#also will be adding a cut when i get home tumble mobile just hates me

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Watchers in the Shadows

Another plot important story, with the what I am terming the Shadowed Lords.  I have also found a solution to the very important question of “How to make sure the Inquisition just doesn’t murder everyone.”  I own none of these characters.  Enjoy.

“History requires two parties - the historian and their audience.  Without that, one is just talking to oneself.  So kindly stop screaming and you might learn something.” - Trazyn the Infinite, guiding human guests through the Prismatic Gallery

“It is our duty to protect those who are important to future events, those who might save the face of the galaxy, those chosen by prophecy - blah blah blah.  I’m just here to kill things.”  -Revenant

Aboard the Novus Galactica

The Watch Fortress was a miracle of human technology and ingenuity.  This particular one was mobile, a great boon for its occupants.  As soon as diplomats and Inquisitors were dispatched to these strange, newly found galaxies, it had been deemed by the High Lords of Terra that a permanent force of Throne Agents should be stationed in each.  Unfortunately for the Imperium of Man, and, perhaps fortunately for everyone else, they were currently only able to transfer a small amount of the resources they wanted to one singular galaxy.  At the moment.  The time would come when they would fully operate there, the agents of the Imperium hiding in every shadow, behind every crevice, always watching, always waiting.  The fight against the xeno, mutaint, and heretic never ended, after all, and these new galaxies provided ample examples of each.  

The newly anointed Lady Inquisitor Amberley Vail stood on the tiled stone floor of the Watch Fortress, looking out high cathedral windows into the black void of space.  Inquisitors were all technically equals, though in practice some were more equal than others.  Senior and powerful Inquisitors were given the honorary prefix Lord or Lady to denote that they were, in fact, just a little more equal than their peers.  Since she had been the first to discover, and make contact with these eight new galaxies, it would be her duty to oversee all investigations in them.  A great honor.  

At the time, though, Vail would just be investigating each one in turn until more Inquisitors could be spared.  Already she was given her choice in team, and her retinue was here, with more hand-picked agents to come.  And, of course, the operatives the High Lords and Ordo Xenos had seen fit to give her.  With the technology found in these new places, she could now contact the High Lords directly, if necessary, and they could monitor her progress.  As such, they had seen it fit to grant the Watch Fortress a cadre of Officio Assassinorum operatives, one from each Temple.  They were in cryo storage below, except the Vanus operative, currently hard at work gathering every scrap of data she could.  

Should she require pure power instead of singular agents, a Kill Team of the dreaded Deathwatch was on hand.  They were newly formed and called up, but each member was hand-chosen by the Inquisition, and, if rumors were to be believed, the Custodian Guard themselves.  Right now, they were settling into their new home, their weapons drills already ringing through the training spaces.  The Kill Team also served a second, more sinister purpose: if Vail was to go rogue for whatever reason, they had orders to hunt her down and destroy her.  She harbored no illusions of their ability, and, of course, had no intention of turning traitor.  Better had fallen than her, though, so she did appreciate the contingency.  

At the moment, more Marine heavy weaponry and armored vehicles were on the way, along with a regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers.  More things to be added to the armory of the Imperium in this new galaxy.  

Vail paced, then went to her cognator, located next to the Vanus operative, still absorbed in her work.  She sat down, and began to type.  Secrets would be revealed, and the Inquisition would act upon them.

Unknown Location

The room was dark, as it always was, only illuminated by the blinding glory of a nearby star.  No one came here, no one knew of its existence except two organizations.  Two organizations that almost none knew of.  A massive man, power armored bulk hidden by a simple white robe, sword strapped on to his chest, stood side by side with another individual clad in black armor and greatcoat.  A tight fitting black helmet with glowing red lenses covered the second’s face, and as it spoke, the voice that emanated from within was corrupted and rendered untraceable.

“We must begin.  Our list is complete.”

