Twelve Days of (Sherlolly) Christmas - A Partridge in a Pear Tree

[darnedchild]

Summary: Normally I do not write fic in this format but A) I wanted to try something different, B) I wanted to do something quick, and C) I want chocolate. One of those really has nothing to do with the other, sorry. Anywho, in theory there will be twelve completely (probably) unrelated ficlets in a text script sort of format that are only connected by the Twelve Days of Christmas in some way. Enjoy.

Rating: G

A/N - I don't even know.

A Partridge in a Pear Tree




*Sherlock bursts into the morgue, Belstaff swishing against his legs. Greg hot on his heels.*

Sherlock: Have you started yet?

Greg: Hullo, Molly. Thanks for agreeing to stay late.

*Molly spares a brief look for Sherlock and smiles at Greg*

Molly: You’re lucky you caught me before a left. Thankfully Philip was very understanding when I told him you and Sherlock were on the way, and we’re just going to reschedule dinner for another night.

*Molly heads toward the partially covered body waiting on an exam table, then beckons to Sherlock who has stopped dead in his tracks half way across the room.*

Molly: I found something pretty interesting. I was just about to extract it before you came in.

*Sherlock remains silent and frozen in place. Greg frowns at his friend, starting to worry now. Molly leans over the body and delicately begins to work something out of its mouth.*

Molly: Remind me again, Greg, where did you say you found this guy?

Greg: A jogger found him lodged in a pear tree, of all places.

*Molly pulls out the obstruction with a flourish and a grin. Held between her forceps is the head of a bird.*

Molly: Ta-da! It was wedged in there pretty tight, but I got it.

Greg: Look, Sherlock, you all right? You’ve gone pasty in the face. You’re not even blinking. He’s not blinking. That’s not normal, even for him, right?

*Suddenly Sherlock draws in a deep breath. He quickly moves to Molly’s side, takes one distracted look at the bird and turns to face Molly.*

Sherlock: It’s a partridge. Victim is a bird watcher. This is the work of a fellow ornithologist. Probably a rival in the community. Check the local bird watching clubs, find someone with a macabre sense of humour and you’ll have your man.

Greg: How-

Sherlock: Partridge. In a pear tree. In December. Philip who?

Greg: Pardon?

Sherlock: Tell me you don’t mean Philip Anderson.

*Molly flushes a bit and carefully drops the partridge head into a bowl so her hands are free. Then she strips off her gloves and steps away from the exam table.*

Molly: I do.

Sherlock: Why? What possibly reason could you have for going to dinner with Anderson?

Molly: We’ve run into each other a few times. Caught up on things at Greg’s birthday bash last week, and he asked me out for a meal.

Sherlock: I’ve asked you to dinner.

*Molly is visibly stunned for a moment. So is Greg for that matter.*

Molly: You haven’t.

Sherlock: I did. Right after we left that train enthusiast’s flat, I asked if you wanted fish and chips.

Molly: That was years ago!

Sherlock: And you turned me down.

Molly: I was engaged!

*Greg backs away from the other two.*

Greg: I’m just going to go make some phone calls. Got a creepy bird guy to find, apparently.

*Molly and Sherlock ignore him.*

Sherlock: You aren’t engaged now!

Molly: You haven’t asked me now! Have you? I mean . . . Did you?

*Sherlock blinks several times and then takes a deep breath.*

Sherlock: Yes? He, uh, the manager still gives me extra portions, if you’d like to try the fish after you’re done here.

*Molly smiles, looking a tiny bit dazed.*

Molly: Fish and chips sounds perfect.



A Partridge in a Pear Tree / Two Turtle Doves / Three French Hens / Four Calling Birds / Five Golden Rings / Six Geese a-Laying / Seven Swans a-Swimming / Eight Maids a-Milking / Nine Ladies Dancing / Ten Lords a-Leaping / Eleven Pipers Piping / Twelve Drummers Drumming