"Do you have everything set up?" I ask, sweeping over to the table.
"Yes." Her eyes drift from me to John.
"Morning Molly." John smiles. Always so polite.
I look up from the equipment. “Ford, this is going to be quite tedious.” I gesture to several films laid out for my inspection.
"On the contrary." Ford sidles around the table to Molly. "And who might you be?"
I frown. He can really be an unforgivable flirt. I would be worried if you weren’t carrying my child. Ford was always the most appealing Holmes. He has the charm and looks. More importantly, he knows they are his weapons.
"M-M-Molly," she stutters.
I roll my eyes.
"What is it that you do here, Molly?" he asks.
"Sherlock?" She raises her eyebrows in my direction.
"It’s okay Molly. I’m his big brother." Ford winks.
"But Mycroft…" she stammers.
"I’m the bigger one." He offers that sly grin that gets him anything usually.
"Molly, this is my brother Sherrinford," I sigh heavily.
Her eyes widen. “There are three of you? John, did you…”
He shakes his head as he pulls on some latex gloves. “Not until this morning.”
Ford leans closer. “I’m the dangerous one.”
I’m surprised, as Molly is not Ford’s usual flavour. When he was younger, the prettiest girls called round for him. He was always in the company of some heiress. Mum and Dad had high hopes he’d marry well.
I ignore their banter as I set myself for the task at hand. While I analyse the contents on the films, I can’t help to think of what Mycroft said earlier. Is Ford a threat to us? For as many enemies as I have, he has ten more. He would never bring danger to me knowingly. Especially knowing my current circumstance. Knowing Mycroft as I do, he has men watching the house. Or rather more men than he had before. If not for you, Mycroft would not care as much. He has a bit of a soft spot for you that I’ve never seen before. Only you could melt the Iceman.
While John and I huddle over the microscope, Ford has Molly giggling like a school girl. She gives him a tour of the morgue and some of the more gruesome corpses.
"You aren’t observing, John," I say.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Then why don’t you just tell me as I’m not smart enough to see it myself,” he huffs.
"Gladly." I smile.
Lestrade pushes through the door. “There you are. Do you not have a phone on you?”
Both John and I pull out our mobiles.
"You know the service down here is shoddy." I frown over the lack of reception. "Do you have something?"
"I do." Lestrade’s eyes wander around the lab.
"Is this a game? Am I to deduce what you’re hear to see me about?" I look to John. "Would you like to join? First one who gets it right has the other buy him lunch."
John grins. “This is win-win for me. You’ll get it right and you never eat.”
"A murder. Rather grisly. Body was found in the river. The fatal wound is nothing like we’ve seen. Anderson thought it was a drill, but I have doubts." Lestrade pulls his mobile to show me crude photos.
"You can’t expect me to do anything with this? Is the body still at the scene?"
"No. It should be in the morgue now. It was smelling pretty bad." He wrinkles his nose.
I look at the photos again. The scene around the body is recognisable. They pulled the bloated man in this mid-forties beside a popular riverfront cafe. It would be bad business to have a rotten corpse beside your dining patio. It certainly helps that the owner is a rather close and clandestine friend of a high ranking inspector.
I look around for Molly. “I can’t leave these samples exposed.”
John sighs. “I’ll put them away. You go with Greg.”
I’d rather have John there for his expertise. “Fine. Hurry up. I’ll need you in the morgue.”
"Yeah, it still sounds strange after all these years," he mutters.
"Did Anderson have thoughts on time of death?" I ask.
"Do you want to read his notes?" Lestrade’s eyebrows raise.
I wave my hand. “No, I’m not much for comedy.”
The lifts at St. Bart’s are the slowest in London. I clasp my hands behind my back and think to the photos Lestrade has shown me.
"How is Lucy feeling?"
I will never stop bristling when he mentions your name. “Fine.”
"It’s getting close, eh?" He stares straight ahead.
Despite falling in love with Molly, he’ll always wonder what could have been if I had not come between you and him. You will always linger in his mind as the one he wished he could have married. Not even Molly will live up to his ideal of you.
