This is a little something I wrote literally on Tumblr a few weeks ago. After I posted it there, I asked Miz to look it over and she suggested I change it to present tense. It was quite a challenge for me, as I've only written one other story like that. But I do like a challenge. If you read it there, it's quite a bit different in this version. Though MizJoley beta'd it, any and all mistakes belong to me. Thank you, Miz!

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

The Smackhouse

"Have I told you about Molly Hooper, Billy?" Shezza asks as he rests his head on the filthy wall behind him.

"Ah, yeah, man. Like fifty times."

"She's… she's a force of nature."

God, the bloke was completely gone. Not just high, but mental for this Molly. She sounded nice and all, but also a bit scary.

"Brilliant and tiny," Shezza says, gazing off into the distance, his voice gettin' all dreamy. "Big brown eyes. Adorable little nose."

"I know," Wiggins replies, bored with the conversation already. "An' you've seen her crack open a dead body an' take it apart. Freaky, mate."

"No… sexy." The other man's voice is slurring now.

"Whatever you say."

"Trust me, Billy, she's magnificent."

"But she plays with dead folks, how's that sexy?" Wiggins questions.

"Because she's Molly. Tiny…"

"You said that."

"Brilliant…"

"And that."

"Fierce"

"Hmm…"

"She could kill you, you know?" he says, turning and looking Billy in the eyes. "They'd never find your body."

"You have odd taste in woman, Shezza. Anyway, I doubt it. Tiny, remember?" How could he forget? He'd said it like twenty times today! How small is this bird? "Your little Molly, does she know where you're at?"

The man frowns, clearly unhappy about something. Doesn't want his bird to know he's been shootin' up. "No," he says. "She doesn't know. She can't know." Lying down, he turns away from Billy. "And she's not mine."

The next day, he gets to meet Molly Hooper in person. She is tiny. And scary. Terrifying, if he's being honest.

When she slaps the shit out of the other man, he understands why Shezza didn't want her to know. As a matter of fact, Holmes (his real name was Holmes) had been right about everything he'd said about the woman, except about her not being his. Well, maybe it's more like he's hers, he thinks as he watches Holmes rub his abused jaw.

The Hospital

As Holmes comes back into the lab his bird hurries out, never looking in his direction. The short, angry man (who had broken Billy's arm! BROKEN!) is storming around, cursing, while his wife (who is also scary, but he can't explain why… there's just something about her) calmly watches.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" the short, angry man shouts.

Holmes ignores him and thumbs through his mobile.

Short and Angry looks at his wife then back to Holmes. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Looking up, Holmes shoves his mobile into the pocket of the dirty sweats he's wearing. "Not for myself, no. But Billy was right, your walk is actually worse. Careful of the chafing, John."

With a derisive laugh, the man walks away, taking his wife's hand and leaving the room. The kid, who Billy had forgotten about since the slapping, follows silently behind them.

Once the room empties, Billy turns to Holmes and asks, "Why'd you act like you didn't know me?"

"They don't need to know how long I've been using. It's best if they think I was only there for a day or two."

"What 'bout that kid? What if he tells?"

"I recognised him as John's neighbour when he showed up and I threatened him accordingly. He won't say a word."

"And The Missus?" Billy asks.

Holmes smirks and mouths the phrase 'The Missus' like he's testing it out. After about a minute he turns away, hands on his hips.

"She's pissed, Shezza."

"Molly Hooper is none of your concern."

He laughs at that. "After all your stories, I'd say she is… a bit."

"She'll forgive me," Holmes says, sounding much less cocksure than he had with his friends just moments ago. "Sadly, I've done worse. To her, at least."

"Why?" Billy asks. The man clearly loves the slappy mortician.

Holmes doesn't turn around. "I knew she and that idiot wouldn't last," he says, almost to himself. "But I can't have her. Not now and possibly not ever."

"Why?" he repeats his question, even more confused than before.

Holmes faces him with a fake smile plastered on his face. "Right now? Because I'm about to become engaged." The smile drops. "But ultimately because I'm not good enough for her… yet."

He stalks out of the room, leaving Billy to wonder what the hell 'yet' means.

