Chapter Text
Molly Hooper took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting back from twenty.
– Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen –
Really it was just like Sherlock to burst in just as her shift was ending. Her overnight shift, twelve hours long, where all she’d been able to think about was sleep for the last three hours of it. He’d just burst right in, John and Greg on his heels, and demanded a corpse and coffee without a thought to how he was cutting in to her personal time.
– fifteen, fourteen –
The personal time she’d allotted to sleeping. The personal time she’d been very much looking forward to. That personal time.
– ten, nine, eight –
And now he was just staring at her, that insincere smile pasted all over his face as he waited for her to leap to attention. To rush over to the lockers and get him his corpse before hurrying to fetch him his coffee. She could already see what would happen next. Instead of being content he’d ask for something else, for her to prepare some slide or run some test, and instead of going home with her shift rightly over she’d be stuck in the lab for hours. Hours that she would not be paid for and hours that could be better spent in her bed, sound asleep and snoring with her cat on her legs.
– five, four –
She tried to remind herself to be kinder. That Sherlock was under just as much stress as she considering the case of the Moriarty transmission had yet to be solved. That the body chilling in its locker could be the key to the whole matter. If Sherlock kept her longer, if he continued to use and abuse her as if he was one of the lab microscopes instead of her own person with her own needs, that just spoke to the pressure he was under.
Sherlock could see, well, everything but he probably just didn’t notice the bags under her eyes. He probably wasn’t deducing her long sleepless nights clutching a cricket bat and jumping at every creek her ancient building made, the fear that had her jumping at shadows. She’d helped Sherlock fake his death, had dated and broken up with a criminal mastermind, but it’s not like it mattered. Flattering speeches or no, she didn't matter.
– two, one, zero –
She opened her eyes to find that the smile Sherlock had initially put on his face had morphed into a scowl. Glowering at her, Sherlock let out an impatient sigh. “If you’re done daydreaming, I would greatly appreciate it if you could manage your job,” he spat, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Molly’s eyes narrowed and she decided to do something she’d probably very much regret later. Much later. If she ever decided to regret it at all.
-xOx-
Storming out of the lab, Molly headed for the elevator, shoulders still heaving with rage. “Wow,” she heard Lestrade say as she stabbed at the button. “What the hell was that?”
“Idiot,” she heard Sherlock wheeze and for a moment she felt bad before she shoved that feeling away. “John. John, go after her.”
“Not on your life mate,” John said, sounding as if he was very much torn between sympathy, disappointment, and mirth. “No one’s that brave.”
The lab doors closed before she could hear what Sherlock had to say next, the elevator doors opening as they snapped shut. Staggering through the doors she hit the button for the ground floor then the door close button over and over again until the doors slid shut. She thought she heard the lab doors open and her name being called, but by then it was too late.
Leaning against the elevator walls, Molly sniffled and tried to hold back tears. She shouldn’t have done that, she really, really shouldn’t have. For a moment she’d just been so angry and Sherlock had been standing there and glaring at her as if she were some sort of moron and she’d not slept for days and she’d just been so mad. He’d just been such a berk lately, acting as if she was a bit of rubbish stuck to his shoe, when she’d thought they’d actually been getting along better. That they were friends now. What rubbish. Sherlock Holmes didn’t have friends. He’d told her so himself and even though he’d been clearly fibbing at the time it was painfully obvious he’d been deluding her when she thought she’d been included in that small group. The heartless bastard.
The elevator doors pinged open and she hurried out, keeping her head down to try and hide her red eyes. There was a small crowd huddled around the hospital doors, gazing in dismay at the truly awful weather outside. The sky was so grey it was almost a strange yellow-green, the rain simply pouring down. It didn’t matter though. If she stayed she would be spotted or, worse, forced to go back to the lab to apologize so she pushed her way through, holding her bag over her head to try and block the worst of the rain as she ran for the bus.
