The Labyrinth of London


A Sherlock/Labyrinth Crossover

Inspired By

"The Thin White Sleuth…"



Summary: I want to break every clock… Sherlolly. Takes place during "His Last Trick". Title taken from the song of the same name by Anberlin.

The Almighty Disclaimer

Oh Moffat and Gatiss and Thompson,

Henson and Doyle,

To you belongs all the characters

And none so for me!

A/N: The title of this fic is from the song of the same name by Anberlin. (One of my writing buddies actually used it as the song she danced to at her wedding.) This story was inspired by "The Thin White Sleuth…" by Pika-la-Cynique of Girls Next Door fame.


Sherlock poked the corpse with a silver colored pen. At least, Molly hoped it was merely silver colored, because if Sherlock was digging around a drowned man with a pen made of actual silver, Molly might not be able to resist the urge to smack him.

"What experiment are you planning on doing today?" Molly asked.

"Undecided," Sherlock said.

"Well, you can't experiment on that one. The funeral home is coming to take him away any time now," Molly said.

Sherlock grunted before tossing his pen into the bin. Molly wheeled away the corpse and put him in the fridge.

"Why are you down here, Sherlock?"

"You can deduce the reason on your own," Sherlock said as he strutted around the room.

"I want to hear you say it. You are trying to pretend nothing is happening," Molly said.

"It is not as if there is anything I can do about it."

"You can acknowledge it."

"I have no need to 'admit' anything as it is merely a fact."

Molly scrubbed her hands. She always was a stickler for hygiene after a corpse. Today just made it more so.

"Germ theory," Sherlock said.


"I was just thinking about Ignaz Semmelweis and the maternal mortality rate."

Molly nodded and stepped to the side as Sherlock scrubbed his hands. He kept talking. "He found out the the reason the doctors had a higher rate of maternal mortality than midwives was because the doctors would handle corpses before dealing with women in labor."

"And then the medical establishment ignored his warnings until Louis Pasteur and germ theory."

"Damn idiots," Sherlock said.

"Damn bloody idiots," Molly agreed.

Sherlock kept washing his hands for an unusual amount of time.

"Are you Lady Mackers now?"

"Superstition does not bode well for a scientist."

Molly turned off the water. "You're scrubbing your hands raw. Come on. I have some lotion in my office." She took Sherlock's hand and led him.

She did not let go as she grabbed from her desk drawer a small bottle of lotion. "It doesn't smell or sting. It's just… lotion. It also works well in winter." She let go of Sherlock's hand and put some lotion on her own hands. "See? Not poison."

Sherlock stared past Molly with a vacant look of hopelessness.

"Are you here, Sherlock?"

"I don't want them to die."

"None of us do." Molly grabbed his hands. "Sherlock, we all want Sarah and the baby to live. It's not a weakness to worry about them."

"I can't do a bloody thing to help them. Logically, I know this is a normal delivery at the best possible hospital for them, but I can't… stop it."

"Caring is a disadvantage sometimes, but it's what makes us human. And you are human, Sherlock."

"Rather inconvenient."

"It generally is."

Sherlock groaned and collapsed on Molly's couch. "Jareth should have broken Magnuson's neck."

"Probably." Molly sat next to him. "I am sure he had his reasons."

"Yes. His reasons were he is an idiot and he didn't think the damn thing through."


"Is that all you are going to say?"



Molly grinned. "I often am."

Sherlock leaned back and covered his eyes with his right hand. Molly tilted her head as she thought. She put Sherlock's hand in hers. "You should do some meditation. It might help your nerves."

He made a noncommittal noise. "Mysticism."

"I know you're lying. The research shows meditation is helpful, even to the point of reducing pain."

"Don't want to."

"Yes, but you do need it."

Despite the hand covering his face, Molly knew he was rolling his eyes. She cleared her throat. "Would some… hand reflexology help?"

"Snake oil."

"It seemed more reasonable than saying hand massage." Molly could feel her cheeks burning. "You won't be able to play the violin as well if your hands are a mess. And don't pretend you didn't bring it with you and stashed it somewhere. I know you did."