“Unorthodox, yes, but it must be this way,” spoke the second, a reverberating deep base echoing from beneath he white hood.  “What of Inquisitor Vail?  Should she find… certain things, it would not bode well for our plans.” 

“I am handling it as we speak.  Drake shows promise.  It was good to act that quickly, but in the end, the Shadow Broker, the Mechanicus, the Inquisition, the Scoundrels, ONI, the ISB… none of them are good enough to face us.  Vail will hear no word of it.  Stability will be preserved.  Just as we must preserve the Scoundrels themselves.”

“Indeed.  It must be restated: they are key to future events.  I suggest we get moving.”  With a nod to each other, the two figures disappeared into the shadows.

Unknown Planet

The ground was icy and cold, some dead world in the middle of nowhere.  It didn’t even have a name, so remote it had never been discovered.  Of course, there were those who could find it, should they really wish to.  One such individual stood here, examining strange patterns in the snow.  Well-groomed black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, held in place by a circlet of gold.  Despite the bone-numbing cold, the man did not shiver, black and green tunic still in the frigid air.   A heavy crack of displaced air sounded behind him, and the black haired man turned around, smiling softly to himself. 

“Ah.  Can I help you?” he said in a polite and cultured voice.  The two figures, one massive and wearing a white robe, the other of medium height and wearing a black coat, stepped forward.  The black haired man stood, noting the weapons, the size, the strangeness of these newcomers.

“Loki of Asgard.  We have need of your skills,” responded a metallic and synthesized voice from the black coated silhouette’s mask.  This elicited a small, oh-so-sly smile from the black haired man.  

“Yes.  I’m sure a great many people do.  What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price,” came a deep, reverberating voice.  Loki thought quietly to himself, then spoke.

“Done,” replied the tall figure.  

“Now, what do you need me for?” asked Loki.

Hammond Robotics Lab-77431

A metallic abomination of red and grey stood above Dr. Marshall.  It was humanoid, but all metal; unnaturally tall and spindly.  He squirmed quietly, inching away from it on the cold surface of the laboratory floor.  Blood was splattered messily over the surface of computer banks and grey plastic workstations.  Marshall silently prayed that the guards were on their way.  He had just enough time to press the panic button as the… thing slaughtered the two guards and his three colleagues.  Now it stood over him, head tilted at an unnatural angle.  

“No one is coming to save you.  No one ever was.”  It’s voice was horrible, gravely, and grating.  Marshall whimpered.  It spoke again.  “You can beg for mercy.  It won’t help, but go on.”

“Please… please.  I don’t even know what you are!  Why would you want to kill me?”  The thing snarled and pinned Marshall to the wall with one metallic hand.  

“You made me a killing machine.  Who am I to argue with programming?”  The abomination’s synthetic eyes seemed to glow.  “Look into my eyes.  I want to remember this.”  

“No!  NO!  No-”  The begging cut out with a horrifying, gurgling scream as the thing ripped out his throat.  It gave a malicious laugh.  A new voice spoke.  

“Revenant.”  It was a statement.  “We have need of your services.”  Revenant turned around with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with three of the most odd individuals he’d ever seen.  A smooth faced, black haired man in a green and black surcoat, smirking at him.  A figure in a black coat and black armor, it’s face hidden behind a mask with glowing red lenses.  A giant, wearing a white robe, with a sword strapped to its back, its face hidden behind the robe’s cowl.  

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” sneered Revenant.  

“If you can, which I doubt,” replied the black haired man.  The figure in the coat held up a gauntleted hand.  

“We have need of your services,” it repeated.  “As payment, we can fix you or kill you.  Your choice.  But you must do as we say.”  Revenant seemed to consider the deal.  

“Done,” he replied eventually.  

“Good.  Now, there’s work to be done.”  