Christmas

Billy Wiggins had never been inside of a Jaguar before. He had tried to steal one once but the coppers showed up, ruining his plans for a joyride. They couldn't catch him though, he knew more about the city than those idiots; there were hiding places everywhere. Besides, he'd smoked enough crack not a half an hour before to outrun Usain Bolt.

But now, he sat next to Sherlock Holmes in the sleek black car on his way to Christmas dinner, of all places.

"Your friend's comin' right?" he asks. "An' his pregnant wife?" Billy had worked hard on creating the baby-safe sedative for her and he was eager to test it out. Also, Holmes had brought him a shit load of medical 'things'; he really looked forward to playing doctor.

"Yes," Holmes says, pulling his attention away from the scenery outside. "They'll arrive later. John's making an obligatory trip to his sister's first. He'll be disappointed; she's still a drunk."

Billy laughs. Every family had one. Mine's got five. Holmes turns away, looking back out the window. The man's been acting sullen all week. Billy knows he's Jonesin', but there's obviously something else going on. The Missus, he thinks.

"Is your bird comin'?" he asks.

"No. She's at her Aunt Helena's for the Holidays. I wouldn't want her anywhere near this. She's safer in Brighton."

"How's she been doin'?"

"I wouldn't know," Holmes answers shortly. "Haven't really seen her."

"She didn't come to the hospital when you was shot?"

"No." He doesn't turn, but Billy can see the strained look on his face. "Everyone bloody came but Molly. Even Adler," he says disgustedly.

Billy doesn't know who Adler is but it sounds like yet another sore spot. "Maybe she was busy," he tries to placate.

"She's angry; for good reasons."

"Maybe she's embarrassed for slappin' you."

Holmes laughs. It's unpleasant sounding. "I doubt it. She's disappointed. Not to mention her engagement ended because of me."

"What didja do?"

"I didn't do anything. They had a fight, about me, and now Molly's alone… again."

"That's what you want."

"What I want doesn't matter." He huffs. "I knew better than to make that snide comment, but..."

"You were high. You weren't…"

"Insult to injury," Holmes interrupts, and gives Billy a glare.

"So talk to her. Apologise."

"I intend to. As soon as this CAM situation is dealt with."

The CAM situation got out of hand really quick. Holmes' brother woke up before Billy had estimated and all hell broke loose. Thankfully, the older Holmes was just as good (if not better) than Billy's boss when it came to making plans on the fly and decided that a homeless drug addict shouldn't be found in his parents' home when the Cavalry showed up. He sent Billy back to London with an angry look and one hundred pounds 'spending money'.

Not as stupid as he looks, Billy puts two and two together the following week when he reads about some newspaper man being shot and killed by an unnamed assailant.

Charles Augustus Magnussen never really stood a chance against a man like Sherlock Holmes. Billy just hoped that his boss was okay.

To Hell

Billy watches Mr. Holmes walk from his kitchen to the lounge, carrying two cups of tea. He takes one from the older man and nods his thanks. Feeling out of place in his dirty denims and hoodie in the posh downtown flat, he sips the hot liquid, burning his tongue in the process. It's not the first time he's been in 221B Baker Street, just the first time he's been there sober.

This is almost a real job. Almost. It still involves drugs, of course, but somehow meeting and sipping tea with Mr. Holmes as they plan and plot and calculate makes him feel… proper.

"Well," Holmes starts. "I believe we've got everything sorted. Do you have any questions?"

He looks horrible, even dressed in that expensive suit of his. Not horrible like he had at the smack house; no, this is something completely different. But Billy knows why the detective seems one breath away from death.

He knows because, for whatever reason, Mr. Holmes likes to talk to him.

When Billy had arrived almost three hours earlier, Holmes had told him about how his friend had died, taking a bullet that was meant for him. The man talked Mary like she was some kind of avenging angel. He had talked about his best mate (the angry man who'd broke his arm!), who was grieving his dead wife and mad as hell at Mr. Holmes (and the world, evidently).

The other man had talked and talked, then he had told Billy all about this plan of his and what he needed to carry it out. The plan is dangerous, that's for sure, but that's where he comes in. His job is to watch Holmes' intake, monitor it as much as possible and make sure the balance is right. He can do that.