Sherlock sighed and turned over his hand. "If I end up with a broken spleen, I am blaming you."

"I thought you said it was snake oil."

"Snake oil sometimes contains poison."

Molly shook her head as she grabbed her rolling chair so she could sit in front of Sherlock. She warmed the lotion in her hands first before rubbing the salve into Sherlock's abused skin. The tension in him remained until she rubbed circles on his wrist. He grunted.


"A little. Feels better now."

"Tell me if there is any pain."

"Don't worry. I'll whine as soon as I feel the need."

She moved his hand up and rotated his wrist and titled his hand side to side. His reflexes were unsurprisingly quick in how his wrist would twist and move back.

When Molly reached his fingers, she knew she was merely checking the joints, but she spent time tracing the callouses from the bow of his violin and handling surgical tools. "Did you play piano, growing up?"

"Hmmm… little. Mummy wanted us to. Mycroft was better at it. I prefer the violin because he hates the string section," Sherlock said, "Also can move around with it."

She gently pinched between his fingers to release the tension there and finished.

"Isn't there supposed to be more, Molly?"

"Yes, but I don't have it all memorized. I got distracted by this article on bullet trajectories through glass and then bone."

"Hmmm… must have missed that one. Do tell."

And so, Molly did as she massaged his other hand. She was less self-conscious this time. She prattled on about a case she saw earlier that week until she was done. As Molly went to pull away, Sherlock grabbed her hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Why did you break your engagement?"

Molly spluttered.

"It's a simple question, Hooper."

"Um… well… I was bad for him."

Sherlock's eyes turned cold. "Did he say that to you?"

"What? Tom? No! Goodness, no. He's far too kind to ever say that… or even think about it, actually."

"You think you're a bad person?"

"Well, no. Well, yes, but the same as everyone else."

"And yet you say you're a bad match. You are compassionate, intelligent, clever, aesthetically attractive, and are the best pathologist I've ever met. I fail to see why you would find yourself unworthy of such a lackluster man."

"You think I'm the best pathologist you've ever met?"

"Yes. I wouldn't deal with you otherwise."

"Well, thank you Sherlock."

He sat up straighter. "So, why are you bad for him?"

Molly smiled slightly. "I am… we just… it was cruel to marry a decent man when I didn't love him as much as he deserved. That's why I'm bad for him. Not that we weren't good together, but I don't want to just be good with someone. I want to be great with them. The best people we can be."

Sherlock nodded. "That is logical."

"I wasn't… that was kind of you."

"Hardly. If one is to bind oneself to someone else for presumably the rest of your life, you need to choose the best match for the two of you. Mary and John bring out each other's protective tendencies. Sarah and Jareth are far braver than they would be on their own. Even my parents…" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "… are happily morons together. Most couples would have divorced if they had to deal with just one of us Holmes boys. The… two of us…"

"I know about Eurus. You don't have to hide her."

He glared at Molly. "How?"

"I guessed. There are pictures of you and Mycroft all over your mother's study, but there is a strange leap from your individual baby pictures to group pictures of the two of you from when you were at uni. I asked your mum and she told me about the fire." She swallowed. "It doesn't sound…"

"She was a sociopath."

"She was five."

"She killed my dog and tried to burn the house down with us in it. Ironic she died in a fire at the asylum they locked her away in, don't you think?" Sherlock said.

Later, Molly wouldn't know what came over her, but she hugged Sherlock and he hugged her back. "I know about Eurus, Sherlock. Her mind progressed faster than her emotions could. It's not uncommon. She didn't want to hurt you. She didn't understand the difference between laughing and crying so she did things that she thought would make you laugh, but really you were crying. None of you are at fault. Your parents had Eurus in therapy once she could talk. You parents told me how much you worried about Eurus while she was alive."

"I am a high functioning sociopath. I don't worry about anyone."

Molly pulled back so she could put Sherlock's hands in her own. "Says the man who is worrying over his friend and her baby."

