DISCLAIMER: The characters of this fic do, of course, belong to BBC Sherlock and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter 1: A Moonlight Meeting.

Sherlock Holmes is, to say the least, a remarkable man. His physiology is certainly striking, with jet black curls embracing marble skin, thick strong neck rolling into delicate collar bone and severe cheekbones sculpting piercing blue eyes. But the most beautiful thing about Sherlock Holmes was, to Molly at least, his mind. She wasn't quite sure how to describe why it was this particular aspect she was most drawn to...true, she had always found intelligence an attractive feature in a man, but what Sherlock did, or rather how he did it, was beyond logic – you could even say it was so logical it was illogical – and was certainly a new breed, or perhaps generation, of intellect. She often thought of modern art when she thought of him; striking, complex and inexplicably beautiful. Yes, Sherlock was like an abstract painting, filled with splashes of juxtaposing colours, from fiery crimson to chilling sapphire...chaotic yet ordered, moving yet still - stunning yet terrifying. And what was she, by comparison, in this little metaphor she'd created? She stared out of the tube, into the moving blackness. Of course – a blank canvas; plain and entirely uninteresting.

"Excuse me Ms, are you done with that paper?"

"What? Yes...um...sorry, here." She handed the newspaper over to the woman sitting opposite her, who immediately turned to the business section, taking no notice of the man in the deerstalker hat and the headline which accompanied him.

Oh how Molly envied her.

Christ it's cold, thought Greg Lestrade, as he left the warmth of the office building behind. He wrapped his coat around him more tightly, and headed for the tube station, wanting to get as far away from where he was as possible.

He just could not believe it was over. Was that all it took? A signature and a life was divided, a marriage dissolved. Not that he was in shock – it was what they had both wanted, and deep down he knew the gap had been forming long before the notion of divorce was even discussed. It just seemed so strange that it was all, finally, over.

He was surprised to realise how calm he felt. It was as if all the anger and gloom that had been consuming him for the past few months was signed away also, leaving him free to feel and think without this great weight tugging at his stomach.

God it felt good.

The underground sign loomed into view, and Greg picked up his pace, eager to go somewhere and do...do something. Just as he was rushing down the steps, however, he noticed a familiar face shuffle past in the opposite direction.

"Molly? Molly Hooper?"

She glanced back, stopping just a few steps above him. "Oh! Hello Inspector...um, Lestrade is it?"

He smiled, and walked up until they were side by side. "Call me Greg. Do you need some help with those?"

"No I – thanks, but I can-"At that precise moment one of the two bags she had been clutching to split open, its entire contents spilling across the steps of the underground. "Shit!" She began scrambling to pick up what had fallen, but with Londoner after Londoner rushing up and down, Lestrade knew it was hopeless. Pulling his badge out of his coat, he shouted to the crowd.

"Alright I need everyone to vacate this side of the stairs immediately!"

Molly could not believe it. The continuous flow of travellers began to migrate from where she and the inspector stood, none of them even glancing up to question their relocation or complain about the inconvenience. She watched as Lestrade began picking up her shopping, holding the badge up in his other hand and continuing to direct people away. She bent down to grab the sliced bread on the step beneath her, and when she looked up again he was in front of her, all six foot of him, arms ladened with groceries.

"I, uh, that was so nice of" - Get a grip Molly! she thought to herself furisouly -"So nice of you. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, got to abuse the power every now and then!"

She laughed, a little too loudly she was sure, then reached out for the packets and tins he held grasped to his chest. "I'll just uh, take these off you."

"Don't be silly, I'll walk you home." He smiled at her, and Molly noticed how his grey eyes twinkled in the light.

"Are you sure? I really don't want to be any more trouble – "

"It's no trouble at all. And it'd be nice to catch up, it's been ages!" They turned and began walking up the steps.

"The last time we saw each other was at the wedding right?"

"That's right, John and Lucy's."

"Such a lovely service..."

"Yeah but don't you remember the singer? Bloody awful!"

"Oh god yeah I'd forgotten about her!"

"I honestly think my ears were bleeding... was this close from arresting her for physical assault!"
She laughed again, and he did too.

Accompanied by the lights and buzz of a sleepless city, and what turned out to be the lovely company of the inspector, Molly silently decided that unreliable plastic bags weren't so bad after all.

Greg couldn't believe he hadn't realised just how lovely Molly Hooper was until now. He hoped the journey to her flat was a long one, if just to listen to her laugh and have those big brown eyes dart from the pavement to his face and back again. He found her timidity - what had Sherlock called the crime scene this morning? Endearing.

"So, um, this is me." They had stopped outside a block of flats which were, basically, just that; grey walls and grey windows, not shabby but certainly not sophisticated. She bit her lip anxiously – how could anyone be that adorable? "Thanks again for everything Greg, and, uh, sorry for all the trouble."

"Trust me, it was no trouble. Let me walk you up."

"Okay."

A few moments later they stood outside a grey door (was there any colour in this place?) labelled with a slightly wonky number 8. The hallway was quite dark, the only source of light being the moon, which had spilled itself into the building through a nearby window. Maybe it was the way the silvery light danced off her hair, or perhaps it was the fact that the grey hall made her eyes look bigger and browner than ever - whatever it was, Greg Lestrade suddenly felt impulsive, and decided to do something he rarely did outside of his profession, and had certainly never done in his personal life – act on instinct.

"Molly, would you maybe want to do this again sometime?"

"Uh...do what?"

"Spend some time together. I could take you out – I mean not for groceries or to the underground." Blimey I'm out of practise, he thought. "But for a meal, someplace nice."

"Oh right, I uh - "

"Forget it, I've made a fool of myself haven't I. I'll let you -"

"No! I mean, it's not that...I just...well I thought – aren't you married?"

"Oh that! Nope, I'm a divorced man." He found he quite enjoyed this declaration. "Seems Sherlock was right, as usual", he couldn't help adding. "She was sleeping with the gym teacher."

"Oh that's terrible, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be, it hadn't been right for ages...as much as I'll hate it I'm going to have to thank Sherlock sometime. He can be such a prat but it's funny how he can open your eyes to things that, once you look at, you can't believe you hadn't seen before." He smiled inwardly to himself at the duplicity of that last sentence. Molly really did have lovely eyes.

"Anyway, what do you reckon? If the whole divorce thing bothers you I under -"

"Okay then – yes." She smiled, and Greg felt younger than he had in years. They exchanged numbers, and just as he was about to ask what type of food she liked his phone rang with a low buzz and a shrill call.

"I'm sorry Molly, do you mind if I take this?"

"No! No of course not."

"Lestrade."

"We've got a body sir, possible homicide." It was Sally Donovan.

"Okay, what's the location?"

She told him.

"Alright I'll be there in ten."

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"The body...it's an eight year old girl."

He sighed. That was what he hated about being in the force – no matter how many cases you solved or how many crooks you caught, you were always just too damn late.

"I'll get there as soon as I can." He hung up, and turned back to Molly. "I'm really sorry but I've gotta run."

"Don't worry about it, I've already taken up way too much of your time." She took the tins and packets he had been carrying as she said this.

"Not nearly enough" he corrected, and, without thinking about what he was doing, he reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed, but aside from that didn't seem to mind his forwardness. Or at least he hoped she didn't. "Night Molly, I'll call you."

"Okay" she smiled. "See you!" And with that she disappeared into the flat. As Greg rushed down the stairs and hailed a taxi, he could not help but grin at what he'd glimpsed of Molly Hooper's home.

He didn't think he had ever seen so many colours before.