Fic for pantropia: Pretty Maids in a Row

[holmesticemods]

Title: Pretty Maids in a Row
Recipient: pantropia
Author: meredydd
Characters/Pairings: Lestrade/Molly, mentions of Sherlock, John
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Warnings: mild BDSM, sexual situations, death (unrelated to the sex), mortuary goings-on
Summary: Lestrade really is a copper, you know. He can solve crimes. At least that’s what he keeps telling his team when they ask if he’ll be calling Sherlock in on a serial murder case.


Pretty Maids in a Row

To: G.Lestrade
From:Hooper, M.
Sorry this is so late—hope you check your email before leaving work. I won’t be able to make it by eight. Tagging and bagging tonight since my tech is off.

Greg worried his lower lip for a moment, fighting down an unexpected twinge of jealousy. He knew that Sherlock would be at the morgue if there was even the slightest chance of ‘interesting’ materials to be wheedled from Molly’s clutches but, he reminded himself, she wasn’t mooning after Sherlock anymore, not for a while now, and besides… His grin was positively lascivious as he replied to her email.

To: Hooper, M.
From: G. Lestrade
Too bad, but we can meet up at the all-night curry place by Bart’s if you’d rather. Besides…dinner wasn’t exactly my top priority with you this evening.

Molly pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back the smile threatening to bloom. Shoving her smartphone back in her pocket, she motioned for the morgue attendant to bring in the next body. “Cor, how many died in the wreck?”

“Huh? Oh, this one ain’t from the wreck. She’s one of those Nursery Rhyme Killer victims.” Reaching out, the attendant shook one of the young woman’s pale, stiffening arms and the bracelet around her wrist jingled. “Silver bells and cockle shells, innit?”

“That isn’t what that rhyme meant,” Molly muttered, feeling a twinge of nausea at what she knew she would find once she pulled back the sheet. “Full autopsy on that one, Jenkins?”

“Says the chart, yeah. Priority, from coppers even.”

Molly sighed again. “Right. Well, transfer her to the table and get Markham to shelve the accident vics.” She forgot all about emailing Greg for a long while, then.

To: Greg
From: Molly
I’m guessing you’re at home by now? I hope so or I’ll feel like a right twat for sending this when you won’t be able to read it for ages and think I’m just ignoring you in the meantime. I don’t know if I’m up for this evening (ha…that sounded pervy, even to me) after all. Long, long autopsy. Can’t say much right now but if you want to come by tomorrow, I’ll be sure to return your handcuffs…

Greg heard the chime on his phone go off, alerting him to a new email. He both hated and loved the damned device for it’s ability to keep him available at all hours. Hated it due to work, loved it because Molly had the tendency to send the most interesting emails when she was working late and he could save each and every one of them to read later, when he needed a, ah, pick me up. Reading her message, he frowned quickly before Donovan called him to the victim’s side. “Another one?”

“We’re sure of it. Silver bells on her bracelet.”

“And cockle shells,” Anderson added, opening up his kit. “My lab’s been getting calls all week about the Nursery Rhyme Killer, you know. I’ve been shunting ‘em back up to the main switchboard for you lot to deal with.”

“Thanks,” Greg sighed. “I’ll have a word with Marcy about how to tell the press ‘no comment’. Apparently, they don’t teach that when getting your liberal arts degree.” He motioned for Sally to join him a few feet away and leave Anderson to do his job. “I’m not calling Sherlock on this one,” he murmured, and did not miss the quick smile of pleasure that dashed across the sergeant’s face. “Not for the reasons you think, Donovan. He and John are going to Cornwall tomorrow and…” he hesitated, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “Well, I’d rather them not get caught up in this.” Sherlock had been pestering him for the better part of a week, ever since the story broke that London had a new serial killer running amuck, no clear link between the victims other than all three were young women and they had all been found with the same type of bracelet on their right wrist. Each woman had been found with sores around their mouths and the insides of their throats, evidence of some sort of tissue damage in their esophagus according to the reports from the coroner. Molly’s signature had appeared on the first two reports as the attending physician at the initial autopsy and that, Greg was almost ashamed to admit ,even to himself, had given him a tiny trill of pleasure, just seeing her name and know that she was his… “Anyway,” he forced his mind away from the thought of Molly and how he had left her just a few days ago, sprawled across her own bed, panting and smiling as he tugged on his shirt, hurrying to respond to what would be the second of these murders. “Anyway, Sherlock and John are not to be called. We can do this on our own.”

