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They’d done it.
It had taken several months’ hard work and careful planning but Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper had successfully managed to crack the biggest and most important case in the Inspector’s entire career, orchestrating an elaborate honey-trap scheme which resulted in the arrest of London’s second most dangerous drug and organised crime lord. Molly had been spectacular, playing the gangster’s moll, acting and charming her way into the criminal’s inner circle, all whilst wearing a carefully concealed wire. Several times, her cover had almost been blown due to the amorous intentions of the group. Oh, but Greg had chosen wisely. Molly was brilliant and always managed to talk her way out of the situations thrown at her – if he’d had any doubts about her abilities, he certainly wouldn’t have put her in harm’s way.
Outside the nightclub used for their target’s base of operations, the Inspector surveyed the scene; several police cars surrounded the building, his officers filing from the building accompanied with their arrests. He spotted Molly Hooper perched at the back of the solitary ambulance, wincing in pain as the paramedic tended to the gunshot wound in her arm. He felt a stab of guilt – if he’d only given the order a second sooner…
“Not a bad night’s work, eh?” Molly smiled when he reached the ambulance. He was staring at her arm, now bandaged up in a sling and the pathologist rolled her eyes, “oh, stop it. I’m fine! It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah but-“
“No,” Molly said firmly, climbing down from the ambulance with great difficulty due to her now bandaged slung-up arm; she was still in her obscenely short dress from the club and was beginning to feel self-conscious, “I agreed to do this. I knew the risks and I got carried away. I don’t blame you…so you shouldn’t either.”
After a while, Greg decided it was useless arguing with her and simply nodded, clearing his throat, “um, thank you, Molly. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“You’re welcome, Detective Chief Inspector.”
“Oh, that’s a long way off yet,” he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, “these days you have to do a lot more than lock up a bunch of smackheads,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “I could always sleep with the boss.”
Molly nodded, smirking cheekily, “or Sherlock’s brother. He is the British government, might put in a good word for you.”
“Who did you think I meant?” It wasn’t decent, bursting into a fit of giggles at a crime scene – it wasn’t like it hadn’t been done before. As soon as the two of them composed themselves, Greg wiped at his eyes and nudged Molly’s good arm, “I think we’ll make a copper out of you yet, Hooper.”
“Over my dead body.”
Greg and Molly whirled around to find an utterly furious Sherlock Holmes staring at them, John Watson a short distance behind him, doubled over in an effort to catch his breath. Molly sighed, suddenly remembering her skimpy outfit. She needn’t have worried – Sherlock’s eyes were fixated on her wounded arm.
“What are you doing here, Sherlock?”
“Keeping an eye on you,” he glared a Greg momentarily, who instinctively backed away several steps, “you honestly think I didn’t know about this case of yours?”
“To be honest, it’s none of your business,” Molly shrugged, shivering slightly – whether it was because of his gaze or the slight chill in the air, she didn’t know.
“Oh, it’s every bit my business,” Sherlock responded darkly, stepping closer and ripping off his Belstaff. He wound the heavy coat around Molly, carefully avoiding her injury, “if it concerns your safety, Molly, then you are my business.”
“Right,” Greg suddenly spoke up, growing steadily more uncomfortable with each passing moment the two continued to stare at each other. He rubbed his hands together, “well, if anyone still cares, I’m off to get that promotion,” he winked at Molly, smirking when she rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “see you later.”
Once Greg was out of earshot, Molly wrung her hands, “Sherlock-“
“What were you thinking?” His voice was close to breaking and Molly swallowed, shuffling her feet nervously – she had never seen him so worried, worried about her. He continued, anger overpowering the panic and worry this time, “were you trying to get yourself killed?”
“No, I-“
“Do you have any idea how valuable you are?” He was marching her towards the waiting cab, despite her best efforts to dig her heels into the ground. She might as well have been made of air. “Have you even considered how everyone else would feel if something happened to you?”
“Well, I-“
“You’re not to come on another case, do you hear me?”
This statement seemed to give Molly her strength back. She halted their progress and turned to face the detective, her expression fuming, “excuse me?”
“You’re not taking another case! You belong in the morgue”
“You’re being childish!”
“Molly, I can’t lose you,” he almost shouted, realising then just how tightly he was grasping her arm. He released her, looking into her eyes pleadingly, “…please.”
Molly hesitated, biting into her lip, “I was just doing a favour for a friend. I didn’t mean to-”
“I know,” he opened the door to the cab but Molly didn’t move a muscle. He rolled his eyes, “what?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” He replied sternly, growing increasingly annoyed with his situation. Once again, Sherlock tried to usher her into the cab.
“Not good enough. Why is it so inconceivable that you lose me? Why were you keeping an eye of me? Why am I your business? Why am I so valuable? Why-“
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you,” he snapped harshly, turning on the spot and stomping around the car. He threw open the door and disappeared inside. Molly huffed, joining him a moment later. They travelled in silence for several minutes, the only sounds were those of their heavy breathing. It seemed like hours until Sherlock finally spoke, “well, you ruined a perfectly good declaration. I hope you’re happy.”
He glanced over at her and was surprised to find her smiling. Molly took his hand and nodded, “yeah. I am, actually.”
Damn her, so was he.