Disclaimer: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though.

Summary: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change.

Important AN at bottom. It's a long one too, but important-ish. You guys are awesome and I love you. So so so much. Also, this may be my worst mistake in writing, I'll let you be the judge of that. Reviews as always are greatly appreciated. YOU ARE ALL AWESOME. SERIOUSLY AWESOME. Hope you enjoy! What I would give to have these two men in my life. Yahtzee!

When it all Begins


When Molly Hooper was a young girl, her mother died in an automobile accident. It was a horrible accident, the metal of the automobile twisted and churned and the smell of gasoline and blood filled the air. Her mother, for all her strength and love, died instantly.

However; the young girl in the back seat, survived.

Her father, as much as he loved her and was grateful beyond words that she was alive, fell into depression. The loss of his wife ate at his heart and Molly, despite being young was also intuitive, knew that her father would send her away so he could deal with his depression without exposing Molly to it.

She found out she was going to America.

Molly wailed and railed against her father. She begged and pleaded and told him that she could take care of him. She would take care of him. Everything else be damned because he's her father and she's his daughter and they just lost the one woman who made sense.

Her father broke down and sobbed. He told her that he needed time. He begged her to believe in him and that she would come home as soon as he was better. "Your uncle is a good man. You'll be safe with him."

And so, Molly Hooper boarded a plane to America. She slept throughout the entire flight.

When she awoke, she was in Gotham City.

Alfred Pennyworth is her mother's elder brother. He served in the Special Air Service for quite some time and later became wounded. It was from there, as the story has been told, that Thomas Wayne hired Alfred to be their butler.

Molly knows all of this. She always knew all of this. Despite living on two separate continents, her uncle Alfred would call every day. Every day for one hour, she would hold the phone to her ear and talk to her uncle. Her mother would wipe her hands on a dishtowel and smile, all the while grabbing the phone and telling Molly to finish her homework.

Personally, Molly always thought her uncle was better than being just a butler. But she didn't say anything.

Her uncle and Thomas Wayne met her at the airport. She recognized her uncle at once. Her mother would always show her pictures but it was evident from where she was standing that both Pennyworth siblings shared the same eyes.

"Uncle Alfie!" Molly yelled. She ran through the crowd of people, her backpack slapping against her back. As soon as her uncle bent down, Molly jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head in between the crook of his shoulder. She couldn't stop the tears then. Her uncle smelled of soap and cinnamon, a smell that reminded her of her late mother.

Her uncle pulled his head away from her and gave her a sad smile. "You look just like your mother did when she was your age." He set her down on the ground and she clung to his leg. "Molly, love, this is Master Wayne."

Thomas Wayne is ridiculously handsome, Molly decides. He has a soft smile and gentle eyes. He crouches down until he's at eye level with her. "I am very sorry for your loss Molly. From what Alfred has told me, your mother was a very special woman. I want you to know that Wayne Manor will be your house for as long as you would like it to be." He looks up at Alfred and his smile quirks upward, "you're among family here."

Molly turns her head and smiles shyly at him. "Thank you Mr. Wayne."

"Father!" A boy, a couple years older than herself, says, "she has a funny accent."

"I do not!" Then she frowns, "who're you?"

"Molly," her uncle says gently, "this is young Master Wayne. He's Mr. and Mrs. Wayne's son."

He crinkles his nose. He has light brown hair and brown eyes and has his father's nose. "I'm Bruce." He sticks out his hand and Molly bites her lip staring at it.

She places her small hand in his.

(The rest, as they say, is history.)

She's in the lab, a few days after Christmas (she winces just thinking about it) and she can almost still feel the remnants of her hangover. (Yes, the first thing she did when she got back to her flat was get completely and absolutely blitzed. Then she made the mistake of picking up her phone and calling Bruce. She spewed out the entire story in between sobs and promptly passed out. Bruce was livid.)

As the results of one of the tests spit out of the printer, Molly sighs and looks them over. She glances at Maude, a younger lab technician, and hands her the paper. "Can you get that over to Doctor Saunier, please? He's expecting it and it's quite urgent."

Maude smiles. "Sure. Do you mind if I take my lunch? I'm starved and I need a cig real bad."

Molly waves her off and then turns back to her table, fingers moving nimbly over beakers and test tubes. She doesn't even hear the thud of a duffle bag, falling to the floor, she doesn't hear the footsteps of the person behind her, but she most certainly notices when two arms wrap around her waist and when cold lips press against her jaw in a greeting kiss. She sould have screamed, and she rightfully would have screamed if she didn't recognize the hands. They're larger than hers, more callused from fighting and there are familiar scars on his hands (scars that she's traced with her fingertips time and time before.)

"Have you given up on me yet?" He asks her. His voice is gravelly and rough and if Molly weren't so completely and tragically in love with a man who will never notice her, who will never see her, she would have shivered.

As it stands, she grins, twirls around and throws her arms around his neck. "Never." She replies instantly, "You're stuck with me." It's how they start and end every conversation they've ever had. A reinforcement of their relationship and the depths they'd go to for each other. "You're here. You're really here." Then she frowns. "Wait…why are you here?"