I can also call emergency services if I have to, he thinks as he takes another drink of tea. "I got it all, Mr. 'Olmes." Setting down his cup he leans forward. Though the man had talked… a lot, he hadn't mentioned a certain mortician. "Ah, how's the Missus?"

Rolling his eyes, Holmes says, "Fine. Molly's… she's good."

"You seen her lately?"

"Yesterday, in fact."

"Yeah?"

"Molly has a small role to play in this… in a couple of weeks."

Billy smirks. "It's a pantomime now, is it?"

"Something like that," he replies, staring off across his flat. After a couple of minutes, he looks back to Billy. "Can you do me another favour?"

"Sure."

"Will you look after her for me? You see, Molly won't be mad this time," he says, shaking his head sadly. "She'll be hurt and worried. She's already upset about Mary and spreading herself too thin, helping John with our goddaughter. Just, ah, check on her when I'm… when I'm not myself."

"Course, Mr. 'Olmes."

"Update me, even if I'm high and I act like I don't care. Tell me. Make me listen." He stands and Billy assumes he's being dismissed. Which is fine. He has a customer in the downstairs flat he needs to check in with. The old lady went through weed quicker than he could keep her stocked!

"Right. Make you listen. Easy then," he says as he walks to the door. He is just about to leave, but turns when he thinks of one more question. "You said once that you wasn't good enough for her, what 'bout now?"

Mr. Holmes is standing with his hands in his pockets, a blank look on his face. "No, Billy. I'm afraid I'm still not quite the man she deserves."

"Are you closer, at least?"

For just a second, Holmes looks almost happy… almost. "Perhaps," he answers. "Just a little bit."

Billy leaves wondering if he's ever going to get to see the end of this strange love story. He also wonders why he cares so damn much.

The End of the Beginning

"Umm, Miss?" he says to her as he steps out of the shadows.

"God!"

He holds his hands up defensively. "Sorry! I'm not a killer!"

Her eyes dart around as she backs away from him. It's the middle of the afternoon, lots of people about. He selected the time and place so that she wouldn't feel threatened. So much for that.

"Who are you?!"

"Just some guy," he blurts out instead of his planned speech. Way to go, Wiggy. "I don't know why I said that. I'm a friend of your Mr. 'Olmes."

"Oh," she says, studying him for a moment. "Yes, you… you look a little familiar."

Billy smiles. "We met once. The day you clobbered him."

Her face lights up with realisation, then darkens. "What's your name? Are you high? Do you need help?" she asks sternly. Yep, scary and sweet.

"Billy. I'm clean. And I jus' want to talk, if you don' mind." He looks down the pavement embarrassed by his awkwardness before looking back up at her. "I could walk you to the Tube, if that's all right?"

She studies him carefully, making him feel even more uncomfortable. He had cleaned up, a bit. Well, as best he could. The flat he's using isn't exactly what would be considered 'habitable', but it's a roof and it has running water.

After weeks of watching Mr. Holmes - Sherlock, he wants me to call him Sherlock now - pretend to be okay, Billy had finally decided to do something about the situation and put the man out of his misery. It is risky, he knows that. Sherlock isn't being honest with his best mate or landlady. Around them, he acts like his usual self. But with Billy, he told the truth.

The poor sod is hopeless without the tiny doctor who is currently giving Billy a very thorough once-over.

"You work for him?" she asks.

"Yeah."

She shifts her weight, folding her hands across her chest. "Do you sell him drugs?"

Bugger! Now this bit, this is tricky. He had heard the stories. All of them! He knows this bird is smart, maybe not smart like Mr. Holmes, but pretty damn smart. If he lies to her and she figures it out, he might lose his chance to get her trust. If he tells her the truth, she might deck him.

She sees me, Billy, Shezza had told him one day in the smack house. She can see things that no one else can. If Dr. Hooper can read Sherlock Bloody Holmes, what chance does Billy Wiggins have?

"I have, Doctor. I've helped him. Before, that is."

"You call that help?" she growls, well as much as a tiny mortician can growl (which is a lot, surprisingly).

Fierce. "I made sure he didn't OD the last time. Remember? You knew what he was doin'."

