"Tuesdays with Molly" - a Sherlock fanfic (1/4)
Where Molly has some heart to heart with some unexpected guests.
Chapter One
The morgue was chilly, but blissfully quiet. Molly Hooper adjusted her coat and glanced at the clipboard in her hands. The day was finished and all that was left was to make sure everything that she needed to do was completed and to lock up when she was done. She hummed to herself as she worked, making sure that all the bodies were accounted for and nothing was left out to rot.
The door slid open noiselessly behind her. “Molly?” a small, tentative voice called out.
Molly turned at the sound of her name and was surprised to see John Watson standing in the door way, peeking out from the door. “Oh, John, hello! What's on your mind?” she greeted him awkwardly.
John smiled, “I was just wondering if I could, um, talk to you for a bit. But if you're too busy, I can come back....”
“Oh, it's alright,” Molly assured him, “I was just finishing up. You can meet me at my desk upstairs, the third one in the second row. I'll be right up.”
John nodded once, glanced around the room, and left. Molly exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding and began hastily cleaning up the morgue. She locked the door behind her and ran upstairs to brew two fresh mugs of tea. When Molly was done, she straightened her coat and delivered the mugs to her desk where John was waiting her arrival. He was looking at her pictures of her cats. Molly made a mental note to feed them first when she got home.
She pulled over a chair and sat across from John, handing him the warm mug of tea. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
John hesitated, looking down and watching the steam escape from the cup. “Well, I have a problem.”
Molly smiled, “Does this problem wear a black trench coat and strut around like he's the most brilliant man in the world?”
He thought for a moment, “Yes, actually. He does kind of strut.”
“So, did Sherlock do something to annoy you again?” Molly asked.
“Not exactly,” admitted John, sipping his tea. “It's just been tough lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sherlock's been acting strange. I know he's usually antisocial and he doesn't talk for days on end, but he at least makes the effort to leave his room and get to the bloody couch downstairs. And now, he barely leaves his room. Just last week, right after the case, he just darts back into his room without another word! And when he does decide to actually move around and be a normal human being, he does so with the bare minimum of social interaction. I know he's just that type of person, but it's gone to an extreme these past few weeks, and it's driving me insane!“ Also, I often catch him staring at me with the strangest look, like he's analyzing me in the same way he analyzes crime scenes or he's trying to look straight through me and read my thoughts. It's unsettling.”
John paused for a moment, taking another sip of his tea before continuing, “And, he's been nicer to everyone at the crime scenes. He doesn't barge into Lestrade's office; he actually knocks. And, when Anderson talks, he doesn't tell him off; he just ignores him.”
“I've noticed that too,” interjected Molly. “A couple of days ago, when I was cleaning up, he came in and asked for, well...parts for his experiments like usual, but he was more straight forward this time.”
Molly thought to herself how Sherlock often used flattery to get his way, and she allowed him to get away with it. But on that day, Sherlock seemed on edge and she had decided to give him what he needed. Once he got what he came for, Sherlock left without another word, which made her feel uneasy.
“Have you tried talking to him?” she asked John.
“Yes,” he replied, “however, whenever I try to bring up the subject, he purposely avoids it. I tried asking him directly once, but he just dismissed it and told me not to worry. Then he returned to his room like normal. Well, not really normal, but you know what I mean.” John sighed, “Molly, what do I do?"
She thought for a while, thinking it was strange that he was coming to her for advice. Why not ask Lestrade or Ms. Hudson? Surely they were closer to the pair than she was. But maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe....
"John, do you like Sherlock?” Molly asked.
John nearly choked on his tea, “Do I what?”
“Do you fancy Sherlock?” Molly repeated. “Do you or do you not like Sherlock in some sort of way?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “I guess he's my friend. And flatmate.”
“That's it?”
John looked sheepish, drawing circles around the rim of his mug. She smirked, “It's alright, John. You can tell me.”
“I-I don't know!” John sighed, exasperated, “We're just friends, colleagues. That's what we tell other people, that's what I tell myself. But...really...I, um, I suppose that I, uh, a-adore him.”
“And?”
“And I guess I'm worried. I'm worried that Sherlock's not okay and I don't know what's bothering him or how to help him but I'm really just scared that something is horribly wrong and he's refusing to tell me like the stubborn little five year old he is!”
John stopped to catch his breath. He looked at Molly with pleading, almost helpless, eyes; he really didn't know what to do. Molly set down her mug and moved her seat so she sat beside him. She rubbed his back in comforting circles, just as her mother did when she was a little girl. “John, I'm sure that what ever Sherlock is going through, he'll be alright. If he wants to tell you, he will. But I think that you should calm down and stop worrying about him. He's an adult; he at least has a faint idea as to how to take care of himself.”
“But he acts like a child sometimes!” John exclaimed in frustration, “He just sulks around all day and the flat is a great big mess and I can barely take it anymore!”
“So you came to me?”
“Well, I was taking a walk and just happened to stop by.”
“Don't worry, John. You're a doctor. Use your patience. I'm sure he'll work it out. And if not, well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.”
John sighed and sagged his shoulders in defeat. He set his mug down, still nearly full, and got up to leave. “I better get home then. Thank you, Molly.”
“Anytime, John.” she got up with him, patting his shoulder, “And if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
John nodded and left the office, a sudden chill replacing his warm presence beside Molly. She watched as he disappeared around the corner and shook her head, hoping they would figure it out.
