Molly Hooper is quite a fan of the Sherlock Holmes books. What happens when she meets her fictional hero? Join Molly as she gets an outsider's view of the Consulting Detective's life.
(A BBC Sherlock AU fiction || All Rights Reserved)
After spending the greater part of three days in the morgue, Molly Hooper was sick of silence. Feeling grumpy, she turned on the stereo before running a hot bath for herself. It was unusually cold for August. An hour later, she was tucked in bed with one of her favourite books. Running her hand over the cover in languid reverence, Molly thumbed to the first chapter and began reading. It was all too easy to fall into the vivid world that Conan Doyle had painted over a century ago.
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A familiarity settled over her as Watson and Stamford conversed over lunch, her stomach lurched when he was introduced to Sherlock Holmes and then came the giddy excitement at the detective's eccentricities. Despite her enthusiasm, her eyelids drooped as she moved on to the next chapter and she soon gave in to sleep.
...
The hospital floor was quiet – unusually so – when Molly went to work the next day. Going into the lab, she noted that it was deserted save for someone in the far corner. All she could see was a mop of curly dark hair over by the microscopes that shed no light on the gender of the stranger. Who was he or she? As she tiptoed closer, broad shoulders revealed themselves, tapering down a straight back to narrow hips. The man was skinny, and, noting the obvious masculinity of his form, Molly wondered how she had ever thought he could have been a she. Maybe it was the hair.
"Excuse me, but who are you?" she asked uncertainly.
He turned his head partly, giving her a once-over before he turned back. She caught his pale eyes and high cheekbones. "Sherlock Holmes," he said curtly, his tone not inviting further conversation.
"Excuse me?"
The man – Sherlock – didn't answer.
"As far as I know, Sherlock Holmes is a c-character in a b-book. Which is in my locker," Molly stuttered, a blush spreading over her cheeks.
He looked at her as though she were off her rocker - which she probably was. "I assure you I'm quite real," he said pointedly.
"Were you named after him?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Silence would be appreciated."
Molly shut up before she did something to embarrass herself further. Excusing herself, she hurried to the locker room. Fumbling for the keys, she managed to open hers and rummage through the contents with shaking hands.
