I am still writing "It happened one night," which is my main-focus, but I had to write this out today. My inner mother got the best of me, and I couldn't shake off the dialogue. Luckily I'll not let myself be too diverted by this entirely. If you think this is interesting, do comment, I'd like to know whether or not this is fun.

1: Curtains Up

Sherlock Holmes, 35, single-sleuth, with steady-fast newly engaged companion John Watson 38, consulting detectives to Scotland Yard – protecting our London, "They're not really protecting. We just come to them if things get out of hand," says DI Lestrade, looking into the camera. "Of course they only take the interesting cases anyway, and those are the ones you hear of in the paper." What can you say of his private life? "The private life of Sherlock Holmes? Honestly, I don't think he has one." "He's a freak," says sergeant Donovan over Lestrade's shoulder. How so? "There are no women in his life, are there? He doesn't care for that sort of thing." What about you? "You mental?"

So he's got nothing like that on his plate? "Oh, he's never been one for that sort of business really. He's got people who help him just," says Mrs Hudson cheerily. But then why does he consort with - Molly Hooper, single, 33, has a cat, doesn't intend to get married "Why should I? There's absolutely no reason for it." Does she want children? She just frowns, before turning her back to us. "So, I do want kids, I'll admit it, but at this point I'll opt for adoption. Haven't got time though, it's quite hectic at work at the moment," Sherlock Holmes enters the lab grabs something and leaves. We see Molly's face, she sighs. "You help a man, and this is what you get." Sherlock Holmes man of action is too busy to worry about love. "Passion is just physical. I can control my desires quite easily. I don't see the point of such trivial distractions. Sex is dull and repetitive." John Watson just looks at him shaking his head. Mycroft Holmes laughs, "How would you know?" Sherlock looks into the camera "I think that's quite enough."

A MONTH LATER - 10 JULY, 08:47

John Watson was sitting in his new flat, with his wife Mary Watson, who was a tiny blonde female, and who was currently making them breakfast. He looked at her with a pleased expression, with his tanned skin. They had recently gotten back from their honeymoon, which was a pleasant break from the otherwise hectic daily life he'd have with his best friend Sherlock Holmes. The same man who ended up texting him quite frequently during his honeymoon. Texts which John ended up ignoring, despite his wife even saying "You could answer him you know, it might be important."

"Yes, he might need someone to wedge his mobile phone out of his front pocket."

So, there he was newly returned, satiated, breakfast on the table, and paper in his hand. He opened the paper, leafed through it, reading about various things he was certain Sherlock would not be interested in, until his eyes rested upon the big bold font, which blared out of the page, causing him to choke on his cup of tea.


Molly Hooper knew it was her weekend. This was her weekend off – three full days of complete nothing. No interruption, no annoying detective mucking up with her business, and her mobile phone was even turned off – in case he were to bother her. He had been an irritating knave the moment John Watson had hurried off happily to his honeymoon, as if she were some sort of replacement. He'd never considered her before that, and after he'd uttered her importance – she felt herself less important than usual, and now she was entirely fine with it. She was over it, end of discussion, and so she sat with her face to be glued in front of her telly, bunched under her soft blankets, as her cat Toby stretched out in front of her. That was when the phone rang, of course – the landline.

She ignored it, that's what was she was going to do – she was not going to care. It was he of course, it had to be, the sick man couldn't stand to wait three days for John Watson to return, before coming out with another list of demands. No, she would not give him corpses. No, she would not help him with getting his phone. No, she would not send a text. No. The phone stopped ringing, and she smiled – sighing loudly and happily. Maybe he'd think she was out. Of course that's when the doorbell went off. She gaped, before wrenching off her covers, hands on hips, and touched the intercom "Hello," she said through gritted teeth, expecting the deep bass on the other end.

"Yes, hello dear. I tried the phone, but you didn't answer," says a female drawl.

Molly blanches.

"Who is this?" she asks.

"I think I can answer that question better if you were to open the door dear," says the woman.

