From the prompt list: 30. The Bank for Sherlolly. Perhaps a bank hostage situation?
So, I answered this fic prompt for @mel-loves-all‘s request for a Sherlolly fic towards my 950th Sherlock fic. It’s pre-ship with them about to go out on a date at the end, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
A Most Unexpectedly Eventful Day - Molly and Sherlock walk into a bank that is being robbed, and it immediately turns Molly’s day of errands into something else entirely.
“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Molly said, her sentence ending in a huff as she reached for the handle to the door of her bank. Honestly, she didn’t know Sherlock was with her while she was running errands, but he seemed to be wanting to do something else instead and frankly, she’d rather have him leave than complain for one more minute.
“Well, I’m bored, and you were the only one doing anything interesting today,” he said as he followed her into the building.
“You aren’t acting like you’re finding it interesting,” Molly said, and then she stilled. Something was wrong. It only took her another minute to notice the man by the door with the gun who most certainly was not a security guard. “Sherlock…”
“Yes, I see,” he murmured. “This day certainly has become interesting.”
The man came over and motioned for Sherlock and Molly to join the other bank patrons sitting in a group by the deposit and withdrawal slips. Molly walked over slowly, doing everything Sherlock and Greg and Sally had taught her when entering a hostile situation. She had the feeling Sherlock was doing the same thing, but she doubted they would be able to converse.
Fortunately, in their boredom when Sherlock couldn’t sleep when he used her flat as a bolthole, BSL was something they were both proficient in. Sherlock had decided he needed another language to learn and that was one Mycroft hadn’t mastered, but it wasn’t easy practicing it without someone else who could translate. Molly had been proficient since she had a hearing impaired roommate in uni, someone who was still one of her best friends in the whole world, and so she taught him. It seemed as though now it would be put to good use.
They sat, hands in their laps, and Molly glanced every time she saw a quick movement of Sherlock’s hands. He would duck his head down slightly for any signs that involved touching his face, and he was careful not to do much to draw attention to him. But the message was clear: unless violence erupts, observe and do nothing.
She paid close attention to the armed man she could see. He was short and squat, not really the type of person she would envision committing such a robbery. If running from the police was involved, she barely doubted he’d make it to the end of the block, if the wheezing sound he made every time he inhaled was any indication. And she could see when he got close enough that his eyes were jaundiced. He might not even survive the end of the robbery for all she knew.
“You’re ill,” she said without thinking, getting wide eyes from Sherlock.
“Shut up,” he said in a Liverpool accent.
“I’m a doctor,” she said. “Your eyes and what skin I can see is jaundiced, and you’re wheezing. Can you breathe?”
The man swung the gun at her, but he didn’t put his finger on the trigger. “What are you talking about?”
“Your liver. You have problems with your liver. It could be cancer…pancreatic or perhaps small cell lung cancer,” Molly said.
He barked out a laugh. “Why do you think I’m robbing a bank? Even with free healthcare, it’s too expensive to die.”
“Hey!” a shout came from the back of the bank. “We’re good.”
The man nodded and then headed back to where the voice had come from. Molly looked over at Sherlock, and then the others. “Is there anyone else here?”
“Two men, in the back,” a man in a suit said. “They all had guns and they managed to get the taser off the security guard.”
“No surveillance set up?” Sherlock asked. He was answered by a round of shaken heads. “Then en masse, head to the door and leave.”
Molly watched as the group stood up, almost as one person, and ran to the doors. Sherlock was not among them. “Sherlock?”
“Just need to do one thing,” he said.
“You die today, so help me, I’ll start practicing the dark arts to resurrect you and kill you again,” she said.
He looked at her and then stood and headed towards the door with Molly close on his heels. Once outside, he pulled out his mobile and then pulled up a contact. At first, she thought it might be Greg, but then she realized it was his brother. After he finished that call, then he called Greg. Minutes later there was the sound of screeching tires coming down the alley and then a familiar black car pulled up to block the alley and two men in expensive suits got out, guns drawn. “I had assumed your usual detail was close at hand,” Sherlock said.
“I have an armed detail following me?” Molly asked, surprised.
“Ever since Jim from IT,” Sherlock said, looking at her as the sounds of sirens began to fill the air. “I did realize you were important before that Christmas, you know. You are my pathologist, and you…care.” He was quiet for a moment. “Would you really have brought me back from the dead to kill me all over again?”
“If you did something as idiotic as getting yourself killed, yes,” she said with an emphatic nod. “You’re important to me too.”
He reached over for her hand, surprising her. “Perhaps when we’re done giving our statements, we can postpone the rest of your errands for lunch? A lunch…date, I suppose.”
Molly moved closer, squeezing his hand. The day had taken a strange and sudden turn but, perhaps, it was for the best. “Lunch would be wonderful, Sherlock.” The smile on his face told him he saw the situation the same way.