#apparently this post wasn't appearing in the tags ffs tumblr

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

The Governess and the Doctor’s Hunt for the Copper Beeches 1/4 | Sherlock x Reader

Prompt: Eight

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Words: 1836

A/N: Just an idea that popped into my head years ago since BBC Sherlock hadn’t introduced Violet Hunter from the Copper Beeches story, so I wanted to write my own version. Also, I wanted a story with Molly more involved in a dynamic with the reader similar to Sherlock and John’s.

Edit: I’m reposting this since tumblr still hasn’t sorted itself out about the tagging system because apparently it wasn’t showing under any of the tags

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It had been eight hours since John’s last text. He had been nervous taking up cases with Sherlock again, even with a new babysitter looking after Rosie. You didn’t mind his frequent check-ins. Rosie had been a well-behaved baby, only crying when she needed changing or needed food. Other than that, it was pretty smooth sailing.

Eight hours was too long, though, even for a case like this. Another black market trail had been found and Sherlock was asked to look into it. You brought up your concerns with Mrs. Hudson, but she dismissed it, saying that this happened a lot and they always come back.

That night, you tucked Rosie in after her dinner, read her a story, and stayed in 221B. Thankfully, after weeks of working as Rosie’s babysitter, Mrs. Hudson mentioned that it would be easier if you lived close by, preferably in the vacant apartment room in the building. Sherlock reminded her what had happened in that room a couple of years prior, but the rent was cheap, a rarity in London, so you took the offer.

They did not come back the next day. You called Lestrade, who had not heard from them as well. You even asked Mycroft and he was firstly bewildered on how you managed to obtain his private number before saying that he had not heard from his little brother since the day he spoke of the case.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Molly assured you as she adjusted the microscope.

You sat on a metal stool across from her, chin resting in the palm of your hand as you sighed. You had Mrs. Hudson watched Rosie for a while, which she had not minded at all, before you went to see the one person that Sherlock confided in the most.

“Yeah?” you muttered.

“Yeah,” she said without confidence. She cleared her throat and continued to look through the lens. “They always manage to find their way out of dangerous situations. You know how they are. Sherlock would make things complicated, John would try to organize his thoughts, then Sherlock would have an epiphany. Then they come back with the case solved, Sherlock gloats at his brother, then they return to 221B, drinking tea with biscuits given by Mrs. Hudson.”

You hummed. “Okay. I’m just worried when Rosie realizes that her dad hasn't come home yet.”

Molly leaned away from the microscope and gave you a reassuring smile. “If you want, I can come over and help a bit.”

“Aren’t you busy?”

Molly shrugged. “It’s fine. Really.”

_

It had been eight days since the boys went missing. Rosie started to cry more frequently after not seeing her dad and uncle in a week. Molly had been helping you and Mrs. Hudson whenever she could and offered to ask Lestrade if he should look into their case. You declined her offer, knowing that Lestrade would consider doing it, but you didn’t want to use their resources. Instead, you looked through John’s notes. While Sherlock occasionally commented on John writing down their cases and adventures, you knew that he enjoyed it a bit.  It helped them get more attention and cases after all.

The black market had ties with many of London’s rich art collectors and none of them were going to risk being exposed. You brought your findings to Molly, listing off your theories as she worked. You had asked once if your visits ever bothered her, but she never minded. She liked the company, since it was only her in the lab with human parts.

After almost two weeks of the boys being missing, Lestrade had spared a small team to look into it and offered any more help he could. As you were walking back to Baker Street with Rosie in a stroller, a small boy in grubby clothes bumped into you, stumbling slightly and waved over his shoulder in apology. You grimaced, then quickly checked your pockets. All of your things were still there, but… there was a folded piece of paper that wasn’t there before. You looked around before hurrying inside, making Rosie a bottle of milk before setting her down in her crib.

With a cup of tea from Mrs. Hudson in front of you, you sat down on the desk that you were able to organize now that the boys were gone, and took out the note. The top edge of the paper was unevenly ripped, possibly from a notepad. The writing was in pen, the grooves deep with a few punctures through the paper at the end of some of the letters. The surface that the person was writing on was not solid, not suitable for writing. Hastily written as well, so they were rushing.

You frowned, sorting through John’s papers and dragged out one from the stack with a decent amount of his handwriting. The slant and the cross of the T were similar, as was the angle of the As. how he dotted the Is. Those small details were what made you believe that the note was most likely from John.