Sally nodded vigorously. “Damned right, sir.”


To: Mols
From:Greg

Wasn’t at home but got it anyway. Trying to keep the press at bay but it’s worse than dealing with Sherlock in a strop sometimes. Tonight turned out to be bad for me, too. But I have a rather cunning plan. Keep the handcuffs—you never know when you might need them.

Molly smiled tiredly at the email and barely managed to stifle a yawn as Toby butted against her chin, demanding rubs and cuddles. “I know, I know, you don’t like me having another man in my life. Too bad, Tobes. This might be going somewhere, you know.” She scooped him up and padded towards her bed, the cat going limp and heavy in her arms. “I mean, somewhere other than bed. Or the sofa, or my kitchen floor. Or the back of one of the pandas…” She felt her face go hot at that memory. It had been the first time they had done anything more than kiss, she remembered, letting Toby slide down to the floor and trot off in search of his catnip toy. Feeling unexpectedly self conscious, Molly crawled under the top sheet and closed her eyes, remembering the date vividly. They had gone for coffee and Greg received a text from one of his team, reminding him that he needed to sign off on something at work. She had gone with him back to the Yard and waited while he found the minion’s paperwork and then… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure why he offered to show her around and they ended up in the parking area with all of the marked cars but they had and they had found the last one on the last row, just out of reach of the CCTV camera, was unlocked. Kissing had become touching, which had become… Amazing, hot, a bit dirty… Molly’s fingers drifted over the slight curve of her belly and downwards as she turned over adjectives in her mind. It wasn’t difficult to recall the taste of Greg’s skin on her tongue, the way he gasped and hissed in surprise as her fingers worked open the zip on his trousers. Molly, not here!
Why not? That had ended the argument—that and the sudden presence of her mouth on his cock. She giggled at the memory, his startled moan of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, her tongue delicately teasing his foreskin as her fingers wiggled their way past his bunched-up pants and trousers. Her thoughts slid from memory to fantasy as her fingers pushed past the waist of her pajama bottoms and pressed into the slick folds of her sex. Hips shifting restlessly, she circled the tight bud of her clitoris with two fingers, her other hand going to her breast and pinching the hardening nipple there a bit more roughly than usual, sudden visions of teeth and larger, stronger fingers sparking to life in her brain.

To: Greg
From: Molly
Are you up? I thought I’d be a lot sleepier by now but…well, one thing led to another and I’ve been thinking about you all night. It’s half one now and I’m sorely tempted to call you but I’m afraid of waking you. If I were a braver woman, I’d take a picture for you to ‘consider’ when you have the time, a nudge to encourage you to leave work early tomorrow and come to my flat or have me ‘round to yours. I thought of that, too, while thinking about you earlier, taking loads of pictures of the things I’d like to do to you. With you? Both, I suppose… Oh, God, I’m blushing. You can’t even see me and I’m blushing. I’m going to hit send now and spend the next several hours regretting this, aren’t I?

Greg didn’t check his phone when it buzzed. He couldn’t. He knew that it would be Molly and things were getting closer now. “Why didn’t anyone put the file in the report?” he demanded, slamming the new morgue paperwork down on the desk in front of his team. “I had to find out at buggering midnight that a fourth victim had been found and taken to Bart’s morgue! We should’ve been notified immediately!”

“Sir,” Donovan piped up, far more comfortable in the face of Greg’s moods than the newer team members, “that would be Marcy at the switchboard’s doing. They apparently delivered this by courier around five pm and she left it sit in the in box until…well, until what’s-his-face on the night shift found it.” She fingered the edge of the evidence bag sticking out of the file and gave her boss a considering look. “Don’t you have a friend at the morgue? Why didn’t she tell you?”

