Sherlock - fic - A Tiger, Not A Lamb, mein Herr, Molly, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, PG
Title - A Tiger, Not A Lamb, mein Herr
Author - laurab1
Characters - Molly, Sherlock, John, Lestrade
Rating - PG
Length - ~1200 words
Summary - Burlesque dancing, in a Soho cabaret club, wasn’t exactly something Molly had imagined herself doing, growing up.
Spoilers - to 2.1 A Scandal in Belgravia
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain. Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic.
Prompt: In an effort to boost her confidence and self-esteem, Molly starts taking burlesque classes. It works. She makes friends, gets lots of support, she's more fit, her posture improves, etc. But she never told anyone at work so when one of Sherlock's cases has Sherlock, John and Lestrade staking out a suspect at the venue where her group hold their performances...
The boys see a lot more than they were expecting. And when they talk to her about it backstage/later, Molly is not embarrassed or ashamed, please.
A Tiger, Not A Lamb, mein Herr
by Laura
“Five minutes!” the runner shouts.
Molly performs some last minute adjustments to the black corset, smoothes her fishnets and slips her feet into bright red five inch heels. The rest of the women are doing much the same. She’s one of those who are on first, tonight. Quick check of her hat in the mirror, and she picks up her cane.
“Showtime! Break a leg,” Maria, the head of the group, calls. High-fiving her as they go, Molly, Alexis, and Jennifer leave the dressing room, and head for the stage of All That Jazz.
Burlesque dancing, in a Soho cabaret club. It wasn’t exactly something she’d imagined herself doing, growing up. Here she is, though, having a fabulous time with her fabulous friends, and they all look amazing. Time to get her Dita on, then. Cane given to the stagehand, Molly straddles the back of the stage left chair. Listening to the band play Willkommen, from Cabaret, she waits for curtain up, and her cue.
***
They’d watched Moulin Rouge, Chicago, and Cabaret in the last week, in preparation for this stake-out. Sherlock had actually already seen Cabaret, and not deleted knowledge of it, John discovered. He wouldn’t elaborate on why he hadn’t deleted it, though, and John hadn’t pushed. The other two films were completely new to him. The music’s starting, now, and it’s Willkommen Drinks on a tray, he hurries back to the table he’s sharing with Sherlock and Lestrade.
As he sets them down, Sherlock mutters, “How very predictable, as the choice for an opening number.”
Then the curtain goes up, and there on the stage is, of all people, Molly Hooper. In fishnets, red high heels, a black corset and a tiny hat. “That isn’t predictable, though,” John says, sitting down. He hands Lestrade his Stella, gives Sherlock his gin and tonic, and takes his own Old Speckled Hen.
“Indeed not, John,” Sherlock replies, lifting the corner of his mouth: an almost smile. “Well done, Molly Hooper.”
“You mean you didn’t know about this?” Greg asks.
“Molly has successfully kept this from me, Inspector. From everyone at Barts. And for quite some time, it would seem, judging by her skill. Mike Stamford’s PA, Angela, lent me Moulin Rougeand Cabaret, and she gave nothing away, when I asked to borrow them.”
Mrs Hudson had lent them Chicago, on the condition that she came upstairs and joined them. That’d been a fun night, watching her sing along.
“Now, if, while we are watching the women dance, we could remember we are here on a stake-out, it would be much appreciated.”
“Cheers!” John says, and they all chink their glasses together.
***
Five minutes in, Molly spots them: eyes slightly bigger than they were, a quick smile in their direction, but otherwise staying professional.
“Stake-out,” Sherlock mouths, when he next catches her eye. Another time, and it’s: “Talk backstage.”
“OK,” Molly mouths back. She smiles widely (he knows all about ‘eyes and teeth, eyes and teeth’), and continues with the routine.
Molly, who’d summoned all her courage to give him a huge, perfectly justifiable, metaphorical slap in the face, last Christmas. Burlesque dancing was the last possible thing he could have imagined her doing. But here she is, and she’s very good indeed. If he was as mean to her now as he had been then (not that he would be, because she does matter to him, very much), Sherlock knows there would be no necessity for Molly to summon courage to call him on it.
As the dancers go into another song from Cabaret, Mein Herr, he feels can now tell John and Lestrade why he didn’t delete knowledge of the film from his hard drive.
“The music of the back streets of Berlin,” he says.
“Sorry, what?” John replies. Then he gets it: “Oh, Cabaret?”
Sherlock turns to look at him. “Yes. The last hurrah, before the war brought it all to a crashing end.”
“War does that. We saw so many destroyed statues in Afghanistan, no thanks to the Taliban,” John says. His expression changes, as he continues, “But that’s enough dwelling in the past, maybe? Work to do, now, and there’s the lovely added bonus of women dancing, and wearing extremely little.”
“Yes, John,” Sherlock agrees.
