Expanding on Sherlock's knack for meddling in Molly's attempts at romance.
The first time that Sherlock had shattered her illusion of what she thought was a potential boyfriend had been nearly six months after she had started working at Bart's. She may have been young and fresh out of medical school, but she was quickly becoming the favoured pathologist at Bart's. Not only with people such as Mike Stamford, but also with the police. Her first week of work was mainly assisting a curmudgeonly and somewhat misogynistic old man named Doctor Ormond Sacker. Molly suspected some sort of heart condition plagued the old doctor with how out of breath he became simply pacing around an autopsy table. He also wore a permanent frown on his face that only became more pronounced whenever Molly was around. Things changed drastically when she first met Sherlock Holmes.
Mike Stamford came into the mortuary one day followed closely by two-rather handsome in Molly's opinion-men. The first one seemed to be going gray a little prematurely and she noticed a gun concealed at his waist underneath his jacket; maybe he was with the police. The second man's hair was dark and curly. There didn't seem to be a gun on him, though: one policeman, one civilian. "Ah, Mike," Doctor Sacker greeted, "nice to finally have some men around here. Doctor Ormond Sacker." He held out his hand to the first man who frowned and glanced over at Molly. Reluctantly he shook his hand.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said slowly and quickly dropped the older man's hand. Doctor Sacker held out his hand to the second man. "And you are?" he asked. The second man kept his hands in his coat pockets and glared wordlessly at the man. The elder doctor got the hint and dropped his hand back to his side. "The body's just over here and I have a copy of the autopsy report as well."
"Who's your colleague?" DI Lestrade asked. Doctor Sacker scoffed.
"Just ignore her. That's how I deal with her."
Molly sighed and closed her eyes. Was it just a little bit sad and pathetic that she was becoming numb to such treatment now? Yes, yes it was.
"How rude of me," Mike said, sounding a little angry at Doctor Sacker's words, "Lestrade, this is Doctor Molly Hooper. She just started here a week ago." Molly shook Lestrade's hand and was just about to inquire the name of the silent companion when Doctor Sacker cleared his throat.
"Detective Inspector? The body?" The three men joined the doctor around the autopsy table with Molly close behind. "I know you suspected foul play, but there's nothing to suggest that here. The poor fellow just had a lung condition that went unchecked for too long. He was a ticking time bomb." Molly frowned. That wasn't right. She knew that wasn't right but Doctor Sacker would sooner attempt a marathon than listen to her. She caught the dark haired man looking at her but he quickly turned his head away, scowling and typing furiously away on his phone. Molly instantly became self-conscious. Had she done something wrong?
"What do you think?" Lestrade said to his companion. The dark haired man glanced at him, then back to the body.
"I want a second opinion," he finally said. His voice was incredibly deep compared to the Detective Inspector's. It sounded like someone had thrown Alan Rickman's voice into a blender with a touch of Jeremy Irons. Not a bad combination at all.
Doctor Sacker looked offended. "I am the most accomplished pathologist Bart's has ever seen! A second opinion isn't-"
"You are a lazy and incompetent old fool. Your eyesight is going judging by the fact that you're still squinting even with your glasses and you'll most likely be completely blind within the next twenty years but judging by the stench around you, you're well on your way to an assisted living facility so you'll have people to take care of you when that happens. Then again, you probably won't live long enough to see that day," here, the dark haired man gave a small chuckle at his own joke, "You have an unchecked heart condition. You're overweight, you move at a slow shuffle, and you are still out of breath from walking over to this autopsy table not to mention your face is about as red as a tomato. If you keep on with your current diet and lack of exercise regime, you'll have a heart attack within the next five years. Because of how easily you tire, you've been doing a slapdash job on your autopsies so you can go home early. Doctor Hooper here knows this judging by her surprise that I'm so right about you. Yes, Doctor Molly Hooper has only been working here a week but she has seen your work and she has seen you get many things wrong but you have ignored any evidence she has brought up to contradict your findings. Is it because of pride? Yes, one would think so. I can tell from your posture that you are the kind of man that hates being proven wrong but it's not just pride. No, you hold on to the archaic ideas of men being superior to women. You don't think women belong in pathology, that they're not smart enough, and you are openly hostile to Doctor Molly Hooper because you know she's much better at this than you are and infinitely more intelligent than and you perceive her as a threat. Now kindly shut up while I get my second opinion." The dark haired man turned his head to her.