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are. You can't lie to me, you know."

Sherlock looked up at Molly. "Worry is mild. Terror is more accurate."

Molly nodded her head. "I am too. I don't have any siblings and I wasn't around for my other friends for their labors so… yeah, I'm terrified for them too."

The two sat back in their chairs. Sherlock took Molly's hand and stroked it with his thumb. After several moments of comfortable silence, Molly felt herself drifting off in a strange sort of peace until Sherlock said, "Do you… feel like you are better when you're with me?"

Molly smiled, eyes closed. "Yes, Sherlock. I wouldn't put up with your crap if I didn't think we did good together."

"Oh… well… we should get married then," Sherlock said.

Molly laughed. "Sure, Sherlock."

"I'm not saying it to be silly," Sherlock said.

Molly opened up her eyes and turned towards Sherlock. "You don't care about anyone that way, let alone me."

Sherlock nodded. "I don't need romance and such, but it is not unpleasant when it is with the right person."

"Is this some sort of existential crisis or something?"

"No. I would just stare off at the wall if that were the case."

"Well, that's true." She looked down. "But seriously, Sherlock, why would you say this to me now? I know you don't feel sorry for me or feel pity for me. You would be angry at me if that were the case. Why?"

"Because, despite being a high-functioning sociopath who doesn't seem to have a heart, I do seem to have both empathy and a heart. There is not much of either, but there is some. And, with those crumbs of what can only be described as humanity, I am aware I do love certain people. John and Mary. Jareth and Sarah. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Even, and for the love of God don't tell them, my family. And I love you, but not like I do the rest."

"And how did you figure it out?"

"On Christmas Eve Jareth punched me in the stomach and said I needed to get over myself and confess my true feelings to you."

Molly laughed. "Punched you in the stomach?"

"Yes. He said I was a moron and then John punched me in the stomach and said the same thing."

"John too?"

"Yes. They said it was an intervention from my being an ass. After careful consideration, I agree."

"Because your friends said so?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not. It just made me want to not say anything even more. And then I realized something."

"Realized what?"

Sherlock leaned forward until their noses bumped against each other's. "I realized I wanted to be your last first kiss. If you would have me, I would want to do my best to help you for the rest of my life. I will be bad at it. You will have to throw things at me, but I want to give myself to you and try to muddle through this disaster of a life together. We are better together than apart."

Molly smirked. "Really?"



She crossed the distance and kissed Sherlock. "There's your last first kiss, Mr. Holmes."

"Good. Let's work on the last second kiss and the last third kiss and…"

Molly tackled him and kissed him until time ceased to have meaning.


Both of their phones went off some time later, bringing time back to them. Sherlock waved his hand about trying to grab his coat. Molly got it and handed Sherlock's phone to him.

He sighed in relief as he read the text. "They're both well."

"Good. Do you want to sneak up and see them?"

"Yes." He kissed her shoulder. "Together?"

"Yes," Molly said, "Together for all time."


A/N: I have a thing for slow-burning romances. I am so sorry… I am not sorry.

No, we are not having the evil genius Eurus teaming up with Moriarty mess from Series 4. Series 4 mostly did not happen. Redbeard was a dog. Mary is alive. John would never cheat BECAUSE THAT IS MORE OOC THAN ANY FANFIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN EVEN WHEN I WAS TEN-YEARS-OLD! IT IS AN INSULT TO EVERY ADAPTION EVER CREATED OF SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER MORONS! I HOPE YOU HAVE BAD WI-FI FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES MOFFAT AND GATTISS!

*clears throat* Anyway… so I fell into the Holmes Boy trap, so I'm going to make it a plot point.

I finally found the post that inspired this story.

Also, even if hand reflexology doesn't "work", I can say from personal experience, it at least helps with relaxation. I would recommend Teach Yourself Hand Reflexology by Denise Whichello Brown as it is the least mystical of the books I read and was firm in its insistence on talking to a doctor as necessary.

Thank you so much everyone. That is the last of the one-shots. Only the finale is left.