Umbrella

Molly sighed to herself as she sat alone in the morgue. Another Friday night spent finishing paperwork that she ought to have done during the week, but she found it so hard to concentrate with his dark head bent over the microscope, only a few feet away from her. She often ended up like this, sitting on the hard lab stool late at night, everybody else at home with loved ones or out on the town. But Molly Hooper had nobody to stay home with, and nowhere to go out to. She also had a job that she didn't want to lose because of a silly, yet irreversible crush on one Sherlock Holmes. It was bad enough that she worked in the same department as him, often in the same room as him, but now he was starting to strike up a proper friendship with her. Not just a casual 'I work with you' friendship either; Sherlock was certainly not known for that sort of social interaction.

Molly smiled as she thought to herself how invaluable John was. Not only had he begun to bring Sherlock out of his shell, but he was also automatically kind to everyone. He had quickly struck up a friendship with her, and she often found him talking amiably to Mrs Hudson when she visited 221 Baker Street to drop off the endless mountain of papers Sherlock required for his crime solving. She often felt that the small community of detectives and inspectors needed some cheering up, or at least someone to care about them.

Sherlock waits outside the doors to the morgue, waiting for a response to his text to John. Why can't that man answer more quickly? Even when he does reply, it's usually something disappointing. Sure enough, when he receives a reply two minutes later, it's John telling him he can't make it to the morgue for at least another hour. Another pointless dinner with another love interest, no doubt. Sherlock is about to go into the morgue alone, something he hates to do - he needs someone to relay his thoughts to, is this so hard to understand? - when he hears a noise down the hall. After only a few steps he sees the light reflecting off the cold tile floor; Molly must be staying late again.

Coming suddenly out of her reverie, Molly scolds herself for getting distracted, once more, on thoughts of Sherlock. Turning back to her work, she freezes, hearing movement in the hall. She jumps as the doorknob turns, then flushes with relief when she sees the silhouette of Sherlock, all messed up, curly hair, turned up collar, and casually swinging umbrella.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? I thought everybody had gone home for the night."

"I had to come back," he said, turning to face her. "I was going to… inspect some things, but John can't make it."

"Is there anything I can help with?" Molly asks a little too quickly, silently cursing the sudden flutter in her stomach.

"Not tonight. I need to think on the topic before I return. If you'd like, you can accompany me on my stroll through the park." Sherlock frowns slightly. Where did that come from? He wasn't really the type to ask someone to take a stroll with him.

Molly blushed, and then hoped he wouldn't see in the dim lighting. "Of course, let me just, um, pack up," she said, hoping she'd have time later tonight to finish her paperwork. She gathered up her things while Sherlock stared calmly out the window, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Alright, I'm ready," she said, having put the paperwork back into filing. She had only brought a small handbag, which she slung over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

They silently walked down the stairs, with Sherlock looking straight ahead, and Molly gazing fondly at the back of his head. When they reached the bottom of the stairwell she frowned slightly. He hadn't spoken to her, hadn't walked beside her; it was like she wasn't there. She racked her brains for something to say.

Sherlock reached the last step, cursing himself. He hadn't spoken a word, and John was always telling him how rude that was. Usually he wouldn't care, but Molly was his… friend? He still wasn't sure. Either way, she had dropped all her paperwork for him again, yet he was probably making her uncomfortable. He tried to think of something to say, but Molly got there first.

"So what's this case that you're working on? It can't be a murder, since you haven't asked me to find the body for you."

Sherlock smiled a little at this remark. She was more observant than he thought. "No, nothing interesting like that. It's just some woman who wants to find her son. He ran away two years ago and she stopped hearing from him. It's quite boring really, but John is making me do it. He says he can't handle me being bored again."

Molly remembered what happened the last time Sherlock had been bored; he'd shot bullet holes all through one of the walls of his apartment, for no apparent reason. She secretly agreed with John that they always needed to have some case for him to work on, no matter how dull. Next time he might hit Mrs Hudson.

Thank you for reading, I'll be putting some more up when I can, but school has just started for term 4, so it might take a while. Please review! :D