Sherlock fic: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 9
Title: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 9/21
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, clothing advice
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
9. The Proposition
Molly was busy measuring the
temperature drop in a fresh cadaver when the door to the morgue burst open. She
started so badly, she almost fell onto the corpse. When she saw who the
dark-coated figure was who swept into the room, her fluttered feelings went
straight to chagrin.
"Ah," began that deep,
posh voice. "Molly."
Ashamed of her previous behavior,
Molly felt her cheeks flame. She hung her head as she turned Sherlock's way.
The fact that he strode right up to her, so the fringes of his open coat swept
her lab jacket, did nothing to help her think more clearly. She did her best to
be sensible. "Sherlock, I feel dreadful. What I said to you the other
day... I should have known you would never-"
"Come, there's no need for
that." His voice was warm and reassuring. "Your apology via John's
blog was more than sufficient."
"It was hideous of me. I
shouldn't have doubted-"
"Now, now. Enough of
that." He took her by the elbow, making her heart leap. He maneuvered her
farther from the table, probably to ensure he had her full attention- as if
Sherlock was uncertain whether he could out-compete a corpse. In his velvety
voice, he continued, "I'm here on business."
Of course he was. It was only ever
business with him. But his acknowledgement of it helped steady Molly's nerves,
as did Sherlock dropping his hold on her elbow, although she could still feel
the heat from his hand on her sleeve. She brushed back a lock of hair that had
escaped her ponytail. "How can I help?"
"I need a date."
Molly's heart skipped a beat.
Bewildered, she searched his light eyes. They were cool as always, but fixed on
her face intently as he awaited her response. "You need..."
"For tonight." He smiled
encouragingly. "It's part of a trap. I mean to identify the person who's
been writing these lies about me. John and I have worked out a plan, but in
order for it to succeed, I... need a date."
Molly's pulse pounded in her ears. Fighting
down an inward rush of joy, she struggled to get the facts absolutely clear;
she'd leapt to the wrong conclusion before. "You're asking me out
on a date."
"If you would." When she
hesitated, he added quickly, "I realize it's short notice, but-"
"No, no. It's fine."
Molly's mouth ran dry. "It's... fine."
"It's not a real date, of
course. It's merely a ruse for discovering who's been following me."
Molly could see how someone
following him might happen. Half the people at Bart's followed him with their
eyes; it wasn't so very wonderful that someone would do it with their whole
body. "How do you know the author's been following you?"
"I can find no other
explanation for her knowing as much about me as she seems to. Tracking my
movements, quoting things I say-she must be observing me personally. I am
expecting that, when John announces our evening plans in his blog, she will
find a way to be in or near that restaurant. That means that, even though this
is a pretend date, we must remain absolutely in character, playing the part of
boyfriend and girlfriend. Would such a role be offensive to you?"
Molly had trouble breathing.
"Er... not really."
"Of course, I wouldn't do
anything inappropriate. But I will have to act overly familiar toward
you. I expect I’ll touch you rather frequently- on your back and arm, and
fondle your hair. Would that annoy you?"
"...no."
“Or holding hands. Would that
offend?”
“Not at all.”
"And I will most likely gaze
deeply into your eyes from time to time, or lean close to murmur something into
your ear. Would you find that objectionable?"
Molly felt the room growing
distinctly warm. "I think I should be able to handle that."
"John says we can allow no
crack in our pretense if the operation is to succeed. Therefore, we must create
the illusion of a happy couple. I wanted to make sure that you would be
comfortable with such a role."
Molly's inner joy brought her
dangerously close to a grin. "Certainly. After all, it's all part of the
sting."
Sherlock's appreciative smile sent
heat coursing through her body. "Thank you, Molly. I was certain I could
count on you." He checked his watch, freeing Molly from the intensity of
his gaze. She used the interval to gulp an unsteady breath.
"I'll make reservations for
four at L'Autre Pied for 8:00," Sherlock continued, not seeming to observe
her. He met her eyes again and smiled; from this range, the action was deadly.
"It will be a double-date. John will bring his co-worker Sarah from the
surgery, and I shall bring you. So that we can maximize our opportunities for
observation, I plan to pick you up at your flat and escort you there
personally. Will that be convenient for you?"
Molly wondered how someone with her
degree of faintness could still be standing. "That sounds lovely."
"Thank you for your co-operation."
Sherlock pulled out his mobile. The redirection of his attention was like a
hand letting go of the back of her neck. "I'll arrive at 7:45," he
murmured, his focus on the tiny screen as he fired off a text. "Wear
something provocative."
"I'll... okay."
"Excellent." He re-pocketed
his mobile and gave her one of his terse smiles. "Must dash. See you this
evening."
He swept out the door as abruptly as
he had swept in. Molly stared after him until the door completely shut, then
walked woodenly to the desk. She leaned against it to steady herself.
A date. A fake date, but still a
date. With Sherlock. At a nice restaurant with touching and murmuring of sweet
nothings and deep gazing into eyes.
Molly took a shuddery breath. Most
likely this would be her only opportunity to see Sherlock in a non-lab setting.
She cared nothing for the case; the temporarily obsessed author would find
other interests, but Molly's interest was deeper and longer lasting. Such a
late-comer as this could hardly hope to compete, Internet entries or no.
Molly glanced at the clock:
mid-afternoon. Plenty of time, if she was quick about it. She straightened with
newfound resolve. Very well; this might be her only evening with Sherlock, but
she was determined to make the most of it. Uppermost in her mind was the need
to locate something suitably... provocative.