Luckily for her the bus was already at the terminal and she redoubled her speed as there were sharp pings all around her, tiny speckles of hail splattering all around her and striking her hands. Spotting her, the bus driver waited long enough for her to get inside before closing the doors, smiling at her as she panted and shivered from the rain. “Wicked weather we’re having,” he said, putting the bus into gear.
“Dreadful for June,” she gasped in agreement and dug through her bag until she found her pass, swiping it and staggering into the first empty seat she could find. The bus was unusually full for a late morning, the people looking drawn and worried as they gazed outside. All thoughts of what had happened in the lab fled her mind as she turned her gaze out the window and gaped. The rain was just pouring down, which was rare enough in London, but the hail was nothing that she’d ever seen before. Instead of the little pebbles she’d been struck with it was coming down like golf balls now, striking and shattering the windscreen of the cab passing the bus.
The other passengers and she gasped as the cab swerved to a stop, the bus driver carrying on with his eyes focused tight on the road. His knuckles were white from the stress and they hunkered down in their seats and went silent as they drove through the congested streets under the odd green sky.
Arriving at the tube station with only a moment’s delay, Molly found herself glancing at her fellow passenger’s brollies with green envy before taking a deep breath and hurrying out into the hail and pouring rain. She’d made it only half-way to the stairs when she heard her name being called and looked up to see a tall man beckoning to her from the safety of a large black brolly. She bit her lip, wondering if it was too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him but he called her name again and she sighed.
Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s brother. She’d met him only thrice before and none of the meetings had been pleasant affairs. If he was summoning her now it most likely meant he’d already heard about the lab. Wondering if this meant she was about to be killed for her crimes against Holmes body and country, Molly hurried over to Mycroft’s big black towncar anyway. The tall man waited for her, holding his umbrella out as she got into the car before following her in, shutting the door behind them both.
“Miserable weather today,” he said, tapping on the glass dividing them from their driver. The towncar lurched into movement, sliding in among the dark cabs.
“Dreadful for June,” she said again, sinking down into her seat before jolting upright. She was soaked and the seats were leather and probably worth more than her life. If she wasn’t going to be punished for assaulting Sherlock, she surely would be for running Mycroft’s upholstery.
The older man said nothing, his gaze on her though as they traveled through the streets of London. Squirming and trying not to drip too much Molly smiled at him weakly. “So...” she started weakly. “Did you just happen to be in the area?”
“No, I’m afraid I was seeking you out. Sherlock rang me,” Mycroft said calmly. His lip twitched as the blanched and went white.
“Did he?”
“He did. He had quite a bit to say about you,” he drawled and crossed his legs, resting his still wet brolly across them. “It was quite… intriguing. More so after I viewed the security footage.”
Face going red, Molly looked away and clenched her hands. She felt like shouting and yelling some of the things she’d said to Sherlock at his brother. She also felt quite a bit like weeping. Trapped between the two she said nothing and instead stared at her shoes, soaked through by the rain.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” Mycroft said instead. “The Moriarty situation I presume. Would you find it reassuring if I informed you that you were under a security detail?”
She let out a scratchy laugh, somehow both surprised and not by the news. “I suppose we’re all under one then?”
Mycroft tilted his head to one side and regarded her as if she were an insect on a pin. “Yes.”
“You know it won’t stop Jim if he puts his mind to it. You’d best put them on Mary instead where they might actually do some good. She’s the one that matters,” she said, trying to fight back the urge to cry that was winning.
Tilting his head to the other side, Mycroft’s face somehow both softened and went harder at the same time. “Sherlock specifically requested that you be placed under a protection detail as well.”
“So he doesn’t have to train up the next lab tech?” she asked with a bit of a snort.
Lips pursing, Mycroft seemed poised to answer when the mobile in his pocket chimed. “Something like that,” he said instead, drawing the device out of his pocket and checking it. His brow furrowed as he read the message.
Letting the man work, Molly turned her attention out the window. The rain was rapidly lessening and, to her surprise, they were already on her street. With a final turn they were at her building and the rain and hail pattered to a stop. The sky was still green for some reason. Grabbing her bag, Molly muttered a thank you and opened the door.
