questionable skils

penaltywaltz  asked:

Sherlolly prompt: Molly and Sherlock's up until now secret relationship has become public and the tabloid press hasn't been kind to Molly. Sherlock hasn't seen or spoken to her all day and he's worried she's not handling it well, but her reaction surprises her. Bonus if Kitty Riley is involved, either in person or not!

Damn, I had fun with this. Thanks for the prompt, penaltywaltz

There was a reason why these things were kept silent.

Sherlock gnashed his teeth at the barrage of people crowding around Barts. It was solid wall of reporters, with their cameras, and their absolutely disgusting lack of morals. Sherlock decided that he hated blackmailers, reporters, and serial killers in that order. At least serial killers had a moral code of conduct.

“My God,” muttered John.

“Please don’t call out the name of the supposedly all-powerful,” sneered Sherlock. “It would be wasted on this rabble.”

“Sherlock,” said John. “Are you sure she’s taking it well?”

“I don’t know,” said Sherlock. “She hasn’t been answering her phone, she hasn’t been replying to texts, and she’s been in the morgue all the damn day.”

“Well, we’ll fight through this lot,” said John. “Greg’s on his way, too.”

“Tell Graham to get rid of the people at the back as well. She has enough on her plate with Moriarty just defeated.”

“You go on,” said John, as if he hadn’t heard what Sherlock said.

Sherlock steeled his nerves, and strode forward, to be nearly blinded by the flashlights.

“Mr. Holmes, does Miss Hooper know about Miss Matthews?”

“Mr. Holmes, do you tax Miss Hooper sexually?”

“Mr. Holmes, when did you two get together?”

“Mr. Holmes, was this a romance in dire circumstances?”

“Mr. Holmes, are you, Mr. Watson and Miss Hooper in it together?”

The last one almost got a scathing retort back.

Sherlock knew why he had been keeping his relationship with Molly a secret now. It wasn’t because of the dangerous criminals, the fact that John couldn’t stop staring at them like they were two very wild monkeys, or the fact that Mary had burst out laughing. It was because of the press.

Moriarty’s death had been carefully orchestrated. Molly was, once again, key in the plans. And this time, he had asked more from her than anyone else.

Careful in the kidnapping, extraordinarily skilful during questioning, Molly Hooper once again proved her superiority to the human race in general, and even to Sherlock Holmes. Molly’s part in the whole thing was so carefully questioned, that she might have given in, if not for their very voracious sexual appetites.

No one could blame Sherlock for kissing Molly soundly before she left to be kidnapped by Moriarty. It was inevitable, and almost a relief. And as Molly said, the endorphins from their sex that time helped her make it through the ordeal.

But Molly’s expertise lay in fighting off crime-lords, in autopsies, and kissing Sherlock. They didn’t lie in facing the press.

A day of a silent Molly never boded well for Sherlock. He was extremely used to prompt replies from her. He was used to her coffee, he was used to her cooking, and he was even used to her cat. He was used to kissing her in the mornings, he was used to quick romps in the supply closets, and he was used to talking, non-stop, about his cases, while she listened bemusedly.

And as he elbowed through the crowd, burst through the hospital and headed for the morgue, he felt a very familiar grip of fear. He didn’t want to loose Molly. She could stick with him through the Consulting Criminal and his moods, she could live with him despite him never being worthy of her, but Sherlock could never, ever, escape the nagging thought that she would leave and he won’t be able to find an adequate reason for her to stay.

“Molly!” said Sherlock, striding in.

The Morgue was empty, and Sherlock’s heart was in his throat.

The door of Molly’s office swung open, and a slightly absent minded Molly Hooper walked in, staring at chart.

“Oh, Sherlock!” she said, with a grin. “Hi! What brings you here? It’s not my lunch hour, and I’m too busy for anything else.”

“You haven’t replied to my texts,” said Sherlock, after a pause.

“Sorry, my phone’s been in my office,” she said. “I was not really concentrating on it. Did you know, a guy came in with one of the strangest cases of frying? It’s brilliant. He was cooking something, and everything went mad. I’ve spent all day with his samples.”

Sherlock was briefly stunned. This was followed by an immediate interest in whatever Molly was speaking of.

“- and his brain looks like a large chicken nugget,” finished Molly happily.

“Molly, what about the press?”

“What?” asked Molly, blinking.

“The press,” Sherlock’s fear was turning into amusement. He smiled. “You know. The one at your doorstep. Asking me whether or not you, me, and John are engaging in a bit of fun?”

“Oh, that one!” said Molly, blinking rapidly again. She grinned mischievously, and blushed. “I told them that you and I were star crossed lovers from another planet, and it’s really weird that we met in this life, since we’d met approximately four lives back.”

“Really?” asked Sherlock, his smile twitching.

“I told another one that I was actually an undercover spy and that my hair colour was originally red, like hers,” said Molly, being as affable about it as possible.

“Like hers?” prodded Sherlock.

“This woman. Said she knew you. Some Kitty Riley – and I was like, ‘well, you can’t have known him, either people know him as a figure on the street, or they are best friends.’ And She says to me, ‘yes, I knew him better than anybody else.’ This sort of made me laugh, and she’s just looking at me. I launch into that spy story, and then I jump into the details of poor Mr. Fries here. I even give her spy details of other missions, in Germany and Spain and all. I don’t know if she believed me or not. I certainly had her hooked. It was really fun.”

Sherlock did everything he could to restrain himself. Molly grinned at him again, pushing her glasses up her nose, and Sherlock decided that Mr. Fries be damned, he really had to kiss her right now.