(Don't own anything!)
Grinning for England, John Watson regarded the pair before him in undisguised mirth.
Sherlock had his hand wrapped around a microscope dial, eyes narrowed and mouth poised to return a scathing commentary on the situation when Molly Hooper surprised them both by clapping a hand over his mouth.
"Can't speak in a jinx, can you?" Watson supplied, mouth cocked in a cheeky grin. He leaned up against the tall metallic lab tables. "Not until I say your names, that is."
Sherlock rose from his seated position, which effectively caused Molly's hand to fall away. She had her lower lip between her teeth and was worrying it, brown doe eyes on John.
"Now, before you say anything," John warned Sherlock, pointing his finger at him. "Let me remind you this case has had some fascinating albeit grisly deaths that all seem to be tied back to the victims breaking an old wives tail."
"We had the charming case of the banker who was arrested and charged with murder for breaking his mother's back, and who claimed he had done nothing but go for a walk around the gardens that day, noticing a large crack in the foundation of the path."
Sherlock's pale icy gaze narrowed, as John continued. "Then his sister walked underneath the ladder at the estate, and had a chandelier promptly fall on her."
Molly's eyes fluttered shut. Sherlock rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance and lazily opened his mouth to respond but John shook his head, cutting him off. "Followed shortly by the recently widowed Mr. Martin smashing his wife's vanity mirror in grief, and then who choked to death on a bone at dinner that very same night. And then as we were struggling to think of what possibly could have caused their eldest son to have died in that freak tub electrocution, you mentioned seeing him spill salt that evening at dinner."
"Which was," John admitted, "as always, very observant of you."
Molly's large brown eyes flickered up to Sherlock and then back to John, her face pinched in worry. John smirked at Sherlock again, sending a quick, warmer smile Molly's direction before returning his smirking face back to his friend.
"And then we met their lovely housekeeper, Agatha." Turning to Molly, he asked, "Do you remember Agatha? I believe you may have accidently driven over her rose bushes when he, "John jerked his chin at Sherlock, who was curiously immobile, "rang you to bring him some things from the lab?"
Molly squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head in disbelief before issuing a small sigh of defeat. She dropped her head to her forearms.
"Bit of a character, old Aggie," John quipped, laughter infusing his entire face. "Black cat, ancient books of spells, crystal balls in her quarters- fancied herself a witch. But you couldn't keep your mouth shut, old friend. Charlatan, I believed you called her, fake and possibly insane, to paraphrase."
"Poor form, to insult a possible witch. She had already thrown some nasty threats at our pathologist for her unintentional harm to a bush, but she more than happy to throw one or two at you-" he said, turning back to Sherlock, "and now, look at us. Sitting in a lab and discussing possible ways superstitious linked deaths could be made into something that makes sense in a rational and logical world."
Sherlock pulled out his phone and without looking away from John, typed something out. Hitting the send button with a determined fierceness, he looked up, both eyebrows raised as if to ask, what now?
"Oh, now come on, you can't text. Ruins the whole point of not being able to speak," John laughed. He left his phone in his pocket. Sherlock scowled.
"Now, I'll tell you what. If you answer one simple question, with a nonverbal sign, I will un-jinx you two and save you from a very untimely end at the hands of Agatha's curses."
Sherlock let out a short bark of laughter and John held up a warning hand, "I'm serious, wouldn't it be easier than risk potential death at the hands of a superstitious old bat? Odd isn't it, the way the village constable who was questioning her on the murders opened his umbrella in their hallway and then was hit by the city bus two days later? How did she manage that one I wonder?"
A small clap made him look round at Molly who, now with his attention, gave a small shrug and then nodded.
"See, she's in!" Sherlock glared hard at Molly, before removing himself from the table and walking towards the morgue's exit. "Well, if you would like to court the wrath of Agatha Bluethorn, feel free. Now," he asked, turning back to Molly, "is it true that you two have been shagging for the past few weeks?"
Molly turned scarlet just as a certain consulting detective stopped suddenly in his tracks, turning and fixing John with an appraising glare. John turned his attention back to Molly who looked back down at the table surface, reflecting her own red face back up at her.
"You see, Mike Stamford decided to stop down here and have a bit of a chat with our favorite pathologist, that's you," John nodded at Molly, still grinning at her red face. "When he heard suspicious noises from the locker room on this floor, and when he went to investigate, he saw two very familiar people snogging madly."
Sherlock was oddly quiet behind him but John didn't turn around. He was having much too fun. This had been going on for a while, he had suspected. But none of them had been able to get any concrete proof. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and he had a pool going- the first one with concrete evidence that Sherlock and Molly were in fact shagging would be a bit richer for it. When he had run into Mike on the Tube the other day, Mike had mentioned his accidental discovery, putting John in clear position to win the pool. He had tried everything at the old manor house when he had convinced Sherlock to have Molly bring up the things he needed but no such luck.
Now, he was resorting to jinxing the two of them in the hopes that their recent superstitious case would cause one of them to crack. But silence greeted him. He looked about a bit, but both parties seemed frozen in place. Molly looking anywhere but at the two of them, and Sherlock looking at John with an odd look on his face.
Molly raised her right hand to cover her face, a classic defense mechanism, and John felt a twinge of guilt. He sighed a bit, "Look, if you don't want to answer the question-"
But before John could reassure Molly further, Sherlock brushed past him.
"Oi, mate," John chided, "Look, I'm just joking the two of you- I'm just-"
But he didn't know what he was about to say, because at that moment, Sherlock had arrived by Molly who looked like she was going to sink into the floor. He pulled her up from her seated position, and just as she opened her mouth to say something, he covered it with his own.
John's eyebrows rose substantially as he watched his best friend wrap his long arms around the petite woman in front of him, deepening the kiss and causing her to wrap her own arms around his neck. Her white lab coat fluttered around them for a moment.
John went from pride at outing the relationship and winning the bet to very uncomfortable in the minute span the two spent locked together. When it looked like they wouldn't stop anytime soon, he cleared his throat.
After a moment, Sherlock raised his dark head from Molly's, who still had her eyes closed and lips already swelling, and raised one eyebrow at John in question.
"Well. Right then, I'll just be leaving," John coughed, turning on his heel and heading towards the exit. "Have a good evening Sherlock. Molly." And he disappeared out the door and down the hall without looking back.
Just as he neared the lifts and jabbed at the up button, he heard a muffled moaning noise and he squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his face into a wince and hurrying the elevator as much as he could with his own mental abilities.
He would go back and do some more digging into old Agatha's background- maybe some research into her bank account and records-
A loud metallic crash echoed down the hallway and John put his hands over his ears and began to hum a little ditty as loud as he could. He could hear noises emanating from the lab he just left, noises he was fairly certain he was going to start hearing frequently now that he had opened his big mouth.
He'd have to use his new money on headphones, John mused sourly as he stepped into the elevator. He had a feeling Baker Street was about to get a whole lot nosier.