i love mike stamford

i find it hilarious that mike stamford didn’t attend john’s wedding though like they were good mates john went out to pubs with him (or at least he wrote so on his blog) and then mike just didn’t come? like i don’t know things but i think it may, just may have something to do with the fact that he knew sherlock was a perfect match for john and then john just went and married someone else and mike was like “fuck it all my cupid work for nothing”

Love At First Slight

Here’s my Mike Stamford story… I love Mike. Anyhoo, big thanks to @mizjoely for betaing this and to @mrsmcrieff for her Brit help. If you’d prefer to read it on the sites you can find it on FF.net or AO3. Thanks so much. ~Lil~

Mike Stamford sat at his desk reading the wedding invitation he’d just received in his email. It was a bit unorthodox, but so was the couple.

~You are cordially invited to the wedding of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Margaret Hooper (She wouldn’t let me include her middle name on the invitation. It’s truly awful though, I don’t blame her) 10th September, 2016 at 6pm.~

~You will receive coded information as to the location of our nuptials at a later date. This information is classified and will only be shared with you once you’ve clicked accept. In doing so you have entered into a binding agreement and are subject to penalties including but not limited to, imprisonment and deportation should you share the location of our venue with anyone outside your plus one.~

~We are registered at Harrods and Fisher Scientific Supply under the Smith and Smith wedding. We hope you will be in attendance.~

Laughing to himself, he clicked accept, then let his mind drift to his earliest memories of the soon-to-be Holmes’. He wondered if anyone else knew about their first meeting. He doubted it. Of course everyone knew about Molly’s long-standing crush on the detective, but it didn’t start out quite that way…

“Listen,” Mike said as he practically jogged to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides. “While you were away in Yemen playing 007 with your brother, I hired a new pathologist. Dr. Molly Hooper. She’s young, she’s bright, she’s…”

“Stop!” Sherlock interrupted. “Let me deduce the rest.”

“No! That’s what I’m getting at. I won’t have you upsetting her or worse, scaring her off.”

“She’s a pathologist, Mike. I doubt she’s easily frightened,” Sherlock argued as they rounded the corner.

They’d finally reached the morgue and Mike was a little out of breath. “Didn’t say she was. But you and your constant need to be right all the time might just…”

“Don’t make the new girl cry, got it.” Sherlock gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

Mike rolled his eyes and silently asked for strength as they entered. They found Molly Hooper, a bone saw in one hand and half of a femur in the other, hunched over a corpse. Her protective clothing was spattered with blood, a look of concentration on her face. She looked up and glanced at Sherlock then saw Mike.

“Oh, Mike, I’m glad you’re here. Look at what I found.” She focused her attention back on the body on the slab. “The bullet entered his right shoulder, traveled through his body missing miss all major organs, only to sever the femoral artery causing him to bleed out. If he’d been anywhere other than that abandoned warehouse… I believe he would have lived. Fascinating, isn’t it?” She had never once looked away from the corpse during her explanation. “I want to do a study on the trajectory pattern.”

Mike had been watching Sherlock during Molly’s speech. The man was riveted. His eyes had widened and… did his pupils dilate? He’d never seen the detective so taken-aback, for lack of a better term.

Molly put down the saw and continued her exam, still paying no attention Sherlock. Finally he seemed to regain his composure.

“That is fascinating Dr. Hooper, however will it help me find his killer?” Sherlock asked, in his classic Holemsian way.

She looked up, one hand busy digging a bullet out of the dead man’s quad muscle, the other steadying the leg. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.” He nodded his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

She smiled, then nudged her protective glasses further up on the bridge of her nose, smearing them with blood in the process. “Consulting detective?”

“Yes, the only one in the world. The police call on me when they’re in over their heads,” he said with a smirk as he walked around to the other side of the slab and looked at he body.

“You work for the police?” she asked.

With the police. It’s an important distinction.”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Ah, you don’t play well with others. Got it.” She put her attention back on the leg.

Sherlock bristled at her comment. “No. You see…”

“No, really, I get it.” She triumphantly held up a bloody bullet. “Ah ha! Will this help you find the killer, Mr. Holmes?”

“Possibly,” he said as he lowered his head to get a better look at the projectile held between her gloved fingers. “I’ll need…”

“A forensic analysis of the bullet? Yes. Mike did tell you that I’m a pathologist, right?” She gestured to her bloody clothes. “This isn’t a fashion statement.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak to her, then turned to Mike. “I have everything I need… for now. I have to return to Scotland Yard.” Then he marched out of the morgue.

Keep reading

I’m working on a story completely from Mike Stamford’s POV starting before ASiP. Mostly because I’m sad that I can’t got to 221B Con and I won’t get to see David Nellsit. : ( I reeeeally like him… a lot! A lot, a lot!

Here’s a tiny preview… there’s cursing! ~Lil~

“How long did you expect me to keep it in?” Sherlock asked as he paced.

“Keep what in?” Mike searched desk for some paracetamol as he listened to the detective. 

“My deductions! I met her three days ago. It was bound to happen!”

He paused his search and looked at Sherlock. “Oh my God! What have you done?” 

Sherlock stopped pacing and stood, hands on his hips, facing Mike. “Nothing… really. I deduced that she was an only child, top of her class, has only had one serious boyfriend.”

Mike checked the cupboard behind his desk, but found nothing to stop the ache in his head.  “Okay, not so bad…”

“And that she can blame her poor social skills and awkward sense of humor for her lack of acquaintances.”

“Why in God’s name…”

“And that pretending to be happy and perfect all the time won’t bring back her dead parents.”

“Shit!” He gave up searching and rubbed his temples.

“And that her trousers make her hips look larger than they are.”

“Holy shit!”

“What? That one was a compliment!” Sherlock argued. “You know what you have to do, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “But murdering you would take too much energy.”

Sherlock actually laughed. “That would be wildly ambitious of you, Mike.”

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