John was obviously incredibly jealous over Sherlock and Janine’s fake relationship; Acting disgusted and shocked at them kissing, not being able to comprehend the fact that Sherlock has a girlfriend (he never says ‘You’re dating someone?’, he just keeps saying “girlfriend??”), and when Sherlock proposes…looking like he’s just had his heart ripped out. This is not normal over ‘just a friend’.
A/N: So, I made this into something similar to a head cannon. Unfortunately, I’ve been extremely busy with school and personal issues so it has taken me quite a long time to write, and it is not my best work. I apologize for that. But I still hope you enjoy it!
- Three years. You and Sherlock had been together for three years, and still it was impossible for the two of you to have a day just to yourselves. Even on your wedding anniversary. - Everything had started out pleasant. You and Sherlock had slept in a little, Sherlock even actually staying in bed to cuddle rather than running off to the kitchen to work on some experiments. - When you two finally did wake up, it took some convincing from you to get Sherlock to release you from his embrace so that you could make breakfast. - You were standing at the stove, fixing the sausage, wearing one of Sherlock’s button up shirts. Your hair was an absolute mess, pulled on top of your head, and you were padding around the kitchen in your bare feet (maybe not the best idea considering Sherlock had spilled a jar of eyes on the floor yesterday and you had made him clean it up instead of doing it yourself) - As you felt Sherlock’s arms wrap around your waist, his breath on your neck as he leaned in to leave soft kisses along it, there was loud banging at the door. - Sherlock groaned, tried ignoring it, but you chuckled and pushed him away towards the door. - A case. Always a case. Lestrade at least looked a little guilty asking this time. He knew today was special, he especially knew how important it was to you. But London needed the great Sherlock Holmes once again. - You kissed Sherlock on the cheek, pushing him out the door and assuring him you would see him later. - As you waited for Sherlock, you got ready for the day. You had bought a new dress last week while planning for your anniversary, and were excited for Sherlock to see it. It was a rather simple deep purple dress, but it was its simplicity that made it so elegant and awe-inspiring. - Six hours later and your husbands bounds into the flat, his white shirt and pale complexion ruined with the vibrant but ghastly splashes of fresh blood - After assuring you that it was not his own, Sherlock moved towards you for a kiss, but you promptly pushed him into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. - You could hear Sherlock whining through the door. You looked so gorgeous in that dress, the same color as his favorite shirt. He just wanted to kiss his wife on their three year anniversary when she looked so ravishing, was that a crime? - No hugs and kisses until the blood was washed away. He was not going to ruin your brand new dress. - That was the quickest shower Sherlock ever took, but the blood was definitely scrubbed away. - You two had just begun to kiss when your cell phone went off. - Just one day off, that’s all you needed. Just one. - John needed desperate help with Rosie. He wouldn’t have called if it hadn’t been an emergency, knowing that today was a special day for you two. - He was stuck at work in the clinic, and the Rosie’s daycare had called saying that she was ill and needed to be picked up immediately. John needed you to get her and watch her until Molly got off work in the morgue. - Sighing, you pecked Sherlock on the cheek before grabbing your coat. Sherlock started to follow after you, but you brushed him off. He did look awfully tired after those six hours gallivanting around London. He should get some sleep. - Sherlock, of course, started to argue with you, but you merely ignored him with a pointed look. - You picked up Rosie from the daycare, checked to make sure she didn’t have a fever (thank goodness, no - it was merely a cold), and then hailed another taxi. Deciding to help John out a little more, you went to the nearest market to pick up some cold medicine for Rosie (triple checking to make sure it was safe for her) and a few other groceries you knew John would be out of (you spent enough time living with him and Sherlock before your marriage, you knew that when he got busy he often forgot to go buy essential items like milk and food for himself). - Two hours later, you were finally able to drop off little Rosie to Molly, smiling graciously as she wished you happy anniversary and waved you out the door to go spend time with your husband. - Once home, you found Sherlock thoroughly passed out on your bed. - Given the past week of cases you knew he had struggled to get much sleep, and weren’t at all surprised that last night’s rest was not nearly enough. - Smiling softly to yourself, you crawled in beside him (purple little dress still on) and dozed off with him. The two of you would have plenty of time to be passionate later.
