There he lay. Long-streched on the sofa, closed eyes, in his purple dressing-gown. John,
sitting in a chair near the mantlepiece, looked at him without saying anything.
"John, don't stare like that," Sherlock moaned.
"You have been lying in the same position for the last four hours. Time to get up. Read a book!"
"A book? Dull. First page spoilers the last. Especially your books. Try Pride and Prejudice, you might even learn something."
"Want a cigaret?" John asked, ignoring the sarcastic remark.
Sherlock quickly opened his eyes, turning them on John with an expectant look. "Got any?"
John lifted an eyebrow. "You were really thinking… Oh, never mind," he said, frustated, when he saw Sherlock was on the verge of an insulting outburst. He grabbed his laptop and opened it.
His friend sunk back in the same position. "You hid my cigarets, my gun and bullets. Cluedo is under your bed, my knife is in the bathroom cupboard, and.. Oh, my harpoon is at this same time vanishing in the dustcart. You are making it all worse." He sighed, but then, with a hinge of interest he asked: "what are you doing?" He lifted his head, trying to figure out why John was typing passionately on his laptop.
"Oh, nothing," John said without looking at Sherlock.
"John?" It sounded like a warning.
"Oh, you see, it's just this little thing, you know. I told you about it. The, erm, the other night."
"No, you didn't."
"Well then, deduce it."
"No, you'd better tell me, John."
"Sherlock, let me, will you?" John looked at his friend with annoyance in his eyes.
"No, John. It has to do with me, and I don't like it. Tell me."
His deep, slow voice did not let John any other option. "Sarah showed me an invitation for blind-dating this night at Bart's. Sort of employees party."
"So?" Sherlock languidly said, already losing interest.
John looked expectingly at Sherlock.
"What? And I have to go there, deduct who it is and have a pleasant evening?"
"No, you go there, have some nice little chats," John sparred. "Stop annoying me. Annoy Lestrade. Or Donovan."
"Dull. Tedious even." His low voice vibrated through the room, it lingered a bit. John rolled his eyes. "Well, I am sure, at least your brain will stop rotting. Oh, and I bet against Anderson that you would do it."
"How much?" Sherlock didn't sound a tiny degree more interested.
"Fifty quid. Another fifty if you really found someone nice and chatted over half an hour without scaring her away."
Sherlock sat up, swiftly like a tiger on the verge of attacking. His eyes were fixed on John's, narrowing for a millisecond, then he got up and walked to his bedroom.
"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked, a glimps of hope could be heard in his voice.
"You are already broke, John. I can't allow you to lose a hundred."
"Fifty."
"You could win a hundred. I'd love to see the look on his face…" he said, rubbing his hand in anticipation of great pleasure. Then he turned his back towards John, and dissappeared in his bedroom. John heard the water in the shower, and half an hour later, when he was absorbed in reading something on his laptop, Sherlock appeared again.
"How do I look, John?"
John turned towards his friend, and his eyed widened. There stood a very old man on the threshold, complete with tweedjacket, bow-tie and boots, with Sherlock's voice.
"Not good?" he asked, seeing John's amused face.
"No, not really. Pick a suit, shoes, tie if you like, and go as yourself. Seriously…" John sighed and focused again on the screen before him. A quarter of an hour later, Sherlock again stepped into the room, this time wearing his purple shirt, black suit. His eyes shined, his black curls still damp from the shower. "Do I look respectable now, John?"
Sherlock walked with firm steps through the doors at Bart's, his coat swirling behind him. He was greeted by surprised looks on the faces of Lestrade, Stamford and some officers he had seen a couple of times at crime scenes. Without a smile around his mouth he walked towards Anderson, who turned round to look straight in Sherlock's face. "Hello Anderson, what a surprise."
"You're doing this for John, aren't you?" His baffled look was indeed pleasure to Sherlock.
"John? Oh, no idea. He's visiting his sister. I just saw the ad for this, and thought "why not?". So, here I am… when do we start?" he said cheerfully, only to irritate Anderson even more. If possible.
Anderson narrowed his eyes in annoyance, decided not to say anything and looked at a fat man, whom Sherlock recognised as 'the guy that takes photographs'.
"Hello lads," the man said in an attempt to be funny. Sherlock just fixed his eyes upon the poor man, which made him even more nervous.
"Each of you will draw a number, that will be your room. In that room, you find a wooden panel. My lovely friend Sally Donovan is telling it to the girls, so you will see them, or not, actually," here he paused a bit, to allow the men time to laugh. Some people laughed kindly but affectedly. "In around ten minutes one of the lasses will come to your room. You're the one to guess who she is, after five minutes you can remove the panel. Have fun!"
Sherlock draw number 7. He walked down the corridor, thinking how on earth he got himself caught in a situation like this. Why was he doing this? Just for John? He sighed. John just could not afford to lose 100 pounds, so he'd probably better sit this out with a minimum of irritation and effort.
The first person to enter the room was a woman with firm steps. Donovan.
Sherlock sighed inaudible and cursed John for the second time this evening. Never bet again, doctor!