Molly stands uneasily for a moment, before reluctantly buzzing the woman in. She hoped it wasn't a saleswoman, who'd try to coerce her into buying a ridiculous coin-collection or something. Molly opens the door, and sees a tall slender elderly woman with white hair walk up in the most elegant purple attire.

The woman gives her quite the bright smile, before extending her hand daintily, which Molly receives quite confused.

"Can I come in?" enquires the woman, after a moment of awkward silence – at which Molly steps aside, letting the woman go in.

She shuts the door, and finds the female seated in her sofa, pushing off several of the blankets to the side, before crossing her legs. "You're probably wondering who I am."

Molly looks at the woman expectantly. "I am Mrs Holmes, Elizabeth Holmes," she says with a small smile playing on her painted red lips.

Molly blinks longer than necessary, and stands confused by her own door. "I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I should probably explain why I am here too," she adds, gesturing to the chair, which Molly dumps herself into feeling like a guest in her own home.

"I am here to talk to you about something important Doctor Hooper," she says before pouring Molly her cup of tea, and handing it to her. Molly just takes it in her hand, as she feels slightly dazed by the whole turn of events.

"I am getting old, at some point I will most likely die," says Mrs Holmes looking a bit irritated by this fact. "This is where you will help."

Molly starts to assume that she wants help with immortality or prolonged living or whatever ridiculous notion this woman had.

"I don't think that's entirely my field," says Molly with furrows in her brows.

"Why ever not, I did my research quite properly, and you are not barren," says Mrs Holmes causing Molly to spit out the tea.

"Excuse me?" says Molly wide-eyed after recovering from some coughing.

"I want to have grandchildren before I go Doctor Hooper – small itty bitty children laughing around in my house, before I go rotting in the ground."

"And I'm the woman for that?" says Molly incredulously putting her tea on the table.

"My son does spend a great amount of time at your work, wouldn't you say?" says Mrs Holmes thoughtfully with a smile.

"Well, yes, but-," Molly tries to interject.

"You both have a love for corpses and these odd mysteries of his."

"I think you-,"

"I dare say my other son Mycroft can't be asked for the task."

"But I-,"

"Don't you want children Doctor Hooper? If you don't do it now, you'll be past your prime."

"Now, see-,"

"My son is also not a terrible man. He might not be sociable of nature, and have quite the mood-swings, but I am certain we can come to an agreement," says Mrs Holmes with a smile, as Molly just gapes at her, before finally catching a big enough pause – she hurriedly says –

"I am sorry Mrs Holmes, but I'm certainly not the woman for the job," relief floods her, as the words are out.

"Why ever not?" asks Mrs Holmes looking a bit disappointed.

Molly laughs this time, quite a great deal too, stopping only at Mrs Holmes dreadfully serious expression. She could see how they were related.

"I am sorry, but we are talking about Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock Holmes who is married to his job, and would not look at me for anything except corpses. I might have come to his aid several times, but it doesn't mean I'll be carrying his child any time soon."

"Oh," she just replies, looking a bit frustrated, but not really upset.

"So I'm sorry," says Molly with a small awkward smile.

Mrs Holmes just gives her a bright one back, at which Molly gets worried. "No, problem Doctor Hooper – I have luckily other candidates."

She didn't.

"I'm sure you'll get someone who'd be willing to do it," says Molly, as Mrs Holmes stands up from her sofa, before walking off to the door.

Mrs Holmes turns around on the spot, eyeing Molly for a moment saying with a rather pleased expression "Your mother is a delightful woman, you should ring her more often," and then she left, with her odd offer, or so Molly Hooper thought with relief – yet she was curious as to why she'd spoken with her mum.

We return to John Watson three days later, who is mopping the front of his robe, while gaping at the ridiculous headlines. He had seen many headlines mentioning him and his friend, but he had never seen this - "Infamous detective Sherlock Holmes engaged to pathologist Molly Hooper."