Jam Session (1/12)

So, this is one of my more popular Sherlolly WIPs, and it got art by the lovely @manonsoubeyran​ which I love. Eventually I’ll see if there’s a proper Tumblr post I can reblog with all the art to give them credit, but I hope to also add the art to the AO3 page. But please enjoy the lovely art for this lovely fic that was originally written for @chitarra10 and @justatrashpanda!

Jam Session - Molly Hooper is known for making some of the best baked goods in all of England, and no one knows what her secret is. Her most popular dish is her Jam Tartlets, and it’s a recipe she shares with absolutely no one, not even those who work in her shop. When a new resident arrives in the village, an apiarist named Sherlock Holmes, they begin an exchange: some of her special jams in exchange for his honey. But what starts as a simple trade of sweet foodstuffs becomes so much more when Molly’s shop is broken into and ransacked by someone looking for the secret recipe.

READ CHAPTER 1 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

“Oh my God,” Molly said, drawing out the last word as the sweetest, most lovely tasting honey she’d ever had touched her lips. “Mary, love, where did you get this?”

“My boyfriend’s neighbour,” Mary said, watching with a grin as Molly used her finger to wipe the sticky sweet residue off her bottom lip and then suck it off her finger. “He’s an apiarist, apparently. Wanted to give John a preemptive apology for having a beehive or three in the back by handing over some honey. I mean, John didn’t even realize anyone lived there, to be frank. He keeps to himself.”

“And I can have the whole jar?” Molly asked.

Mary nodded. “John says you have to keep him in Jam Tartlets for a week but yeah. Three jars, all yours.”

“Three jars?” Molly said with an excited squeak. “All this size?” Mary nodded. “Tell John he’s my first ever customer of the month and that entitles him to a month of biscuits on the house. Baker's dozen whenever he comes in.” She hesitated a moment, then dipped a fresh spoon into the honey and had some more. “Definitely wild clover, I can taste a hint of that, but the rest...I’m at an utter loss.”

“Well, perhaps the neighbour will share his recipe?” Mary asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the worktop. “Offer him some of your baked goods in exchange for a few jars every so often.”

Molly tilted her head as she thought about it. They weren’t far outside of London, in a small village called Bozeat, but Molly had a country-wide renown for her biscuits and other baked goods. She even got mail orders from Scotland and Ireland from time to time, though she drew a line at shipping out to the States. She’d even once made an assortment of her famous Jam Tartlets for the Queen, which had gained her quite a bit of notoriety and a continuous purchase order delivered to one Mycroft Holmes at the palace. She had the feeling the order was doubled simply so Mr. Holmes could have some, as he seemed to be pleased every time Mary dropped off an order, or so she had said.

But if he’d share what made his honey so special, he might want to have a peek at her recipes, and that...well, that was something she wasn’t prepared to do, to be quite frank. That recipe, among others, was the backbone of her livelihood. Not even Mary or Sally, her other baker on staff, knew what was in it. She made the special dough at night to let it rest and then the jam concoctions in the morning and baked them herself. It meant extra work, but to keep it a secret then that was what she was prepared to do.

“As long as he doesn’t ask for mine,” she said.

Mary’s grin faded a bit. “That rat bastard James still sniffing around?”

Molly nodded. James Moriarty was a prominent businessman in London who had taken a shine to her baking and tried to form a partnership with her. When the direct approach hadn’t worked, a man in his employ, Tom Robertson, had integrated himself into her personal life. It had only been a tip from an anonymous source to tell her what was what and Tom was promptly kicked to the curbside.

Tom had thankfully left the village with his tail between his legs, but James just would not give up, it seemed.

“I tell you, we need to ask for a gun on premises to shoot vermin and then I should aim it towards his arse. Maybe one shot each cheek?” Mary said.

Molly giggled and then regretfully recapped the honey. “Don’t go giving me any ideas,” she said. “No, we’ll sort it all out, one way or another.” She nodded towards the package meant for delivery. “I think Mr. Holmes is due his treats soon, don’t you?”

“You know, I wonder if Her Majesty actually eats half of these,” Mary said, pushing herself away from the worktop. “You should have Sally start delivering them, though.”

“Oh?” Molly asked.

“Yeah. She did a run for me about a fortnight ago and he’s asked for her last week,” Mary said. “I think he’s smitten.”

Molly considered for a moment, then went to the door leading to the on-site kitchen. “Sal!” she called out.

“Yeah?” Sally called back.

“Feel like making a delivery run to London? Someone’s been asking for you.”

Sally came out, flour smudges on her face, her eyes wide. “Mycroft?”

“So you’re on a first name basis,” Mary said with a smirk.

“Well, I took his last order and...we might have dinner if I’m there?” Sally said, blushing slightly.

“Oh, then you definitely need to take the delivery,” Molly said with a smile. “You may want to tidy up first, though.”

Sally’s eyes went wider than before and went to look at the nearest reflective surface. “Oh, my Lord…I’m a mess.”

“We’ll get you all lovely before he sees you,” Mary said, clapping a hand on her back. “And then when we’re done I’ll cover the shop and Molly can go procure us more honey.”

“What’s this apiarist’s name?” Molly asked, eyeing the honey.

This is the fanfic mod gift for @elennemigo , who wanted Sherlolly sickfic.

The Aftermath Of A Bad Idea - Molly attempts to clean while sick, making a huge mess in the process, Sherlock comes over to take care of her and ends up cleaning up and more.

She had no clue what she had been thinking when she’d decided to do a spring cleaning while sick with a cold, but oh, did she regret it now. She had been bored out of her mind with daytime telly and films she had seen far too many times, and some part of her decided that if she was home she might as well clean and maybe spruce things up a bit. It was just a cold...what was the worst that could happen?

A disaster in the kitchen, a mess in the sitting room and her without enough energy to even grab a quilt from the back of the sofa she was currently curled up on, apparently.

The click of her door being unlocked should have alarmed her but honestly, she hoped whatever intruder was coming in to rob her blind would put her out of her misery. She was starting to think this cold might be some version of the flu instead and it was hell on earth when she felt the soft knitted blanket on the back of her sofa being draped over her, and with all the strength she could manage she opened her eyes, looking up at Sherlock. “Not a robber,” she said before coughing.

“No, I doubt a robber would find anything here,” he said, a slightly amused half-smile on his face.

“Kitchen is worse.”

“Well, then you sleep and I’ll take care of it,” he said, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Why are you here?”

“Needed to think, wanted to run some things by you but you weren’t at Barts. Dr. Veerhoven told me you had called in ill so I picked up some things and came here. Didn’t realize I’d walk into a disaster.”

“Soup?” she asked hopefully.

He nodded. “A few different varieties. I’ll make one once I set your kitchen to rights.” He gently stroked her hair back and she let her eyes flutter back closed and drifted off to sleep.

Emily From "Corpse Bride"