The Consequences of Interfering
AN: A companion piece to Interfering. In which there is shouting, shenanigans, and Sherlolly. ❤
Greg thanked the angry Detective Sergeant and jotted the final notes in his pad before turning away. The clean-up crew were finishing up and one by one the Yarders were leaving the scene.
He sighed and tucked his pad into his inner pocket as he walked toward his car. It was going to be a long drive back to Scotland Yard.
He slid into the front seat, turned the car on, and peeled away from the curb.
‘So,’ he broke the silence as he merged onto the expressway. ‘What’s the story?’
In the backseat, Molly sat rigidly, her arms crossed tight and a scowl on her face. She glared at him in the rear mirror, sniffed, and then turned her face toward her window.
Next to her, hands cuffed behind his back (an appeasing act for the sake of the DS he had slugged upon the Yard’s arrival), Sherlock was sitting uncomfortably stiff and staring determinedly out his own window.
They were like two similarly-charged magnets, an invisible force pushing them away from the other.
Realising he wasn’t going to get an answer from either, Greg resigned himself to a long, silent ride.
That is, until Sherlock had to go and put his gigantic foot in his slightly smaller, yet still gigantic mouth.
‘I just don’t understand why you’re so upset.’
Greg grimaced. He’d been married long enough to know that no good would ever come of saying that.
Slowly, like something out of a horror movie, Molly’s head turned toward Sherlock. Her eyes were narrow slits and her lips were pulled back tight.
Was it just him or did the temperature in the car abruptly drop twenty degrees?
‘The Great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t understand something?’ Molly mocked. ‘Say it isn’t so?!’
Sherlock very nearly snarled, ‘Forgive me for not lowering myself to the average human’s intelligence level to discover the source of your irrational anger, but I’d rather not debase myself in that way.’
Greg considered pulling over for a moment and just kicking Sherlock out of the car. Let the idiot walk the forty kilometres back to Baker Street. Handcuffed.
But then Molly spoke. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Greg swore he saw smoke come out of her ears and nostrils. ‘You want to know why this average, stupid idiot is so angry?’
By the slightly panicked look on Sherlock’s face, it seemed the Great Detective had realised his misstep.
‘I’m angry because you,’ Molly poked him in the arm hard, ‘you great,’ poke, ‘big,’ poke, ‘pompous,’ poke poke poke, ‘neanderthal, were almost killed tonight! Who said you had to push me out of the way?! I can take care of myself! I’m not some bloody helpless damsel in distress!’
Sherlock had scrambled away from her and huddled in the corner of the seat. ‘Why the bloody hell are you upset? I saved your life, you should be grateful!’
‘Grateful that you almost got killed?!’ Molly shouted.
‘But I didn’t!’ Sherlock retorted. ‘And even if I had been, it would have been worth it to keep you safe!’
Molly glared at him, enraged. ‘I’m not important and I’m certainly not worth dying for!’
Sherlock eyes flashed in fiery rage. He sat up and leaned toward her, until they were almost nose to nose. ‘You have no right to say that, your life is invaluable to me!’
‘What makes my life so ‘invaluable’ to you?’ Molly spat. ‘Because I keep you in body parts?’
‘No!’ Sherlock denied it vehemently, red with anger.
‘Because I clean up after you, let you do whatever the hell you like in the lab?’
Furious didn’t even begin to describe Sherlock’s face by now. ‘No, Molly, just shut up-’
But Molly continued on, shouting to talk over Sherlock. ‘Because I’m convenient and a pushover, always on hand if John’s not available?!’
‘Because I love you, damn it!’ Sherlock bellowed.
‘Well, I love you, too!’ Molly shouted back.
They both fell into stunned silence.
His ears still ringing from the shouting match, Greg peered hesitantly in the mirror. They were staring at each other, faces blank as if processing what they had both said and heard.
Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to look out his window. ‘Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ he said disinterestedly.
Hurt flashed in Molly’s eyes before she turned her head away. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’
Greg silently cursed the Great Consulting Idiot. With a sigh, he propped his arm on the door’s ledge and rested his head against his hand. Still another twenty minutes to go. And if he thought the ride before the fight would be uncomfortable, after promised to be unbearable.
But then Sherlock said, ‘Obviously the next step is marriage.’
A chorus of horns erupted around them as Greg nearly ran them off the road in surprise. He straightened the car and met Sherlock’s amused gaze in the mirror.
His swerving had dislodged Molly, who had fallen against Sherlock. She had caught herself, one hand on his thigh and the other caught between them.
‘Really?’ She asked dubiously.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulder dispassionately, but even Greg could see the twinkle in his eye as a genuine smile spread across his face.
‘Oh, you stupid man!’ Molly declared and grabbed his cheeks, hauling him close to snog him thoroughly. An act to which Sherlock happily complied. Very happily.
Erm, okay, not wasting time then. Greg cleared his throat and determinedly did not look in the backseat, even as he pressed on the gas just a little harder.
He needed to get them to Baker Street before Sherlock managed to get out of those handcuffs.