"You called me a few days ago, remember?"

As if I can forget. "Not my most spectacular moment."

"I had to convince Alfred to stay in Gotham. Your uncle is very determined to beat Sherlock Holmes into the ground." His arms tighten around her waist. "How are you?"

"I should be asking you that." And she really should. She knows this year has been hell on him. She knows everything he's been through and it tore her apart to be so far away from him. They hadn't had contact in nearly seven years, not since the phone call that will forever be ingrained in her mind from him telling her that he's be going off grid. She's spent her entire life worrying about the man in front of her and knows she'll spend the rest of it worrying even more.

"Show me what you're working on." He likes science. He likes watching her work. He's always liked watching her work.

And despite the fact that she has a dozen questions that he'll likely avoid, she turns back around and picks up where she left off, this time talking aloud.

They'll take breaks and she'll giggle about a memory that will suddenly come to mind and he'll pull her closer, reassuring himself that she's here and she's whole and she's semi-happy.

Then the lab doors open and Sherlock bloody Holmes blows her entire world to bits.


"Sherlock," John says, trying to match the taller man's strides, "maybe you should call and–"

"I never call. Why should I start now?"

Because you completely one hundred percent thrashed her heart not even a few days ago, you insensitive git. "Because it's the polite thing to do."


Dear Lord, John doesn't even know why he bothers anymore. He sends up a silent prayer hoping that the petite pathologist isn't in the lab. It's not that John doesn't want to see her, he does. He likes Molly. He thinks Molly is great. He just doesn't think he can take the heartbreak anymore. He's not like Sherlock, he feels things. Like empathy.

He contemplated asking Molly out once. Of course, that thought was smashed away when he realized that she only had eyes for Sherlock. He figures its not a fleeting crush either, because John doesn't know any woman willing to stick around after a man insults her so thoroughly and constantly. It's love then, at least on her part.

Most definitely unrequited and John knows how much that type of love hurts. Lucille Baldwin. He remembers her. He loved her once when he was just a teenager. Of course, she fell in love with his sister Harry and look how splendid that relationship turned out. Life was never fair to John Watson.

He's contemplating asking Molly to join an Unrequited Love Club where they can drink until they can't see and bitch until their voices grow hoarse when he suddenly slams into the back of one Consulting Detective.

They're in the lab, hmm, when did we get into the lab? And Sherlock is staring straight ahead, he moves to Sherlock's side and looks up at him, while dusting his jacket. He's about to ask why he suddenly stopped and why he's not saying anything until he gets a look at his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrow and one look at his hands tells John that he's fisting them tightly.

Then he glances up and he lets out (a rather undignified, this he will admit) squeak.

John will be the first to admit that he doesn't like America. He's met more than enough American men and women to have the fact solidified and he's never been one to be star struck, but there is something about Bruce Wayne that leaves him…speechless. Not that he thought he'd ever have to worry about that.

Turns out he was wrong.

And Molly Hooper has some serious explaining to do because John cannot under any circumstances understand why Bruce Wayne, of all people in this world, has his arms wrapped around Molly's waist and is holding her to him like she's his lifeline.

And she's holding him back.

One look at Sherlock's white knuckles tells him that none of this can be good.

So, in total, this will probably be anywhere from a three part to five part fic. It is also the definition of a crack fic. I think. Maybe not. Also, look forward to more and more memories on all parties involved (not John, he'll stay blissfully ignorant. Lol). Future chapters will definitely be a bit longer. Also, Molly knows about Batman. How, you might ask? Because she's Molly. Everything will be explained in due time, I promise you!

Timeline for this is after that Christmas, before New Years for Sherlock. (You bet your bottom dollar I'm putting in a New Year's Eve gala in there somewhere, it's too hard not to pass up!). Also, this is after Batman Begins but before The Dark Knight. Do I have any idea where this came from? NO. (Watch as I laugh hysterically.) This will probably be the craziest thing I ever write. Seriously. However, I have the ending in mind already and hopefully it'll work out. Dear Lord, someone stop me. RIGHT NOW.

Just a quick little note: I like Americans. I really do. So don't take what John says in offense, none of the opinions are mine, just purely for the story.

Also: Bruce Wayne is going to be a bit OOC. He's causing me some trouble, that billionaire playboy asshole. JK I LOVE HIM! The reason for this is because he knows Molly. He's known Molly since they were kids and they've bonded and he's a bit different when he's with her and it's vice versa. Alfred will appear through phone calls and Skype, which if everything goes according to plan, will be quite funny. Maybe. It probably won't, lol.

Tell me what you all think! Is it good? Is it bad? Should I take it down and not ever write anything like this again? Let me know! Reviews are greatly appreciated. In fact I love them. Like I love you guys. Seriously. Love. Love. Love.

I'll stop now. Seriously.

Thanks again and much love!

P.S. Who wants a Bruce Wayne snarky-goading-billionaire-playboy vs. Sherlock Holmes verbal smackdown? Because it's coming. Like in the next chapter. And future ones. Chapters may be sporadic in coming because I really really need to restart my brain on my Thor fic that I've been ignoring for this fandom. I can't help it. Sherlolly is my OTP! LOL