Two little ficlets
Spoilers for A Scandal in Belgravia, if anyone cares
The first one is inspired by THE PRESENT SCENE in ASIB, the assumption that Arthur Conan Doyle is an author in the Sherlock-verse (bear with me on this one) and this:
Eyes Open
It’s well into February when he sees the object.
It’d been forgotten in all the other more interesting things going on at 221B.
Half-buried underneath case files and books, the red wrapping now catches his eye. He retrieves it, causing some of the things on the table to fall down on the floor. He glances at the heap briefly, doesn’t bother with picking anything up. John will do it eventually.
He turns the wrapped present once, judges its weight. The bow no longer looks as perfect as on the day he first held it in his hands.
He knows before opening it that it’s a book, which was not what he expected. He expected gloves or a scarf or something as equally personal and sentimental. This was Molly Hooper, after all.
But no, the box contains a book. He can’t deduce what sort of book it is. His reading of her had been wrong before. He didn’t dare risk another miscalculation. Even if there was no audience this time.
He looks around once, to make sure he was alone and then hastily rips off the wrapping. He lets it join the rest of the mess on the floor. He opens the box and for a very long moment, just stands there, still.
Shocked again into silence by Molly Hooper.
“Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos” by Arthur Conan Doyle
The author’s name triggers something from childhood. Rainy days, stuck inside the house, reading the adventures of Professor Challenger, someone he’s always felt some affinity to.
The dress, the hair, the make-up, the earrings, none had made him take notice. Really take notice.
But this...this...
She had been paying attention.
So will he, from now on.
___
And the second one is a bit of a tie-in with my previous little piece - M.H.
It's a friendship piece, because what Molly needs more than a boyfriend is a good friend
Mary and Alice
“What is this?” he asks and she feels the regret pooling in her stomach.
She feels foolish now, but there’s no turning back. The deed has been done. The present had been given.
“It’s a Christmas present. For you,” she says and hates the way her voice sounds, all squeaky and out of breath.
“Yes, I can see that,” he says, scrutinizing the rectangular object as if it were something offensive.
She’s really at a loss for words to say. She becomes aware that she’s been opening and closing her mouth, like a beached fish, and presses her lips together, firmly.
He gives her a look that she can’t quite interpret, but then again she’s busy dying of embarrassment so she really should be forgiven for that.
“I’m sorry,” he says and she exhales abruptly.
Then he smiles and she holds her breath.
“Forgive me, I’m being extraordinarily rude,” he says further and she exhales in disbelief.
“I was not expecting this. You’ve caught me off guard, Miss Hooper.”
She’s caught him off guard, something she didn’t think was possible. At least not for her.
“And I’m afraid I have no present for you.”
“Oh no...no...I...no, I don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting anything,” she hastily says, still not quite able to believe...well, what?
“I just wanted to give you this to thank you for...for all you’ve done for me,” she adds, finding the courage to look him straight in the eyes. He needs to know that she will forever be grateful for the little faith he has placed in her. For making her believe in herself. Again. At last.
He holds her gaze and in the quiet moment between them, she is very glad that she had risked giving him the present.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she finally asks.
“But it’s not even Christmas yet,” he answers, grinning.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she says teasingly.
“Oh well, let’s be a little naughty, then,” he says and removes the wrapping carefully.
And then he gives Molly the best present imaginable. He barks a laugh and removes the book from the box.
“Mary Poppins, Molly? Is this because of the umbrella?”
She never thought it was possible to smile with her whole body, but his obvious delight at her silly little gift makes her tingle all over.
“Yes,” she answers and he lifts his ever-present umbrella just a fraction, gives it a glance and then grins back at her.
“And because you’re a little bit magic,” she says. She refuses to be embarrassed by this.
Then he does something so incredible that it takes her hours afterwards to wrap her mind around this.
Mycroft Holmes leans forward and gives her left cheek a quick peck.
“Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper.”
“Happy Christmas, Mister Holmes.”
__
It's been a very long day and when she finally gets home - it’s really Boxing Day already - she’s too exhausted to think about anything.
To reflect on anything. The Christmas drinks at Baker Street. The body at the morgue. Sherlock.
She goes straight to bed and falls into a dreamless sleep. She’s awoken by Toby, impatient for his breakfast, and she drags herself out of bed.
It’s between the third and fourth sip of her coffee when all the memories of last night flood back into her mind. Her heart hurts a little and she winces when it replays, word-perfect, everything Sherlock had said to her that night.
And then she sees the presents on the table. Beautifully wrapped with a card propped against it.
Simply signed ‘M.P.’
Her heart is beating a little too fast, but that’s okay.
She giggles to herself. One's a box of chocolates.
The other, well...