For one, irrational, moment, he wondered the exact same thing. Then he took a breath and fixed a steady gaze on Sally. “It’s not her job to inform me. She does her work, I do mine.” He ignored the way Sally smirked into her coffee cup before he turned to the rest of the team. “Now. We have four vics, not three. Any progress on M.O.?”

There was a general shuffling and murmuring before Hawkes rolled his eyes and said, “I know we’re not bringing in Holmes on this one, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try and use his methods, you know? So looking up the nursery rhyme, the silver bells and cockleshells were all about Catholic pilgrims back in the day. And the pretty maids were Queen Mary’s ladies-in-waiting.”

“These women weren’t anyone’s ladies-in-waiting,” Sally pointed out. “One was a prostitute, one was a preschool teacher, one was a waitress…”

Greg tapped the new file. “And this one was in university, studying chemistry. Right. I know it’s so late that it’s early but this new body means that we don’t have time to go home and get a cuppa and a shag. Donovan, you and Hawkes start looking into the background of all of these women. See what they have in common, and I don’t care how minute or outlandish the connection seems. Bring ‘em to me ASAP.” He snapped out orders to the rest of the team, moving around his desk to his computer. “I want results by sunrise, people.”

To: Mols
From: Greg

Don’t regret it at all… You were thinking of the back of the panda, weren’t you? I wish I could’ve been with you tonight to, ah, lend a hand, as it were. I love watching your face when you come, Mols. I wonder if IT can read my private email account… But I don’t think I care, this time of night. We’ve had a bit of a break in the case, I think, thanks to Hawkes. Maybe I can finally come see you tomorrow. Or is it tonight now? Christ, I’m too old to be feeling like a bloody sixth former with a crush, aren’t I? I got all giddy when I saw your signature on another morgue report.

Molly was still warm and tingling, skin hypersensitive in her post-orgasm haze when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the time and saw it was nearly three, hesitated and decided to grab it anyway. The happy, swirling thought that it might be Greg drove her to do it, she decided later as she dressed to go to Bart’s in the pre-dawn darkness of her flat. “What the Hell kind of emergency could there be in a morgue?” she muttered to Toby, yanking a jumper on over her t-shirt and jeans. “The dead had best be rising from their slabs and looking for brains or I’m filing a complaint.” Grabbing her purse and passkey, Molly forgot her phone as she headed out into the early morning.
Greg glanced at his phone around five and wondered if it was too early to call Molly. She had to be at work by seven, he knew, and reasoned that she might be awake by that early hour. The thought of her, sleep-mussed and preparing for her day, made something curl inside his gut, something warm and pleasant. Christ, you’re pathetic. Forty years old and acting like you’re sixteen. Still, he thought a moment later, it wasn’t like he was Sherlock, mooning after John so obviously since the Incident. Or John, blushing and fumbling whenever Sherlock leaned in close… No, he just took his girlfriend for rendez-vous in the back of police cars and made out like lust-addled teenagers on kitchen floors and beds. They hadn’t had sex yet but had come so close that it made Greg’s entire body tense and pulse with need just to think about it. He knew what she tasted like, what she felt like around his fingers, against his mouth and tongue, he knew the sounds she made, the way to make her come undone quickly, how to draw it out so that she was panting and arching against him… And she knew…oh, she knew how to bring him to his knees with a look (quite literally, in the case of the kitchen experience), how to make him forget his own name for a few minutes as she used her quick and clever fingers and her sweet mouth on any part of his body that she could reach. The last love-bite she had given him, one right on his ribs, just under his arm, had taken over a week to fade and he regretted that, wished it had lasted longer because every twinge of pain that came from touching it made him think of her, made his body flush and balls tighten in memory. A shuffling sound at his office door made him snap his head up and he thanked God that he was sitting behind his desk as Sally Donovan peered into the room. “Find anything?”

“Not yet. They’re all fairly average women. No remarkable schooling, no outlandish hobbies… Sir, we need to look at the idea that these may be random targets.”