"What?" I glance over.
"The birth. I know Molly and Mary have been planning the shower." He rocks on his heels.
"Shower?" I sigh.
"Yes. I thought you researched everything about this," Lestrade huffs.
"Every medical possibility and symptom - yes. I have a speadsheet for everything we need. Why would Molly and Mary be planning a shower? Does it help with the birth? Is it soothing like a water birth?"
Lestrade laughs so uproariously that a few doctors move away from us. “Sherlock, a shower is a party women throw for people getting married or having babies.”
I scoff. “Why on Earth is it called ‘shower’?”
"Showering with gifts, at least that’s what I think." He shrugs.
"How do they know what to buy?" This is all confusing.
"You go to the store and pick out what you want and people buy it for you. The stores website lists it all for you."
"That actually sounds effective and perhaps a little enjoyable." It’s a bit like Christmas when I would pour through catalogues for all my gifts. "And a party, you said?"
"That’s less enjoyable. Bunch of women sitting around cooing over baby clothes and cucumber sandwiches." His nose wrinkles.
I nod. “That does sound dreadful. Guess Anna will be there.”
"Her mum? Definitely." He smirks. "Don’t get along?"
I give him a quick glance. “We are civil.”
"Hmm. We always got on well." His attempt at hiding a proud grin is failing.
Silently, I seethe. The dreadful music plinks in the lift as we ride to the basement of St. Bart’s.
"She’s got to be pretty big," he muses.
"The baby or Lucy?"
"I guess both. Do you know it’s a girl?"
"I do not know the baby’s gender." I sniff derisively. "I have been forbidden to find out."
Lestrade barks out a laugh. “And you listened to her?”
I sigh heavily. “Why is this lift so slow?”
Lestrade is still giggling, not very attractive for a man his age. “I need Lucy to tell me how she does it.”
I turn to him. “I think you of all people would know exactly how she does it.”
If John was here, he’d tell that was a bit not good. I believe that Lestrade deserved my volley. Colour drains from his face for five seconds before it rushes back with a violet tinge. The rest of the ride is blissfully quiet.
As we approach the morgue, I hear muffled giggling. Oh dear. With a glance over my shoulder, I enter the room first to make an assessment of the scene. Ford can be quite dashing when he decides to turn up the charm. I’d hate for Lestrade to see his new fiancée in a compromising position.
"There’s no giggling in a morgue," I announce.
Molly looks up from the leftover personal affects box. Some items are never claimed by the family, but Molly insists on holding on to the items regardless. I’ve heard her and John titter at some of the more ridiculous or lascivious items.
Ford holds a teal coloured dildo in one gloved hand. It jiggles when he moves his arm. This causes peals of laughter from Molly as he adopts an absurdly high pitched voice.
"I like this one the best."
I narrow my eyes. “You would. Greg is here to show me the fresh body he just caught. Have you processed it?”
Molly blushes furiously upon seeing Lestrade.
"You used my first name." He muses.
Oh Lestrade, that’s what has caught your attention? It’s no wonder he lost you to me so easily.
"The fresh meat is over there. The officer said you’d be down." Ford’s voice is laced with mischief. He knew he’d be interrupted.
"Wonderful. I’ll have John assist." I cast a long glance in Molly’s direction.
"I’m sorry." Lestrade has noticed the lack of distance between Ford and Molly. "Who are you?"
Ford doesn’t move but offers his hand. “Ford Holmes.”
Lestrade blinks furiously. “Holmes?”
Ford rolls his eyes. “You never talk about me?”
"Not with deep cover and all." I pull on a pair of gloves. "But you were missed."
He forces smile. “That’s mighty sweet of you, blood.”
I’ve seen this dance at least four times in the last twelve hours. Lestrade’s eyes ping between Ford and me.
"Yes, there are three," John interrupts.
Lestrade gasps. “God help us.”
"I’m the fetching one." Ford winks to Molly who is almost purple. I’ll wager that no one has been this flirtatious with her. I have been known to use my limited charms on her for a desired goal. Yet not quite like Ford.
