How to Play a Game Called Murder

Chapter 3: Win Some, Lose Some

Sherlock found himself staring down at one rather furious Molly Hooper. He eyed John and Mary, looking for a clue as to why his pathologist was so irate. He had thought she would be thrilled with the idea of cohabitation. John seemed as confused as Sherlock while Mary was shaking with silent laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft's head pop into view from the kitchen and he directed an irritated glare at his brother, which was ignored as usual, as punishment for being obnoxiously nosy.

Ah, subtle, Mrs. Hudson, he thought, as his landlady (not housekeeper) quietly slipped out of the room and back down the stairs to her own flat. No doubt time for your 'herbal soother.'

Just then, there was the chime of the doorbell, which Mrs. Hudson answered, and Lestrade came bounding up the steps to join the crowd. Greg surveyed the scene before him; the tiny, infuriated Doctor Hooper with her hands on her hips, scowling up at a genuinely confused detective and the observers standing to one side, then cleared his throat. Sherlock directed his focus on the detective inspector and clapped his hands together.

"Ah, Gavin, excellent timing. I was just telling Doctor Hooper that it would be in everyone's best interest for her to stay here under my protection for the time being. Do assure her that this is the most convenient solution to the problem of her safety."

Greg made a face at Sherlock, knowing full well that he only used wrong names to bother him, before turning to Molly, his expression thoughtful. "You would be safer with someone to protect you..."

Sherlock cut him off. "There, you see? Scotland Yard agrees with me."

Greg held up a hand and Sherlock glowered at him. "No, no. I'm not agreeing with you. I said she needs someone. Not specifically you."

Sherlock appeared affronted. "Who could possibly protect her better than me?"

Lestrade shrugged and sarcastically retorted, "Oh, I dunno, almost anyone? Face it, Sherlock. Not like you really have the patience for that kind of thing. You'd have to keep an eye on her all the time. Knowing you, you'd find a case and run off, forget all about her."

Sherlock gaped at him, not knowing exactly what to say to that. "Molly, maybe I can spare some men to watch your flat or perhaps Mycroft could assign a couple agents to you." He shuffled his feet and licked his lips nervously. "Or you could stay with me for a while. I've got the place to myself now, you know, and there's a spare bedroom. Bath too."

Sherlock scowled at him, barely concealed fury in his eyes, and he spat out through clenched teeth, "Thank you for your kind offer, but I highly doubt that Moly will appreciate your attentions so soon after your divorce and the end of her engagement." The detective inspector turned red and glared awkwardly at his feet. That'll make him think twice before attempting to flirt with my pathologist.

Molly's voice cut through the haze of jealousy, (wait, jealousy? I'm not jealous, am I?) with a gentle refusal of Greg's offer, citing work schedule conflicts, but that maybe his notion of Mycroft's or Lestrade's men would work.

"No, impossible. One, they are idiots. Two, it's too easy to infiltrate their ranks and I simply don't have time to go through them all."

Molly turned her attention back to him, her fury undiminished. "You think you can just order me to stay here and I'll be happy about it?"

Well, yes, he reflected. He decided to employ a couple tricks that always worked with the pathologist. Staring into her eyes, Sherlock put on his best expression of vulnerability and in a pleading tone said, "Molly, you have to stay here with me. I need to know you are safe." A bit unnerving, how true that was.

He heard a snort come from Mycroft's general direction; oh I will strangle him someday, and saw a look that spelled murder on John's face. Well, let him be angry. We all know this is the best solution, no matter how it comes about. Mary was again fighting laughter, mental note to ask her what the hell she finds so hilarious about all of this, and Greg appeared positively sick, Sherlock noted with no small amount of glee.

That glee died however when he refocused on Molly. She was frowning up at him with an expression of hurt and anger. Before he could dodge, she brought her hand up, slapping him so hard that he was positive it would bruise. Wait, what was that for? The big, sad eyes always work on her. What is going on?

"How dare you try to manipulate me that way again, Sherlock Holmes. After everything..." her shaky voice trailed off and tears filled her eyes.

Exasperated, Sherlock said something he regretted the second it left his mouth. "Janine rather liked sleeping here; I don't see why you shouldn't either." The collective gasp in the room made him wince. Oh very not good.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him for a moment then responded in the sweetest, most sarcastic tone known to man. "Of course, how could I forget? Sherlock only pretends to care about people when it is relevant to a case. As I am at the heart of this one, I am needed." She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "Oh, I will stay. And I will make your life a living hell if you so much as speak one word to me Sherlock Holmes." With that, she turned and stalked out of the room, stomping on each stair as she ascended to John's old bedroom and slamming the door once she got there.

Sherlock scanned around the room puzzled. "Did I win or lose that round?" He asked Mary.

"Oh, Sherlock... You definitely lost that one," she replied, falling onto the couch, positively vibrating with mirth.

John shook his head. "You really need to learn when to shut up, mate. Not sure Molly really wants to think about Janine sleeping here."

Sherlock nodded an affirmation. "I don't see why though. She knows it was for a case." John let out an exasperated sigh and shrugged at Greg as if to say he was giving up.

Mycroft rejoined them then, "Sherlock, do try to smooth things over with Miss Hooper. It will make my agent's job a lot easier if she will speak to you of her work schedule and any plans for leaving the flat."

Sherlock nodded again, annoyed, and headed towards the door. "I'm taking your car, brother dear. Molly will need her things from her flat. Oh God, I suppose I have to bring that awful cat as well." He frowned. Toby and he were not on the best of terms. Then again, he wasn't on the best of terms with Toby's mistress at this point in time and bringing her cat without being asked might go a ways towards forgiveness. John followed, motioning for Lestrade to do so as well and they disappeared down the stairs. Mycroft gave a curt nod to them before pulling out his cell to call for another car to get him.

Mary grabbed a couple biscuits off the tray, patting her belly, and sighed as she began to make her way up the stairs to console a, probably, sobbing Molly Hooper. Really, Sherlock, for a genius, you can be incredibly dense.