EXTRA A few hours later, after the two of you had woken up and agreed to stay in for the night rather than dine at a fancy restaurant neither of you were that fond of, Sherlock looked at you curiously from his chair
“You’re staring, dear. What?”
“Why are you still wearing it? It’s our anniversary…”
Requested by the sinners and anon: I have a suggestion for the next experiment- sherlock x reader. Its where sherlock points out that he’s not just using the reader’s body… And their relationship gets a label. (If this isnt where you want the story to go, i totally understand tho) <3 & anon: Experiment idea: they use various items from around the flat as sex toys (yknow, like carrots and cucumbers, wooden spoons, things like that)
@mizjoely also suggested that Sherlock and Molly meet while trying to rob the same grave. I HAD to, ok.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Watson stood in the doorway of the
parlor at Baker Street.
“Wouldn’t what?” Holmes asked, trying to look as innocent as
“Those are workman’s clothes,” Watson said, nodding to his
“So they are, Watson, very good of you to notice.”
Watson sighed heavily. “You realize what you’re doing, it’s
“Yes, hence the need to disguise myself, and to do the deed
under cover of dark,” Holmes replied retying the kerchief. He took a small
oblong box and opened it. Inside was a false moustache.
“And that’s your disguise?”
“You’d be surprised what a small amount of facial hair will
do, most people won’t know, especially not under cover of darkness,” Holmes
replied, carefully applying the facial hair. He paused, then took the
mutton-chop sideburns from the kit as well. “Though I suppose erring on the
side of caution never hurt.”
“Please tell me you aren’t digging-“
“Roses, this time of year, Watson? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Side-burns applied, Holmes took down the corduroy jacket, patched at the elbows.
He slipped into it, smoothing it down. “You ought to know this time of year it’s
daisies that are pushing up.”
“That is not funny!”
“No, but it is apt,” Holmes replied. He poked his head back
through the parlor. “Sure you won’t come?”
“Are you serious?” Watson blustered. “I am a doctor, a
well-known- oh hell, yes, let me change.”
“Laid clothes out on your bed, I’ll be right back, one of
the irregulars is bringing a horse and cart.”
“This is ridiculous!”
“So you’ve said,” Sherlock reminded his friend. “Now either
keep a look-out, or help me dig.”
“I don’t understand why you need this corpse to begin with!
For God’s Sake!”
“Ah- we are in a cemetery, Watson, mind what you say.
Consecrated ground and all that,”
“Which you are digging
up!” Watson hissed, coat flapping from his wild gesturing.
“Mrs. Brimley was a dear old woman,” Holmes grunted, hopping
down from the wagon. “She deserves to be laid to rest beside her husband in
“There’s no cemetery in Willesden,” frowned Watson.
“There is, but none a catholic would know of,” Holmes
“What? Oh!” Watson fell silent, surprised. So the old woman
he’d once gone to look after was Jewish! “I had no idea,” he murmured.
“Certainly you didn’t. Once her husband died, the late Elijah
Cohen passed, her remaining family pushed her to go back to her maiden name. It
isn’t popular to be a Jew these days. Having no-one but her Christian family to
help her in her old age, she agreed.”
“So…she married into the faith?” Watson asked, twice
“True love, and all that,” Holmes nodded. He sniffed,
glancing up at the night sky. “It’s going to tip down soon, best get her out
and to her husband before the frost comes. You stay with the wagon, you didn’t
change your shoes.”
Watson glanced at his feet, then shrugged. “I didn’t see the
“That’s because I didn’t leave any, I’d prefer if we get
caught, that only one of us go to jail so the other can fetch bail money.”
“Right,” Watson nodded. “Holmes!” he gasped, pointing.
Across the path was a light moving through the cemetery.
“Down! Put out the light!”
Watson obeyed, putting out the light, they huddled behind the
wagon, watching as the person moved carefully among the tombstones.
“They’re looking for someone,” Holmes realized.
“Probably to visit,” Watson suggested. “We’ll just wait
until they leave.”
“Hmm, and what do you suppose they brought the short shovel
for? To place on the grave?” He frowned. They both held still, listening as the
person hunched over Mrs. Brimley’s grave, then poised the shovel over the
“They’re taking the body!” Watson hissed, shocked.
“Give me the light,” Holmes ordered, standing.