"Doctor Hooper? Proceed."
Molly was stunned into silence for several long moments before she tentatively stepped forward. "There is nothing wrong with the deceased's lungs. He didn't smoke and he certainly didn't have a lung condition that went unnoticed. This man died from asphyxiation. He passed out and choked on his own vomit-his clothes were covered in it. There's some corrosive damage in the esophagus, lungs, and numerous other organs. My first thoughts were acid reflux, perhaps caused by an unhealthy diet, but when I examined his stomach contents one evening-"
"You did what?!" Doctor Sacker exploded. "You incompetent b-!"
"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," the dark haired man warned menacingly. "Do not interrupt Doctor Hooper again. The stomach contents: what did you find?"
"I suspect he was a vegan," Molly continued. "I found no meat products or animal byproducts. The last thing he ate was tofu and a salad washed down with a glass of soy milk. I suspect death by poisoning but I am not allowed access to the blood samples taken from the body so I haven't been able to do any tests."
Mike, Lestrade, and the unnamed dark-haired man all stared down Doctor Sacker who was looking very uncomfortable under their gazes. "Alright!" he growled. "I'll get a sample of blood and you two can come with me down to the lab-"
"No," cut in the dark-haired man. "I've already told you: you are lazy and incompetent. I don't like working with lazy and incompetent people. You will give Doctor Hooper the blood sample and she will run the tests."
That was how Molly Hooper found herself walking down to the lab with a blood sample in hand, the detective inspector and unnamed man walking on either side of her. "I never liked that old bastard," Lestrade commented. "I'll be lodging a complaint against him." Molly smiled gratefully up at the Detective Inspector before looking at his companion.
"I've wanted to tell him off since the first day of work," she admitted to him. "Thanks! What's your name, by the way?"
His mouth quirked upward into a small smile for just a second before he answered her with "Sherlock Holmes."
That was how they met. Doctor Sacker resigned the very next day and Molly only felt just a little guilty that she was so happy at his departure. Lestrade and Sherlock came in every so often to look at a body from a case that Scotland Yard was working on and sometimes Sherlock would come in just by himself to run some tests in the lab. He was always very quiet and only liked chatting when he became excited or frustrated by a result.
It was nearly six months to the day that she had started working at Bart's and she had a date. Harold Quincy was a very nice and successful banker that had approached her while she was reading the Brothers Karamazov in a coffee shop and complimented her on her excellent taste in literature. The two chatted for over an hour and she ended up with his number and an invitation to dinner that Friday evening. She had grabbed her coat and handbag and was just about to head out when she froze in surprise. Sherlock always appeared at random times and always when she least expected him to. He hadn't been into Bart's for a week.
"Hello, Sherlock," she greeted. He looked up from the microscope and turned his head toward her.
"Doctor Hooper. You're leaving an hour earlier than usual. Then again, you do want plenty of time to prepare for your date." Molly sighed, not even bothering to ask how he knew that. She had gotten used to his deductions these past six months. "Someone from the hospital, I would suspect, but then again, there's always one thing I tend to miss."
"I met him the other day when I was out for coffee," Molly told him. "He's a successful banker named Harold Quincy and he's taking me to a very lovely restaurant. I'll see you later, Sherlock." She was almost to the door when he spoke again.
"Harold Quincy?" he repeated. Molly turned to look at him.
"Yes. Do you know him?" she asked. Sherlock seemed to think about it for several long moments before shaking his head.
"No, sorry," he said. "I must be thinking of someone else." Molly thought nothing more of her conversation with Sherlock as she got ready for her dinner. She tried to keep it simple with a black dress and her hair in a bun but before she realized what she had done, she was at the restaurant with a pair of bright red heels and matching lipstick. Well, so much for simple. Harold met her outside the restaurant and escorted her by the arm to their table. He took her coat, he pulled out her chair, he ordered the two of them some champagne. The evening was looking like it would be the start of something special.
