A/N: If you don't happen to know Mary Poppins or are not really familiar with it, don't worry, the story will still make sense.

This is for our both dramaturges SG & SS, because SG thinks that Mary Poppins is the scariest movie ever (and after seeing THAT I totally agree: Enter "Scary Mary" on YouTube), and because SS agreed with me that according to that picture ( BC while shooting S3 with umbrella hanging on wires) Benedict Cumberbatch would be a brilliant Mary Poppins.

Ladies, I'm looking forward to another challenging production with you and let's hope that all will stick to our motto: All drama must remain on stage! (They won't, but one can only hope…)

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own them so please don't sue.
I neither own Sherlock Holmes nor Mary Poppins. No copyright infringement intended. All rights belong to their respective owners.

Molly Hooper loved Sundays, because on Sundays it was socially accepted to sleep in late until afternoon and when you left the flat early in the morning, it seemed all people (except for the crazy tourists) had fled the city – the streets looked deserted. But then, Molly Hooper hated Sundays, because when she was off on weekends, Sundays meant that the next day would be Monday – ergo work again. So basically Molly Hooper whished that Sundays would be endless. She was constantly torn between not doing anything at all like reading or watching telly the whole day or going to a park or cleaning the flat. So most Sundays she spent half of the day cleaning, having a quick walk through the nearest park (so her conscience was at ease that she had spent some time outside) and the other half curled up on her sofa.

At least now she didn't feel bad anymore for sleeping in late. Tom had been a morning person, hence he had made her a bad conscience by telling her stuff like, "The early bird catches the worm." Once she had been so mad at him (she was definitely not a morning person) that she had snapped she was no bird, therefore she found the idea of catching a worm disgusting. When she thought about it, it occurred to her that this must have been another good reason why it had been wise to break it off with Tom. She nodded to herself and turned back to her book on her lap, since Molly Hooper did not want to consider the real reason behind the end of her engagement. It was not that she did not know it, it was that she knew all too well.

So as Molly was just about to start with the last chapter of her book, her phone vibrated, signalling a text. She reached over to the coffee table and retrieved her mobile, her eyes still on the page in front of her. Absently she opened her in-box and only when she saw who the sender was, her full attention went from the book to the device in her right hand.

PACK STAFF FOR 5 DAYS. YOU'RE GOING ON A CASE WITH ME. SH

She stared at the text. Is he out of his mind?

So she texted back:
I'LL HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW. MH

His answer was too quick. She was sure he had already typed it before she had sent her reply.

NO YOU DON'T. CHECKED WITH MIKE STAMFORD. SH

Dumbfounded she stared hat her phone. He's such a haughty bastard!

She thought about what she could possibly reply, when the vibration of the mobile signalled another text.

STOP WASTING TIME BY STARING AT YOUR PHONE. CAR WILL PICK YOU UP IN 30 MINUTES. SH

She sighed deeply, cursing inwardly for giving into him once again, put the book and blanket aside and went to get dressed properly and pack some stuff.

Exactly 29 minutes later Molly Hooper was standing on the pavement in front of her building, a small suitcase in hand, waiting for the ominous car to arrive. Since she had no idea where Sherlock was dragging her, she had packed a few warm jumpers and lighter clothes as well. She had never been with Sherlock on a case for longer than a day, hence she had no idea what to bring with her. Of course she had packed her toiletries and pen and paper to make notes, but apart from that she had been quite clueless. She would have probably packed a gun or a knife, but none of these items was in her possession. Well, she could have taken a kitchen knife with her, but she had figured it would have looked a bit stupid.

Exactly 30 minutes after Sherlock's last text a black Jaguar came to a halt in front of her.

A black Jaguar?! Are you kidding me? Must be for dramatic effects…

The driver's door opened and a chauffeur got out. He walked over to her.
"Doctor Hooper." He tipped his cap.
A puzzled, "Hello," was all Molly could muster. The chauffeur took the suitcase from her hand and put it in the boot. He opened the back door and gestured her to get it. Molly could only stand there and stare at the man.

This feels like an odd mixture between a sleazy spy film and a mad version of "Driving Miss Daisy."

All of a sudden a dreadful thought entered her mind: What if this is just a trick and this has nothing to do with Sherlock? Wouldn't he pick me up with a taxi, or tell me to meet him at Baker Street?

But before she could think about how to get her suitcase back and escape the chauffer, a deep, impatient voice rang out from the dark interior of the car, "Molly, will you stop worrying and get into the car?! We don't have all day."
There was a pause and then a low, "Please," was added.
So she smiled shyly at the chauffer who was still waiting by her side and got into the car.