“Doctor Hooper?” Mycroft’s voice stopped her.
Instead of shutting the car door, she peered back in and waited for him to continue.
Mycroft sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was the exact same thing that Sherlock did when he was struggling to find words and to see it on the older Holmes brother was enough to make her crack a smile. “My brother has the highest regards for you,” Mycroft said, seeming uncomfortable with the words. “He finds you invaluable. More so then I am in authorized to say.”
A true smile crossed her lips though it didn’t reach her eyes. It was kind of Mycroft to say such a thing when it so clearly made him uncomfortable and it was kind of him to try and fix Sherlock’s messes. Not that it had been Sherlock to truly make a mess of it this time. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Holmes,” she said and gently shut the car door.
The car waited for her until she opened the door of her building, struggling with her damp bag to extract the keys. At least it had stopped raining, though the air felt strangely still and oppressive. Perhaps it would start to rain again soon? She made a mental note to check and make certain that her windows were shut and latched, waving goodbye to Mycroft as she let herself in.
Making her way up the stairs, she wondered if she should eat now or go straight to bed when her mobile began to ring. Fishing it out of her bag she groaned loudly. It was Mike. She really didn’t want to talk to Mike, not now when the fight was still fresh in her mind and the hurt was still there, but he was surely calling more as her supervisor then her friend and they’d need to talk about what happened.
Tucking her back under her arm she answered, ready to be dressed down. “Hello Mike.”
“Molly, where are you?” Mike asked. His voice was tight and high, strangely stressed. Obviously he was more than a little upset about the Sherlock situation.
“I’ve just arrived home,” she replied, praying that he wouldn’t ask her to come back. “Look Mike, I know what happened was very unprofessional of me and I’m sorry-“
“Good,” Mike said and she blinked rapidly. Good? What? “Listen, does your building have storage underground or a cellar?”
Blinking again, Molly frowned a little as she reached her floor, pausing outside her door. Someone on the floor above her was vacuuming or something and she tucked her mobile against her shoulder to put a hand over her other ear. “I think so. There’s a utility room.”
“Get inside it, right now,” Mike barked, voice firm. “There’s a tornado coming.”
“A tornado? In London?” Molly asked, voice incredulous as she couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you sure, Mike?”
“That’s what the telly and the news is reporting and the radar shows something forming right by your neighborhood,” Mike said, voice going a little frantic. “Please, Molly. Humour me and get underground.”
Her heart did a strange little flitter and thump as she realized the window at the end of the hall was vibrating in its frame and she cursed mentally. There was no floor above hers. The loud vacuuming noise was coming from outside. She fumbled with her keys, shoving them in the lock. “R-right. I need to grab Toby,” she said, thrusting the door open. The world outside her windows was green, the windows vibrating hard enough to clatter as she the roaring grew.
“Molly-!” she heard Mike cry over the mobile but she rang off, dropping her mobile on the end table with her keys and bag, running on automatic.
“Toby!” she cooed, voice trembling as she kicked her door shut, stepping out of her shoes without thought. “Come here, Toby!” The feline didn’t appear though and Molly raced through the flat, her hands shaking as the sound of crumbling masonry reached her ears and the roar of the tornado grew.
A tornado! In London! Was such a thing even possible she wondered as she reached her bedroom and half threw herself under the bed. Perhaps she could blame global warming.
Sure enough her cat was under the bed, trembling hard with eyes blown wide and golden. Clawing for him, Molly grabbed a handful of fur and pulled hard. Letting out a terrified yowl, Toby went limp and let her pull him out from under the bed and into her arms. Turning for the door Molly screamed as her bedroom window suddenly shattered, the curtain rod going flying and striking her in the head.
Molly gasped and staggered, holding Toby tight before collapsing onto her bed. Her last thought was of regret, wishing she hadn’t lost her temper with Sherlock before the world went dark, the roar of the tornado whisking her away.