Star Wars Galaxy

Belsavis

Imperial Outpost Planet

The New Republic had, in its infinite wisdom, sent a team of commandos to capture a small Imperial outpost planet in the middle of smack-dab nowhere.  Sargent Underwilth was quite displeased by this, as had the entirety of the rest of her commando group, from Private Nikeer all the way up to the Captain.  It would be a long, boring, and completely useless mission, and for what purpose?  Grab a completely insignificant Imperial fort that could house a battalion and a group of shuttles at the absolute maximum?  Why?  Send soldiers to die for that?  She hated High Command for it.  Hate-d.  Past tense.  At the present moment, she was cursing the name of every single New Republic official she could remember, from the major who had briefed them to Princess Leia herself.  Saying things had gotten a bit out of hand would be the understatement of the millenia.  

“I need fire at 1-2-7-4!  Immediate effect, whatever you’ve got!” screamed the comms chatter.  The Imperial stormtroopers crouched next to her looked warily in the direction of the lieutenant whose scream was cut short over the comms.  Captain Pai, the commando leader, was dead.  Major Vekk, commander of the Imperial garrison, was now in charge of both the stormtrooper and commando contingent.  Underwilth had never thought she would be fighting side by side with stormtroopers.  They were terrible shots and propaganda-fueled idiots, holding on to the crumbling remnants of a tyrant.  Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures.  She nodded at her mixed group of Republic and Imperial soldiery, and, as one, they stepped over the ledge of the wall they were crouched behind.  A withering storm of blaster bolts rent the air, many going wide as their users panicked.  It was enough though.  

The bolts slammed into the metal abomination, many ricocheting harmlessly off its bones with high pitched pings!  Underwilth had no idea what these things were, or why they were here.  The commando team had landed, everything going well, and had infiltrated the fortress, only for an army of metal skeletons to show up.  They were spindly and humanoid in appearance, with elongated skulls and arms much thinner than a human.  Their odd appearance didn’t matter, though.  Horrible weapons had rotated, spitting sickly green beams of light at the now combined defenders.  Everything that was touched by those beams died.  Captain Pai was disintegrated where he stood.  Atomized without a sound.  

The defenders had fought back with everything in their arsenal.  Blasters didn’t work.  Grenades didn’t work.  Cryo bombs didn’t work.  Only massive, coordinated firepower would stop these undying invaders. 

Scorch marks appeared on the metal skeleton that Underwilth’s group drowned in fire.  More and more blaster bolts found their mark, staggering it.  Underwilth screamed at them to keep firing.  Eventually, slowly, it toppled into the dirt.  Underwilth’s group let out a great cheer.  It died in their throats when they saw what was happening.  The metal abomination, light faded from its eyes and limbs blown off, glowed with the same sickly green light as its eyes and weapons.  Limbs reattached themselves.  Blaster pockmarks faded.  Internal wiring affixed itself.  It stood, and glowing green eyes snapped on once more.  

Beneath the Surface of Belsavis

Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archoevist of Solomance, and Curator of the Prismatic Galleries walked through the underground tomb complex covered by the Imperial outpost.  He had come to... acquire the artifacts, weapons, and species in the tomb underneath.  Unfortunately, a group of the idiotic humans that inhabited this galaxy had decided to build a fortress right on top of it.  He didn’t even spend the processing power wondering about the humans.  Mere insects.  His soldiers were there to defend his archaeological expedition, and if the humans wanted to attack them, well, that was their problem.  

Trazyn was, quite frankly, disappointed over this particular galaxy.  It wasn’t that there weren’t ancient and important treasures to plunder: no, far from it.  The things he could find here almost rivaled his own galaxy.  Almost.  It wasn’t that.  

