Molly opened the door to the lab, stuffing the keys in the large pockets of her pristine lab coat. She set down her purse as usual and went to look at the bacteria streaking's she left in the freezer. Though after pulling open the metal handle, she began to get the feeling that something wasn't exactly right.
The morgue attendant set the petri dishes on the corner of one of the tables after slowly closing the freezer's door, only to see a familiar mess of curls bent over a microscope.
"H-hi…Sherlock," She murmured quietly, standing awkwardly across the room. It wasn't until a couple seconds later that she realized her voice was too quiet for him to hear her, so with a deep breath she increased her volume. "Oh, hi. What are you doing here? N-not like I don't want you here or anything but I haven't heard from you in a really long time and normally you contact me before you come here. Well actually you don't, in fact you hardly ever tell me before showing up at my work unless, of course, you can't get in, but normally that's John texting me. More often you just burst in here, so I have no clue why I'm so… surprised to see you here today." As she babbled nervously, she approached the detective with hesitant steps, voice trailing off into an embarrassed ending.
With a heavy sigh, Sherlock lifted his gaze from his work. His pale grey eyes made her freeze instantly, "Molly, how many times must I tell you not to disturb me when I'm in the middle of a case?"
As he leant back down, her heart felt a painful blow, though by now she was becoming used to the empty feeling.
Molly took another bold step towards the man, like the meek mouse she was often called. "… A case?" she squeaked, though quickly tried to start over, "No, no, that didn't make sense! I meant: what's this one about? I haven't seen anything in the papers."
"Well if it was important, Lestrade wouldn't be trying to hold of the press from finding out, hmm?" His voice retorted frustrated, though then continued in a bored, deep baritone, "Serial murders—concerning a semi-smart killer with a taste for using knives to kill his victims with… More of a criminal out to get revenge in the styles of his favorite horror movies. Pathetic, really."
"Oh." She answered, nodding sheepishly. With her hand on the table his jacket rested on she observed him for a long moment, trying to think of the proper thing to say. After all, it was hard thinking of possible word combinations that wouldn't be torn apart. Though, she well knew that it probably didn't matter exactly what she let fly from her "small" mouth, he'd probably tear her apart as always. Then why do you keep letting yourself?
"…That sounds… um, interesting."
Sherlock let out another heavy groan, looking a bit farther back from lens of his microscope. He flicked up a glare at the lab assistant, "Are you joking? He's only partially smart—not brilliant! I already know where he hides out, only two days in."
"Well you don't want people to die, of course…" Molly said giving the most convincing chuckle she could. If only he would grin and laugh too, or at least not stare at her in such an annoyed way.
After letting her know that he wasn't in the mood, he went to grab a couple documents he had resting besides the evidence next to the microscope.
She watched him with uncertain eyes, "Y-you don't mean you actually want people to be killed?"
Sherlock shrugged, though passed midway, sternly looking back into her direction, "Well an ordinary human being would assume if I did that I was a criminal myself. So: no. I don't want people to die, I want to be entertained and that normally comes with killing." He lifted the papers to eye level and glanced back at the microscope. "John should be coming soon. I told him I'd be here, but he never wakes up till around eight-forty so he'll be reading my text soon… might as well go wait for him at the door."
"I w-work here Sherlock, it's not like—Well I mean I have things I need to do other than buzz people in, you know." Molly replied, feeling that empty sensation inside of her. She felt slightly triumphant when she realized she had actually stood up for herself, but it wouldn't last long at all.
"Not today," He remarked, he knew it. "The purse you brought with you to work, it has your lunch, several papers, and nothing else; not what I see you bring in on your normal day. Your lab coat—one pocket with your keys, the other with your mobile. You never put it in that pocket, meaning you were intending on using it either because you wanted to text someone, or were waiting for a text. It's obvious you were waiting for one because you placed a hand on your pocket absentmindedly while talking to me, meaning you wanted it to buzz. Now who could be trying to text you, and who would you be waiting so desperately for? Perhaps the man you saw last night?"
Molly looked at him dumbstruck, unable to say anything in response. She tried to get her throat to make a sound consisting of the words, "please stop" but nothing came out. Well if disconnected stutters didn't count. A deep red flush filled her pale face as she shifted on her feet. Don't say anything else, please. Please just stop, please.
Of course it was stupid to hope so optimistically. He continued "You may be wondering, 'how did you figure that one out, Sherlock?' Simple, really. The bags under your eyes suggest you've been up quite late, the concealer on your neck, and your posture suggests rigorous physical activity…"
"S-Sher-Sherlock!" She managed to get out, heavy emotion clouding her thoughts, her cheeks getting even redder. Why couldn't her feet move? All she needed to do was run out the door. But for some reason, she stood there and allowed him to hit her with the ever painful remarks. He could see right through her, every single time. But then again, who couldn't see through someone who was invisible.
"Stop, p-please." Molly muttered, though once again it was much too quiet for him to hear.
The consulting detective set down the papers and slid themdown the table. He tilted his head slightly, giving a quick look at her up and down, "You know Molly, I can't help but question all of the dating you've been doing recently. Do you really miss Jim that much, or are you simply proving something to yourself? The second one most likely. But what on earth would make you desperate? A better question is who would make you become so rash? I'd say this one's probably the fourth one this year."
The morgue's door opened quietly, causing Sherlock to (thankfully) pause.
Molly simply gave a pitiful squeak and brought her hands up to cover her face. She wobbled slightly before realizing that her feet would listen to her, and decided it was a good time to go for the door. Whoever just came in wouldn't get to see her like this. No, no one would.
