Chapter Text
Chapter 1
For as long as she could remember, Molly Hooper lived in the apartment above the garage of the Holmes family. Her father was the chauffeur, and had been driving the elder Holmes and later the son to and from the city of London for the past age it felt like. Her father was a tall regal man. He was focused, quiet and cared for only a few things. His job and his daughter were the two most important things in his life. Having lost his wife so young, he held on to Molly as tight as he could. He knew that his daughter Molly was a smart motivated girl, but she did have a silly side to her. She had a crush the size of Big Ben, on the Holmes youngest son, Sherlock. She fawned over him ever since she first laid eyes on him. She would climb up on the tree overlooking the terrace, and watch the Holmes host fabulous dinner parties. They would mingle with the most powerful people in Britain, but his daughter had only eyes for one person.
Sherlock was a temperamental child, and had turned into sullen young man. Even though his family had provided him with every material thing a child would want or need, he rebelled by gaining a nasty cocaine addiction. It was his brother Mycroft that was finally able to turn him around. Mycroft allowed his brother to continue his silly detective business, and even though Mycroft thought it wasn’t a real profession, it kept him off the street and away from the drugs that threatened to ruin him.
Now, Molly Hooper, the mousy young lady went to school and was on track to become a doctor of pathology. Her father couldn’t be more proud; she had been studying at the Sorbonne, and was as far away from the Holmes estate and Sherlock as she could be. He had hoped she had gotten over her crush on Sherlock Holmes, but much to his chagrin she had not. Her letters and emails all started out well, asking him about the other staff, and the weather. But each letter never failed to include a query about how Sherlock was doing. He tried to keep his answers about Sherlock brief, but she continued to ask. This is where the story starts.
Molly was finally coming home to visit her father before starting a new job at St. Bart’s, as the assistant to the coroner. She was excited to see her father, the estate and of course Sherlock. She wondered in the back of her mind, did Sherlock even notice she was gone? He had hardly ever acknowledged her presence when they were together. She always stuttered and blushed in his presence, but now she had much more confidence.
She waited at the train station outside of Wimbledon waiting for her father to come pick her up when she spied a tall handsome man on the other side of the street. Her breath caught knowing only one person to have that distinct silhouette. His coat collar was turned up and was looking right at her. She waved to him for a second before feeling silly and pulled her hand down. To her horror though, he seemed to make not sign of recognition. He almost looked surprised that she was waving at him in the first place. It was a matter of a few seconds that he crossed the street and was face to face with her.
“I thought I knew everyone in this infernal suburb. But I do not know you. I see you have just come from Paris, and are waiting for someone. Perhaps someone that I know?”
She nodded at him.
“I see well, in that case, may I be of assistance to you? Perhaps I could give you a lift to your destination?”
“That would be lovely,” she said to him before gathering her bags.
“Let me take those” he said swiftly and took the bags from her hands and easily tossed them over his shoulder.
“This way” he said pointing to a Jaguar convertible with the top down. She smiled to herself; he had no idea who she was, which was a shock, since he knew everything.
Sherlock was in everyone’s business. Sometimes it caused a huge problem with the staff and his family. Molly’s father told her that he was too nosey for his own good, but Molly was always so impressed. He could sniff out any affairs between the staff, or where the missing bottles of sherry went. Much to Sherlock’s own father’s chagrin, he had informed his mother that his father was in fact sleeping with the scullery maid. This caused a major strife in the house, and the Holmes estate never recovered from it. His father was hardly around. Molly’s father drove him into town earlier and earlier, and sometimes he didn’t even go fetch him that night. Once the transgressions began for Sherlock’s father, they never ended. His mother turned to the drink. She began drinking by noon, and asleep by supper. The only time his family came together was when his parents hosted large parties. The Holmes family would plaster smiles on their faces and act like a happy family. It was always so painful when the parties were over, and his parents stalked off to their separate wings of the house. When he was younger, he and his brother, Mycroft, recapped the night’s events. Who was dancing with whom, which world leaders were in attendance, the quality of the music and food were all discussed under a large set of trees on the estate. It was their own time together, and Sherlock realized that the only person in his family that he could rely on was his brother. Although Mycroft looked after him, he could never really control him. Sherlock knew that Mycroft took pity on him, and he exploited it every chance he could. But when it a calm evening, he sometimes found himself under the trees conferring with Mycroft about life.
Mycroft Holmes was a child genius. From the moment he learned what negotiation was he was doing it. Whether he was negotiating with other children for a better lunch or negotiating when his bedtime was, he always won. Once he was old enough, he joined his father at Westminster running the British government. He soon even eclipsed his father, and was the head of the government. A first class manipulator and controller caused him to have no one in his life. And he didn’t care; he was so busy with running the country. He had to be in control of everything. He was able to manipulate every person he met except one. Sherlock. After his family broke up, he was responsible for the well being of his dear brother. He found that he was unable to negotiate anything with Sherlock. It may have been because he felt sorry for his little brother. When he was younger, he remembered how his family was. They were happy. He remembered those times vividly, where Sherlock only had memories of his mother drunk and his father gone. The only pressure point that he had was his baby brother.
“So where can I drop you off at?” Sherlock asked her as he started the car.
“You can drive me home”
“Where do you live?” Sherlock asked her after not finding any tags on her bags when he put them in the car.
“Dosoris Lane”
Sherlock’s head tilted to the side slightly, “Dosoris Lane? That’s where I live”
“Really?” Molly asked smiling slightly, at him. She was so enjoying this.
“Yes. We must be neighbors then” Sherlock said to her eyeing her keenly now. He definitely knew everyone that lived on his street.
“Have you always lived here?” Sherlock asked trying to deduce who she was.
“Most of my life” Molly responded her smile growing more as Sherlock tried to figure out who she was.
“I thought I knew every beautiful woman who lived in Wimbledon” Sherlock responded, shading a bit.
“You take in more territory than that” Molly responded positively gleeful. He thought she was beautiful; her insides were playing a conga.
Sherlock glared at her, “This is infuriating! How can I not know? Wait, are you the daughter of the Lord Speaker, Diane?”
“Hardly”
“Argh!” Sherlock huffed as he began to glare at her trying to deduce something from her face.
“This driveway” Molly suddenly told him as they approached the Holmes estate.
“Impossible” Sherlock said, “This is where I live”
“Hi neighbor!” Molly replied.
“Wait how do I not…” Sherlock was cut off though, by his brother.
“Molly!” Mycroft said waving to her while she was getting out of the car. “You are all grown up. Done with the Sorbonne, I see. Ready to come back to England?”
“Hello Mycroft, yes I’m back,” Molly answered blushing now that her secret was revealed.
“Molly Hooper!” Sherlock practically yelled in shock.