"Save the Hooters" is a play on the name of a non-profit breast cancer fundraising foundation called "Save the Ta-tas". There is also a breast cancer support charity in England called Breast Cancer Care, where they also do fundraiser runs. This is a fictional cross between the two of them. For more info on either charity, by all means Google "Savethetatas dot info forward slash" OR "breastcancercare dot org dot uk forward slash fundraising-events"


"Are you volunteering in an owl sanctuary?" Sherlock asked, confused, as he studied the paper tacked to the cork board by the fridge. Molly looked up from her laptop at the bright pink sheet of paper he was reading.

"It's a fundraiser marathon, John and I were thinking of doing it together, it's for breast cancer research, the money also goes to help pay for physical therapy and what-have-you for women who can't afford it after the fact. I thought it would be a nice thing to do, since I've been in remission for almost a year now. Doctor says its okay."

"Why is John running? He has neither 'hooters', nor cancer."

"It's for support," Molly laughed. "Would you be willing to go on a 5k jog with me, wearing a hot-pink shirt that says "Save the Hooters"?"

"Nope."

"Hence why I asked John."

"Are you sure you're up to jogging as long as that?"

"I've been very good about my morning walks,"

"Jogging is different."

"I know, I change paces half-way through my run, I'm getting better, and if it makes you feel any better, I think Mycroft has a car follow me in case I give out." Sherlock fought back a smirk. Trust Mycroft to be someone's support team while the other did all the legwork, literally. "Will you be watching the run?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Because…" Molly floundered for a reason. "There will be free sweets?"

"A sound argument…if I were Mycroft," he replied with a smirk. "If John is running with you, then I will probably have Mary with me on my case," he said. "I am sure Mrs. Hudson would much prefer to sit and watch, as she'll have Ella with her as well."

"It was a long-shot, but I thought I'd try," Molly said with a shrug. "Now, night before the run, remind me to make pasta, I need carbohydrates, John and I both will."

"Hm," Sherlock was already not listening.

"Sherlock!"

"Yes, pasta, Friday night, just because I hardly answered doesn't mean I wasn't listening," he called over his shoulder, placing his stack of petri dishes on the table next to his microscope. The flier for the marathon was pinned to the cork-board by the fridge; the date on the wall calendar was circled.

As it happens, Mary opted out of solving murders that day with Sherlock; she wanted to wait at the finish line with Mrs. Hudson and Ella. Sherlock pursed his lips, frowning.

"Aw, why don't you come along?" Lestrade asked. "I'm gonna see if I can take the afternoon off,"

"You're going as well?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "Not often a friend takes part in a marathon, and it's for a good cause."

"Mm. I'm sure Mycroft has been persuaded to donate a substantial amount, given that Molly spent all of Thursday baking, and I saw neither hide nor hair of the puddings she was making." Lestrade laughed outright.

"She knows how to get results from him, I'll give her that."

The day of the marathon, Sherlock left early, kissing Molly goodbye and wishing her luck. He spent his morning skulking through the sewers, trailing after clues and checking on his homeless network for any new developments. Molly and John had a marvelous time during the marathon, they had their iPods and John had put together a running playlist for them. Keeping one ear-bud in her left ear, she tucked the other down her fitted "Save the Hooters" shirt, and John did the same, tucking the left ear bud away so they could hear each other.

"Is it easier?" John asked breathlessly as they reached the half-way mark, tossing their paper cups into the bin near the path.

"What?"

"Jogging without boobs? Mary complains all the time." Molly burst out laughing,

"Oo ow, don't make me laugh, I've already got a stitch!" she pinched her side, pushing through it. "It is, to be honest," she answered. "I still miss them though." The next song came up, and she looked over at John.

"Which one are you on?" he asked, noting her expression.

"Eye of the Tiger, really?"

"Well yeah!" she laughed then, breaking into song, John jumping in on the chorus.

Mary and Mrs. Hudson were at the finish line; Greg had Ella on his shoulders, holding onto her hands. Ella was squealing, seeing her father from a distance, a bright pink balloon tied to her wrist.

"There's my girls!" John waved to them, jogging past the finish line to the group.

"Well done, both of you," Mary kissed and hugged them both. "Here, let's get a picture of the two of you!" John and Molly stepped back so Mary could fit them in the frame, pointing to each other's t-shirts. Only at the last minute John poked where her breast used to be and she burst out laughing. "Oh that's a keeper," Mary teased and Molly pinched John's arm, grinning. She hugged him then and he returned it.

