"Sherlock, why are you staring at me?"
Molly's voice snapped him from his reverie.
"I am … deducing."
Her ponytail swung as she tilted her head sideways. She slipped her safety glasses off and set them on the counter.
"Why? What don't you already know?"
He rubbed his lips together. He had no answer to that. He looked askance.
"It is just practice," he mumbled.
"Practice?"
He sighed noisily. "If you must know, you are like a daily human crossword puzzle for me in that you never seem to wear the same outfit twice. I try to understand your reasoning behind your selections as a kind of mental exercise."
"Seriously? Why?"
He swirled a finger around and pointed it at her. "How can you even ask? It boggles the mind that you would wear those ill-fitting taupe trousers and that orange and green striped … monstrosity. Are those faux buttons? Is that a sweater or a cardigan?"
Molly looked down at her ensemble in disbelief. "I-I like these. They're comfortable. Besides, what does it matter? The dead people don't care."
"I'm not dead."
"You don't count!"
Sherlock's chin went back. Molly huffed.
"Oh, damn, I mean, that's not what I mean. Pfft, you are so infuriating, Sherlock Holmes. If I thought it would change your opinion of me, I might dress differently but I vividly recall my efforts on that front being rather futile. You taught me a valuable lesson, believe it or not. What a person wears doesn't matter," She hit her chest once with her hand. "You either like what's in here, or you don't."
He blinked several times.
She lifted her chin and nodded.
"Yeah, so I pick my clothes like crayons and dress for me. I like me. I'm pretty awesome. It took me a long time to accept that and grow into my own skin. I don't need to do all this," she gesticulated at him in a circular motion. "I don't need to dress to intimidate anyone or increase my sex appeal, especially since you made clear it's non-existent."
He sat there stunned for a moment. "Non-existent? Molly, half the reason I am so irritated by the way you dress is because it distracts from … ahem . . . mm, um, never mind."
It was Molly's turn to gape at him. She gave her head a shake.
"Wh-What?"
Sherlock glanced down at his watch and made an exaggerated expression of surprise. "Would you look at that? I'm late."
She stalked up to him. "Don't even think about leaving! Finish that thought right now."
He gathered up his jacket. "No."
She stepped in front of him and poked him in the chest. "Yes!"
His eyes narrowed at her before they rolled. "Good God, Molly, you just told me my opinion doesn't matter and you are right. The fact that I think you're beautiful shouldn't affect your opinion of yourself one iota. My frustration lies with the idea that others may miss how truly spectacular you are because they are distracted by a rainbow jumper."
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stuttered in surprise. "I-I-It's not a rainbow … it's only t-two c-colors . . ."
Sherlock stepped closer and cupped her face. "You are too stubborn, Molly Hooper. I just told you that you are beautiful and you still defend that horrid sweater."
She licked her lips. "You either like what's in here or you don't. Which is it?"
"Neither."
He kissed her once briefly and then gazed down at her.
"I love the person within."