She looks away. Now she's uncomfortable.

"I think you know as much as me that when Sherlock 'Olmes gets somethin' in his head, you either help him or watch him destroy himself, Dr. Hooper," he says, remembering what his gramps once told him about not showing fear to an angry dog. Not that the Missus is a dog or anythin'…

With a jerk of her head, she says, "Okay." and starts walking again, Billy follows.

"Thank you."

"Now, why did you want to walk with me?"

"I wanted to tell you a story," he starts. They walk slowly, Billy setting the pace. He had intercepted her about four blocks from her Tube stop, but he has other plans.

"Shezza…" She gave him a strange look. "Oh, that's what he called himself at the smack house. Well, he used to talk about you all the time. He told me about this tiny, smart - no, brilliant - doctor he worked with…"

"Are you sure he wasn't talking about John?" she interrupts with a laugh.

"The angry bloke?" he asks. "No. He talked about him too and that Mary of his. But you definitely got nicer tits than Dr. Watson. Shezza talked about 'em all the time." He laughs.

Dr. Hooper stops short, half glaring and half gobsmacked. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, shit! Sorry… ah…"

"Sherlock talked about my… my…"

"Yeah. A lot! And your…" He looks down very briefly, trying to make her understand that he was talking about her arse.

"Oh… my!?"

"Right. As I was sayin'…"

"Hold on," she says, putting a hand on Billy's arm. "He was high! That's why he said those… things."

"Well, maybe. But he meant it."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause he still talks about you."

She's processing the information, he can tell. After a few seconds, she asks, "And my arse?" Billy nods. "Nice things?"

"Always," he answers, making her smile. "Can I finish my story now?"

"Sure," she says, but looks distracted.

"So, he talked and I listened. I thought he was crazy. I didn't know he was famous, jus' thought he was a junkie, like me. But then that angry doctor showed up and broke my arm…"

"It was sprained, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, well it felt broke. Anyway, I got to meet you, sort of. I talked to him that day after everyone left. I didn't understand why he was so rude to you after talking about you like you shat rainbows for weeks. But then he said that it didn't matter, that he wasn't good enough for you. Yet." He stops walking, needing to take his time (and also change direction without her noticing). "I helped him again at Christmas."

"You what?"

"I went to Christmas dinner at the Holmes'," he says proudly.

Once again, realisation dawns on her face. "You're the one who drugged everybody!"

"Yep!"

"Don't look so smug! You drugged a pregnant woman!"

"I was very careful," he defends.

She rolls her eyes and starts walking again. "Continue."

"He was miserable the week before we went to his Mum's house. Why didn't you go see him when he was shot?"

"It wasn't a good time," she answers, her eyes facing forward. "John kept me updated."

"Well, you'd have been proud of him. He wanted to use." She turns and looks up at him. "I could tell; it's easy to spot if you know where to look. He wanted to but he didn't." Billy keeps talking as she watches him and steers them down the wrong street. That worked out well, he thinks. "I didn't hear from him for a while, not until after Mrs. Watson was killed. I came over to help plan… all that. He was worried about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Said you was spending a lot of time helping with the little one and missin' your friend. He asked me to keep an eye on you since he'd be out of his mind, trippin' and whatnot. Wanted me to tell him about what you was doin', things like that."

"And you did? You… what, watched me?"

"Nothin' weird. Jus' made sure you's all right. He needed to know."

She nods then looks around. For a second he is afraid that she's realised that they were nowhere near her stop. "Why are you telling me all this?" she asks.

"'Cause, of all the times I've seen him sad and missin' you, this is the worst."

Her face falls as she stops walking.

"I know it's not my place, so don't take offense, but he needs you, Dr. Hooper. More than ever. I may be a dirty, homeless junkie, but I know a thing or two. And that poor bastard is miserable thinking that he lost his last chance."

Billy starts walking and she follows, clearly too distracted by his words to notice where they are.

"He tells you things…" she says. "Why?"

"I've never quite figured that one out," he answers honestly. Holmes is a strange bloke. "Maybe I'm safe."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he can't talk to you, now can he?" he says, looking down at her with a smile. "And Dr. Watson always seems to have his own problems. His brother's no good with this sort of thing…"

"You know Mycroft?"

