Sherlock BBC fanfic
Molly Hooper was the kind of person that spent her life unnoticed. Well no, that wasn't precisely true. A girl with a job like hers couldn't go completely unnoticed, not with all the cops and bosses that needed her work. Rather, she was unnoticed unless someone needed something from her. Other than that, she was just kind of there. There was nothing wrong with that, she guessed, and she'd gotten used to it a while ago, but it did get a little depressing when it took Sherlock three months to start calling her "Molly" instead of "you there."
The hospital was okay. The hours were atrocious, but Molly liked being kept busy. It kept her from having to talk to too many people, and it kept her mind off of other things. But it wasn't a home. She didn't really know anybody there beyond name and job description. Not that her actual home was much better. An empty apartment where you spent your evenings alone couldn't really be called a home.
But the weekend somehow made everything better.
Molly was working on a murder victim that Saturday, one of Sherlock's cases. Male, mid forties, not a scratch on him, signs of recent heart failure. She'd nearly ruled it a heart attack, but Sherlock had insisted it was murder, so here she was on her day off, trying to find a cause of death for a heart attack victim. And who's fault is that? a little voice in her head asked. You could have said no.
But, sadly enough, she couldn't. She never could say no to Sherlock Holmes. He was rude and tactless, but when he needed something from her he could be perfectly charming. Quite honestly, he didn't even need to be. She was almost embarrassed of how desperate to please him she was. Molly often wondered what is said about her life that her last boyfriend had been a psychotic murderer and the man she that had a hopeless crush on was a sociopath. Or so he claimed.
She was leaning over the victim, methodically checking over his neck for the needle puncture Sherlock seemed sure would be there. The great detective himself was gone. Apparently he'd popped out to yell at Lestrade about something. John Watson was still there though, to Molly's surprise. She'd almost thought the doctor was stuck to Sherlock's shadow. The coroner didn't really know Sherlock's flatmate that well, but he'd seemed polite enough the few times they did speak.
beep beep beep
Startled, Molly fumbled around in her pocket until her hand brushed against her phone. She pulled it out, stiffening when it showed her the time. Oops. The coroner shut off the alarm and turned to Dr. Watson. "Hey, umm, I have somewhere I need to be. Would you mind letting Sherlock know I've gone?" She suddenly found herself immensely grateful that Sherlock wasn't still here. He'd have found a way to convince her to stay. He always did.
John looked up from his coffee in surprise. The expression quickly softened to a smile. "Sure, of course." His gaze flitted to the corpse. "I can clean up here if you need to get going. I used to work here, I'm sure they won't mind."
Molly paused in her frantic attempts to get her paperwork sorted away, looking up at the doctor in surprise. She'd never really given John Watson much thought before. Somehow she'd just assumed that anyone who Sherlock could put up with long-term - and vice versa - had to be as rude and abrasive as he was. She hadn't expected him to be so normal. "Oh, uh, thanks." She managed a quick smile through her surprise, then turned back to getting her stuff together.
A quick cab ride got Molly back to her flat. A beat-up old tote bag waited in a corner near the door; she slipped the familiar weight onto her shoulder and left hurriedly. It took a while to hail the next cab, and by the time it got there Molly was getting worried. It'd be starting soon, and she'd really hate to be late.
Thankfully, the cabbie that finally picked her up was one of those drive-like-a-maniac-so-I-can-get-a-tip types. Slightly shaky from the alarming drive, Molly was dropped off with five minutes left to spare. Not much time, but she'd worked with less than that before.
As she approached the building, Molly glanced up at the sign above the door. In big silver letters, the words "The Silver Rose Ice Rink" were displayed in elegant cursive. The familiar sight wrestled a smile from the stressed coroner, and she entered the rink with the air of someone shedding their problems.
"Ah, hello there Miss Molly." The booming voice greeted her from across the lobby. The speaker, a heavy-set man with a friendly grin, sat behind the check-in desk. "Almost thought you wouldn't make it. Your session starts in five minutes." He chuckled at his own joke. Molly's attendance was regular as clockwork, and he knew that.
Molly smiled as she crossed over to the desk, setting her bag on one of available benches as she passed. "Just got out of work," she explained as she dug into her wallet. "One session, please."
The man typed her attendance into the computer and took her offered money with a chuckle. "Always nice to see you Molly."
"Thanks, Mike." Molly sat next to her stuff, grateful that there was a bench available this time. All around her figure skaters of different ages were milling about, taking their skates on or off or chatting with their friends. The relaxed atmosphere at the rink, so different from the professional bustle of the hospital, always served to take away from the stress of Molly's life, if only for a while.
The coroner pulled her figure skates out of the old tote bag. The white leather surface was marred by scuff marks and nicks. All the signs of the last year of wear. Still, there was a few months' good use left in them. Molly pulled her skates on and laced them up with practiced ease. There was a comforting familiarity to it. The stiff support the boots offered, the cool air of the lobby, the slight increase in height thanks to her blades. Funny, after having skated for so long, she had better balance walking on thin blades of metal than in regular shoes.
Soon as her skates were on, Molly made her way out to the rink itself. A rush of chilly air accosted her as she opened the door, turning her breath into a pale mist. The zamboni* had just gotten off, leaving a smooth, shiny surface behind it. No one had gotten on the ice yet.
Most people probably think ice is a shiny, glittery white like ice cubes, or a pale blue like in cartoons. Molly knew better. It was a dull mix of blues, browns, and whites that came out looking like some shade of gray. The newly smoothed surface reflected the shine of the overhead lights. In these moments, before the skaters came and scarred the surface with long white scratches, there was nothing more beautiful.
Molly let the stiffness that her stressful week had lent her roll off her body as she stepped out onto the ice. She grinned, her chuckle letting out a cloud of white fog. This may not be the rink that she had grown up skating in, and the friends that had once skated with her may not be here. They were all miles away in the country. But it was an ice rink. Here, on the ice, Molly Hooper was in total control. She was powerful. There was absolutely nothing like the feeling of pushing off of the ice, propelling herself forward faster than anyone can run.
Molly pushed forward, her blade carving a perfect white scar into the ice. She was home.
Yeah I know, I really, really shouldn't be starting a new story, what with already juggling four of them, but this is going to be a really short one, four chapters at most.
I got this idea today while I was at my local figure skating rink. I think I've mentioned before that I'm a skater, have been for the last eight years. It suddenly hit me that Molly seems like the type to be a figure skater. I have absolutely no idea why, except she's kind of shy like me, and I always feel my most comfortable at the rink, so I figured she'd feel at home there. As stated, this will be a very short story. If there are any figure skating terms that I think will be unknown to the non-skater, I'll mark them in the story and define them below here. Let me know if I don't define something you don't understand.
Oh, and the rink Molly skates at is fictional. Just so you know.
* Zamboni - ice resurfacing machine. Basically it looks like a big truck of sorts that can drive on the ice. It releases water onto the ice, which then freezes and forms a smooth new surface.