Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade wants to put his head in his hands and call it a day. The fact that Anderson and Donovan had volunteered for the undercover detail should've tipped him off, but of course, he usually has complete confidence in his team. But here they all are, in this nice little restaurant, and the forensic expert and detective are as stiff and formal with each other as they are at work. The graying detective inspector checks his watch, then takes another gulp of tepid coffee, bored of watching the rest of the place not-react to the non-couple on stakeout.
Then a bright voice says, "Hi, Greg! Um, I mean …"
He looks up to see the forensic girl from Sherlock's Christmas party (he still thinks of it as that, even though John organized the whole thing) waving and smiling nervously at him. When he sees her standing there, several thoughts come to mind: a) the longer the normally-shy Molly stands there, the more she's going to stand out, b) if she does that, the target will focus on her, not on Anderson and Donovan, c) Anderson and Donovan make a crap couple, and d) change of plans. As he waves Molly Hooper over with a smile, he murmurs behind his coffee cup, "Change of plans, me and Dr. Hooper will be decoys."
Donovan sputters into her coffee, while Anderson pointedly tries not to glare at Lestrade. Lestrade, however, doesn't care, as the fetching Dr. Hooper takes a seat opposite from him. "Greg is fine," he smiles at the girl, no, woman, reassuringly. "How are you, Molly?"
"What? Oh, fine, I'm fine," she babbles, her mouth doing interesting things opposite from the rest of her face. She's got her long dark hair tied behind her right ear, wearing a light green sweater and dark brown slacks, which, unlike her Christmas dress, leaves everything to the imagination. Part of him thinks it's a pity, but most of him figures it's a good thing, he needs to keep his wits about him. "So, come here often?" Once the words leave her mouth, she grimaces. "Oh, that sounds bad, doesn't it?"
He chuckles, and she relaxes marginally. "Not really," he says. "What'll you have? It's on me."
"Huh? Oh no, no, I'm fine," she says, blushing a little.
He shakes his head, then leans forward. "Don't worry, it's on the company tab," he says in a lower voice, and smiles as he leans back, seeing her giggle. "Smiling's a good look on you," he says.
The long-haired girl ducks her head shyly. "Thanks," she says, and almost jumps out of her seat when the server comes by. "Oh! Hello. Um, I'll have the soup of the day, the turkey melt, and coffee. Um, cream and sugar, please," she adds belatedly when she sees there's none by the inspector. The server nods briefly to her nervous smile and leaves. "This is a nice place, I always wanted to come here," she babbles, her eyes now darting around since her order's been taken.
"Why haven't you come by before?" Lestrade asks, honestly curious. "It's close by, food's good, and so are the prices."
She shrugged. "It has that sort of, I don't know, swanky air, I guess," she answered, her mouth twitching up into a smile. Molly looked down at her hands, her smile evening out into something more gentle. "I used to be afraid I'd run into Sherlock here, but John says that nobody here owes Sherlock anything, and they're more of a take-away sort."
"I'm glad you came, then," Lestrade finds himself patting her hands, and she looks up, a bit startled. So is he, to tell the truth, but puts a game face on, if not for their target, then for her. "I thought I'd be here by myself for a while."
"Is it your day off, then?" she asks innocently.
He smiled. "I wish," he says, heartfelt, ignoring the groans in his earpiece. Trust the original screw-ups to be mocking him. It's been ages since he's been on the pull, even if the divorce had been done what feels like years ago, but Molly seems, well, harmless. And it's not like it's a real date, she's just a last-minute pleasant change of plans. They make more small talk, then her food arrives, and he's sipping at his now-lukewarm coffee. The server surprises him by refreshing his cup, and he nods in thanks. "You're right, this place is swanky," he grins when the server leaves, "that, or I'm getting better service because of you."
She blinks, then giggles. "I doubt that," she says, blushing anyways, "it's probably because you're a good customer."
He shakes his head mock-sadly. "I doubt that," he echoes her, "I've been coming here off and on for at least five years, and only now do I get prompt service."
Her blush deepens, but rather than argue, she finishes her meal. He likes that she eats a good, hearty meal, none of that picking-at-grass-in-a-bowl sort of thing. "Thanks for, um, lunch? Dinner? My hours are odd, I'm not sure anymore," her voice trails off again, and her eyes, which used to be on him, are skittish again.
Lestrade puts his hand on hers, and she stiffens, or at least, steadies a bit, her large dark eyes back on his face. Good. He's not sure why it's good, but he thinks it's good. "Thank you for your company, Molly," he says. "All right if I escort you back to work?"
"Oh! No, I'm fine," she covers her mouth as if to cover her pleased, yet embarrassed expression. "I walked here, so -"
He smiled as he waived the server over. "I'm not going to carry you in my arms," he teased, "just walk you back to your job."
"What? Oh. I knew that," she said, and he could see she wanted to slide down into her seat if she could. She watched as Lestrade paid the bill, and exhaled noisily. "All right, then," she said, and as she got up, the server pulled her chair out, but Lestrade escorted her out with a hand to the small of her back. "Oh! Um, er, thank you," she stuttered, her head going down, then up.
"You make a perfect date, Molly Hooper," Lestrade said fondly, ignoring the gagging noises now in his earpiece.
"D-date?" she stammered, bewildered, starting to walk away. Then she squeaked as he pulled her back onto the sidewalk and away from a car blindly making a turn. "Thank you," she breathed, clutching at his coat collar.
He was loathe to let go of her so soon, but he did, mentally forcing himself to do so. "Yeah, well," he found himself getting bashful now, seeing her look at him the same way she does to Sherlock, and with that thought, he got both depressed and practical again. "You have a good day, then."
And that's when the lights went out for both of them.