to be prepared.”
Something ominous seemed to brush against her, raising the hairs at the back of her neck. She nodded several times, eyes wide. “All right. I’ll work harder. Ginny Weasley offered to practice with some of us.”
“I’ve seen her spellwork. Take her up on it.” His voice was lower, deeper than she’d ever heard it before. “Molly, I . . . My brother needs me to do something for him this summer. Something very important. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone; Mycroft thinks it will be six months minimum. But I won’t leave until I know you’ll be safe.”
Molly had never met Sherlock’s brother, but she’d heard enough about him to be wary. “Don’t worry about us. John and Mary-“
She had hoped to reassure Sherlock but he cut her off with an impatient, “No. Not John and Mary.” He reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers were hot against her cold skin. “You. I need you.”
Rating: G
A/N - SAW3 Day One - (Canon Compliant - A Scandal in Belgravia) or (Non-Canon/Head Canon - Teen!Lock/Uni!Lock/Early Friendship)
I’m going Teen!Lock today, with a side of Potter!Lock for funsies.
The Baker Street Wiki lists Molly’s birth year as 1979, which is the same year Hermione Granger was born. In my head (at least) Sherlock is a year or two older than Molly. (See a tweet directly from Arwel Wyn Jones showing the prop tombstone seen on screen - https://twitter.com/arwelwjones/status/411624610233585665 - which has what appears to be January 6, 1977.) Therefore, at the point that this fic is set, Molly is a fifth year Hufflepuff and Sherlock is a seventh year Ravenclaw.
Behind Greenhouse Two
“This is silly.” Molly wrapped her robes tighter around her chest and peered into the surrounding darkness. It wasn’t that she was worried about some sort of beast creeping out of the Forbidden Forest; it was the threat of one of the professors discovering her meeting a seventh year (Seventh year!) boy behind Greenhouse Two after curfew that made her anxious.
Not that there was any chance they’d be caught in a compromising position, because why would Sherlock Holmes-one of the handsomest boys at Hogwarts, in Molly’s probably biased opinion-ask a little fifth year Hufflepuff like Molly Hooper to meet up behind a greenhouse for anything illicit?
Utterly inconceivable, just ask anyone.
Molly would have been giddy if Sherlock had asked her to meet him for a late night make-out session.
Sadly for Molly’s unfulfilled secret fantasies, that wasn’t the sort of relationship they had. Sherlock was one of her best friends. She wouldn’t trade that friendship for a measly few weeks of kisses and gropes, not for the world. She’d rather volunteer for one of the Defence instructor’s infamous detentions.
“I’m deadly serious. You need to learn how to protect yourself after . . .” Sherlock was incredibly earnest. She knew he must have been thinking of Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter’s warnings that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned. “We both know that idiot Umbridge wouldn’t be able to teach you how to get away from a niffler, much less a real threat.”
“I admit she’s not very good,” Molly conceded.
Sherlock huffed, “She’s incompetent.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Anyway, I’m already lea-“ Molly cut herself off and bit her lip. She didn’t think Sherlock would rat them out, but Hermione Granger had made it abundantly clear that something Very Bad would happen if the wrong person found out about Dumbledore’s Army and Molly wanted nothing to do with whatever that Very Bad thing was.
Sherlock loomed over her with his hands on his hips. “I already know about Potter’s extracurricular activities. He’s good at defence, no doubt about that, but he’s not me.”
“Hoo,” Molly scoffed. “Rather full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“No, that’s-“ He spun away from her and ran his hands through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. Potter will be busy trying not to die when it happens, he won’t be able to come rushing in to save you.”
Molly gulped. “When what happens? What do you know, Sherlock?”
“Nothing for certain. Just whispers in the air. An increasing surge of anxiety in the some of the other pure-bloods after the morning mail deliveries. For instance, one of the Slytherin sixth years hasn’t received a package from his mother since Christmas. His allowance isn’t coming in, which means the family finances are being diverted elsewhere.” Sherlock looked up at the night sky. “Then there are the signs in the stars. I’ve been working with Professor Firenze to try to interpret them, but it’s all so frustratingly imprecise.”
He moved closer until he was looming over her. “An east wind is coming. I don’t know when, but it’s coming, Molly. And you need to be prepared.”
Something ominous seemed to brush against her, raising the hairs at the back of her neck. She nodded several times, eyes wide. “All right. I’ll work harder. Ginny Weasley offered to practice with some of us.”
“I’ve seen her spellwork. Take her up on it.” His voice was lower, deeper than she’d ever heard it before. “Molly, I . . . My brother needs me to do something for him this summer. Something very important. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone; Mycroft thinks it will be six months minimum. But I won’t leave until I know you’ll be safe.”
Molly had never met Sherlock’s brother, but she’d heard enough about him to be wary. “Don’t worry about us. John and Mary-“
She had hoped to reassure Sherlock but he cut her off with an impatient, “No. Not John and Mary.” He reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers were hot against her cold skin. “You. I need you.”