As Above, As Below
Three Months Ago
Molly Hooper sat at her small kitchen table, eyes focused on the swirls on the wood. She noticed that there were several places the wood had chipped and the polish had dulled. She should really get a new table. She leaned back in her chair and there was a slight creak. Molly sighed, she had been so busy with her work that she barely had time to renovate her flat, and now she was fairly certain half of her furniture was in need of replacement.
Not that her working hours at Bart's were inhumanely long, Molly mused. She could easily have taken time off or leave early, letting her assistants to tidy up after her. But Molly was fastidious by nature; she loathed leaving the autopsy half done, even if the only work left was sewing up the cadaver. But, Molly mused, the main reason she was barely having time to anything relatively social (Not that she was social to begin with, but she missed going out with her best friends once in a while) was because of a certain ( Well, technically, the World's only but let's not stroke his already over large ego) consulting detective. The very same consulting detective, who was supposed to be dead, disgraced and the very same one who made her heart skip a couple of beats every time he entered her lab.
The very same consulting detective who was now hollering (yes hollering) her name from her bedroom, sounding like the world was ending.
Molly sighed again and slipped off her chair. "Sherlock, what is it this time?" She said tiredly. He had only been kipping at her place for two days and already she was thinking that Doctor Watson deserved a medal.
Or a sainthood. Or both.
"Get me new clothes. I can't wear these. They are atrocious and Mycroft is finding a sick sort of pleasure at the thought of me wearing these. I cannot give that fat git the satisfaction."
"Sherlock for the last ti-EEK!" Molly having finally reached her bedroom doorway, more or less fell on
the floor in shock, having been treated to the wonderful (oh and was it wonderful) sight of Sherlock Holmes standing at the foot of her bed, hair damp from his shower and wearing nothing but her little blue towel, wound along his thin waist.
Sherlock seemed absolutely untroubled by her reaction, or by his state of undress. "Look at this!" He continued, brandishing a grey colored graffiti t-shirt in her direction, "This t-shirt, why does it say 'Randomosity'? That isn't even a word!"
"It's an urban saying Sherlock." Molly said, picking herself up from the floor, "It's supposed to be hip."
"I don't want hip! Just because I'm supposed to be dead and disgraced doesn't mean I have to forego dignity in the name of disguise!"
Molly attempted to look serious, even though she was fighting the urge to giggle (Sherlock looked adorable sometimes, even when he was frustrated) "Sherlock, you said that the art of disguise is hiding in plain sight. And if you walk around in Westwood or Spencer Hart, people are bound to look twice at you. These are your best chance on walking around unnoticed, without the need for elaborate disguises."
"Mycroft told you to say that, didn't he?"
Molly flushed scarlet, embarrassed at being caught. She refused to back down; however, "The car will be here in half an hour. Please, Sherlock, get dressed."
She made to walk out (she wanted to get out of that room as quickly, she couldn't trust herself to stay in the same room with a half-naked Sherlock Holmes without any guarantees that she wouldn't jump him.) when Sherlock called her back, "Molly…I…Could you make tea? John used to make tea before we left on a case."
Molly smiled, her heart going out to the detective. Or what was left of the heart she had already given to him since the day he walked into the morgue for the first time, "Of course Sherlock."
"And Earl Gray. Not that disgusting packaged tea."
Molly decided that if she killed him; people would never find the body.
Molly had been immersed in a Glee marathon when there was an insistent knock on her door. Scowling because she had been looking forward to an evening with absolutely no interruptions, she reached her door, fully expecting her I-am-to-lazy-to-go-to-the-shops-and-would-like-to-live-off-of-your-tea-and-sugar neighbor. She didn't bother opening the door, just shouting "Tea or sugar?" through the closed doorway.
"Neither, Ms. Hooper, though tea would be lovely. Please open the door; it is of the highest importance."
The cold clipped voice; even though she had only heard if a few times, could only belong to Mycroft Holmes. Heart thudding, as a visit from Mycroft would mean news about Sherlock, she wrenched open the door with much force.
Something small with a dark curly mop of hair bounded into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.
"I…um…Hello." She said, awkwardly patting said mop of hair, once she regained her footing. The boy looked up from where he was attached to her legs, his tiny hands clutching at her pajama bottoms. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized he had a pair of very familiar and very unusual eyes. Wait, so that could only mean…
"No Ms. Hooper. I assure you he is not any spawn of my brother. He is my brother."
A/N: Yep. Felt like leaving it here, this being just the prologue. More to come soon! Kudos if you got the Artemis Fowl reference.
Also, no worries, I'll be updating "How to Keep Your Pathologist" pretty soon, as I'm feeling better. I just needed to write this one, being bitten by the plot bunny as I am.
I'm mainly writing this sorta AU story for my amusement, but please review! I love hearing your thoughts and let's face it…I live and breathe on your reviews.
Much love to NoveraDeMedici for being the Sherlock to my John, and to my drama queen friend, who has no idea I'm using his band's name as a title, so I just felt like acknowledging him.
So review and stay tuned!
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