"Sherlock, why on earth where you sending me texts at four in the morning?" John Watson asked walking in as if Molly wasn't going to retrieve her purse with near tears. Immediately, his attention was brought back to his friend, "Do you need a chaperone everywhere you go to make sure you don't screw things up?"
She didn't listen to this at all. She simply focused on leaving, keeping her face out of view. Without hesitation, the small Molly Hooper pushed past John and through the white metal doors of the lab. She only briefly felt the cool silver on her hands as she nearly ran down the hallways of the morgue, her ballet flats slapping against the plain tile as she went. As she ran, she prayed and prayed that no one would come down the corridor and see her flushed cheeks and watering eyes. Even if they did, she hardly would've noticed anyhow, for she flew as fast as she could out of St. Barts and to a small secluded park across the street.
From the way she shielded her face from passerby's it would've been hard for her to see someone following her.
Molly seated herself on a bench, burying her head in her hands resting on her elbows. Tears finally begun to escape from her bottom lids, trickling down the sides of her cheeks. However, she didn't make a sound, simply sitting as droplets of saltwater fell into her palms.
Why do you try so hard? She thought shaking her head at her actions, you knew he'd be able to read you if you bothered him—he always does. Why does he have to be so smart? Why does he have to say those things? Why must he make me look like such a small desperate little… Oh, I don't know!
Her quiet sobbing subsided suddenly as she answered her own question harshly, because I am small and desperate; so easy to look down on. He must think I'm quite funny—that is when I'm not being a nuisance. God, I'm so stupid! He's so horrible and cruel and strange! Why do I keep setting myself up for him to just knock me down? Because I'm—
"Um… Molly? Are you… uh, alright?"
The lab assistant raised her head reluctantly, doing her best to wipe away the wet mascara being washed away with her tears. Before bringing her head completely up, she brushed the back of her hand under her nose and eyes before trying to make her face seem perfectly normal.
She looked up to meet gazes with John. With a bit too much brightness in her voice, she spoke, "Oh, h-hello. Yes… um yeah. Everything's fine."
The former army doctor hardly looked convinced. He gave an awkward gesture to the empty spot next to her, "Do you mind if I…?"
Molly wiped away the remainder of her mascara with the edge of her sleeve, making her eyes appear rather dark. She gave a slight nod, "N-not at all."
"Thanks," he gave her a little smile, but it was enough to make her feel slightly better as she scooted a bit to give him room.
"D-Doesn't Sherlock need you to help him with the um, case?" She asked as she pulled her purse to sit on top of her lap.
John took his seat and shook his head, "Nah, he just likes me around because he can show off all that he's deduced and I won't mind normally. He can go on working without me there just fine. I'm just glad he isn't cooking body parts on the stove top anymore…"
"Well, um… That's n-nice," she replied flatly without knowing what else to say. John gave another shake of his head, exhaling loudly.
Several minutes then passed of both of them simply sitting next to each other as joggers, cyclists, and business men and women walked by. Molly would sometimes glance over at him to see if he was about to say something while wondering if she was supposed to talk and what exactly she should speak about. John simply thought about how he was to deliver the message he was sent with. Though each one could both feel the other was ill at ease.
Finally he spoke, "Sherlock well… he wanted me to tell you that he didn't mean to make you so upset."
"R-really?" Color flooded to Molly's cheeks at her question.
John gave an apologetic smile, "Well he should at least. I didn't mean to make this any worse for you, no I swear; but I'm sure he feels bad. Of course he's too full of himself to say so, but I'm sure he doesfeel bad even if he doesn't realize it. You see, he just doesn't understand people. He doesn't understand emotion, or what's socially acceptable. He doesn't know when to shut up either…"
No, no, no… Molly's face turned suddenly very nervous midway through his words, "Y-you mean you… know?"
"To be honest," He started, shifting slightly as he avoided her gaze, "… yeah."
Her wide eyes quickly disappeared behind her hands which quickly tried to hide her face. Her cheeks began to turn a darker shade of pink. "I was th-that obvious?"
Hesitantly, John lifted his own hands to lower hers from covering her face. He tried to give her a helpful expression, guilt flooding him for making the already emotional girl feel any more embarrassed. "Don't worry, please," He said as her eyes nervously dared to look at his, "He has no clue, I promise. You'd think for such a brilliant man he wouldn't be so dumb concerning these kind of things, right?"
Molly looked as if she was quite confused as to if she was supposed to think of this statement.
John gave a forced chuckle, giving the lab assistant a pat on the shoulder, "Never mind that, sorry."
She gave a hesitant nod, "Alright… If Sh-Sherlock didn't send you with a message, then why d-did you come? Not like I want you to leave or anything—oh that sounds like—I'm sorry…"
"It's alright, don't worry," He said, giving an honest stare to the awkward girl. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. It's not fair of him to be so mean... I just want to make sure that you know (not to be offensive) that it may be a bit easier going for a man that doesn't shoot walls when he's bored. Not to tell you not to, but just so your aware at what he's capable of; love not being one of the things I've seen him able to do."
She gave another awkward nod, turning away from the doctor. "I… I-I always knew that it was stupid."
"No, not stupid," John reassured her, expression now completely serious. "I just hate seeing you get so upset over all this. I know he apologized to you at the holiday party, but still…"
Molly turned back to face him, hugging her purse close to her stomach, "Well that's very… very kind you."
"Oh… Thank you," His lips stretched into a sympathetic smile.
With a bit more confidence she replied, "No. Thank you."
Hope you liked this. I just wondered what John felt about all the stuff Sherlock's said to Molly. If anyone wants to do cover art for this, feel free to PM me ;)
Please review! I love getting feedback!