Mister Humphries
Aug. 31st, 2016 02:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darnedchildSummary: A short fic for Molly Hooper Appreciation Week - Day Four (Flying Solo)
Rating: G
A/N - This one is a bit sad. Sorry.
Mister Humphries
The resemblance was superficial at best, but it was still enough to make Molly double check the paperwork on her clipboard.
“Hello, Mister . . . Humphries, is it? You gave me a bit of a fright for a moment.” She set the clipboard down and reached for a pair of disposable gloves.
“Not that I’m saying you look frightening, not at all. You look sort of peaceful, other than-“ Molly’s gloved fingers hovered over the bruising that molted the majority of his torso, not quite ready to touch the still body on her table. “You just remind me of someone I knew.”
After making note of several initial observations, Molly began at his head. “He had hair like yours, before he got sick. That sandy blond that brightens after days spent working out in the garden in the summer. Lots of it, too, just like you.”
She frowned and bent closer, pulling a few pieces of small fibers out of Mister Humphries hair with a set of tweezers. “He loved the garden. Couldn’t really grow more than a patch of weeds most of the time, but he said he loved being outdoors. Getting his hands dirty. That last year I tried to help when he couldn’t.”
It took time to move down the table. She checked his nose and mouth in particular, looking for anything that shouldn’t be there. Anything that stood out.
Molly liked to be thorough. Sometimes all it took was one little detail to pull an entire case together, and if she could help find the person responsible for Mister Humphries ending up in her morgue . . .
With a soft crack and a pop, Molly stretched her back before turning to his hands. “You’ve got calluses. Worked with your hands.” She dug scrapings out from below his fingernail and put them in a small baggy. “Dad wasn’t really very handy, I’m afraid. I got a dollhouse from Father Christmas when I six, and I think that’s when I knew for certain that he wasn’t real. That poor, slightly lopsided house. I ran down the stairs to find it under the tree and Dad looked so proud of himself. Even with his thumb bruised and bandaged. I loved that house.”
She stared across the room, unseeing, as she whispered, “I loved him. Love him.”
Molly blinked and took a deep breath, then looked down at Mister Humphries. “You really do look like him. His birthday is tomorrow. He would have been sixty-eight. I suppose that’s why-“
She took a step back from the table. “I’m getting maudlin, aren’t I? I think, if you don’t mind, that I’m going to take a little break and give my Mum a call. I’ll just be in the other room right there, won’t even let you out of my sight.”
Mister Humphries didn’t express an opinion one way or another, of course.
Rating: G
A/N - This one is a bit sad. Sorry.
Mister Humphries
The resemblance was superficial at best, but it was still enough to make Molly double check the paperwork on her clipboard.
“Hello, Mister . . . Humphries, is it? You gave me a bit of a fright for a moment.” She set the clipboard down and reached for a pair of disposable gloves.
“Not that I’m saying you look frightening, not at all. You look sort of peaceful, other than-“ Molly’s gloved fingers hovered over the bruising that molted the majority of his torso, not quite ready to touch the still body on her table. “You just remind me of someone I knew.”
After making note of several initial observations, Molly began at his head. “He had hair like yours, before he got sick. That sandy blond that brightens after days spent working out in the garden in the summer. Lots of it, too, just like you.”
She frowned and bent closer, pulling a few pieces of small fibers out of Mister Humphries hair with a set of tweezers. “He loved the garden. Couldn’t really grow more than a patch of weeds most of the time, but he said he loved being outdoors. Getting his hands dirty. That last year I tried to help when he couldn’t.”
It took time to move down the table. She checked his nose and mouth in particular, looking for anything that shouldn’t be there. Anything that stood out.
Molly liked to be thorough. Sometimes all it took was one little detail to pull an entire case together, and if she could help find the person responsible for Mister Humphries ending up in her morgue . . .
With a soft crack and a pop, Molly stretched her back before turning to his hands. “You’ve got calluses. Worked with your hands.” She dug scrapings out from below his fingernail and put them in a small baggy. “Dad wasn’t really very handy, I’m afraid. I got a dollhouse from Father Christmas when I six, and I think that’s when I knew for certain that he wasn’t real. That poor, slightly lopsided house. I ran down the stairs to find it under the tree and Dad looked so proud of himself. Even with his thumb bruised and bandaged. I loved that house.”
She stared across the room, unseeing, as she whispered, “I loved him. Love him.”
Molly blinked and took a deep breath, then looked down at Mister Humphries. “You really do look like him. His birthday is tomorrow. He would have been sixty-eight. I suppose that’s why-“
She took a step back from the table. “I’m getting maudlin, aren’t I? I think, if you don’t mind, that I’m going to take a little break and give my Mum a call. I’ll just be in the other room right there, won’t even let you out of my sight.”
Mister Humphries didn’t express an opinion one way or another, of course.