"Hello there," Sally opened the one-sided conversation against the wooden panel.
"Hallo Sally, you look plain tonight."
"Oh, it's the freak."
"Yes, perhaps I should mention: I'm not Anderson. He's in room 2."
Sally sighed irritated, but did not yet leave.
"Did you two have a nice chat at his home? Well, perhaps there wasn't that much talking. High heels make you look extremely ridiculous, by the way. Where did you buy them? At the groceries'?"
There was a little shuffle, and a furious Sally slammed the door shut.
"I was just saying." Satisfied, Sherlock leant backwards in his chair.
One minute, fifteen seconds. Let's see if he could do it faster.
Exactly nine minutes later, the door opened again. He listened for a moment, knew who it was and lost interest.
Before she even spoke, Sherlock's voice cut the silence. "Just been dumped by boyfriend, now already hunting for someone else, Denise?"
The girl gasped in disbelief. "T-that is not according to the rules!"
"Rules are boring."
He could hear the girl blink. "Hop, off you pop, go to room 9, there is Mike. He's also been dumped. Oh, wait, you already were together! Oops."
The girl stood up and ran outside, not closing the door behind her. Sherlock smiled contented. Less than one minute. He's on fire!
He sat down behind the panel and waited. A couple of minutes later, soft footsteps could be heard. The door was closed.
Sherlock listened very carefully to whom she might be. He heard some shuffle with the chair and finally she spoke. "This is exciting, isn't it?" Her voice sounded young, humurous, at ease. Sherlock was puzzeled for a moment. "Now I need to talk about myself for 5 minutes. Well, Sally gave me a paper with questions, so I'd better start at the top then. Hang on a minute, need to find it."
Sherlock felt his muscles tighten in irritation. He already knew who it was. Of course he knew. Was this one of John's rare practical jokes?
The woman on the other side of the panel started talking, about her cats, her favourite books and television shows. She didn't sound very tense, she was relaxed and obviously enjoying herself.
Halfway through her narrative, Sherlock caught himself smiling. Why was he smiling? Suddenly he felt a bit uneasy. This was not the woman he had always known!
At last there was a silence. She coughed, and said with a nervous giggle: "well, you'd better remove the panel then."
Sherlock inhaled deeply, not really knowing why he felt so nervous.
He stood up from his chair and with each hand on one side of the panel, he lifted it a couple of centimeters, put it aside and then turned towards her. His cold blue eyes met her warm brown ones. He could still see the vague smile around her mouth fading when she realised what was happening, her eyes widening in terror.
"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said, while he seated himself, extremely conscious of his movements.
"Sherlock, I had no idea you… I didn't know you participated in silly games like this." The nervous giggle turned ashamed.
"Normally I don't." Sherlock felt awkward.
"Oh." She looked at her feet. Sherlock felt a tinge of guilt, and was surprised at that feeling at the same time.
He looked intentively at her. The woman from some minutes ago, nicely chatting, having fun, had disappeared, making room for a shy, tight-lipped girl who daren't say anything.
Oh dear, he had to say something now.
"John wanted me to join this sil.. serious game," Sherlock said with some difficulty, clearing his throat.
"Oh." She felt studid. Well, she did feel stupid lots of times, but this was worse. He didn't even try to hide his contempt for her, after she had been talking about stupid, unimportant things. What must he think of her?
Sherlock closed his eyes for a very short while, and suddenly he knew. John had set this up so he would make proper amends to Molly. John had urged him to do so a couple of times after the Christmas Incident, but he just wouldn't. Couldn't.
He opened his eyes and looked at the clearly miserable girl. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes softened. He had loved to hear her talk so confidently just now if he was honest, about stuff that mattered to her, not a care in the world. John sometimes had that habbit as well.
He knew she fancied him, that was obvious at Christmas. Loved him. He knew now, and all of a sudden all other things seemed trivial. But why?
"Molly?"
She looked up at him in wonder at the soft tone, a bit of warmth, in his voice.
"I like Midsomer Murders too, you know."
He was pleased to see her eyes brighten. Because of him? For once in his life he was not sure, but he liked the idea. Liked it very much, in fact.
"No, you don't," she firmly said, her brown eyes fixed in his.
He lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
She smiled and said: "No, you don't, because it is crap."
"Quite right, Molly. Quite right." He stood up and stretched his hand towards her. "Want to remain in this musty room, or fancy some fresh air?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you being so nice? Do you need another body?"
He chuckled, felt surprised at that himself, and Molly rised from the uncomfortable chair, admitting: "Some fresh air would do me good."
Sherlock opened the door, and saw Lestrade, Sally, Mike, Anderson and some other people, standing right outside the door.
"Good evening, everyone. Molly and I are going out for a walk," Sherlock announced, looking down at the beaming Molly. He guided her past her colleagues, but changed his mind. "Anderson, I would love to have a 100 quid from you. You owe it to John," and he gave the forensic a victorious smile. Anderson angrily took out a hundred pounds note and gave it to Sherlock, who folded it and put it in his breastpocket. "Come along, Molly," he said and walked away, Molly right behind him.