The seats were of black leather and the car smelled new. Her door was closed and she turned to look at the tall man next to her. His expression was as unreadable as ever. He gave her a quick once over and she knew he was deducing her. She didn't feel uncomfortable about that anymore. She was used to it. That was what he did, that was how he was. And even if he did find things he did not appreciate of while deducing her, he had kept them to himself since the fall.
Well, most of the time…
She knew he was making an effort and it was probably quite hard for him.

So she let him deduce her (she figured she was quite an easy read for him) and although she did not expect him to greet her after he was finished, she said, "Hello Sherlock." He just nodded and turned away from her to look straight ahead.

A few minutes passed in silence while the streets of London passed by and Molly was waiting for the consulting detective to explain to her why she was here. But he remained silent and unmoving, looking out of his window. Molly was starting to feel irritated.
"So, you're gonna fill me in what this is all about?"
He did not even turn away from the window.
"Later."
Molly was a patient soul, but she had decided for herself while he had been gone that she wouldn't allow him to toss her around again when he returned eventually. She knew she did not always succeed, but she was trying and now would be a good time to set some boundaries.
She took a deep breath and stated, "Sherlock, I can't just run off with you like that to solve a case!"
Her steady tone made him turn to her. His voice had the note that meant don't-be-ridiculous, "Why not? You've got free time from Bart's, no fiancé anymore and your neighbour loves to look after Toby. She's even lonelier than you are."

So much for keeping his deductions to himself and not insulting me...

Her voice was louder than she had intended, "I am not lonely Sherlock, I chose to be on my own, and... I... I..." She realized that she started to stammer again. She hated him for doing that to her. She saw the chauffer's eyes in the rear-view mirror. But he averted his gaze as soon as her eyes met his.
Sherlock's face was a blank mask. He knew she was not finished and was waiting for her to go on. She hated him for that as well.
She closed her eyes for a moment, before she opened them again and asked, her voice being not as calm as she would've liked, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just don't want to come with you?"
"No." The smugness war coming off him in waves and she wanted to punch him then and there.
And what he said next, didn't alter her wish, "You are just mad, because you know it's true."
For a moment she actually considered just opening the door and jumping out of the car.

That would leave you stunned, Sherlock Holmes!

The mental image of his face if she actually did that helped her to keep her anger under control. He was right, she would always come running when he needed her. She knew it and he knew it as well. It was not his fault.

He kept looking at her. She raked a hand over her face in a frustrated gesture.

God, if it already starts like this, how is it going to be tomorrow, or the day after?

She tried again, and this time her voice was considerably calmer, "Well, so why me? What about John?"

"John is not available."
She waited for further explanation, but it was in vain.
The only thing he added to the topic was, "And I couldn't stand his babble about babies all the time. It's so tedious and boring."
Molly couldn't help but chuckle a bit at that. She could hardly wait to see Sherlock babysitting the little Watson-baby. The image was so weird, it was almost disturbing. But somehow Molly was sure Sherlock would be good at it. Totally clumsy at first and in his odd way, but still good – like his best man speech.

She went on, "Can't you do it on your own?"
He snorted. "Of course I can! But there would be no one to witness my brilliance and deliver it to posterity."
He smiled his smug smile, but Molly could see it was forced. She had learned to distinguish a real Sherlock-smile from a fake one early on, even if he had not known she could for a long time. But now he did and so he dropped it and added a bit sheepishly (if Sherlock Holmes was capable of sounding like that), "After the Moriarty thing I promised Lestrade not to take on cases involving missing children alone."
"And you assume, because I am a woman, I have to love children and am good with them?!" She did not know why she had snapped at him again, and he didn't either, because he hastened to explain himself, "No! But since you're a person who knows more about human nature than I do, I thought your insight might be helpful. Additionally you seemed to enjoy our last case together, so I figured you'd want to help me again. But if you're not interested, fine… I can find myself someone else." Now he sounded like a sulking child. He almost pouted.
That made her calm down again. She could sense that he hated making that promise to Lestrade, but Sherlock Holmes was nothing if not true to his word, so he had to ask someone who was more familiar with human interaction than he was – which were probably most of the people on the planet – yet still he seemed to have given it some thought and finally had chosen her. Maybe her mind was just making it up and she was interpreting way too much into his actions, but she couldn't help but feel slightly flattered.
She stated in a soft voice, "Of course I'd like to help you."
The sulky expression left his features and for a split second Molly thought she saw a gleam of happiness in his eyes.
She sat straight up and asked again, "So, what is this case all about?"
Sherlock put on his cool, detached mask he wore when being on a case, and started to explain.