Chapter One
"I s'pose I'd better get back to the station and file the report," Lestrade sighed, rubbing his eyes "You two need a lift back to Baker Street?"
"Normally I would say yes," John replied. "Only I don't think some of us are quite ready to leave."
He titled his head slightly to gesture to the morgue door, and more specifically what – who – lay beyond it. Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave a quick glance through the glass in the door, just to confirm. John had adapted fairly quickly to the experience of seeing Sherlock Holmes kiss Molly Hooper – it wasn't as though he had much choice, given the newness of their relationship and his own tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – but what still surprised him was Sherlock's attentiveness. He had feared that Sherlock would neglect Molly when he was working, but there was no evidence of it so far – and so far, neither the work nor his relationship seemed to have suffered.
Lestrade let out a dramatic groan, and John laughed.
"A few weeks ago you were delighted for them," John smiled, folding his arms. "In fact, you were so bloody happy I thought you were going to have a heart attack."
"Yeah, I know. I just hate being surrounded by people who are having more sex than me," Lestrade replied, catching John's eye before adding, "And yeah, I realise that's a long list at the moment."
John looked at his watch and peered through the door again. Molly was seated on one of the work benches by the sinks, legs dangling, while Sherlock was leaning in, collar of his Belstaff turned up, indulging in what was now clearly his favourite pastime. Molly's fingers were in his hair, while John felt it was probably a good thing he couldn't see where Sherlock's hands were.
"Oi!" Lestrade shouted, cracking open the door to the morgue.
"Bugger off!" came Sherlock's gruff reply, immediately followed by giggling from Bart's premier pathologist.
"I'm offering you a lift, Romeo!"
"Does it look like I'm going anywhere, Lestrade?"
"He's just leaving," Molly put in, extricating herself from Sherlock's embrace and hopping down off the bench.
"Am I?"
"Yes," Molly said, patting his chest. "I've got Mrs Renshaw and Mr Evans waiting for me."
John saw her gesture to the two figures who were currently laid out on the mortuary slabs, discreetly covered by sheets. He was amazed that either Molly or Sherlock could indulge in anything amorous with this particular audience in the room.
"Neither of them have urgent appointments elsewhere," Sherlock replied, pouting slightly. John chuckled to himself – the great Sherlock Holmes, actually pouting over a girl.
"Yes, but I've already got three on my list for tomorrow as it is, and another being transferred across from Mile End," Molly continued, pulling her hair more tightly into a ponytail. "So unless you don't want me to come over tomorrow night after work, I'm going to have to make a start now."
"Fine!" Sherlock sighed. "But I'm going to be having words with Stamford about your shift pattern."
"No you're not," Molly told him. "And besides, Sherlock, Mike Stamford hasn't been my line manager for five years."
Sherlock's brow knitted into a frown.
"Really? But I spoke to him about your absence when I needed you to bring the ambulance during the Culverton Smith case."
Molly smiled, fetching a pair of safety goggles and a disposable apron from the prep station.
"That's because Mike is a sweetie, and he probably didn't think it was worth correcting you," she said.
"Why wouldn't he correct me?" Sherlock asked, with a puzzled expression.
"Possibly because you were smacked up to the eyeballs at the time," John suggested.
"And because you never bloody remember anything like that anyway," Lestrade interjected. "How many years was it before you finally got my name right?"
"It isn't my fault you don't look like a Greg," Sherlock retorted.
"Look, are you coming or not?" Lestrade asked. "Believe it or not, I do have other investigations pending."
"And I have a young child I'd quite like to get back to," John said. "Rosie's with Mrs Hudson, so I can come back to the flat with you."
Resigning himself to his fate, Sherlock slid across the room towards Molly and swept her up, earning a squeak of surprise as he lifted her clean off the floor. John cleared his throat and heard Lestrade sigh dramatically as the two of them turned their backs to give their friends some privacy.
"Tomorrow," Sherlock said, his forehead now pressed against Molly's.
She nodded, playing with the lapel of his Belstaff.
"I'll come by in the afternoon," he told her, as he started to follow John towards the door. "I'll bring those PCRs I need to run."
"Just what a girl wants," Lestrade commented with snorted laughter.
"Yes, you being a leading authority on what women want, Greg," Sherlock fired back with a raised eyebrow.
"He's got a point," John conceded, smirking.
"I'm starting to think the pair of you can just take the Tube instead," Lestrade replied gruffly, as the three men made their way out of the morgue.