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Happy Birthday –SH


Molly opened her mouth wide. She did not expect that. No one expected that, to be honest. Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock she knew? Sending her a text and wishing her a Happy Birthday? Last Christmas he asked for forgiveness and kissed her on the cheek – that was highly surprising too. But this... this was way too much. What was going on?


‘Probably John made him send this message. Or probably it was John who sent it,’ nodded Molly and smiled a bit. Didn’t matter actually – she still was happy about this small gesture of kindness. Plus, the excited butterflies in her stomach made her smile even wider.




At the other end of London, Irene Adler whacked the riding crop in her hands. She smirked – a smile of a devilish woman with an evil desire and deadly thoughts. She licked her lower lip and stretched her red-manicured hand to reach a black iPhone on the marble dressing table in front of her.


She has just texted the only person she has never thought she would be involved with. Molly was everything Irene detested – innocent, child-like and somehow scientifically clever: the stereotypical college model of an anti-social nerd with an inexplicable love for the books. Yet, she was close to Sherlock and thus, a target for Irene. An easy and predictable target.


Sentiment, thought Irene, will make this Molly-girl feel the stupid butterflies in her inexperienced stomach and would make her even more vulnerable.


Irene smirked once again. She tasted her victory with her initial move. It was too easy. She knew what people liked and were afraid of – it was only her who possessed that privilege. To know Molly’s weak spots was an easy-peasy for every person.




Molly was a bit nervous. She had never planned a birthday party for herself but when Mrs Hudson and John insisted, she tried a bit. She even dressed for it – a black gown with bare back and high-heels; some make-up; expensive jewellery.


Although she was perfectly well aware she was inexperienced in those things (as she called the flirtations and the relationships), Molly noticed Gregory Lestrade’s jaw dropping low and his eyes narrating over her long legs. She shivered a bit and covered them with her long fairy scarf. Not enough but still something.


She was pleased, actually. Of course she was genuinely and happily surprised upon receiving Sherlock’s text but still... she knew very well that she was not his type. As if someone was his type. Except John Watson, of course. Whatever that meant.


So, seeing the admiration in Lestrade’s eyes made her feel appreciated and somehow afraid at the same time. She thrived to make the first step: not only now but always when I man has been looking at her that way. But she never got the courage. So she stayed alone. With Toby, of course. Her marvellous cat.


Tell Lestrade you’ll be late for the party. Stop at Piccadilly. I’ll text you the address later. It’s important. –SH


Molly bit her lower lip and looked at Lestrade. Coughed in order to clear her throat.


‘Greg... Uhm... I need to stop at Piccadilly square. Is it ok?’


He seemed confused. He had the right to be.


‘Why? Something urgent?’


‘No... Yeah... Not really. Yeeees. Yes, it is urgent. Please?’


‘Ok, I’ll wait for you. How long would it take? We’re going to be la-...’


‘It would take some time,’ Molly interrupted him nervously. She noticed they were close. The phone in her hands beeped again, ‘Don’t wait for me. Tell the others I’ll be late. Sherlock will be late too, probably. Ok?’


‘Sherlock? Molly, what-...’


‘It’s alright, Greg,’ she opened the door when he stopped in the traffic jam, ‘Go. I’m ok. I’ll come later. Just start without me.’


She disappeared somewhere in the crowd, checking her phone.




Molly turned left only to find herself in a small street with no exit, darkened and a bit (a lot!) scary. She swallowed and made several steps forward.


‘Sher-... Sherlock?’


She realised her voice was way too weak. She coughed and covered her neck with the thin scarf.


‘Sherlock, what’s going on? Are you here?’


She looked around but there was no one. The lamp at the end of the street flickered several times and went off. It got completely dark now. Her phone beeped.


Sherlock’s here and is getting rather nervous. Where are you, Molly? Is evth ok? –Greg


Molly felt her heart beating faster and faster. With shaking fingers, she wrote a short sentence.


Where are you? –Molly


An ‘aaargh’ sound was heard from behind. Molly recongised that sound – some time ago it was Sherlock’s ‘ringtone’. Not anymore, though. She turned around.


‘A bit unexpected – is it so, Ms Hooper?’


She knew this woman. She’s seen her somewhere. Sherlock’s been telling about her.


‘You are-...’


‘Oh, don’t!’ Irene came closer and put her long manicured finger on Molly’s lips. Her nail dug into Molly’s upper lip, ‘Give me the pleasure of introducing myself. Irene Adler. Professionally known as The Woman. On your services. Or... you on mine. Whichever you prefer.’


Molly got confused and made a step back. She did not even realise she was that close to a wall. Her bare back touched the cold granite. She gasped.


‘Happy Birthday, dear.’


Irene smiled and looked at Molly. Of course, she has seen some photographs of the girl in front of her. And of course her main purpose was to make this poor soul come on her side. She knew Jim had some affection towards her but was a bit unsuccessful. Which kinda... surprised Irene, to be honest. James Moriarty was the master super-criminal of London. Aaaand he was defenceless against this Molly-girl. Now Irene knew why.


Molly was innocent and child-like, indeed. But in front of Irene was standing a beautiful woman, anxious and waiting for someone to make the first step. Irene hated such people – she preferred those who knew what was going on. Yet, Molly’s mildness fascinated her.


‘How do you know? Why am I here?’


‘Jim’s sending his greetings too.’


‘Jim?’ Molly’s eyes flickered in frightened surprise, ‘Where’s he? What’s going on?’


Irene came even closer, putting both her palms on the wall behind Molly. Her eyes locked on the unkissed lips before her.


‘Look,.. Molly... I don’t want to spoil your birthday. I want to make you an offer.’


‘Is Jim involved?’


‘More or less.’


‘Then I don’t wanna hear it.’


Molly managed to move aside but Irene grabbed her wrist and pushed her back at herself. Molly’s shivering body touching her breasts made Irene lick her lips.


‘I’ll be short,’ it was Molly’s heavy breathing the only heard thing now, ‘We want you to spy on Sherlock.’


‘You’ll offer me money?’ Molly chuckled nervously, ‘I won’t spy on Sherlock for money. I won’t spy on anyone.’


‘Wrong choice.’


Irene moved her hand over Molly’s neck; then her long fingers came lower and lower, through the black gown’s collar. Her fingertips reached the lace bra. Molly shivered again.


‘You just think about it. I believe there’re some good sides of that, after all. You won’t receive the same from Sherlock as from us.’


‘Same what?’




Irene’s fingers touched Molly’s nipples, while her other hand was moving towards her bikini, coming through the dress’s slash. Molly took a breath and held it even longer than she could. When breathing out, she thought her heart was about to rip out of her chest.


‘No, stop!’


Molly shrieked a bit unexpected for both of them and escaped from Irene’s malicious embrace.


‘I don’t know what you’re talking about but tell Jim... Tell Jim that I-...’


Her words were left unspoken once Irene’s bloody lips sank into Molly’s dark-pink ones. It was a powerful kiss that made both of them quite uneasy – a normal thing for Molly and a highly unusual one for Irene. Irene tried to penetrate Molly’s mouth with her tongue but the latter succeeded biting the top of Irene’s tongue with her front teeth. That broke off the kiss, leaving some blood drops on Molly’s upper lip.


‘I’ll tell him.’


Irene smiled, sucking in the blood running from her tongue. Molly cried out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She ran away and soon disappeared somewhere in the darkness.


I get you now, Jimmy. Amazing girl. And now ours. –IA


Irene knew she won’t wait long. Her phone beeped back.


I am proud of you, Adler. I am proud of you. -JM