A quarter of an hour later, the two of them were sitting in a small pub, chatting cosily. Well, Molly did the talking, Sherlock was mostly the attentive listener. Now and then he sipped from his drink, smiling at her questions and remarks. When she started to become less talkative, he decided to amuse her in the way he always did to John: deduct people that passed by. Now and then she just wouldn't believe him, but when he explained so that she could follow, he felt content. Restful. Strangly relaxed.
The clock had already struck 1 AM when Molly secretly started yawning behind her hand.
"I'll take you home. Cab or walk?"
"A walk please, I love London at night."
"Me too."
Molly was holding her handbag, Sherlock had his hands in the pockets of his coat. He had adjusted his speed to hers, and felt at ease. Her blonde hair now and then floated in the wind, her parfume he could smell now and then when she made way for another man or woman in the street. Somehow he seemed more sensitive to smells and noises than ever. Because of her.
Far too soon, they reached her house. She grabbed her keys from her handbag and tried to stick them in the keyhole. Sherlock waited patiently, a smile around his mouth and a strange feeling in his stomach. Finally, the door swung open. She looked up at him and looked at him for a full minute.
He tilted his head when she didn't look away. "What?"
"Tomorrow you will just be your normal self. Rude, cruel. Unreachable. Better keep a memory of your face now, something to remember."
His grey eyes shone like diamonds. She knew she had to go inside, prevent herself from embarrassing herself to Sherlock even more. But she just wanted to say one last thing to this very pleasant, kind man he was tonight.
"Sherlock, I really enjoyed it. There was no reason you had to be nice to me!"
He just could not get his eyes off her. "There are enough reasons, Molly."
Her stomach made some strange movements. "A-are there?"
"Of course: I would like to have a look at Brendon Casting's body tomorrow. Would nine o'clock suit you?" His attempt at a joke had failed. He knew it the second her rosy cheeks turned white, her eyes dimmed, her shoulders lowered. He felt sorry the moment the words left his mouth.
"I tried to lighten things up a bit by making a joke. Sorry."
Molly backed the doorpost for support, as her legs felt a bit too shaky. Of course it was no joke. He would ask for the body again, tomorrow. She knew him as well as that.
Suddenly, his hands were beside her head, his body close. Too close.
"You don't believe me." It wasn't a question, more like a statement.
She shaked her head, but was not really sure if that was the right answer when she saw his eyes turn a shade darker.
"Well, maybe this will change your mind." His voice was soft, a bit hoarse.
Molly didn't dare to breath out, as she saw his face coming even closer, his eyes fixed on her mouth.
And then his warm mouth covered her's. At first, Molly did not know what to do. She stood frozen, her legs and arms rigid, her mouth locked by his.
Suddenly she responded. It startled Sherlock, who was taken aback by her enthusiasm.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her small waist as she pressed her body against his, her hands in his crazy hair, both unwilling to let the other go, both grasping all that the other had to give.
After some delicious moments, it was Molly that broke it off.
Sherlock was flabbergasted. He had never felt like this. Never felt anything, in fact. What had happened tonight?
Molly was breathing heavily, trying very hard to compose herself.
"I-I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock stammered.
He stammered. Great. Molly knew what it meant. It was a "sorry, it was a mistake"-sorry, a sorry she had received oh so many times. But she gathered her courage and asked softly despite herself: "sorry for what?"
He inhaled deeply. "Sorry for keeping you waiting so long."
A smile broke through on her face, her eyes two deep pools of perfect contentment.
Sherlock indulged himself in her sight for some more moments, than lowered his head again and kissed her, softly this time.
She smiled silently and went inside. No matter how he would behave tomorrow, this moment was hers.
Sherlock opened the door at 221B and climbed the stairs. John was sitting in his chair, reading a book.
"You took your time," he said insinuating.
"I earned you a hundred quid."
A surprised look appeared on John's face as he turned towards his friend. "Who was it? Someone I know?"
Sherlock only nodded, unwilling to spoil his memories by being laughed at by John. But John persisted. Sherlock sighed and said, trying to keep his jumping heart out of his voice: "it was Molly."
John didn't answer, but looked steadfastly at Sherlock.
"What?" Sherlock joked, hoping John would stop.
"You took your time.." John repeated, beginning to understand. Well, a little.
A grin appeared on Sherlock's face, but his lips were tightly sealed.
Had a great time tonight. Coffee tomorrow at six?
-SH
Sounds great. Starbucks?
Xoxo Molly
Yours is better. Black, two sugars. I'll be waiting upstairs.
-SH
Alone?
Xoxo Molly
Sherlock grinned. The girl would be freaking out. Too bad he couldn't see her reaction now. Let's wait how she responded to an unexpected text.
Hell yeah!
-SH
Thanks so far for all the lovely comments! I've tried to get rid of the little errors here and there, and followed the advice of one of you to add some more "blind dates" for our in-, erm, consulting detective. If you see a little mistake, blame it to the fact English is my second language :) Please leave a comment after reading! Thanks for reading it anyway :)