It leaves her quite breathless when she finds out how much a first edition of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” is worth.
___
The first one is inspired by THE PRESENT SCENE in ASIB, the assumption that Arthur Conan Doyle is an author in the Sherlock-verse (bear with me on this one) and this:
Eyes Open
It’s well into February when he sees the object.
It’d been forgotten in all the other more interesting things going on at 221B.
Half-buried underneath case files and books, the red wrapping now catches his eye. He retrieves it, causing some of the things on the table to fall down on the floor. He glances at the heap briefly, doesn’t bother with picking anything up. John will do it eventually.
He turns the wrapped present once, judges its weight. The bow no longer looks as perfect as on the day he first held it in his hands.
He knows before opening it that it’s a book, which was not what he expected. He expected gloves or a scarf or something as equally personal and sentimental. This was Molly Hooper, after all.
But no, the box contains a book. He can’t deduce what sort of book it is. His reading of her had been wrong before. He didn’t dare risk another miscalculation. Even if there was no audience this time.
He looks around once, to make sure he was alone and then hastily rips off the wrapping. He lets it join the rest of the mess on the floor. He opens the box and for a very long moment, just stands there, still.
Shocked again into silence by Molly Hooper.
“Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos” by Arthur Conan Doyle
The author’s name triggers something from childhood. Rainy days, stuck inside the house, reading the adventures of Professor Challenger, someone he’s always felt some affinity to.
The dress, the hair, the make-up, the earrings, none had made him take notice. Really take notice.
But this...this...
She had been paying attention.
So will he, from now on.
___
And the second one is a bit of a tie-in with my previous little piece - M.H.
It's a friendship piece, because what Molly needs more than a boyfriend is a good friend
Mary and Alice
“What is this?” he asks and she feels the regret pooling in her stomach.
She feels foolish now, but there’s no turning back. The deed has been done. The present had been given.
“It’s a Christmas present. For you,” she says and hates the way her voice sounds, all squeaky and out of breath.
“Yes, I can see that,” he says, scrutinizing the rectangular object as if it were something offensive.
She’s really at a loss for words to say. She becomes aware that she’s been opening and closing her mouth, like a beached fish, and presses her lips together, firmly.
He gives her a look that she can’t quite interpret, but then again she’s busy dying of embarrassment so she really should be forgiven for that.
“I’m sorry,” he says and she exhales abruptly.
Then he smiles and she holds her breath.
“Forgive me, I’m being extraordinarily rude,” he says further and she exhales in disbelief.
“I was not expecting this. You’ve caught me off guard, Miss Hooper.”
She’s caught him off guard, something she didn’t think was possible. At least not for her.
“And I’m afraid I have no present for you.”
“Oh no...no...I...no, I don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting anything,” she hastily says, still not quite able to believe...well, what?
“I just wanted to give you this to thank you for...for all you’ve done for me,” she adds, finding the courage to look him straight in the eyes. He needs to know that she will forever be grateful for the little faith he has placed in her. For making her believe in herself. Again. At last.
He holds her gaze and in the quiet moment between them, she is very glad that she had risked giving him the present.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she finally asks.
“But it’s not even Christmas yet,” he answers, grinning.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she says teasingly.
“Oh well, let’s be a little naughty, then,” he says and removes the wrapping carefully.
And then he gives Molly the best present imaginable. He barks a laugh and removes the book from the box.
“Mary Poppins, Molly? Is this because of the umbrella?”
She never thought it was possible to smile with her whole body, but his obvious delight at her silly little gift makes her tingle all over.
“Yes,” she answers and he lifts his ever-present umbrella just a fraction, gives it a glance and then grins back at her.
“And because you’re a little bit magic,” she says. She refuses to be embarrassed by this.
Then he does something so incredible that it takes her hours afterwards to wrap her mind around this.
Mycroft Holmes leans forward and gives her left cheek a quick peck.
“Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper.”
“Happy Christmas, Mister Holmes.”
__
It's been a very long day and when she finally gets home - it’s really Boxing Day already - she’s too exhausted to think about anything.
To reflect on anything. The Christmas drinks at Baker Street. The body at the morgue. Sherlock.
She goes straight to bed and falls into a dreamless sleep. She’s awoken by Toby, impatient for his breakfast, and she drags herself out of bed.
It’s between the third and fourth sip of her coffee when all the memories of last night flood back into her mind. Her heart hurts a little and she winces when it replays, word-perfect, everything Sherlock had said to her that night.
And then she sees the presents on the table. Beautifully wrapped with a card propped against it.
Simply signed ‘M.P.’
Her heart is beating a little too fast, but that’s okay.
She giggles to herself. One's a box of chocolates.
The other, well...
It leaves her quite breathless when she finds out how much a first edition of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” is worth.
___