Variations on a Scene
Aka - when Bloomy sees setlock and her brain goes into hyperdrive. I’ve got about 4 or 5 little vignettes floating around after the other day’s setlock goodies. I’ll post them all over the next few days.
Of course setlock spoilers. You have been warned.
Variations on a Scene - 1
“I hope Caitlin’s doing ok.”
“She’s fine,” Mary assured John.
Even though Sherlock had been sitting in the Watsons’ dining room for the better part of an hour as they scoured over plans to take down Sebastian Moran’s secret society, it was only in that moment he realised something was different.
The house was quiet.
The ever-present noise of the baby, her coos, gaas, whinges and whines had not once interrupted them.
Sherlock looked around for a moment.
“Where is your child?” He asked.
Mary didn’t look up for the map she was studying. “She’s downstairs with our new neighbour.”
Sherlock scoffed, “Wonderful parents you two - leaving a two day old in the hands of a stranger!”
John sighed. “Caitlin is two months old. And the neighbour isn’t a with stranger. She’s with someone we know quite well.”
“And you do too,” Mary added.
From the look on her face, the wry smile and the mischievous eyes, he knew without needing to be told.
Molly Hooper had gotten herself a new flat.
As much as he wasn’t ready to, he knew John and Mary wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t stop in to say hello to his goddaughter - even if she was with her godmother. And even if said godmother and he were not on the best of terms of late.
His hand hesitated as he knocked on the door.
Their last conversation didn’t go all that well.
Molly was standing on her own under an archway in the garden. The post-christening reception was winding up and most of the guests had begun to depart.
He wished he could join her. Have some kind of casual conversation, some safe ground rather then the slippery slope he kept finding himself on in front of her.
Falling from grace.
He didn’t know he was staring at her until she shook her head, and wide-eyed walked over to him.
“What are you doing?” She confused and annoyed.
“I was just wondering.”
“If you can even remember?”
“Remember back to when there was a time you were infatuated with me? Rather than holding me in cold contempt?”
“I was never infatuated with you!”
“I was infatuated with an act, a ploy, a persona. But then one night I met you. That is, the real you.”
They both knew the night she was referring to. A desperate plea in the dark. A promise to help. A declaration that she was the one he needed.
“And what does Molly Hooper think of the real Sherlock Holmes now?”
She studied him for a moment. And as much as he had perfected the art of deduction in his career, her face was a foreign landscape to him.
After a moment, she spoke.
“I love him.” Not what he was expecting to hear. A relief. One which was soon to be shattered by what she said next. “I do love Sherlock Holmes. But I’m not sure I like him.”
Pinching his eyes shut as if to click out the memory, he knocked twice on the White doorframe.
Molly opened the door, a sleeping Caitlin cradled in her arms.
“Sherlock!” She said his name with surprise - but not the surprise when one was happy with the outcome. More like surprise and shock which one used when they’d received bad news.
“I just- um-”
Seeing her had thrown him. In front of her he was no longer the consulting detective. He was just a man.
Worse, a man who had disappointed someone whose good opinion he never realised he treasured until it was lost.
Molly turned impatient at his silence.
“I just got her to sleep.” She said, her voice hushed.
“Oh, then I’d better go.”
He cast a look over the pair, godmother and goddaughter, before heading back up the stairs - leaving a bemused Molly behind.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped and turned. There was something else he wanted to say.
“Molly.” He spoke through the door.
She opened it again.
“What is it?”
“It’s just - Caitlin.”
“What about her?” Molly peered down, examining the baby in her arms to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully.
“I just wanted to say - she suits you.”
He turned and left. Behind him, he hoped he’d made her smile.
Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock Holmes was becoming the kind of man that Molly Hooper could like.