bakerstreet | the picture prompt meme.

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Sherlock had done well during the first week of Molly's vacation. He'd kept his distance like he said he would. No texts, no calls, no emails. He'd managed to get along with his work as she'd told him he would. He'd taken to talking to the skull again, but who could blame him when talking is such a vital part of his thinking process?

Everything had been going so smoothly, for the most part. That is until he got the call.

It was at that moment, he'd put his deductive skills to work. He'd identified the single shop that sold the specific print of postcard Molly had sent him. From there, he made an outward spiral of the most probable hotels she could be staying at and started calling around. It only took half an hour before he'd uncovered her room number. An hour and a half by train and another thirty minutes by cab left him with an arrival time at her door just after eight in the evening.

-

He raps at her door impatiently. When the door isn't answered immediately (that is within two seconds of his arrival), he calls out to her. "Molly! It's me. I need your help." He sounds like he means it, too.

Molly is in the bath with a book and some wine when the knock on her door comes. She's certainly not expecting anyone, so she assumes it's either a wrong room or maybe housekeeping. Whoever it is can just go away, she thinks as she sinks back into...

And then someone is calling her name and, no, it can't be. But of course she knows that voice anywhere. What in the bloody hell is he doing out here?

She sighs and puts her book down away from the water before she quickly gets out of the tub and wraps one of the hotel robes around herself

"Coming!" she calls as she makes her way to the door and opens it.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asks him with a mixture of confusion, slight annoyance, and concern. Sherlock is a notorious texter. He always texts before he puts any further effort into contacting someone and she knows she didn't recieve any texts. So she thinks either he's gone mental or something is wrong.

Sherlock sighs in relief as soon as Molly opens the door, then he invites himself in without so much as noticing that she's dripping wet and barely dressed. Oh, he'll notice eventually when his mind is less preoccupied with the personal emergency he's had thrust upon him.

"Took less than thirty minutes to find you," he says, pacing away from her and shaking his hand in the air like he's swatting at some annoying insect. He's likely misunderstanding the meaning behind her question, but it's the easier answer to give. "Never mind, it's not important. I need your help. Something's come up and I don't know who else to turn to," he says a bit too fast.

When he finally looks at her, he stops his pacing and his speaking all at once. His eyes flicker over towards the bathroom, then back to Molly, but he ultimately decides not to comment on her state of dress.

"Uhm, here," he says, taking his mobile out of his breast pocket. He opens up his iMessage conversation with John and offers it to her. If she reads it, she'll see that John's sent a list of directions and a timetable for a full two days' worth of infant care with the attached calendar date for the upcoming weekend.

Molly steps aside as he comes through the door and then closes it behind him. Once that's done she turns around and watches him pace, worrying her lip between her teeth. He's clearly agitated about something and he came all the way here...

And suddenly his attention is on her and she wraps her arms around herself, suddenly very conscious of her state of dress and the water droplets running down the backs of her legs.

She raises her eyebrows as she takes the mobile from him and looks at the screen. As soon as she reads it she snorts out a laugh.

"Really? This is your emergency? What you traveled over two hours to speak to me about?" she asks him as she hands the phone back. It couldn't possibly be what it looked like anyway. John wasn't stupid enough to let Sherlock look after a baby for two days.

Sherlock hovers just over her shoulder while she reads the instructions, both to reread them himself and to make sure she's actually reading them. She has to be reading them, because there's no way he can manage forty-eight hours of babysitting by himself. He can barely manage holding the baby for more than a few seconds at a time without worrying he'll somehow break it.

"It is an emergency," he frowns, taking the phone and wiping the streaks of water off the screen with his coat sleeve. "Lestrade's got the flu and Mrs. Hudson keeps insisting it'll be good for me."

He sighs and moves to a different tack. He looks straight at her and offers a soft sort of expression, despite being aware that she's still keen on his methods of buttering her up. Old habits die hard. "Baker Street is no place for a baby," he explains. Sure, he's baby-proofed most of 221B by now and he's using John's old room as his new lab area, but that's beside the point. "And Toby could always use a new friend, couldn't he?"

She narrows her eyes at him. Molly's no dummy, Sherlock, she knows what you're doing.

"Wait, so you're not just asking for my help or my advice, you're asking for me to be the babysitter for two days," she says. "At my flat. While I'm still supposed to be on holiday."

Now her arms are crossed over her chest for a different reason, she's annoyed.

Sherlock narrows his eyes and straightens his posture. He hadn't expected her to be happy to do it, but he hadn't intended for her to be insulted, either. "Yes, you're still on holiday," he says, lifting his eyebrows and giving her half a second to come to the same conclusion he's done. "Don't you see? It's perfect. You've got nowhere else to be, so you might as well spend the time with the baby."

This isn't working, is it? Fortunately, he's come prepared to compromise. "I'll help. I'll stay at your flat and watch her overnight and you can watch her during the day." Babies sleep at night, don't they?

She's looking almost murderous now. Once again, her time isn't anywhere near as precious as that of Sherlock Holmes.

"And what if I say no?' she asks, realizing that she holds all the power right now. And while the idea of leaving poor baby Watson in Sherlock's most-likely incapable hands for two days would just make her nervous (and she will, in the end, most likely help him as usual), she's certainly not going to say yes right off like the old days.

Sherlock's expression goes blank for several seconds. A firm 'no' isn't an answer he'd come prepared to face, so the question of what will happen if she declines his request is running through his mind for the first time. If she says no, then he will be left with no other option than to take care of the infant by himself for two days. He's already done what research he could do on child raising - research he'd used to send frequent texts to the new parents, much to John and Mary's annoyance - but he lacks the practical experience to do anything with the knowledge.