“Keep looking,” he sighed. “There’s something we’re just not seeing.”

“Yes, sir. I’m going down to pick up some breakfast in bit. Want anything particular?”

He rattled off his usual order and added an extra sandwich. “Use petty cash this time, Donovan. I know you’ve been paying out of pocket lately.”

“We’re out of petty cash.” She held up a hand. “It’s fine, Sir. Just remember this when it’s promotion time.” She grinned to show that she was mostly kidding, waved and left him to his thoughts. The fragments of the more pleasant ones, ones that had veered between frankly carnal and sappily domestic, wouldn’t go back together into one nice piece, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, the faces of the murdered women peered through the cracks, taunting him with some hidden similarity. Forcing his thoughts away from his own body and to the case at hand, Greg brought up the information on all of the victims on his computer and laid out the paper copies of the files on his desk. “You might not be the world’s only consulting detective but Goddamn it, you’re a DI for Scotland Yard. You’re not an idiot. Look at the pieces…” Delilah Nevers, first victim found. Preschool teacher, age twenty eight, lived in Lewisham, found in Hampstead. No criminal record, no relatives with anything more than a parking ticket. Linda Travis, age twenty two, prostitute. No known relatives or aliases, lived in the east end, found there, too. Margaret Smythe, age thirty three, waitress. No criminal record, husband already cleared of suspicion as he was out of the country when she was murdered. And now Lenore Fanning. Age twenty, chemistry student. Girlfriend cleared of suspicion… Greg closed his eyes and took a breath, hoping that maybe, when he opened them again, he would see some pattern that had yet to emerge. No such luck, he thought dismally. He tapped a few keys and brought up images of the women when they had been alive, not the ruined faces from crime scenes, and stared hard. The last one, Lenore Fanning, looked very familiar. “Oi, Hawkes,” he called through his open office door. “Call down for the visitor logs for the last month from the general lock up, would you? I think I may have something.”

To: Hooper, M.
From: G. Lestrade

Today’s been insanely busy, Mols. Sorry for not returning your email earlier. You’ve been awfully quiet—busy day for you, too? We found a break in the case and should have things wrapped up tonight, if all works out. Will let you know.

Molly closed her eyes and let her head thump gently against the cold door of the lab’s storage room. Jenkins hadn’t been gentle with her earlier, wrestling her into the small space with efficient, rough movements that left her bruised and sore and, she was fairly certain, mildly concussed. “Whore,” he had spat, “dirtying yourself with scum like the Mad Bomber. Whore of Babylon!”
She had been too startled to do anything other than yelp in pain as he had grabbed her the moment she stepped into the morgue, fully expecting to see some sort of crisis fully underway. Instead, it had been Jenkins, waiting behind the door, waiting for her to come in alone and confused, off balance from the early hour and lulled into a false sense of security from being on familiar ground. “This is about Moriarty?” she finally managed, breaking free and darting around one of the autopsy tables. “I didn’t know what he was, Jenkins!” She lunged for the office door, knowing that if she could just reach the phone in there, security was a button away. He was faster than she expected, snatching her arm and wrenching it behind her back before she made it even a yard. “Let me go!”

“Women like you,” he hissed into her ear, “make it hard for blokes like me, you know. Good men, pious men… Men like me an’ me da. Women like you…you make real women suffer.” He shoved her then, hard enough to make her trip, set her further off balance, and she found herself crammed into the storage closet before she could even catch her breath. “Wait here,” he said through the thick door. “I’ll be back for you, whore. And then you can pay your penance.”

To:Hooper, M.
From: G. Lestrade
Molly? Everything alright? Called your office a bit ago and no answer. Thought you had to be in by seven? Things are heating up. Might call again ‘round lunch time.

“I knew she looked a bit familiar,” Greg muttered, tapping the picture of Lenore Fanning in the visitor log files. “Came to visit her boyfriend. He was picked up on charges of soliciting a prostitute.”

“Linda Travis,” Donovan supplied. “Who’s neighbor was Margaret Smythe’s sister. And Miss Smythe was the one who introduced Miss Fanning to her boyfriend, Castor Jenkins.”