At least, it was looking like that until Detective Inspector Lestrade got up from a nearby table and started walking toward them. In fact, several tables seemed to be abandoning their dinners and headed for them. Even a waiter had joined the crowd. Two restaurant patrons grabbed Harold from behind and he immediately panicked and started trying to struggle and get away.
"Quincy Herald," Lestrade said, "you are under arrest for fraud, armed robbery, and for the murder of Mary Sinclair. And by the way, switching your name around is without a doubt the worst attempt at disguise I have ever seen in my years with Scotland Yard."
Molly's jaw must have hit the floor. "But-I don't…this is…murder, why-how-" Harold-or whatever his name was-was too busy kicking and screaming whilst being dragged away to notice Molly. It finally clicked as a black woman started patting her shoulder reassuringly that every one of these people surrounding the table were with the police.
"Sorry about that," she said. "We can question you outside, if you'd like; away from all these people."
Molly felt like she was trembling all over. "I was on a date with a murderer," Molly whispered in horror. "Oh, my God! I probably did the autopsy on the body! I could have been the next one on that metal slab! Please don't tell me it was the one where the skin was completely peeled off!"
The woman shook her head and pulled out her radio. "Yeah, I'm going to need a shock blanket for Doctor Hooper before we bring her outside." Detective Inspector Lestrade was being very kind and patient while he questioned her and the woman-who she learned was named Sally Donovan-patted her shoulder reassuringly every so often. It was when she spotted Sherlock approaching them that everything clicked. There had been a reason he questioned the name and there had been a reason that the police knew exactly where to be. Sherlock, being Sherlock, had known everything and didn't bother to clue her in.
"Everything went as planned, I take it?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade nodded. "Yes, it did. We have him in custody and we're just finishing up questioning Molly here."
"I'll take over that," Sherlock offered. "Then you can escort her back to her flat." Lestrade didn't argue and walked away. Sally gave Sherlock a somewhat flirtatious smile before she followed the Detective Inspector.
"You let me go on a date with a murderer!" Molly hissed. "You recognized the name, you knew who he was, and you didn't say anything!"
"If I had said something you wouldn't have gone on the date," Sherlock explained. "This man, as stupid as he is, is very good at escaping when he needs to. Had you not showed up on the date and not made him let his guard down, he would not have been arrested tonight and he would quite possibly murder again. Your assistance was needed."
Molly, who very rarely got angry, was feeling properly infuriated at the moment. "I didn't want to assist, I-look, Sherlock…you helped catch the bad guy again and that's all well and good, but I did not want to go out on a date with a murderer! If you had even the smallest inkling that my date was a felon, then you should have told me. It's horrible, and scary, and I will never be able to show my face in that restaurant again! ("A little overdramatic, don't you think?" interjected Sherlock) Just do me one favour: next time there is something horribly wrong with my date just tell me and don't let me find out in a public spectacle like this. Whether he's married, or a murderer, or part of a satanic cult, I'd rather know before the police come barging in."
Sherlock seemed to take in her words and think about them. "Fair enough. I promise that if there is anything horribly wrong with any potential romantic partners I will let you know in the early stages of the relationship so that you can break it off early before you get yourself too entangled. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go tell Lestrade that you're ready to be taken home. Good night, Doctor Hooper."
"Sherlock?" she called out. He turned around, looking slightly annoyed. "We've known each other for six months now and you're in my lab and mortuary more often than not. You can call me Molly."
Sherlock nodded. "Right. Good night, Molly."
And that was how Sherlock Holmes got permission to figuratively rip apart all of Molly's subsequent potential romantic partners.
If any of you can guess where the name Ormond Sacker comes from, I'll mention you when I post the next chapter. I actually didn't intend to have that part of the chapter go on for so long, but I got carried away. This takes place a few years before the series starts. Molly is around 27 or 28 and Sherlock is about 31. Molly hasn't exactly formed romantic feelings for him yet and Donovan doesn't know Sherlock all too well yet which is why she is a bit flirty around him.
Anyway, what kind of date or boyfriend should Sherlock save Molly from next time? Let me know your ideas.