I fold my arms. “Ford, Molly. Lestrade, Ford. Ford, John. Molly, Lestrade. John, Molly. There. Everyone acquainted? Are we a proper gang now? Can we get something accomplished?”
Ford leans closer to Molly. “Is he always a prat?”
The entire room, including the corpse I imagine, answers in a chorus of “yes!”
However, we get to work. At least John and I do. Ford continues his campaign in making Molly blush and Lestrade fume. He hasn’t crossed any lines, but Ford is certainly walking them. If he’s not careful, he will also know the feel of Lestrade’s fist.
"There is nothing left from the wound. No fragments of metal. Whatever pierced his heart was sharp and like a cylinder." John fingers the entry wound. "I suppose the water could have washed away anything."
"You said he didn’t die immediately. He slowly bled out. By the size of the hole and the fact it left a perfect hole, the weapon remained in him for sometime. In fact, after rigor mortis set in." Yet there are no particles or fragments of anything. The water would not have washed away evidence of a weapon left embedded in a body. The wound shows no sign of being flushed.
I look to Lestrade who is busy glaring daggers into Ford. “Do we have an identity?”
"No, just that he’s in his late 50’s." His eyes don’t blink.
John and I chuckle.
"What?" Lestrade breaks his gaze.
"Our victim was early to mid 40’s. Do you see the broken veins on this face, yellowing eyes? He is an alcoholic of 25 years. The fingers on his left hand are stained with tobacco. He’s been smoking longer than the drinking. He has worked outside in his younger years - attesting to the advanced wrinkles." I recite the list that Lestrade foolishly misses.
"Do you have any ideas?" He rolls his eyes.
I stare at the bloated corpse. “Maybe two.”
Ford wanders over.
"Excuse me," Lestrade pushes forward.
"Oh, let him look." I make room for Ford.
He sniffs. “How long was in the water?”
"At least three days." It’s more of a question than statement.
"I’d say just a bit over 72 hours." Ford nods to Lestrade.
Molly inches closer as Ford walks around the body making ‘hmm’ noises and nodding. He grabs a pair of gloves and begins poking at the wound, his hands - looking in his mouth. Basically repeating all the steps I just took.
"Incredible," Molly sighs.
Ford gives her the famous lopsided smirk. “Thank you.”
"You’re just like Sherlock. The way you walk around and inspect a body for evidence. It’s uncanny."
Ford gives me a wink. “Taught him everything I know.”
"Thoughts?" I roll my eyes.
Ford straightens his back. “Yes. I’m starving.” As he strips his latex gloves off his hands, he walks to Molly. “Fancy lunch?”
"I-I-I, um," Molly stammers.
"Oi. She’s with me." Lestrade announces.
"Calm down, Inspector. It’s just lunch. I wasn’t whisking her to bed." He shoots a smile in her direction. "Unless…"
John grabs Lestrade’s arm before he lunges at Ford.
"Can’t you bloody Holmes keep your hands to yourself?" he rages.
"Greg," John starts.
"You fucking Holmes’ have no boundaries. If you want it, you’ll take it," he spits.
Lestrade is exhibiting some leftover anger from when you left him for me. However, good on Molly. There is a glimmer of enjoyment in her eye. Two men arguing over her. I’m certain that has never happened before.
"Greg, please calm down." Molly places her hands on his chest. "I wasn’t going to go."
"He’s one of them. I’m sure he saw your ring." Lestrade’s eyes do not leave Ford.
"It was really hard to see, old boy. Bit small." Ford shrugs.
"That’s right. A ring makes no difference." Lestrade’s eyes land on me. "Right Sherlock?"
A smile spreads on Fords face. “Lucy?”
"Let’s go Ford. I took photos. If I come to any conclusions, I’ll contact you or someone," I mutter.
I don’t wait for anyone to follow. I’ve been branded the bad person. I didn’t set out to seduce you. Back then, I wouldn’t know the first thing about luring a woman to my bed. It just happened. It was circumstance. Perhaps going to your room after our kiss was playing with fire. At the time I would have never imagined it would lead us here.