“That just leaves Delilah Nevers,” Hawkes pointed out. “What’s her connection?”

Greg smiled grimly. “Jenkins’ half-sister. His father’s by-blow with a neighbor.”
Donovan shared his smile for just a moment before her expression fell. “Jenkins is out of jail, his court date is in three weeks, but there might be a bit of a problem,” she said quietly. “Sir, he’s a morgue attendant at Bart’s.”

Greg couldn’t help it. He sat down heavily and took a deep, bracing breath. “Is this…a problem?” Is Molly in his path?

Hawkes flipped through the slim file before him and said, “Well, we haven’t got much on Jenkins yet but a few of the lads he was jailed with complained that he made threats against a few women. Mostly their girlfriends or wives, anyone who he considered ah, um…”

“Dirty, sir. Anyone he considered dirty. One of the complaints is from a man jailed at the same time who was talking about his wife, a former prostitute. Jenkins got his nose broke over the comments he made.”

“Molly isn’t a prostitute,” Greg said, not caring that he was speaking out loud then. “She should be okay.”

“Maybe Hawkes and I should pop ‘round Barts and check?” Donovan suggested gently. “Maybe ask her a few questions about Jenkins?”

“I’ll come with you.”

Molly was done panicking. She scolded herself, reminded herself that she had been through worse. The thin, silver scar on her neck was a constant reminder of that. She couldn’t hear Jenkins outside the door but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, so she took a paper towel from one of the thick stacks on the shelves and shoved it under the thin space between door and floor. Nothing. No shouts to stop it, no pounding, no anything. She did it once more and received no response. The other morgue attendant should be there soon, she thought to herself, unless Jenkins… “No, don’t think about that. Just get out.” Standing, she pressed her fingers against the doorknob and tried to find the lock. The light was out, the bulb broken (she made a mental note that almost made her laugh, a reminder to call maintenance later to have them replace it) so she could not see just the lock. She just knew it was there, that it locked from the outside, but there had to be a way out. She felt the shelves nearby for something thin and strong and only came up with disposable scalpels (far too weak, she knew, and prone to break with too much pressure) and paper towels. “Great. Hell of a time for Bart’s not to stock nice, heavy Victorian implements.” Her fingers brushed against the old anatomical model of a skeleton and she paused. “Can’t get out but I can make sure he doesn’t get in, can’t I?”

Greg’s mouth was dry and his heart was racing as Donovan and Hawkes cuffed Jenkins. The man had been sitting outside the morgue, sleeping. Sleeping, of all things, Greg thought, a mix of anger and amusement and panic driving him past the now-cuffed man, into the morgue itself. “Molly? Molly, are you in here?” There was a faint scuffling noise, drawing him to the supply closet. “I need a key!” he shouted. “One of you, call security!”

“It’s in my desk drawer,” Molly shouted. “Greg, that is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes… Are you…did he harm you?”

“Get me out and I’ll tell you!”

There was a general bit of chaos as Sally ransacked Molly’s desk, finally finding the right key and several officers showed up, ostensiably to help take Jenkins in but Greg didn’t care about the growing crowd, the crying morgue attendant who was sure that her supervisor was dead, or even the hospital security milling about, trying to puff out their chests and seem official. He fairly ripped the door open and grabbed Molly, standing there with her hair a mess and clutching what seemed to be… “Is that…is that a femur?”

“Saul didn’t need it anymore,” she said, gesturing towards a disassembled skeleton in the closet. “I was going to hit Jenkins with it when he came back for me.”

Greg hesitated for just a fraction of a second before he pulled her in for a kiss, laughing in relief against her mouth as she dropped the femur and clutched at his shirt. Between kisses, Donovan managed to distract him, remind him that he needed to do his job. Greg nodded, not letting go of Molly in the meantime. “You’ll need to come down for questioning, you know,” he said with a bit of a sigh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sadly a bit used to it by now.” She smiled thinly, the memory of the previous year not dulled by time. “At least I know the DI…maybe I’ll be done early.”