So they watch the women, and they watch their suspect, and end up with the last piece of evidence Lestrade needed. In a few hours’ time, the DI and his team will be making an arrest.
When the show is over, Sherlock says, “Backstage, now, gentlemen. I promised Molly we’d tell her why we were here. I also wish to congratulate her and the rest of the dance group on a wonderful performance.”
***
“DI Lestrade, Metropolitan Police,” Greg says, flashing his badge at a barman. “Could we go backstage, please?”
“I’ll find someone to take you, sir,” the man says, and calls over one of his colleagues. This woman leads them backstage, and as they walk, Lestrade listens to Sherlock and John.
“A bit of tact, maybe? This is Molly’s safe space, something that’s important to her; that for whatever reason, she’d deliberately not revealed to anyone she knows. And we’ve rather invaded it. No asking why she didn’t say anything about this.”
“Yes, yes, John,” Sherlock replies, a touch of irritation in his voice. “Don’t you think I understand perfectly about safe spaces? You two do, as well. Come on, have a little more faith in me, please.”
“Through here, gents,” their guide says.
She opens a door, and there in the corridor, in the red corset and heels she wore for the last number, is Molly. Greg sees neither shame nor embarrassment on her face, or in her body language. What he does see, is pride and confidence.
And sexual confidence, at that. She knows just how hot she looks.
***
She’d never expected Sherlock, John and Greg to be in the audience!
“Hello! This is a bit of a surprise. A nice one, though.” Sherlock had told her it was work, a stake-out, and Molly had believed him. But seeing them now, she has to immediately ask, “What did you think of the show, then?”
“Well done, to all concerned, Molly,” Sherlock says, with an genuine smile. “It was wonderful.”
“And very sexy,” John adds. “You and the ladies who I’m assuming are your friends all looked fabulous, out there.”
“Thank you, John. We did, yes,” Molly replies, grinning. “I’ve been dancing burlesque routines with them for the last four months. My friends and I, we usually look fabulous, when we perform. So, a stake-out brought you here?”
She offered the information herself, but Greg still feels one of them should apologise for something. “Sorry you ended up revealing your secret to us, Molly,” he says. “But the mission was a success, and someone’s getting arrested early tomorrow.”
“Well done, to you too, then, boys,” Molly replies, and kisses all three of them on the cheek. “Now back to the club with you, and someone buy a girl a drink. I’ll be out shortly.”
As they part ways, they’re all laughing.
Well done, indeed, Molly Hooper.
-end-
Author - laurab1
Characters - Molly, Sherlock, John, Lestrade
Rating - PG
Length - ~1200 words
Summary - Burlesque dancing, in a Soho cabaret club, wasn’t exactly something Molly had imagined herself doing, growing up.
Spoilers - to 2.1 A Scandal in Belgravia
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain. Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic.
Prompt: In an effort to boost her confidence and self-esteem, Molly starts taking burlesque classes. It works. She makes friends, gets lots of support, she's more fit, her posture improves, etc. But she never told anyone at work so when one of Sherlock's cases has Sherlock, John and Lestrade staking out a suspect at the venue where her group hold their performances...
The boys see a lot more than they were expecting. And when they talk to her about it backstage/later, Molly is not embarrassed or ashamed, please.
A Tiger, Not A Lamb, mein Herr
by Laura
“Five minutes!” the runner shouts.
Molly performs some last minute adjustments to the black corset, smoothes her fishnets and slips her feet into bright red five inch heels. The rest of the women are doing much the same. She’s one of those who are on first, tonight. Quick check of her hat in the mirror, and she picks up her cane.
“Showtime! Break a leg,” Maria, the head of the group, calls. High-fiving her as they go, Molly, Alexis, and Jennifer leave the dressing room, and head for the stage of All That Jazz.
Burlesque dancing, in a Soho cabaret club. It wasn’t exactly something she’d imagined herself doing, growing up. Here she is, though, having a fabulous time with her fabulous friends, and they all look amazing. Time to get her Dita on, then. Cane given to the stagehand, Molly straddles the back of the stage left chair. Listening to the band play Willkommen, from Cabaret, she waits for curtain up, and her cue.
***
They’d watched Moulin Rouge, Chicago, and Cabaret in the last week, in preparation for this stake-out. Sherlock had actually already seen Cabaret, and not deleted knowledge of it, John discovered. He wouldn’t elaborate on why he hadn’t deleted it, though, and John hadn’t pushed. The other two films were completely new to him. The music’s starting, now, and it’s Willkommen Drinks on a tray, he hurries back to the table he’s sharing with Sherlock and Lestrade.
As he sets them down, Sherlock mutters, “How very predictable, as the choice for an opening number.”