You took out another piece of paper and placed them side by side. The words were passages paired by numbers. Sherlock must’ve been the one telling John what to write. Luckily, he allowed you free reign of his messy book collections, so you were familiar with most of the passages or at least had an idea of which book they were from. You scanned each passage and quickly scrambled to grab the books, plonking them onto the table.

The boys were trying to tell you something and Sherlock knew that you’d be able to figure it out.

“Clever girl,” he’d say before awkwardly patting you on the head.

People outside of your circle saw your friendship with the consulting detective as odd, mainly because even after all this time, they still thought that he was odd. Being friends with Sherlock Holmes meant that you were free to express your interests in crime and mystery, in science and random bits of trivia, and were able to exchange knowledge, especially on things that Sherlock had deleted from his mind palace. You two grew close, and you’d be lying if you said that you did not harbor a crush on him. You had to lie, though. Your best friend was in love with him before and you had a feeling she still does.

After decoding the message, you found that it was an address followed by the word “Start”. You leaned back in your chair, raking your brain to figure out what that meant. After a quick google search, you found the address to be in Birmingham, almost two hours by train. You had a bad feeling that it wasn’t going to be that easy. First of all, you would need to get there, then find out where exactly they are, if they are even there. It was unlikely that the case would be solved by the time you’ve found them, so you would have to help wrap that up before taking the boys back to Baker Street. You didn’t want to be away from Rosie too long and bother Mrs. Hudson, but you don’t want to waste Lestrade’s resources. You knew Sally gets irritated when Sherlock would call for help on the simplest of things during the times where he doesn’t feel all that bothered to do it himself. Plus, what would a nanny like you know where to start…

“Start”... of course, you thought, there must be a trail of clues. Maybe something to help trace back to the boys. You couldn’t do this alone and you knew, if the person was free and willing, just the right person to call.

“Morning, dear Molly,” you said, strolling through the lab door with the papers in your hand.

Molly looked up through goggles from a dish with a brain in it. “Uh oh, sounds like you’re up to something,” she teased before going back to your work.

“When are you free?” you asked, leaning against the counter across from her.

“Well, when I’m done with this examination, I should be free for a couple of days. Why?”

You hummed. “Perfect.”

“Why?” she asked again, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” you said nonchalantly, placing the papers onto the counter. You folded your hands in front of you and smiled innocently at her.

Molly rolled her eyes. “You know, you’re hanging around Sherlock too much. He does that when he needs something but wants the other person to bring it up. What’s that?” She nodded over to the papers.

“A message…,” you said, “That I believe are from our boys.”

She paused her movements. “Are you sure?”

“It matches John’s handwriting and the words used could only come from Sherlock, I just know it,” you said.

“Why aren’t you going to Lestrade for this?”

You sighed. “Because… Lestrade’s busy and I don’t want to waste his time on something like this.” Molly shot you a worried look. “It’s fine. If things get serious, we can always call him. Besides, I believe that there are more than one message.”

Molly frowned. “I don’t know… I’ll see once I’m done with this,” she said.

“Okay,” you said, leaving the papers on the counter, “I’ll see you later, then. Text me first if you’re going to stop by. I’m planning to go to the shops later today.”

She nodded. “Alright, see you.”

You walked out of the lab and sighed. You would have to check this one out by yourself. No better way to prove a theory. That would also mean that you would have to leave Rosie.

“Oh, don’t worry, dearie, I’ve got it,” Mrs. Hudson said once you told her you had to take a trip. You didn’t tell her what it was for. Nothing was confirmed yet.

You packed lightly and got a train ticket to Birmingham. It had been years since you’d rode the train and you’d never done it alone before. How do you know you’re getting onto the right one? What if you’re late? You must’ve driven the station attendants mad that morning with your questions.

They kindly steered you towards the right train, notifying you when it was boarding. You stood at the platform, watching the tracks rattle as the train neared. There was momentary chaos as people boarded the train and you managed to find a seat by the window.

You busied yourself with looking up the address and the fastest route from the station to your destination. You hoped that the boys weren’t in a dire situation where time was of the essence. You didn’t have a developed mind palace like Sherlock had, you were still working on it. That would mean that with each clue, you’d have to go back and reference every book that you could think of that was in Sherlock’s messy bookshelves.

As London faded from view, you sighed, slumping back in your seat. What did the boys get into this time?