Death Becomes Them

Chapter 1: A Weekend in the Country

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my second attempt at a Sherlock story, only in contrast to the first one, I actually have plotting this time (yay!).

This story is a slow-burn Sherlolly interspersed with mini-cases (which will be adapted from ACD canon). Mystery writing is definitely not my forte, but I'm trying to expand my writing horizons, and what better way to start than by adapting pre-written mysteries?

This will be canon-compliant up to S3E2. This story picks up after some time has already passed since the wedding (i.e. Rosie has already been born, Molly's engagement has been broken off for some time). We'll assume Magnussen did happen to some extent (Mary is still assassin!Mary), but with less consequences/fallout than in the show.

First mini-case is adapted from the Boscombe Valley Mystery. Thanks to everyone reading this! :)

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It was in the precise moment that she was peering over a dead body, blinking away the chilled morning mist surrounding her and pulling her jumper around herself more tightly for warmth, that it finally occurred to Molly Hooper that she was happy.

It had been a long time, she had to admit, since she had been happy. And it was properly happy, too, she mused - not the sort of happy where you had to continually remind yourself of it, and remember you were supposed to be feeling it. No, this was the sort of happy that snuck up on you, that dawned on you as you blearily blinked yourself awake one morning; that crashed over you unexpectedly as you were waiting for the Tube, or folding your laundry, or - well, or standing over a dead body.

"Why did you go into the pond?"

Molly was taken out of her reflections by Sherlock's sharp voice and looked up from the body before her to see that he was addressing the local inspector.

"How did you - ?"

"If I have to explain my logic every time I come to a conclusion, Inspector, we'll be here till nightfall. Just answer the question."

Molly would have felt pity for the man, only he hadn't proven himself to be particularly likeable so far; he'd made every sign of showing how unwelcome their presence was in his village since their arrival an hour ago, and had given her a skeptical and patronizing look when Sherlock had introduced her as his colleague. "I thought you usually have that doctor fellow with you," he'd said sneeringly, glancing in her direction.

"Yes, I presume you're thinking of the male one. This, however, is the lady one," Sherlock had replied wryly. "I have two of them, you see." He had briefly met Molly's gaze as he had said it, with a slight raise of his eyebrow, and she had had to bite back a smile.

Now she watched the inspector fidget uncomfortably under Sherlock's sharp stare as he finally answered begrudgingly, "We went through the pond while we were searching for the weapon."

"Of course you did. And as an added bonus, to scupper up all the evidence, I suppose you thought you and your men would tramp all across the crime scene like you were leading a dance at the village fete?"

The inspector only glared back at the consulting detective darkly, clearly at a loss for reply. And he's only warming up, you poor bugger, Molly thought, though admittedly not with a great deal of sympathy.

But by then Sherlock, having vented his frustration, had already lost interest in the inspector, and had instead begun to stride back and forth across the length of the crime scene, at intervals bending over specific areas of muddied grass and taking out his lens to examine them closer.