Title: Better
Summary: Sally and Molly meet and talk about Sherlock. And no, Molly doesn't punch Sally.
Rating: T for language and mentions of violence.
Word Count: 1108
Other Chapters: No.
Disclaimer: The British Broadcasting Corporation owns Sherlock and all related trademarks. I do not in any way profit from the use of these trademarks.
Pairings: Molly/Sherlock (mentioned); Sally/Anderson/Anderson's Wife (mention)
Contains: unflattering talk of the show's title character
Warnings:Violent references, strong language

For a second there, Sally had actually worried that she wasn't going to make it out of this morgue alive. Don't insult a man whose friend has a knife in her hand. That should have been obvious. Still, if The Great Sherlock Holmes had called her and her colleagues 'idiots' one more time or made one more bullshit 'deduction' about Sally's sex life, she'd have been the one grabbing the nearest sharp object.

She let him get under her skin. She knew she shouldn't, but she did. She couldn't correct his mistakes—It was bad enough being the only woman of colour in her division. She didn't need the added stress of being the only queer woman of colour in his division. The fact that she just happened to buy a very popular brand of "men's" deodorant and the fact that she'd engaged in several threesomes with a coworker and his wife were probably secrets better kept to herself. It was easier being the black woman who slept with a married white man, honestly—so she lashed out Sherlock in petty ways, instead. She called him a 'freak' like a goddamn schoolyard bully. She never thought she'd be reduced to that. It was so childish.

Apparently the reward for defending him was more insults and humiliation, though. Sherlock had saved Sally's life back there. One casual insult from him and the poor white woman had looked like she couldn't decide whether she wanted to attack Sally or Sherlock, so she'd done neither. She'd handed over the evidence she'd found in the dead body, Lestrade had bagged it, Sherlock had made his impossible deductions, and Sally had told them to head back to the station without her. Her shift had ended half an hour ago and there was a more direct bus route to her flat from the morgue than there was from the station anyway. She'd slipped off into the bathroom, and she hadn't really thought much of the white woman following her. People who like Sherlock Holmes (now that it's been established that such people exist) have to urinate too.

They came so close to making it out of there without an awkward conversation.

"It's really horrible," the white girl said as they washed their hands, "the way you talk to him."

"Yeah, well, he's not exactly Prince Charming himself, is he?" Sally shook her head and pulled at a paper towel. "I give as good as I get, that's all. Maybe if you did the same, he'd ease up on you."

"There are better ways than that to get through to him! It's clearly not even working for you!"

Sally shrugged as she threw the paper towel away. She had to give the other woman that. "It makes me feel better, though."

"Does it, though?" She sighed. "What's your name?"

"Sally," Sally said. "Yours?"

"Molly." She bit her lip and looked up at Sally oddly. "Wouldn't you rather be the bigger person than just feel like it for a few minutes?"

Sally shrugged. She tried to keep her expression blank. "Why are you having this conversation with me and not with him?"

"Because I know what he's like!" Molly said. "And I think... I suspect that you aren't cruel as a rule."

Well, Sally certainly liked to think that she wasn't. And even though Molly hadn't said it, they both knew she was implying that Sherlock was, and rightly so. "You're right," Sally said. "I should just extend the olive branch to Sherlock Holmes. He definitely won't snatch it out of my hand, make 'deductions' about how I got it by sucking off a florist, and call my entire division idiots as he threw it to the ground and walked away." She sighed. "I used to cry a lot, when I first met him. Every damn time Lestrade called him onto a crime scene I could just feel it coming and every damn time he'd just make us all feel so stupid. So..."

"Humiliated. Invisible. Insignificant. Inferior..." Molly shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "I've known him for years. I still cry a lot."

Sally nodded. "It started as just something we did amongst ourselves. I don't even remember exactly when I started doing it to his face. I guess he just... made me angry one day." She scoffed. "He's good at that..." She sighed again and shrugged. "It doesn't even seem to really affect him, but it makes me feel better."

"It wouldn't make me feel better," Molly said.

Sally just shrugged again. "You're a better person than I am." To be honest, she was far more willing to admit that than she was to relinquish her one way of reclaiming some power over Sherlock Holmes. It was extremely childish and she knew it, but she'd gotten really sick of crying over him really quickly. She had to do her job. She had rent to pay and she was rather attached to the idea of eating several times a day. Sally needed her job for the money. Sherlock didn't. If one of them had to go, it could damn well be him.

"Don't say that," Molly said, shaking her head. "That's exactly how it starts for bullies."

"I'm not a bully—"

"You are, though. And so is he, but it has to stop somewhere. I know it feels good to insult people who insult you, but..."

"It feels a lot better than falling in love with them," Sally said.

Molly just stared at her.

"The way you look at him," Sally said quickly. "It was..." Then she smirked. "Well, how's that for a deduction?"

Molly still didn't say anything.

"You have terrible taste in men," Sally said, and she really hoped it didn't sound mocking, because she didn't mean it unkindly.

Molly nodded. "Sherlock's told me that."

"He tell you that you could do better?"

"He told me to stop seeing men all together."

Sally actually cracked a smile. "You'd do well for yourself as a lesbian," she said, half-seriously. "You're pretty enough."

Molly smiled too. "That's not what he meant." Then the smile fell. "He told me to stop dating."

"That'd be a shame."

Molly shrugged. "My last boyfriend did try to blow him up..."

"Oh, who wouldn't try to blow up Sherlock Holmes, given half the chance?" Sally smiled, but Molly glared, and that sobered Sally a bit.

Sally shrugged again and moved for the door, but kept her eyes on Molly. "Look, I'm just saying, you could do better."

"And you could be better," Molly said. "I'm just saying."

Sally shook her head and left. She had a bus home to catch.