He furrows his brow and mutters to himself, "It can't be entirely dissimilar to handling a puppy, can it?" Not that he's handled a puppy for three decades now.

He shakes his head, coming back out of his mind to look at Molly. "If you say no, then I have no one else to turn to."

She gets a bit of satisfaction from seeing Sherlock not have an answer right away for once. She may even look a bit pleased.

And then she laughs at his question about the puppy. Oh Sherlock, you have much to learn.

"I guess that means I am in a position to entirely extort you now doesn't it?" she asks, still looking a bit pleased with herself. Not that Molly has it in her to actually extort anyone, but she's learning to not be a complete push-over. "So the question is, if I help you, if I take an infant into my flat for 2 days during my holiday, mind, what's in it for me?"

"So you'll do it," Sherlock says, feeling too relieved to be offended by the extortion comment. If anything, he'll be proud of her later on when he remembers this conversation. An inconvenience for him as it is, it's about time Molly's embraced that backbone of hers he's had a glimpse of only a few times in their acquaintanceship. (Or should he call it a friendship? Oh, he's not good at labelling these things with precision beyond favourable and deplorable.)

He knows she'll do it, because he's willing to do almost anything to have the insurance that John and Mary's baby will be in good hands for the weekend. "Whatever you like, Molly Hooper. Just name your price."

"I said if I do it," she points out before he tells her to name her price, and well, she supposes now she will have to do it.

She thinks about it for a moment, what she wants from him. There are so many ways she could go with this - evil, tedious, embarrassing. She could make him clean her flat (not that he would do a good job anyway) or pay for her next holiday (whenever that might be) or make him wear jeans for a whole week. That one is appealing. They'd have to be tight enough to accentuate his bum.... Okay, Molly, reel it back in.

"The ballet," she finally says decisively as she looks at him. "I want you to take me to the ballet."

None of her friends will go with her. They think it's dull, but she adores it. Always has.

Edited 2015-11-04 23:55 (UTC)

Sherlock grows impatient while Molly deliberates her options, but he makes an attempt to not let it show. It's a failed attempt as he can't ignore the impulse to shift his weight and pull some less-than-polite faces to encourage her to think faster.

"Done," he agrees instantly. Perhaps even a bit excitedly. With this, he'll be able to pay Molly for taking over his babysitting duties and he'll enjoy himself in the process. Much like Molly, he doesn't have anyone who cares for dance or live performance to go with. Well, besides his parents, but he'd rather go with a friend. "There's a run of Le Corsaire at the Coliseum in January. I could pull in a favour and reserve prime seating for two."

Of course, The Nutcracker and Giselle are both upcoming shows they could attend, but he's rather fond of Le Corsaire.

"Le Corsaire sounds lovely," she says. "And it's a deal, but before we shake on it, you should be aware that you are not going to just drop the baby off with me all day and show up at night. You're still going to be there for most of it. I'm agreeing to help you, not do all the work. And you will have to change nappies."

You want backbone, Sherlock, you've got it.

Sherlock's nose crinkles in distaste at the thought of changing nappies, but he's handled viler substances in his time spent solving crimes. As long as he's not left alone with it, the crisis is averted. His biggest concern isn't so much giving up two days of his time, but the possibility of something bad happening to the child and having to explain that to John and Mary.

"Fine, fine. But I won't be changing all of them," he adds in before offering his hand for her to shake.

"Oh, and I should probably tell you now. I scheduled an appointment with Toby's veterinarian for Friday at eleven to cap his claws. Don't want to risk sending the baby back home with Bartonella," he explains, reaching into his coat pocket to hand her a used baby's onesie wrapped in parchment. "And you should give this to Toby. Or, I can do it if you won't be home tonight."

"No, not all," she says as she takes his hand and shakes on it. "But definitely some."

She raises her eyebrows when he tells her about Toby's appointment.

"Toby has been around babies before," she says as she takes the onesie with a slightly confused look. "He's quite good with them actually. Likes to cuddle. He's never once scratched one. And do you really think the onesie is necessary?"

Clearly Sherlock's been reading up on cats and babies and he's probably going to drive her crazy with doing everything by the book the whole weekend.

"He's never been around this baby," Sherlock points out, "And accidental scratches could be just as dangerous as intentional ones. We'll keep the appointment for the caps." As far as the necessity of the onesie goes, he's already made up his mind about that, too. He'll tell her so through an incredulous facial expression instead of words.

Feeling that they've come to an agreement about Toby, he turns his attention to his phone again. "I'm sending you John's timetable. They've scheduled everything around their personal convenience instead of for the best development of the child, but it would do more damage to adjust it in short-term." Knowing John, he'd just change it up again after the weekend. "I'll include a list of websites for you to memorise before Friday. Between the two of us, I'm sure we'll manage."

"Fine, fine, take him to the vet," she says and hands the onesie back to him. "You can give him this while you're at it. I'm not leaving here until Friday."

And she certainly wasn't spending the rest of her holiday reading baby websites, but she won't tell Sherlock that.

She realizes she's still in her robe.

"Excuse me for a moment," she says and grabs some yoga pants and a t-shirt from the drawer and goes into the bathroom to change. Her bath would be cold by now anyway so there was no use in going back to it.

the picture prompt meme.

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock (BBC)

If you feel like continuing the bit of story we started in our last thread...

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