It was that the people of this place had absolutely zero appreciation for history.  It was utterly infuriating.  Trazyn was the historian.  The lives of entire species meant nothing to him.  He was as old as the stars themselves, able to see eons as they stretched out in front of him.  The reason he did any of this in the first place was to preserve history before time or battle erased it.  His entire planet was one massive museum, with exhibits stretching back some 60 billion years before the planet Earth even existed.  But these people?  They didn’t teach history.  Didn’t preserve history.  To borrow a human expression, didn’t give one singular, flying fuck about it.  His mind frowned in distaste over the crude word.  It was nevertheless true.  The inhabitants of this place had merely forgotten the Old Republic, the government that ruled the galaxy only thirty years ago.  The Jedi Knights were myths.  The Clone Wars were bedtime legends.  Trazyn ground his metal teeth in frustration.  Thirty years.  That was a microsecond.  That was about the time a standard Necron court case lasted.  Even the humans, short-lived insects that they were, should remember that long.  After all, they usually lived between sixty to a hundred, did they not?  Simply no respect for the past here.  

The other galaxies were not like this.  The humans of one galaxy even remembered events some two thousand years prior.  That galaxy was the one with the Makers.  A battle between gods and demons.  He had already been to a Maker lab, and taken the dark artifact from the homeworld of the Celzex.  Along with half the guard on duty at the time.  And the throne.  They wouldn’t miss it.  Probably.  

He was getting off track.  Despite the idiots of this place not knowing what it was, this place was magnificent.  The architecture, the stone, the instriptions and technology… oh, yes.  If Trazyn had still possessed a mortal body, he would be grinning like a buffoon now.  He wanted everything.  

The tomb had once belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire.  He sneered at the name. 

“There can only be one Infinite, and only one Infinite Empire.  And you, my friends, are no longer among the living,” he told a statue.  The Empire had, at its apex, controlled a great deal of the galaxy and possessed technologies and ancient wonders not seen since.  An entire species, called the Esh-Ka, had been trapped here in status for nigh thirty millenia by the ancient Rakata.  Nothing compared to Trazyn, but he appreciated the gesture of the long dead civilization nonetheless.  Ancient Rakata warlords, soldiers, status, glyphs, tablets, weapons, enemies, technology… everything.  This was a prison world, and the Rakata built it to last.  Now, though… now it was Trazyn’s time to shine.  He took everything he could, the walls and massive scripts cut away by his personal bodyguard.  Everything went into tesseract labyrinths.  These were small black cubes, about the size of Trazyn’s fist.  They pulsed with darkness, ever wishing to suck things into their voids.  These cubes were gateways to pocket dimensions, and Trazyn had long used them to capture specimens from his museum.  

He hummed as he worked, nearly giddy with excitement.  If there had been any watchers, they would have found the sight of the ancient necron lord almost dancing with exhilaration to be quite funny.  As he loaded the last of the Rakata imprisoned within the tomb, there was a flash of green light behind him.  It’s coloration was similar to the eyes and weaponry of the necrons, yet only the discharge of his bodyguards’ gauss flayers could have made such a sight, and Trazyn knew for a fact none of them had.  He whirled around, only to be met with a very strange sight.  

Four individuals stood between him and his guards.  One was obviously a synthetic, tall and spindly with red and grey limbs.  This one glowered mechnicgly at Trazyn, but he laughed it off.  You didn’t know a good glower until you’ve stood on the wrong side of a Star God.  The second was human, smirking from behind shoulder length black hair and a black and green tunic.  The third waas masked, armored, and coated, and stood at simple attention, unbothered by the necrons that lowered their gauss flayers at its back.  The last, though…

“Lord Cypher,” said Trazyn with a bow.  The massive man in white noticeably stiffened.  “A pleasure to have you here.  Ah, yes.  I know who you are, of course.  Don’t be surprised.  You would make a fine addition to my collection,” he mused.  Trazyn looked up, noticeably more perky.  “Is that why you’re here?  Have you come to give yourself up?  Ready to be a part of history?”  The massive man, Cypher, glared at him.  

