The Murder House that Dripped Blood
Summary: Molly decides to throw a housewarming party.
Rating: G
A/N - SAW Day Seven - (Canon Compliant - Why you ship them/Moment you started shipping them/Free choice) or (Non-Canon/Head Canon - Free Choice)
Some of you may remember a quick little crack!fic I wrote last month called “Murder House” based off a Tumblr post by @aphraelsan ( https://aphraelsan.tumblr.com/post/156233366538/mollys-house ) (Thank you, @aphraelsan !) Now that I’ve found the post again and have read @mae-jones’s comment … I bring you one final sequel for the 2018 Sherlolly Appreciation Week.
1) I wrote this thing in two hours because I spent the day goofing off with my family instead of writing, so forgive me if it’s a bit choppy. 2) The title comes from a 1971 horror movie called “The House that Dripped Blood”.
The Murder House that Dripped Blood
Molly considered her housewarming party to be a success.
True, her basement had been temporarily cordoned off as a crime scene and the police had promised to return in the morning to begin excavating her garden and tearing out her beloved apple tree; but Sherlock had already promised to help pay for a complete re-landscaping, including two apple trees and a citrus tree of her choice, and she hadn’t been using the basement for anything but storage anyway.
If asked, everyone involved would agree that it certainly was memorable.
Nearly everyone she’d invited had shown up. A few people from work, Mike Stamford and his wife, Greg Lestrade and his current girlfriend (Or was it his ex-wife? It was possible she was both.), John Watson, Meena and her boyfriend, some friends from the gym, even Mrs Hudson came bearing a bottle of wine.
She hadn’t really expected Sherlock to come, but he showed just late enough to no longer be fashionable, with a housewarming gift of his own.
While other people were milling around, commenting on the crown moulding and oak banister, Sherlock had appeared in her newly remodelled kitchen and triumphantly held aloft a spray bottle and a small blacklight.
“What is that?” Meena asked as she continued to arrange a mountain of hors d’oeuvres on a colourful plastic platter.
“Luminol,” Sherlock answered her, although he kept his eyes on Molly, watching the way her eyes widened and her lips began to curl in delight.
“Like that stuff on those forensic dramas Molly used to make me watch when we lived together?” Meena dropped a shrimp puff on the platter and grimaced in distaste. “What do you know? Molly, what does he know? Who did this hell house murder now?”
“Meena, I told you, no one has died here since Mr Grant last year.” She smiled reassuringly at her friend, then immediately ruined it by adding, “Probably.”
“Molly!” Meena glared. “Seriously, I’m calling the church on Monday and we are getting this place blessed. I’m going to ask them to send an old priest and a young priest.”
Sherlock blinked, his eyes darting around the kitchen as he tried to locate the reference somewhere in the files of his mind palace.
Molly reached out and took the blacklight from him. “It’s from ‘The Exorcist’. Classic horror movie? Never mind, not important. So, what are we going to do with this?”
Apparently, according to Sherlock, the rumours of a lost stash of money from the Saunders gang’s final bank heist continued long after the gang members perished during that notorious police raid more than a decade prior. Molly had known two men had broken in to search the house a few years later (and ended up turning on each other when they couldn’t find anything), but she had thought that had been the last of that particular story.
“Are we looking for the stolen cash?” she asked as Sherlock lead her down the stairs to the basement.
“Better,” Sherlock grinned down at her. “We’re looking for where they hid it. If there was any money, it’s long gone by now, but who knows what other goodies are hidden around this place. Do you have any idea how many people involved in Grant’s embezzlement scam went missing over the years?”
Molly held the blacklight and spray bottle while Sherlock ran his hands along the walls. “Don’t let Meena hear you. It’s hard enough getting her to come visit after dark as it is.”
In the end, they didn’t find any of the Saunders gang’s lost money, but they did find a secret door off the storage space under the stairs.
The door led to a small, dirt walled space that was just big enough to hold a stained tarp, a shovel, several old bags of potting soil, a hacksaw that glowed suspiciously under the blacklight, and a faded three-year-old receipt for an apple tree from a local home improvement/gardening store.
“God, Molly. I love this house,” Sherlock had told her as Lestrade reached for his phone with a shake of his head and a resigned sigh.