“Ugh. He won’t, though.” He looped his arm around Molly’s waist. “Come on then, Doctor Hooper. Need to be official for a bit.”

She nodded, glanced at Sally who was looking pointedly away, watching the men wrestle a resisting Jenkins to his feet. “I’d hate to think the last thing I said to you was something dirty via email.”

Greg smiled a bit at that. “Well, as far as last words go, better than ‘Let the dog out, Martha, he’s piddled on the rug again.’ Hand to God, my Gramp’s last words.”

Molly rolled her eyes at that and let herself be led to one of the waiting cars.


Three weeks, two days, five hours and fifty two minutes later…

“That was awfully sweet of you, you know.”

“What was?” Greg didn’t open his eyes as Molly trailed her fingers down his chest, stopping to tug at the dusting of hair there. “Ow!”

“No falling back asleep,” she chided. “The covering for Sherlock and John so they could do their honeymoon in Cornwall. Everyone thought they were on a case.”

“They were. The case of the Detective’s Missing Pants.”

“Oi!” Molly giggled though, and he joined in the laughing as she moved to straddle him. “I don’t think Sherlock even wears pants!”

“Wench,” he growled, opening his eyes finally and giving her a mock-glare. “And you’d know this how?”

“Back when I was young and foolish,” she said, leaning so that her breasts brushed his chest and her lips, his temple, “I fancied the daft git. But I’m happy to report that, despite my tendency to get kidnapped by psychopaths, my taste in men has much improved.”

“I don’t know. Sherlock isn’t half bad looking, and if John’s smile is anything to go by, he’s not horrible in bed.”

“He’s also gay as a Maypole and not,” she paused, nipping his earlobe sharply, “my type. I much prefer sane, older, very handsome men. Well, one in particular.” She wiggled down a bit, her hands going to his wrists as she pressed her hips against his stomach, just above the tip of his burgeoning erection. Since the arrest of Jenkins, they had hardly spent a night apart but the sex had come later, only a few days before they found themselves laughing in Molly’s bed. “A particular man who happens to be very, very good with his hands.”

Greg grinned. “Really? Just my hands? Well, I should work harder and prove myself in other ways, shouldn’t I?” He started to reach for her but a sharp click and tug froze him in place. “Um?”

She slid even further back, her slick entrance teasing the head of his cock. “You never did take the handcuffs back, you know.”

He arched his hips, seeking more contact. “Oh, Molly…don’t tease me like this.” He was only half-teasing himself. Lust and desire thrummed in his veins like a living thing, stealing his breath as Molly sat up, her weight settling against him more fully, the head of his cock slipping just past her lips and against her warm, wet center.

“How would you rather I tease you, then?” she asked softly, the blush on her cheeks a contradiction to her school marm-ish tone. “All you have to do is ask and I’ll do it.”

Greg tugged at the handcuffs, knowing that he was well and truly caught until she decided to free him. Breath hitching in his chest, he closed his eyes again and felt a smile curl across his lips as she rocked her hips gently, taking just a bit more of his length inside. “Anything, Molly. Anything at all.”


A/N I hope you like it, Pantropia!

Comments

[meredydd.livejournal.com]

*G* Glad you think so! :)

[pantropia.livejournal.com]

Oh now that's the stuff. Thank you so much!

[meredydd.livejournal.com]

Now that it's been revealed who wrote what, I can say YAY! I'm SO glad you liked it! :) I'm going to pop it up on my writing LJ if you don't mind your gift fic showing up there!

[pantropia.livejournal.com]

Course not. I still need to write mine!

[syien_island]

This is epic! I love Molly/Lestrade!

[meredydd.livejournal.com]

They've become my go to het pairing, lol. I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

[opusnone.livejournal.com]

Fun, fun story. Great balance of excitement and hotness.

[meredydd.livejournal.com]

:) Glad you liked it! That's what I was going for, the balance between the elements like that.

[shefa.livejournal.com]

Ooh. Very nice. I do love Molly/Lestrade... :)

[meredydd.livejournal.com]

*G* Me too, lol. Glad you liked this!