Chapter Text
Molly sighed to herself for about the tenth time, eyes wide open as she lay in the darkened little hotel room in Paris.
This had quickly become nothing short of preposterous.
Five days ago, Sherlock Holmes had barged into Bart’s hospital, rambling on about the exciting but rather inconvenient news. Namely, that the Watsons were newly expecting their first child, but that it put the detective in a rather difficult position, having recently accepted a case abroad which would require an assistant. Apparently the new baby was not yet agreeing with Mrs Watson’s stomach, and the good doctor felt she needed him to be a more constant presence.
Sherlock had then informed Hooper that his expertise would fill the void nicely.
Molly, possibly against her better judgement, accepted his request. She’d convinced herself that they were both adults, well aware of the truth of the matter, and seeing as nobody else was there was little chance at causing offense.
While her time with the brides was over, she managed to come out unscathed, thanks in no small part to Mycroft Holmes. Molly recognized how lucky she had been and the need to be gracious, even if that meant indulging the whims of the more volatile of the Holmes brothers from time to time.
And now, here they both were, spending their third night in this hotel which apparently couldn’t give them two rooms or, indeed, two beds. She’d seem Holmes bristle slightly when the clerk at the front desk informed him that there was no added vacancy and that they could only provide his initial reservation of a standard, one bed, room.
No matter, he’d assured her as they climbed the steps with their bags in hand, explaining that he rarely slept anyway.
His pacing was becoming truly maddening.
Molly turned over, trying to eliminate the view of his back and forth from her peripheral, but she could still hear his soft steps and the words he spoke under his breath.
The first two nights had been tolerable. He’d insisted she take the bed and she’d managed to sleep for some hours uninterrupted. But something changed on the third day and Molly was becoming more keenly aware of the true state of things.
She heard the grandfather clock in the hallway outside their room strike the hour, making it two in the morning now. That did it.
Molly threw the covers off her, sitting up to lock eyes with him as he spun at seeing her sudden movement.
“When was the last time you slept?” she questioned sternly.
She couldn’t see his confused frown in the dark, but she could practically feel it.
“Miss Hooper, do not concern yourself with how much-“
“Would you please do me the courtesy of simply answering the question?”
He paused.
“I...dozed off a bit in the chair last night. A couple of times I believe.”
Molly nodded to herself. “Yes, just as I suspected. Well then...get in.”
This prompted a lengthier pause.
“As I believe I already stated, insomnia does not hold the negative effects for me that it does for most people, particularly when I’m on a case, therefore I am far more capable of-“
“You were not so capable today, Mr. Holmes.”
His indignance shone through, even in the dark.
“I beg your pardon!”
“Oh, you heard me,” Molly sighed. “Mr. Holmes, three times today you were incapable of conjuring the correct word when speaking to the client, which I had to fill in for you. Twice you began to fall asleep during a carriage ride, and then when pouring your tea you nearly dropped the pot, a lack in dexterity which is wholly uncharacteristic for you.”
Sherlock cleared his throat after hearing her list of evidence and replied, his tone notably sheepish.
“Even in the event of a need for rest, I imagine that you see the predicament we find ourselves in to be...less than ideal.”
“Oh for pity sake,” Molly groaned. “I said get in ! As a doctor, I cannot allow this foolishness to continue. Furthermore, while I can appreciate your frankly overdeveloped sense of chivalry, I consider my virtue to be in no immediate danger and will feel quite free to inform you if that circumstance should change, though I imagine it unlikely as you will be asleep before your head meets the pillow!”
“Miss Hooper, honestly-“
“Holmes!”
Her louder, slightly lower, and more authoritative use of his name seemed to do the trick.
Molly watched as Sherlock made somewhat irritated movements, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat and then kicking off his shoes before finally crashing into the bed next to her.
Right next to her, considering the size of the bed.
“There,” she said, lying back against her pillow and exhaling contentedly. “Now go to sleep and I feel sure you’ll thank me in the morning.”
Sherlock let out a slow sigh, his reply a bit petulant. “You’re terribly sure of yourself.”
“Yes, occasionally someone other than yourself is,” she said softly, closing her eyes as she noted the smell of his particular brand of soap. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”
She felt him shift slightly, getting comfortable, and could hear the lull in his voice when he finally answered.
“Goodnight, Miss Hooper.”
Sherlock sat in the little armchair at the opposite side of the room, legs crossed neatly and fingers steepled against his lips...his eyes fixed, unmovable, on the bed across from him.
Her arm was still draped across the vacant side of the bed, which was where he had been lying less than an hour earlier. It was the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes. That pale, delicate little arm across his chest, the nightdress sleeve having bunched up above her elbow.
Sherlock hadn’t wanted to touch it, for fear of waking her. And so the painstaking process of extricating himself from that bed turned into quite a project over the next five minutes. Moving himself without disturbing another person was quite a new way to wake in the morning.
Feeling her hand slide across his chest over his shirt as he moved was also rather new.
The fan of dark hair that surrounded her now, her arm still stretched out somehow gracefully while still being haphazard, and the partially visible white cotton of her nightdress around her shoulders brought him to a somewhat shocking conclusion.
She was a woman .
No, he was not still in the dark about the very basic truth of her sex. But the evident reality of it hadn’t truly hit him until then. Up to last night, he’d been opting not to share a bed with her on general principle alone. Rules of proprietary that existed on paper, but certainly not for his own personal boundaries.
In the light of day, literally and figuratively, he felt somewhat differently.
Not thirty seconds later, Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he jumped excitedly from his chair, which prompted Molly to wake suddenly from her peaceful slumber.
“Ah good, you‘re awake!”
Sherlock began hurrying about the room, gathering things and stuffing them into his leather satchel while Molly rubbed her eyes and muttered some sort of question of what he was doing.
“Pack your things, Hooper,” he explained excitedly. “We shall be traveling back to London today, for this case is solved!”
“What...just now?”
“Just now, precisely.”
“Right,” she said softly. “Well then, I suppose I should begin dressing.”
Sherlock paused for a breath, noting her exit from the bed and the way she quickly straightened the nightdress to cover her legs. He frowned to himself, then continued in his chosen area of focus- packing! Though he did pause for one more moment.
“Oh and Hooper?”
She turned, smoothing some tousled locks aside to look at him as she gathered her clothing and wig to prepare for the exit of their room.
“It pains me a great deal to admit when I am wrong,” he said with a little smirk. “But I find myself compelled to give you exactly what you predicted I would last night.”
Molly’s lips lifted proudly even before the gift he verbally bestowed.
“Thank you.”