Then the curtain goes up, and there on the stage is, of all people, Molly Hooper. In fishnets, red high heels, a black corset and a tiny hat. “That isn’t predictable, though,” John says, sitting down. He hands Lestrade his Stella, gives Sherlock his gin and tonic, and takes his own Old Speckled Hen.
“Indeed not, John,” Sherlock replies, lifting the corner of his mouth: an almost smile. “Well done, Molly Hooper.”
“You mean you didn’t know about this?” Greg asks.
“Molly has successfully kept this from me, Inspector. From everyone at Barts. And for quite some time, it would seem, judging by her skill. Mike Stamford’s PA, Angela, lent me Moulin Rougeand Cabaret, and she gave nothing away, when I asked to borrow them.”
Mrs Hudson had lent them Chicago, on the condition that she came upstairs and joined them. That’d been a fun night, watching her sing along.
“Now, if, while we are watching the women dance, we could remember we are here on a stake-out, it would be much appreciated.”
“Cheers!” John says, and they all chink their glasses together.
***
Five minutes in, Molly spots them: eyes slightly bigger than they were, a quick smile in their direction, but otherwise staying professional.
“Stake-out,” Sherlock mouths, when he next catches her eye. Another time, and it’s: “Talk backstage.”
“OK,” Molly mouths back. She smiles widely (he knows all about ‘eyes and teeth, eyes and teeth’), and continues with the routine.
Molly, who’d summoned all her courage to give him a huge, perfectly justifiable, metaphorical slap in the face, last Christmas. Burlesque dancing was the last possible thing he could have imagined her doing. But here she is, and she’s very good indeed. If he was as mean to her now as he had been then (not that he would be, because she does matter to him, very much), Sherlock knows there would be no necessity for Molly to summon courage to call him on it.
As the dancers go into another song from Cabaret, Mein Herr, he feels can now tell John and Lestrade why he didn’t delete knowledge of the film from his hard drive.
“The music of the back streets of Berlin,” he says.
“Sorry, what?” John replies. Then he gets it: “Oh, Cabaret?”
Sherlock turns to look at him. “Yes. The last hurrah, before the war brought it all to a crashing end.”
“War does that. We saw so many destroyed statues in Afghanistan, no thanks to the Taliban,” John says. His expression changes, as he continues, “But that’s enough dwelling in the past, maybe? Work to do, now, and there’s the lovely added bonus of women dancing, and wearing extremely little.”
“Yes, John,” Sherlock agrees.
So they watch the women, and they watch their suspect, and end up with the last piece of evidence Lestrade needed. In a few hours’ time, the DI and his team will be making an arrest.
When the show is over, Sherlock says, “Backstage, now, gentlemen. I promised Molly we’d tell her why we were here. I also wish to congratulate her and the rest of the dance group on a wonderful performance.”
***
“DI Lestrade, Metropolitan Police,” Greg says, flashing his badge at a barman. “Could we go backstage, please?”
“I’ll find someone to take you, sir,” the man says, and calls over one of his colleagues. This woman leads them backstage, and as they walk, Lestrade listens to Sherlock and John.
“A bit of tact, maybe? This is Molly’s safe space, something that’s important to her; that for whatever reason, she’d deliberately not revealed to anyone she knows. And we’ve rather invaded it. No asking why she didn’t say anything about this.”
“Yes, yes, John,” Sherlock replies, a touch of irritation in his voice. “Don’t you think I understand perfectly about safe spaces? You two do, as well. Come on, have a little more faith in me, please.”
“Through here, gents,” their guide says.
She opens a door, and there in the corridor, in the red corset and heels she wore for the last number, is Molly. Greg sees neither shame nor embarrassment on her face, or in her body language. What he does see, is pride and confidence.
And sexual confidence, at that. She knows just how hot she looks.
***
She’d never expected Sherlock, John and Greg to be in the audience!
“Hello! This is a bit of a surprise. A nice one, though.” Sherlock had told her it was work, a stake-out, and Molly had believed him. But seeing them now, she has to immediately ask, “What did you think of the show, then?”
“Well done, to all concerned, Molly,” Sherlock says, with an genuine smile. “It was wonderful.”
“And very sexy,” John adds. “You and the ladies who I’m assuming are your friends all looked fabulous, out there.”
“Thank you, John. We did, yes,” Molly replies, grinning. “I’ve been dancing burlesque routines with them for the last four months. My friends and I, we usually look fabulous, when we perform. So, a stake-out brought you here?”
She offered the information herself, but Greg still feels one of them should apologise for something. “Sorry you ended up revealing your secret to us, Molly,” he says. “But the mission was a success, and someone’s getting arrested early tomorrow.”
“Well done, to you too, then, boys,” Molly replies, and kisses all three of them on the cheek. “Now back to the club with you, and someone buy a girl a drink. I’ll be out shortly.”
As they part ways, they’re all laughing.
Well done, indeed, Molly Hooper.
-end-