"Oh God, oh God, oh God." Her first day at St. Bartholomew's Hospital and somehow the usually fastidious Molly Hooper was running late. Catching a glimpse of the wispy tendrils escaping from what had started as a chic yet professional chignon, her harassed mutters turned to calculations; would taming those honeyed flyaways justify the precious minutes it took? Focussed on her planning, pros and cons tumbling through her head, she didn't notice the man in her path until she barrelled straight into him.
Wincing slightly as rough tweed brushed against lips already chewed ragged during the fraught commute, she backed up, apologies already spilling out of her mouth. As she surveyed the damage, her eyes searching for spilled drinks or dropped paperwork, she soaked up impressions of quality tailoring, slate and aubergine highlighting almost transparent skin. In the typically hushed tones world of a hospital, everything about this man resonated in major chords. And he certainly knew how to fill that shirt…
A pointed cough had her raising her eyes guiltily to his face, a quick burn of embarrassment scorching a trail up her neck. Yet rather than the awkward eye contact she anticipated, his eyes were constantly in motion, flitting all over her face and body, never quite alighting anywhere. Like a hummingbird, she smiled to herself, especially with the swirl of colours from green to blue that she couldn't quite catch.
"I really am sorry - I wasn't paying attention. It's my-"
"First day here? Clearly. The works on the Circle Line are continuing for the next three weeks, though. I suggest you head south on the Bakerloo instead, then east on the Central Line. You will, of course, need to shave fifteen minutes off your morning routine if you wish to be on time. Maybe skip the bolstering interaction with your cat?"
"My… I'm sorry?"
"Your cat. Letting the animal you insist on keeping in your house sit on your knee as you stroke it seems both time consuming and unnecessary."
"How did you…? Explain please."
"The label on the sole of your left shoe suggests new. No badge, but you didn't need directions from the receptionist and there are only offices down this corridor. So employed here, but just starting – on a Monday, the balance of probability says it's your first day. You're rushing, most likely a problem with transportation. Starting from Regent's Park, judging by the distinctive colour of the soil mark on your ankle, you were held up by engineering works on the Circle line, therefore my alternative route is the most expeditious to get you here on time. The cat is simple – there's hair from a ginger tabby on the knees of your frankly unflattering trousers and the left sleeve of your cardigan. You should move now though, the hospital administration are rather stringent in their expectations of the nursing team."
"Excuse me?!"
"Did I miss anything? There's usually someth-
"Piss off!"
"There's no need to-"
"Nursing team? I'm the new Pathology registrar, Doctor Molly Hooper. I read Medicine at Girton College, Cambridge, and I've just finished three more years of training in histopathology. From today, I'm starting my forensic pathology specialism under Mr. Stamford. Now excuse me, you're in my way."
Watching the slight woman as she marched down the corridor, her shoulders almost vibrating with barely leashed anger, Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective lapsed into immobility as he processed the stream of hastily presented information. Evidently, he had just met the new hire that Mike had been raving about when he last dropped into the morgue, now that idiot Carter had finally agreed to retire. The implications of this botched first impression leaping through his brain, he hastily whirled to hurry after the deceptively diminutive woman. If he wanted to keep his lab privileges, a new tactic was evidently required.