“We have need of your help, Lord Trazyn.  After you are…” he looked around, noticing the completely empty walls of the tomb, “Done here, we wish to speak with you.  Your… expertise is necessary.”  Trazyn grinned, the necrodermis teeth of his death mask coming together.  A necron grinning was a very bizarre sight.  

“Ah, you flatter me, Lord Cypher.  And from one who has bedeviled the Imperium for ten thousand years and fought the Deceiver himself, such flattery is most appreciated.  However,” Trazyn gestured around, “As you can see, my work consumes me.  I’m afraid history stops for no one.  Except you.”  He held out a tesseract labyrinth, his voice flowing with mischief.

“Wait!” replied Cypher.  “We have need of your help,” he repeated.  “If you do not join us, then events will transpire that will result in the eventual destruction of reality,” he stated calmly, as if he were simply talking about the weather.  “It might not happen now, or later, or even in a century, or millenia, but I know for certain it will happen.  Everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for over these billions of years, will be gone.  If you help us, we will most likely succeed, and in payment we will offer to you the greatest treasures in the universe.”  Cypher held out a hand.  “So what say you, Trazyn the Infinite?  Are you ready to change history for once, instead of just cataloging it?”  Trazyn pondered a moment, his neural circuitries firing faster than any mortal could keep up.  Eventually, he took the hand.

“I accept.”

And there we are.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me!  Wherever you are, have a great day!

[stlgeekgirl]

Molly Hooper Appreciation Week.  Day four!  Happy Valentine’s Day!  Or in this case, Galentine’s Day.  I will probably come back and write a second part for this, because my fingers kept going even after I was like “story’s over guys.  What are you doing”  So yeah...  Also, this is a little AU because I needed Mary alive.  Enjoy some girl power!

 I suck at explicit flash writing.  So I’ll be skipping tomorrow’s day.  Sorry, there are people here that do it waaayyyy better than I.  Go read them.  I do have an idea, so I might post it later, when I have time to truly write it out.  

On with the story.  Anything You Can Do

 “What are you doing?”

Molly frowned at the questions as she put down Toby’s food bowl.  The tabby swirled around her legs before heading straight for his food bowl and diving in face first.  

“Feeding Toby, why?”

“Get dressed.  And open your front door, I’m at it.”

“Wha…”  She crossed the kitchen into the sitting room and opened the door to her flat.  Mary stood on the other side dressed in trousers and a low-cut blouse holding a bottle of wine in one hand and her phone in the other.  Around her neck were about fifty strings of red beads.  She walked past Molly, who still had the mobile to her ear, and headed towards her room.  

“Mary!”  Putting the mobile back into her pocket, she followed the women into her room.  Mary was already at the closet, bottle of wine tossed on the bed, digging through the clothes.  “What are you doing?  What’s going on?”

“Galentine’s Day, baby! John took Rosie, told me to get out and have some fun.  So, we’re going out, get pissed and have some fun.  He even rented us a driver.”  She pulled out a red dress and after a studied look, put it back.  “I’m not sure he actually rented it or talked either Sherlock or Mycroft into paying for it, but it’s ours for the night and I plan on taking advantage of it, aha!”  

She pulled out a pair of black trousers and a dressy silver sleeveless top Meena had bought for her years ago and she’d thought she had buried further into her closet to never see the light of day.  

“Put these on.”

Molly barely caught the outfit before Mary was into her lingerie drawer.  

“I know you Molly Hooper,” Mary said as she rooted through the knickers.  “You’re wearing something plain and serviceable.  Ha!”  She held up a matching blue bra and thong set and grinned.  Molly blushed.  

“This shade of blue looks familiar.”  The woman said with a cheeky grin.  She waved towards Molly, who was still standing there not quite sure what was happening.  “Strip Hooper, we have the entire night and it’s ticking away.”

“Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Nope.”

Shrugging, Molly tossed the clothes on the bed and began to strip.