Continued in Part 10
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, clothing advice
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
9. The Proposition
Molly was busy measuring the
temperature drop in a fresh cadaver when the door to the morgue burst open. She
started so badly, she almost fell onto the corpse. When she saw who the
dark-coated figure was who swept into the room, her fluttered feelings went
straight to chagrin.
"Ah," began that deep,
posh voice. "Molly."
Ashamed of her previous behavior,
Molly felt her cheeks flame. She hung her head as she turned Sherlock's way.
The fact that he strode right up to her, so the fringes of his open coat swept
her lab jacket, did nothing to help her think more clearly. She did her best to
be sensible. "Sherlock, I feel dreadful. What I said to you the other
day... I should have known you would never-"
"Come, there's no need for
that." His voice was warm and reassuring. "Your apology via John's
blog was more than sufficient."
"It was hideous of me. I
shouldn't have doubted-"
"Now, now. Enough of
that." He took her by the elbow, making her heart leap. He maneuvered her
farther from the table, probably to ensure he had her full attention- as if
Sherlock was uncertain whether he could out-compete a corpse. In his velvety
voice, he continued, "I'm here on business."
Of course he was. It was only ever
business with him. But his acknowledgement of it helped steady Molly's nerves,
as did Sherlock dropping his hold on her elbow, although she could still feel
the heat from his hand on her sleeve. She brushed back a lock of hair that had
escaped her ponytail. "How can I help?"
"I need a date."
Molly's heart skipped a beat.
Bewildered, she searched his light eyes. They were cool as always, but fixed on
her face intently as he awaited her response. "You need..."
"For tonight." He smiled
encouragingly. "It's part of a trap. I mean to identify the person who's
been writing these lies about me. John and I have worked out a plan, but in
order for it to succeed, I... need a date."
Molly's pulse pounded in her ears. Fighting
down an inward rush of joy, she struggled to get the facts absolutely clear;
she'd leapt to the wrong conclusion before. "You're asking me out
on a date."
"If you would." When she
hesitated, he added quickly, "I realize it's short notice, but-"
"No, no. It's fine."
Molly's mouth ran dry. "It's... fine."
"It's not a real date, of
course. It's merely a ruse for discovering who's been following me."
Molly could see how someone
following him might happen. Half the people at Bart's followed him with their
eyes; it wasn't so very wonderful that someone would do it with their whole
body. "How do you know the author's been following you?"
"I can find no other
explanation for her knowing as much about me as she seems to. Tracking my
movements, quoting things I say-she must be observing me personally. I am
expecting that, when John announces our evening plans in his blog, she will
find a way to be in or near that restaurant. That means that, even though this
is a pretend date, we must remain absolutely in character, playing the part of
boyfriend and girlfriend. Would such a role be offensive to you?"
Molly had trouble breathing.
"Er... not really."
"Of course, I wouldn't do
anything inappropriate. But I will have to act overly familiar toward
you. I expect I’ll touch you rather frequently- on your back and arm, and
fondle your hair. Would that annoy you?"
"...no."
“Or holding hands. Would that
offend?”
“Not at all.”
"And I will most likely gaze
deeply into your eyes from time to time, or lean close to murmur something into
your ear. Would you find that objectionable?"
Molly felt the room growing
distinctly warm. "I think I should be able to handle that."
"John says we can allow no
crack in our pretense if the operation is to succeed. Therefore, we must create
the illusion of a happy couple. I wanted to make sure that you would be
comfortable with such a role."
Molly's inner joy brought her
dangerously close to a grin. "Certainly. After all, it's all part of the
sting."
Sherlock's appreciative smile sent
heat coursing through her body. "Thank you, Molly. I was certain I could
count on you." He checked his watch, freeing Molly from the intensity of
his gaze. She used the interval to gulp an unsteady breath.
"I'll make reservations for
four at L'Autre Pied for 8:00," Sherlock continued, not seeming to observe
her. He met her eyes again and smiled; from this range, the action was deadly.
"It will be a double-date. John will bring his co-worker Sarah from the
surgery, and I shall bring you. So that we can maximize our opportunities for
observation, I plan to pick you up at your flat and escort you there
personally. Will that be convenient for you?"
Molly wondered how someone with her
degree of faintness could still be standing. "That sounds lovely."
"Thank you for your co-operation."
Sherlock pulled out his mobile. The redirection of his attention was like a
hand letting go of the back of her neck. "I'll arrive at 7:45," he
murmured, his focus on the tiny screen as he fired off a text. "Wear
something provocative."
"I'll... okay."
"Excellent." He re-pocketed
his mobile and gave her one of his terse smiles. "Must dash. See you this
evening."
He swept out the door as abruptly as
he had swept in. Molly stared after him until the door completely shut, then
walked woodenly to the desk. She leaned against it to steady herself.
A date. A fake date, but still a
date. With Sherlock. At a nice restaurant with touching and murmuring of sweet
nothings and deep gazing into eyes.
Molly took a shuddery breath. Most
likely this would be her only opportunity to see Sherlock in a non-lab setting.
She cared nothing for the case; the temporarily obsessed author would find
other interests, but Molly's interest was deeper and longer lasting. Such a
late-comer as this could hardly hope to compete, Internet entries or no.
Molly glanced at the clock:
mid-afternoon. Plenty of time, if she was quick about it. She straightened with
newfound resolve. Very well; this might be her only evening with Sherlock, but
she was determined to make the most of it. Uppermost in her mind was the need
to locate something suitably... provocative.
Continued in Part 10