Molly completely agreed. She loved her little murder house, too.
Rating: G
A/N - SAW Day Seven - (Canon Compliant - Why you ship them/Moment you started shipping them/Free choice) or (Non-Canon/Head Canon - Free Choice)
Some of you may remember a quick little crack!fic I wrote last month called “Murder House” based off a Tumblr post by @aphraelsan ( https://aphraelsan.tumblr.com/post/156233366538/mollys-house ) (Thank you, @aphraelsan !) Now that I’ve found the post again and have read @mae-jones’s comment … I bring you one final sequel for the 2018 Sherlolly Appreciation Week.
1) I wrote this thing in two hours because I spent the day goofing off with my family instead of writing, so forgive me if it’s a bit choppy. 2) The title comes from a 1971 horror movie called “The House that Dripped Blood”.
The Murder House that Dripped Blood
Molly considered her housewarming party to be a success.
True, her basement had been temporarily cordoned off as a crime scene and the police had promised to return in the morning to begin excavating her garden and tearing out her beloved apple tree; but Sherlock had already promised to help pay for a complete re-landscaping, including two apple trees and a citrus tree of her choice, and she hadn’t been using the basement for anything but storage anyway.
If asked, everyone involved would agree that it certainly was memorable.
Nearly everyone she’d invited had shown up. A few people from work, Mike Stamford and his wife, Greg Lestrade and his current girlfriend (Or was it his ex-wife? It was possible she was both.), John Watson, Meena and her boyfriend, some friends from the gym, even Mrs Hudson came bearing a bottle of wine.
She hadn’t really expected Sherlock to come, but he showed just late enough to no longer be fashionable, with a housewarming gift of his own.
While other people were milling around, commenting on the crown moulding and oak banister, Sherlock had appeared in her newly remodelled kitchen and triumphantly held aloft a spray bottle and a small blacklight.
“What is that?” Meena asked as she continued to arrange a mountain of hors d’oeuvres on a colourful plastic platter.
“Luminol,” Sherlock answered her, although he kept his eyes on Molly, watching the way her eyes widened and her lips began to curl in delight.
“Like that stuff on those forensic dramas Molly used to make me watch when we lived together?” Meena dropped a shrimp puff on the platter and grimaced in distaste. “What do you know? Molly, what does he know? Who did this hell house murder now?”
“Meena, I told you, no one has died here since Mr Grant last year.” She smiled reassuringly at her friend, then immediately ruined it by adding, “Probably.”
“Molly!” Meena glared. “Seriously, I’m calling the church on Monday and we are getting this place blessed. I’m going to ask them to send an old priest and a young priest.”
Sherlock blinked, his eyes darting around the kitchen as he tried to locate the reference somewhere in the files of his mind palace.
Molly reached out and took the blacklight from him. “It’s from ‘The Exorcist’. Classic horror movie? Never mind, not important. So, what are we going to do with this?”
Apparently, according to Sherlock, the rumours of a lost stash of money from the Saunders gang’s final bank heist continued long after the gang members perished during that notorious police raid more than a decade prior. Molly had known two men had broken in to search the house a few years later (and ended up turning on each other when they couldn’t find anything), but she had thought that had been the last of that particular story.
“Are we looking for the stolen cash?” she asked as Sherlock lead her down the stairs to the basement.
“Better,” Sherlock grinned down at her. “We’re looking for where they hid it. If there was any money, it’s long gone by now, but who knows what other goodies are hidden around this place. Do you have any idea how many people involved in Grant’s embezzlement scam went missing over the years?”
Molly held the blacklight and spray bottle while Sherlock ran his hands along the walls. “Don’t let Meena hear you. It’s hard enough getting her to come visit after dark as it is.”
In the end, they didn’t find any of the Saunders gang’s lost money, but they did find a secret door off the storage space under the stairs.
The door led to a small, dirt walled space that was just big enough to hold a stained tarp, a shovel, several old bags of potting soil, a hacksaw that glowed suspiciously under the blacklight, and a faded three-year-old receipt for an apple tree from a local home improvement/gardening store.
“God, Molly. I love this house,” Sherlock had told her as Lestrade reached for his phone with a shake of his head and a resigned sigh.
Molly completely agreed. She loved her little murder house, too.