My first crack at a Sherlock fic, please be kind. :)
John Watson leaned in the doorway to the small kitchen in the morgue. Just the idea of it, a kitchen in a morgue was a little unsettling. Despite his thought though, it was a vey neatly kept and clean place. John assumed this was because of Molly hooper.
The same girl who was currently bend over a coffee maker, humming as she prepared a fresh pot. Her hair was tied up tightly, and her white lab coat was smudged with what looked like dirt. Her small dull grey kitten heels were not silent when she moved, going click clack, as she shuffled back and forth, measuring out the coffee grinds.
"You know." John said, leaning casually on the counter beside her. "You could simply tell him to make his own coffee."
Her expression never changed, she was still seemingly hell bent on preparing the coffee. "You scared me." She said, pressing a glowing red button.
He gave her a concerning look. "Molly."
"Well it wouldn't make much difference." She said, sounding a little more than flustered. Molly was rarely outwardly angry. "Either way, I might as well do it myself."
John wondered why she spent so much time trying to impress Sherlock, and why she factored in what he would think every time she made a decision. He was nothing short of horrible to her, the events taking place on Christmas made that very clear. Although it was yet to be revealed whether or not Sherlock Holmes had felt true sympathy for her.
Still, through every time he openly, guiltlessly insulted her. She always, every time he came to the morgue, made him coffee.
"I make alright coffee." She spoke as if he'd doubted her abilities in the art. "My mother taught me when I was sixteen. Although these machines are a bit different from the ones we had back then."
John sighed. "Molly, Sherlock doesn't deserve to be treated his way from you."
She looked to him, a confused expression across her face. "I dont think you understand."
But her did understand. It was one thing that he and Molly had in common. Something that made the two of them different from everyone else.
They both saw Sherlock for what he truely is. Not a monster, not a freak, not a psycho. She saw him the way John saw him, she saw him as a man.
"Yes." John shook his head. "I do understand."
She looked up at him for a moment, before turning to take out a few coffee mugs.
And the Sherlock Holmes walked into the room, and John knew he and Molly would never have another conversation quite like the one they'd just had ever again.
"Ah coffee, sorry no time for that now Molly." Sherlock smiled half heartedly, turning to John. "We need to leave..." He checked his watch. "Now."
John watched Molly's finger tips, that had never let go of the coffee mugs, as she slid the pieces of ceramic back into a tidy cupboard. She turned them so all the handles faced the front.
And just like that, her small connection to the human in Sherlock was gone, and she'd have to go back to work. Working among people who no longer had any feelings, literal or otherwise.
So she got back to work, dealing with dead people.
I know it's not the most spot on fic, but I suppose I can only get better.
Review and let me know what you think?
xx Dana