Hearing footfalls, the person turned with a start. Gasping,
they dropped the shovel and took off.
“Don’t let her get away!” Holmes shouted. He dropped the lantern, still yet to be lit, tackling the woman before she could get very far.
“Get. Off!” the woman grunted, shifting under him.
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Obviously the same as you lot!” she snapped. “Now get, off!”
she thrashed, managing to get her knee between his legs, finding a particularly
He grunted, rolling off her. He was on his feet first,
grabbing her by the wrists. “What were you planning to do?”
“Are you police?” she asked.
“Cripes it’s a woman!” Watson breathed, holding the lantern
“Indeed,” Holmes said, his tone somewhat curious, dare
Watson say even a hint of admiration.
“She was my neighbor,” the woman wrenched her hands out of
Sherlock’s grasp. “Her relatives were awful to her, just awful. She doesn’t
deserve to be buried here. I took care of her when she came to the morgue. I’m
taking her to be with her husband, I don’t care what you say.”
“Well,” Sherlock pushed back his cap, smirking at her. “That
is a coincidence.”
The woman was studying him, she gasped suddenly, clapping a
hand over her mouth. “You’re Sherlock Holmes!”
Holmes grinned, he peeled off the mustache and then the
mutton-chops. “In the flesh. And now as you have properly guessed who I am,
perhaps you’ll accord me the same honor. You stated earlier you took care of
her when she was in the morgue, meaning you performed or assisted in the
autopsy. There’s only one female mortician in all of London, possibly the
country, though I wouldn’t put it past the smaller boroughs, limited education
and need for a morgue worker, you are Doctor Molly Hooper, recent graduate of
St. Bartholomew’s academy, and Doctor Michael Stamford’s protegee.”
She glanced between Sherlock and Watson. “Is he always like
“Worse,” Watson answered. He hefted the lantern, extending
his right. “John Watson at your service.”
“A pleasure, Doctor,” Molly replied and shook his hand. “Now,”
she turned back to Sherlock, who was still studying her. “I don’t suppose you’d
like to help me retrieve Mrs. Brimley’s remains, would you? I could see it’s
worth your while if you don’t say anything about it to anyone.”
“Such as?” Sherlock leaned against the shovel-handle. He’d
already been perfectly willing to help her, but if she was offering…
“Eyeballs,” Molly blurted, quite unused to being under
someone’s gaze, and Sherlock was clearly gazing at her. “I…you perform
experiments, don’t you, in your spare time, that’s what the papers say,” she
glanced at Watson. “You’ve a laboratory. I could supply you with cadavers…for
“Hm.” Sherlock nodded, clearly intrigued. “You would risk
your career in the hopes that I would not reveal your little indiscretion here
“Well…” she shifted. “Yes.”
“My dear Miss, er, forgive me, Doctor Hooper,” he smiled
gently. “No bribe, however tempting, is necessary. All I ask is for your own
silence of my, and Doctor Watson’s presence here this evening, your assistance in
retrieving Mrs. Brimley, and that is all.”
“Really?” Molly asked.
“Really- well, there may be one small favor,” Holmes
“And that is?” Molly asked warily. Holmes turned, swinging
the shovel over his shoulder, sauntering back to the graveside.
“Permission to call on you, Doctor Hooper,” he turned,
looking back over his shoulder. “If you’d be pleased to have me call, that is.”
Watson rolled his eyes, muttering to himself.
Molly was doing her best to fight a smile, and failing. “If
you can find my address, Mr. Holmes, you may call at your earliest convenience.”
“Is that an invitation?” he asked.
“A promise.” Sherlock grinned, handing her the shovel, and
took the other from the back of the wagon.
“Then I shall see you tomorrow, Doctor Hooper.”
“Are you really so confident-“
“Tomorrow,” Holmes interrupted.
“He means it,” Watson nodded, having climbed back up onto
“Are you going to help me or not?” Holmes asked, already
down to his ankles in dirt.
Molly set her shovel in the fresh-laid earth. “There’s
something awful about you flirting with me over a grave.”
“I don’t see you minding,” Sherlock replied. “I’d say more,
but Watson will throw me, and he’s got terribly good aim.” Molly giggled and
bent over her work. Who knew grave-robbing had so many advantages?