Chapter Two
Chapter One
The morgue was chilly, but blissfully quiet. Molly Hooper adjusted her coat and glanced at the clipboard in her hands. The day was finished and all that was left was to make sure everything that she needed to do was completed and to lock up when she was done. She hummed to herself as she worked, making sure that all the bodies were accounted for and nothing was left out to rot.
The door slid open noiselessly behind her. “Molly?” a small, tentative voice called out.
Molly turned at the sound of her name and was surprised to see John Watson standing in the door way, peeking out from the door. “Oh, John, hello! What's on your mind?” she greeted him awkwardly.
John smiled, “I was just wondering if I could, um, talk to you for a bit. But if you're too busy, I can come back....”
“Oh, it's alright,” Molly assured him, “I was just finishing up. You can meet me at my desk upstairs, the third one in the second row. I'll be right up.”
John nodded once, glanced around the room, and left. Molly exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding and began hastily cleaning up the morgue. She locked the door behind her and ran upstairs to brew two fresh mugs of tea. When Molly was done, she straightened her coat and delivered the mugs to her desk where John was waiting her arrival. He was looking at her pictures of her cats. Molly made a mental note to feed them first when she got home.
She pulled over a chair and sat across from John, handing him the warm mug of tea. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
John hesitated, looking down and watching the steam escape from the cup. “Well, I have a problem.”
Molly smiled, “Does this problem wear a black trench coat and strut around like he's the most brilliant man in the world?”
He thought for a moment, “Yes, actually. He does kind of strut.”
“So, did Sherlock do something to annoy you again?” Molly asked.
“Not exactly,” admitted John, sipping his tea. “It's just been tough lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sherlock's been acting strange. I know he's usually antisocial and he doesn't talk for days on end, but he at least makes the effort to leave his room and get to the bloody couch downstairs. And now, he barely leaves his room. Just last week, right after the case, he just darts back into his room without another word! And when he does decide to actually move around and be a normal human being, he does so with the bare minimum of social interaction. I know he's just that type of person, but it's gone to an extreme these past few weeks, and it's driving me insane!“ Also, I often catch him staring at me with the strangest look, like he's analyzing me in the same way he analyzes crime scenes or he's trying to look straight through me and read my thoughts. It's unsettling.”
John paused for a moment, taking another sip of his tea before continuing, “And, he's been nicer to everyone at the crime scenes. He doesn't barge into Lestrade's office; he actually knocks. And, when Anderson talks, he doesn't tell him off; he just ignores him.”
“I've noticed that too,” interjected Molly. “A couple of days ago, when I was cleaning up, he came in and asked for, well...parts for his experiments like usual, but he was more straight forward this time.”
Molly thought to herself how Sherlock often used flattery to get his way, and she allowed him to get away with it. But on that day, Sherlock seemed on edge and she had decided to give him what he needed. Once he got what he came for, Sherlock left without another word, which made her feel uneasy.
“Have you tried talking to him?” she asked John.
“Yes,” he replied, “however, whenever I try to bring up the subject, he purposely avoids it. I tried asking him directly once, but he just dismissed it and told me not to worry. Then he returned to his room like normal. Well, not really normal, but you know what I mean.” John sighed, “Molly, what do I do?"
She thought for a while, thinking it was strange that he was coming to her for advice. Why not ask Lestrade or Ms. Hudson? Surely they were closer to the pair than she was. But maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe....
"John, do you like Sherlock?” Molly asked.
John nearly choked on his tea, “Do I what?”
“Do you fancy Sherlock?” Molly repeated. “Do you or do you not like Sherlock in some sort of way?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “I guess he's my friend. And flatmate.”
“That's it?”
John looked sheepish, drawing circles around the rim of his mug. She smirked, “It's alright, John. You can tell me.”
“I-I don't know!” John sighed, exasperated, “We're just friends, colleagues. That's what we tell other people, that's what I tell myself. But...really...I, um, I suppose that I, uh, a-adore him.”
“And?”
“And I guess I'm worried. I'm worried that Sherlock's not okay and I don't know what's bothering him or how to help him but I'm really just scared that something is horribly wrong and he's refusing to tell me like the stubborn little five year old he is!”
John stopped to catch his breath. He looked at Molly with pleading, almost helpless, eyes; he really didn't know what to do. Molly set down her mug and moved her seat so she sat beside him. She rubbed his back in comforting circles, just as her mother did when she was a little girl. “John, I'm sure that what ever Sherlock is going through, he'll be alright. If he wants to tell you, he will. But I think that you should calm down and stop worrying about him. He's an adult; he at least has a faint idea as to how to take care of himself.”
“But he acts like a child sometimes!” John exclaimed in frustration, “He just sulks around all day and the flat is a great big mess and I can barely take it anymore!”
“So you came to me?”
“Well, I was taking a walk and just happened to stop by.”
“Don't worry, John. You're a doctor. Use your patience. I'm sure he'll work it out. And if not, well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.”
John sighed and sagged his shoulders in defeat. He set his mug down, still nearly full, and got up to leave. “I better get home then. Thank you, Molly.”
“Anytime, John.” she got up with him, patting his shoulder, “And if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
John nodded and left the office, a sudden chill replacing his warm presence beside Molly. She watched as he disappeared around the corner and shook her head, hoping they would figure it out.
Chapter Two