  She felt uncomfortable in these clothes.  The trousers were a bit too snug on her, which was why they were in the back of the closet, waiting for her bi-annual tossing of anything she couldn’t wear anymore. The top she should have binned years ago.  It was lower than she normally wore, and Mary wouldn’t let her bring a jumper, so her arms and chest were bare.  She hadn’t been this exposed in public since that horrid Christmas Party.

The car took them to the first night club and Mary pulled Molly through the door.  They were hit by a wall of loud music and laughter when they stepped in.  It seemed as if every woman in London had gone out tonight.   There were a few men, prowling around the perimeter of the dance floor and in groups at the bar, but the majority of the patrons tonight were women.   Mary pulled her to the bar and leaned over, giving the barkeep a wide grin.  The man behind the bar, grinned in response.  

“Evening ladies, what are you having?”

“Two pints of ale and two shots of your best whisky.”

As the man went off to fill their order, Molly giggled.  

“What are you giggling about?”  Mary asked, leaning her side against to bar.  “You haven’t had anything to drink yet.”

“John’s bachelor party.” Molly answered, leaned towards Mary so she could be heard.  “Sherlock asked me to calculate the correct amount of alcohol intake to keep them in the sweet spot all evening.  Something went wrong, and they ended up in the drunk tank.”

Mary groaned, giving the barkeep a quick nod as he brought their drinks.  “I heard about that.”

“Running a tab?”  the barkeep asked.  Mary handed over her card and he nodded.  

“Grab us a table.” She said.  Molly nodded, picking up her drinks and walking off.  She found a table a little away from the dance floor and sat down.  Mary followed a moment later and took a seat next to her.  

“I’m glad we got here early,” she said.  “It’s going to be hell later in the evening. How long did the boys last?”

“Oh.  Mrs. Hudson said she found them both drunk on the front steps around half nine.”

Mary cackles.  “John skewed the measurements.  He told me he added shots into a couple of the drinks not expecting Sherlock to have calculated the sweet spot.”  She raised her shot glass “Or rather, you.  So, Cheers, Molly Hooper.  Let’s show the boys we can last longer than half none.”

Grinning, Molly lifted her shot glass and with a clink, threw back the shot.  The whiskey burned down her throat and she coughed.  Mary shook her head and slammed the glass upside down onto the table and let out an exclamation that sounded a bit like Russian.

“Christ, that’s shit whiskey.  We’re going for vodka shots next.”

  The driver had to be one of Mycroft’s, Molly decided.  The man had not let them out of his sight at all that night.  The minute they stepped out of a club, or stumbled, later in the evening, he was right there, with the door open waiting for them to direct him to the next place they wanted.  The forth pub, Mary shook her head at his offer, almost throwing herself off balance.

“We’re gonna walk down the way, Marco.”  

Molly tugged on her arm, glad she insisted on flats instead of heels tonight, she was already a bit wobbly.

“Is his name Marco? Did we ask?”  she peered at the man standing beside the car.  “We’re terribly rude, what is your name?”

The driver’s lip quirked slightly.  “Greg, Doctor Hooper.”

“Oh, how lovely!” Molly exclaimed, tugging on Mary’s arm again, almost knocking the woman off balance.  “Mary, we’ve our own Greg, isn’t that lovely?”

“You think Lestrade’ll be jealous?”  Mary asked skeptically.  She waved a hand in the air and grabbed Molly’s left hand with her other.  “Never mind, not important.  Greg, we’re walking to the next club.  Need the fresh air.”

“One moment.”  Greg locked the door to the car and followed them down the block. Molly kept turning around to talk to him, tumbling as Mary pulled her along.  

“Do you dance Greg? You should come in with us.”

“Molly, it’s Galantine’s Day, not Galantine and random bloke’s day.”

“Don’t be mean. Ignore Mary,” Molly said.  “John doesn’t let her out nearly enough.  He gets all the fun running around London and risking his life and poor Mary is stuck at home.”  She gasped and spun back around to Mary.  “Oh, I don’t mean that you hate it, I mean, how could you, Rosie is a dear, but I’m sure you’d like to run around London too.”

