The door to the morgue opened, and Molly looked up from the body in front of her. She saw DI Lestrade from the Yard and another man walk into the room. The man who accompanied the DI had a long, thin nose and a long, thin face. He looks…peculiar, she thought, kind of like a giraffe. The silver fox and the giraffe. She giggled a little bit, and quickly turned it into a bright smile.
"Hello, Inspector. What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Miss Hooper. I have a request for you."
"Sure, Inspector, anything."
His lips pulled into a grimace, showing his teeth. "Would you be willing to grant Forensics access to the bodies and the lab? We'll be needing your facilities for the next three or so cases."
She glanced at the man standing next to Lestrade, whose eyes were focused on Molly [and certainly not on her face]. She pulled her lips into a tight line and held back the urge to go step on the giraffe's foot. "Certainly, Inspector. How can I refuse? But…what about Sherlock? Doesn't he usually handle inspecting the bodies?"
As soon as the name "Sherlock" escaped her mouth, Lestrade looked off to the side, scrunched his eyes shut, and mouthed the words dear god help us all. The man next to him snapped himself out of his little reverie and looked straight into Molly's eyes with fury.
"Oh, boo hoo! Sherlock won't show up for a week. So what? You'll be working alongside equally, if not more, competent people. You should be thankful that freak isn't around playing with the lab instruments and stealing body parts to microwave them."
Molly's lips parted slightly as she regarded the man in exasperation. She slammed her clipboard down on the body bag in front of her and put her hands on her hips. "Sherlock is a good man," she said, voice shaking. "Don't you dare—"
"All right, all right. You two can talk about Sherlock later while knitting scarves and jumpers in rocking chairs. Now, let's focus on the case, shall we?" Lestrade's gruff voice interrupted their tirade. He isn't usually this edgy, Molly noted. Then she saw the dark circles under his eyes. Must be tired as hell, she thought. Maybe it's because of the bastard standing next to him. He's never this tired around Sherlock.
Molly let out a huff of air and crossed her arms. "Okay. Fine. Just…tell me what facilities you need access to and we can all move on."
Lestrade nodded his head in the man's direction. "Anderson here will explain the cases to you and tell you what he needs. I've got to get back to the Yard now. Goodbye, Ms. Hooper, and thank you."
Molly watched as Lestrade turned on his heels and left the room. "No problem, Inspector. Bye!" She glanced at Anderson, who was pointedly not staring at her face again. "So. What facilities will you need to use?"
He looked up at Molly's face and scoffed. "The lab, of course."
Molly pressed her lips together. "Yes, I know you need the lab. What in the lab do you need? The light microscopes? The SEM? The TEM? The mass spectrometer? The micropipettes? What facilities do you need? You understand I can' t just grant you full access to every instrument we have."
He approached Molly with a rather pathetic forlorn look on his face. She had seen better puppy dog faces from her cat, Toby. "And why not? Sherlock gets to prance around here like he owns the place."
Anderson flinched as Molly's expression changed from annoyance to what seemed to him like inexplicable rage, the same expression his wife had when she confronted him about cheating [he denied all accusations, of course, but that just made Mrs. Anderson even more mad].
Anderson let out a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! I promise, not another word about Sherlock."
Molly's expression went back to annoyance. She crossed her arms with a huff. "Fine."
"Wait. Just one more." Anderson cleared his throat. "He's an inhumane, conceited, egocentric, psychopathic prick. Okay, I'm done. No more Sherlock talk. Promise."
Deep breaths, Molly reminded herself. Deep breaths, clear your head of all thoughts of how joyful you'd be if you came across Anderson's body at work someday and got to perform an autopsy of him.
"Why don't we start over? I guess we got off the wrong foot," she suggested. "Well, would you…like to tell me a bit about the case you're working on? Then I'll be able to figure out what lab instruments you might need."
Anderson smirked at Molly and raised an eyebrow. Molly might not be very bright, he figured, but she is rather pretty. And young.
Younger than his wife. Even younger than Sally.
"You know, we do have a week or so to discuss the case…so, why don't we discuss some other things?"
He took a step toward her.
She backed away.
Anderson edged toward her until she was backed up against the wall opposite the door which lead into the hallway. He lifted a finger and gently stroked her cheek.
Her eyes wide-eyed, full of alarm and rage. "Don't. Touch. Me."
"Give it a try, won't you, dear?" He said in the softest and most melodious voice he could manage to produce, which, to Molly, sounded much like a hamster being thrown into a blender.
"N-No."
His face dipped lower, leaving not more than a few centimeters of space between their noses. "Why not? No one can resist me once they've had a taste."
"I find that rather hard to believe," she muttered. She placed her hands square on Anderson's chest and pushed hard.
He did not budge. He stood over her, like a stone, sandwiching her between him and the wall, one hand resting on the wall above her head, the other hand gripping her chin between his finger and thumb. "Dear, really. Do give me some credit. I'm much stronger than I look."
"Let go of me." Molly clenched her jaw so tightly it began to hurt.
"Just relax, and close your eyes." And with that, Anderson bent forward to close what little space separated their faces. Molly complied and closed her eyes, but extended her left arm and felt around until her hand came into contact with a smooth, cold glass surface. Her desk. She dragged her hand over her desk and around the front edge, opened the top desk drawer, and pulled out a small, pocket-sized canister.
Just as Anderson touched his lips to hers, she aimed the canister at his eyes and sprayed the nozzle. Immediately, Anderson jolted backward and covered his eyes with his hands.
"Ah! What the fuck have – Shit, this burns!"
He ran out of the room, shrieking, tears streaming down his face. At that exact moment, Sherlock casually sauntered into the room, coat swinging behind him like a superhero's cape.
Molly couldn't help the goofy grin that her lips spread into. "Sherlock! I thought you weren't going to be coming here for a while."
"The other case took less time than expected." He paused and looked down the corridor. He twirled his coat as he turned and faced Molly again. "You…pepper sprayed Anderson."
Molly stood up straight, pushed her shoulders back, and looked Sherlock in the eyes as she proudly declared, "Yes. Yes, I did."
He dragged his eyes up and down her petite figure, then returned his gaze to her eyes.
"Good for you."