"She was engaged to him?" Ford asks.
I stop and whirl around. “Yes. She was until we…”
He tosses his head back in laughter. “You’re more like me than I realised. What a Don Juan you are! Granted, it couldn’t have been difficult to steal her from the silver fox in there.”
"That was never my intent. Shared trauma bonds you in a way others will never understand," I state.
"He’s wrong, Sherlock." John says when he catches up.
"No John. He’s correct in the sense that he was engaged to Lucy until the night I entered her room and we had intercourse," I snap.
"She never belonged to him, Sherlock. I could see it the night he proposed. She loved you." John asserts.
I nod gently. He’s right. We had danced around emotions for months before that night.
"You said you were hungry?" I glance up at Ford.
"yes." Ford is inspecting a machine in the hallway. "Is this what I think it is?"
I cross my arms. “What do you think it is?”
Ford glances to John. “Doctor?”
"It’s an ultrasound. Do you think it would help with the case?" He frowns.
"Absolutely. The case of the uncertain gender of baby Holmes." Ford beams.
"I’m not meant to know until the baby is born." I purse my lips in annoyance.
"And you’re going to take a directive from someone?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"When that person is carrying my DNA, yes." I nod.
"When was the last time you had a look at the DNA?" Oh, Ford is feeling mischievous.
"Week 18," John answers.
Ford peers over his shoulder. “You stay close.”
"I show John the records for a second opinion."
Ford begins to push the machine down the hallway. “Cozy. Doc, care to help?”
"What are you doing?" John’s eyes widen.
"He is a bit thick. What does it look like I’m doing?" Ford sighs.
"You can’t steal a machine worth thousands!" John exclaims.
"Will you help me then?" Ford turns to me.
"John is right. We shouldn’t take this." My conviction is weak.
"Don’t you want to see how big he is?" Ford continues to push the machine to a side door.
"Yes, but," I protest weakly.
"Think of Lucy. It’s like a present for her," Ford says.
"You cannot be considering this," John looks to me.
"I will book another appointment," John offers.
"Or you can have one any time." Ford smiles.
"We can’t take it." I open the door to the stairwell for Ford.
"Right. We are just borrowing it for a finite time. Another six weeks?" Ford shrugs.
I nod in confirmation as Ford pushes the machine through the door.
"How are you going to get this out the door?" John crosses his arms.
Ford pats his cheek. “I’ve taken much more valuable things. Don’t you fret.”
"How are you getting this home?" John asks.
"Taxi?" I suggest.
"Well I’m not lugging this on the Tube," Ford huffs.
"I cannot believe you. Bloody Holmes family." John shakes his head. "And when you get it home? Do you even know how to use it?"
I glance it over. “Can’t be too difficult.”
Ford claps him on the back. “And what luck, you are a doctor! Now help me lift this sodding beast.”
Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Original Female Character, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Victor Trevor, Mycroft Holmes, Anthea (Sherlock), Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character
Additional Tags: Parentlock, Mild S&M, Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor
Series: Part 3 of Sherlock as a Flatmate
When Lucy Adams moved into 221 Baker Street, Sherlock had no idea the ways his life would change. Now he stands on the edge of fatherhood. How will a baby impact his work? Can he trade criminals for nappies? Has Sherlock grown enough to make room in his life and mind palace for a little one? Or will he need to make another Fall?
Um, where is THIS interview?
Via the lovely londonphile
I just have to add photos! I have the next chapter done, I promise!
A 2013 interview with the screenwriter of The Imitation Game, with some bonus Sherlock thrown in. (He’s also the author of a novel called The Sherlockian.)
Excellent interview for any aspiring and inspiring writer to read.
Both versions of the trailer.
I’m happy to see Allen Leech in the US version. Sigh, it looks like i need to come clean about my Benaddiction in order to see this movie. Though I am writing a novel set in WW2 so it could be research, right?
On my comments I had said the date was wrong on the original posting. I said July 27 which was also wrong as it was the 26th. My Sherlock calendar is all funky starting weeks on a Monday!