Mary laughed.  “I do love Rosie, but yeah, I’d love to be out with adults every occasionally.  Which is why we’re out and John’s at home with the baby.”

They reached the club doors, paid the cover and stepped in.  

This club was busier, the music loud and the dance floor almost shoulder to shoulder.  Molly shouldered her way to the bar and hopped up on it, leaning her body on her folded arms leaning heavy against the wood.

“What time is it?” she asked the bar keep, almost shouting to be heard over the music.  The man checked his watch.  

“Near eleven.”  He answered.  

Molly turned to Mary behind her, caging her against the bar.  “We made it Mary!  A full hour after the boys!”  She turned back to the now amused bar keep.  “Vodka.”  she announced holding up two fingers. “Double shots and two pints of ale.”

“Coming up.  You running a tab?”

“Yes.”  Mary handed over a card.  Molly turned so she was facing Mary.  

“Not sure if we’re going to find a seat here.”  

“We can stay here until one opens up.”  Mary said. The barkeep brought back their drinks and Mary reached past to pick up the two shots, handing one to Molly.  “To not being the lightweights.”

Molly raised her own drink, “Cheers!  Oh!” She pulled out her mobile and opened the camera turning around so both she and Mary were facing the camera. “Say winners!”  she chirped, and she and Mary grinned with lifted shot glasses as Molly snapped the picture.  They took the shot and Molly typed something onto her phone and hit send.  

“What did you do?” she asked.  Molly grinned up at her lifting the mobile, so Mary could see. Mary sputtered out a laugh.  

“Did you just drunk text Greg, John and Sherlock?”

“Yep.”

“My girl!”  Mary cheered.  She leaned around Molly and slapped the bar.  “Barkeep, two more shots.”

  Greg was leaning against the car of the final pub looking at his phone.  It was close to closing time, so his next stop would be to drop the women off at their prospective homes and go home.  He heard the noise before he saw two bobbies run into the bar. Pocketing his mobile, he ran towards the bar, pushing past the crowd of people just in time to see a bloodied Molly Hooper, land a punch on a brunette woman who stumbled backwards, falling over a table.  Mary, shirt ripped, nose bloodied, grabbed Molly by the waist and pulled her backwards as group of women swarmed the table.  Greg pushed past three people trying to leave the pub and Mary spotted him.

“Greg!”  She shouted over Molly’s yelling.  She handed the smaller women to him as he reached her.  

“Time to go.”  She said.  He nodded and moved back towards the entrance, picking up the still shouting pathologist and carrying her out of the pub, Mary close behind.  He shouldered past a Bobbie rushing in and stepped out into the night.

“Doors unlocked.”  He said.  Mary rushed over, tottering slightly and opened the door.  Greg shoved Molly in and Mary followed laughing the entire way.  Molly crawled over Mary, trying to reach the door.  

“You stupid cow!”  she screamed out the open window.  “My taxidermy mouse is more real than your tits!”

“Drive!”  Mary yelled.  Greg put the car into drive and sped off before anyone could come out and get them.

Molly finally fell back in her seat, pouting.  Mary laughed loudly.  

“Best night out ever.” She announced and then climbed up towards the front seat.  “Greg. Just take us back to my flat. Molly’s gonna spend the night there.”

“Of course.”  He said.  “What the hell happened?”

Mary leaned back in her seat, glancing fondly at her friend, who had her phone out and was typing something, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth.  

“Some cow decided to say something about Sherlock in front of Molly.”

“Slag,” Molly muttered crossly, still typing.  Mary grinned.

“She’d pretty damn easy going on pretty much everything.”  Mary told Greg.  “But never slag off about Sherlock Holmes in front of her.  She may be small, but Molly Hooper can pack one hell of a punch.”