"Thank you," she said. "Really, thank you," he scrubbed her back, pressing her cheek. "You guys were great today," Molly turned to the group. "It means a lot that you all came."

"How do you feel?" Greg asked, passing Ella to her father. Someone handed her a bottle of water which she drank deeply from before answering.
"Tired!" she laughed. "But otherwise glad. It feels good, doing this, like I'm really through cancer now."

"'Ere Missus, fine job, well done," someone in a ball cap and a "Save the Hooters" shirt passed her a handful of pink roses.

"Oh how lovely, thank you!" Molly beamed. She showed them to Mary and Mrs. Hudson before turning to thank the man, but he was gone, disappeared in the crowd. "Where'd he go?"

"There are loads of people passing out flowers," Greg shrugged. "Probably one of the volunteers, he had a pink shirt on." Molly was looking at the roses in her hand, and then around at the people around her. Most of the women who'd completed the run were holding carnations. You could buy them for cheap in bulk and they traveled well. Her flowers were beautiful English roses, so fragrant that she hardly need bend her head to inhale their heady scent. Her flowers had been tied together with a bright yellow grosgrain ribbon. The flowers at the fundraiser all were tied in pink or white curling ribbon, the same ribbons that were being tied to the balloons being handed out.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a shower, and food, maybe even not in that order," John declared, startling her from her thoughts. The mention of food, Molly realized she was famished.

"God I would love a burger," Molly sighed heavily. They passed a soft-serve stand that also sold gelato. "And maybe an ice cream after…"

"They've a few food stalls over there," Mrs. Hudson pointed down the way to a line of charcoal grills set up where people could order hot dogs and hamburgers and chicken. Destination in view, they made a merry group, feasting on burgers and bags of fresh made crisps.

They were quieter, coming home, Ella fast off on John's shoulder. Molly bid Mrs. Hudson and the Watson's goodnight, thanking John for being her jogging buddy.

"I'm home," she called, unlocking the door to 221b.

"Mm," Sherlock was rustling around in the living room, frowning at the wall above the couch, admiring or contemplating his spider web he'd created out of newspaper clippings, a print-out of some harbor on the Isle of Skye and several plastic baggies containing what Molly assumed were pieces of evidence. "How was your run?"

"Very nice," Molly said, setting her flowers down. She waved a paper bag. "I bought you some crisps,"

"Not hungry,"

"They're good, they're kettle cooked, fresh made at the event today," she said. He held out his hand in response so she passed him the bag. He didn't look away from his wall, fishing through the bag for a handful, crunching noisily, licking the salt from his finger tips. "Greg showed up at the finish line," Molly went on, knowing he was half-listening at any rate. "And someone gave me a beautiful nosegay,"

"They always pass out flowers at fundraisers," Sherlock sniffed. He looked in the bag, realizing he'd eaten all the crisps. He went to the cupboard, finding a bag of Quavers.

"Did you get very far on your case?"

"Mm. Found a lead," he tapped a particular clipping on the wall, beneath it was a small plastic baggie containing a few coat buttons. Suddenly, she was kissing his cheek. "What was that for?"

"For my flowers," she said and kissed him again, properly this time (to which he did not complain about). "Thank you, it was nice to know you were there at the finish line."

"Don't be ridiculous Molly; I've been on my case all day."

"Sherlock, no one else was given a bouquet of roses, everyone had carnations, and nobody just hands out expensive flowers tied up in fancy ribbons. I'm not stupid."

"Wasn't me, check with Mycroft if you like, CCTV feeds followed me all the way through my homeless network."

"Mmhm," Molly hummed, not convinced. "Well they're beautiful at any rate," she tugged at her pony tail, making a face. "I need a shower," she padded in her bare feet to the bathroom, discarding her jogging attire as she went. Sherlock turned, (not until the bathroom door was shut, mind) back to his spiders web, the corners of his mouth turning up a little. He nudged the bag he'd kicked under the couch as Molly had come in. Inside the grocery bag was a pink "Save the Hooters" t-shirt, a ball cap and a receipt from the florists. Well. He could dispose of them later. He tossed the rest of the quavers onto the couch, heading to the bathroom to join Molly, whistling all the way.