#my femslash

“You need to relax,” Robin said for what felt like the eighth time. She'd attempted to word it differently every time of course, hoping Nancy would get her meaning from at least one version of her well-meaning advice, but it wasn't really helping unfortunately. Nancy had been getting increasingly frustrated at her bad score.

Nancy glared back at her as she held the putt in an iron grip. “I'm trying to.”

“Yeah, and you're over-thinking it. You need to loosen up. Like me,” Robin replied, stepping closer and shaking her arms out to demonstrate. Nancy only glared more, but Robin could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Nancy's mouth at her antics. Robin stepped closer still, placing her hands on Nancy's shoulders supportively. Nancy relaxed a bit immediately and Robin couldn't help but be a little smug at having that affect on her. It was nice knowing Nancy trusted her like that.  

“Hey, don't begrudge me this one, singular – I repeat, singular - sport I'm actually freakishly good at. You've got a lot of things you're good at. I won't think any less of you for losing at minigolf. I might even like you more for it, Wheeler.”

“Oh really?” Nancy said curiously as she stared up at Robin.

“Yeah,” Robin said, faintly this time, too caught up in Nancy's eyes. It was remarkably hard to think when Nancy looked at her like that, like she had her full and rapt attention. For a moment she thought Nancy might be leaning forward, maybe even leaning up, and she desperately wanted that to be true, for Nancy to kiss her right then and there on the green of the 13th hole. They shouldn't, but Robin wished for it anyway. Instead, she dropped her hands to her sides and stepped back, the one concession to what she wanted was that she didn't break that shared gaze.

“I've heard that the 18th hole has a big windmill that a lot of people get their balls stuck inside,” Nancy started.

“Okay...” Robin said, confused at the abrupt change of topic.

“It's not unusual for people to disappear in there for a few minutes searching for it,” Nancy finished with a devious smirk.

“You do realize that would mean you need to hit the ball and get it into the windmill first,” Robin teased, earning her a light punch on the arm from Nancy. “But I like the way you think, Wheeler.”

---

One day, unexpectedly, Miss Mary Morstan visits Molly to enquire about her father's death. What is exceptional about this turn of events is that Molly Hooper has absolutely nothing to do with his autopsy of Captain Morstan, officially speaking. But Miss Morstan doesn't hedge around that, she accepts the fact that Molly Hooper and 'Malcolm Hooper' are the same person. She doesn't act scandalised about Molly's expertise either, inviting frank discussion of her findings. Molly only had a chance to do a preliminary autopsy before she was ousted from her position, but she'd seen enough to know it was surely foul play.

Miss Morstan came home many weeks later, missing her father's funeral, chasing after the ghost of the investigation long since declared dead. She won't speak of why she was away, or the delay in her return from India. It is said but not elaborated on that her family has enemies and so the murder is not surprising in the least. The more Molly gets to know Mary, the more she wonders if those enemies were her father's or somehow Mary's, despite how outlandish it sounds to Molly's ears. She tries to ask outright once but all Mary will say is she has her own secrets. It seems to be implied Molly should understand not wishing to speak of what the world may make them do. And given the grace Mary permits Molly despite her failed subterfuge she should perhaps be grateful, but there's a rebellious part of Molly that is insatiably curious. Who watches Mary's wry, amused smiles with interest and wishes they could both speak of everything, in a way she can to no other.

Mary procures a private investigator for her father's case and she is clearly kept abreast of developments, which she visits Molly regularly to discuss. Each visit Mary brings a small bouquet as well. The investigator does due diligence but progress is slow and she senses Mary's impatience. Mary is always eager to talk over each new tidbit of information, trusting Molly's opinion, something she hasn't felt since she was forced out of St Bart's. Eventually, Mary fires her investigator and Molly offers to reach out to an old acquaintance, Sherlock Holmes, begging a favour she isn't sure he will permit, if he even remembers her. Mary has other plans though, intent to dig into things herself 'through whatever means necessary'. When she catches Mary's eye that day, wondering what she should say to her at that, she sees they blaze with a slowly built fury. If Mary were anyone else, she would ask her to be careful, but she has the uncanny feeling it's Mary others should be careful of.

She doesn't see Mary for several weeks, leaving Molly a touch melancholy and prone to reflection. It takes Molly until then - regarding the drying last bouquet that is her only souvenir of their relationship - to realise the theme of those gifts. That they may be a potential talking point, for example. Every flower beautiful and deadly, if prepared in a particular manner. A meaning that would not be known by the general public, only by those who specialise in the poisonous for one reason or another.