"Nah, I only met him the once. Heard about him, though. And that sister too." He whistles. "I thought my family was bad. She makes my da look like a saint," he says, making yet another surreptitious right turn, taking Dr. Hooper further off course. "And Mrs. H? Love that old lady, but I don't know how she gets anything done…"

"Why?"

"You've never blazed with her?" Dr. Hooper looks at him like he's crazy. "I can't keep up," he says, shaking his head. After a minute or so he continues, "I reckon he talks to me 'cause it's easy and safe. Maybe he just got used to it when he was high. Doesn't matter, does it?"

"I don't suppose it does," she says quietly.

She is distracted and doesn't notice the awning of the sandwich shop about ten meters away. Billy feels even more proud of himself. "The thing is, he meant it. What he said. He just never meant for you to find out like that." He stops walking, making Dr. Hooper have to turn and face him, putting the shop to her back. "I'll prolly lose my only steady payin' job by tellin' you this, but that man loves you. Has done for a long time."

Tears start falling down her face and he is instantly uncomfortable. Crying women make Billy cringe. "Ahh…"

"I didn't know," she whispers. "I… I thought… I just… Space! I thought we needed space after saying… that." She cries. "I didn't think he meant it."

He puts an awkward had on her shoulder and pats. "Like you said, you didn't know, Dr. Hooper."

"No. I didn't. How could I?"

"Yeah, well… he's a special case, inn't he?"

She nods and digs into her bag pulling out a tissue then cleans off her face.

As she is finishing up, Billy says, "You'll talk to him, then?"

"Ah, I suppose. Just need to process all of this."

"Or you could do it now."

She laughs. "Not bloody likely. I know what I look like when I've been crying. I turn all red and my eyes puff up. I look like a homicidal clown on crack," she says, then adds, "Oh, no offense!"

"Naw it's all right," he dismisses with a smile, remembering how Sherlock had talked about her awkwardness and how much he loves it. "But I think now's a good time. And you look nice." It's a lie; she looks awful, but he knows the man in the upstairs flat couldn't care less. "Turn around, doctor."

And she does with a gasp. Turning back to him she says, "How'd you do that?"

"Ah, you know, Mr. Holmes. He taught me a thing or two."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Yep. I'm his protégé."

"Really?"

"No," he says disappointedly. "Now go put the poor bastard out of his misery."

Looking up at the flat, she bites her lip.

"Go on! I put a lot of work into this."

She turns back to him, a slightly menacing look on her face and says, "If you've lied at all… If I find out that any of that is untrue… they will never find your body, do you understand me?"

He swallows thickly as he tries to go over the facts that he'd just given her. God… this tiny little thing is terrifying. "Yes, miss."

The scary look is quickly replaced with a big smile. "Thank you, Billy." She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a warm hug.

Again, he is uncomfortable. As she lets go, she pats his cheek, making him glad that he'd taken the time to hunt down a razor and shave before their meeting.

"If this works out the way I hope, we'll name our firstborn after you, okay?" She beams.

"Sure, whatever," he dismisses, completely embarrassed.

"And you're positive that I look okay? Not too evil clownish?" she asks, holding her hands up to her face.

"Nah, you look fine."

"Well, off I go. Wish me luck!"

"You don't need luck, doctor."

She smiles and walks towards Sherlock's building; Billy crosses the street to watch.

After about thirty seconds or so, the detective's door opens and he looks down, wide-eyed. The pair speak, then Dr. Hooper walks inside. Sherlock looks around until he meets Billy's gaze and nods, a small smile on his face. Billy nods back, watching until the door shuts, then turns to leave the couple to their first evening together.

Billy Wiggins is just a poor street kid, no real accomplishments to his name. But as he walks down Baker Street back towards his rundown flat, he feels so proud. He feels like he's finally done something worthwhile.

o0o0o

That, my friends, is how Billy Violet Hooper-Holmes got her name. And for the record, her namesake, Uncle Wiggy, adores her just as much as she does him.

Okay, please tell me how I did! I'd love your feedback! Thanks for reading ~Lil~