Hi! I got the idea for this while writing chapter ten of my other fic, Lessons in Love. I was always curious as to how Molly would react when she found out Jim from I.T. was a psycopath. Not sure how long this will be, because I am still working on my other story. It will be at least a two-shot, maybe more. Let me know if you like it.

Inspiration for a lot of this came from Molly Hooper's blog. (Did you know Molly, John, and Sherlock all have blogs? You should look them up - they're hilarious!)

I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter One

When she first meets him, it's only a handful of words on a blog she assumes no one reads and few people know about. But he compliments her nose, which she's never thought of as one of her more noticeable features, and he invites her to meet him in the canteen for coffee. When she arrives, he's already gotten two cups – both black – but he's got a mound of sugars, sweeteners, and flavored creamers on the table so she can fix her own how she likes it. It's thoughtful, really.

And as they chat over the coffee, he's lovely. Perfectly lovely. He introduces himself as 'Jim from I.T.' and he's handsome enough, and charming, and his eyes are dark but gentle. They're a stark contrast from the cold, harsh blue eyes that so normally fill her waking thoughts. And she's comfortable around him. She feels confident, and herself – she's only ever a mouse around Sherlock, after all – and she finds herself making jokes that are actually somewhat appropriate and when he laughs, it's not forced. He's not Sherlock, but if she's being honest with herself, she'll never have Sherlock, and Sherlock's never even noticed her except to manipulate her. (She wonders if he's ever considered just explaining what he needs and saying 'please', but she secretly likes his attentions, however false they may be.) So she decides to give it a go with Jim.

The next time she sees him, it's right after he's helped her solve a puzzle from Sherlock's own blog. They meet for coffee again, and this time, he's remembered how she likes it, and even though he added just a bit too much cream (she likes one and a half, exactly), it's still a wonderful change to be remembered. They sit and chat for so long that coffee turns into lunch, and he's a good conversationalist. He's excellent at holding his end of the dialogue, and he's funny in a sweet sort of way, and he's always interested in what she has to say about her job. He keeps turning the focus back to her and her work with the police force and Sherlock, but for once she doesn't mind being in the spotlight. He laughs when she tells him about the time Sherlock beat a corpse with a riding crop and when he deduced that one of the custodians had been getting high on the fumes from cleaning products.

They speak seriously for a few moments on the recent gas leak that's cost twelve people their lives, and on the maniac who's been strapping people into vests made of bombs.

But Molly reassures him that Sherlock is probably out there figuring out who's done it right now, and that everything will be fine soon. Even with Jim, she can't help but have absolute, adoring faith in Sherlock, because – well, because he's him, and she's her. And Jim doesn't seem to mind, because he's read John Watson's blog as well, and his ready acceptance of her attitude towards the detective makes her like Jim from I.T. even more.

On a whim, she invites him to her place for dinner and to watch a show she's loved watching lately called Glee. She's a bit nervous, because she hasn't cooked for anyone more than herself in a long time. Pasta is easily made, however, and she touches up her lipstick and braids her hair to one side because Sherlock once said it suited her.

The evening goes better than expected, and Jim is attentive and charming and reacts at all the right parts to her newest favorite show on the telly. Toby seems to like him, although he likes just about everyone, and she's flattered when Jim wants to take a picture with her to 'prove to his mates' he can get a date with a 'beautiful doctor'. He shows her the picture on his phone, and she laughs prettily when she sees Toby has somehow photobombed the shot. It's adorable, and she loves it, and she tells him so, and he kisses her lightly on the cheek in thanks as he leaves that night.

The next day, he flirts with her on her blog, and she finds herself flirting back. Maybe one day I will get over Sherlock, Molly thinks to herself, waiting for Jim to come show her how to 'turn spellcheck on' again. She mentally lists the awful things about Sherlock – He's rude, he's arrogant, he loves crime and death – but then she realizes she can't really fault him for loving death, because in a strange sort of way, she enjoys being around it, too. She does work in a morgue, after all. And then she finds she can't find any more faults, because 'rude' and 'arrogant' kind of cover everything, and really, he is a good person, and brilliant, and one of a kind, and –

And Jim arrives, and she mentally berates herself and focuses on learning from Jim just how to make sure her spellcheck is on. And he stays longer than necessary, and smiles brilliantly at her. When he leans in to kiss her, she only hesitates for a moment, and then responds with the gentle timidity of a woman who has not kissed a man in many, many months. It only lasts a moment, but it's a pleasant enough one.

He invites her to dinner at the Fox, and she's about to reply with an enthusiastic yes when she's interrupted with a text from Sherlock, demanding help in the lab, because Harold the intern is giving him trouble again and won't let him get what he needs.

She sighs, and excuses herself, and when she says it's Harold needing to be rescued from Sherlock, Jim's eyes light up. She can tell he wants to meet Sherlock, so she invites him along. He readily accepts. She has to admit, she's interested herself to see how Sherlock will react. She doesn't hope for jealousy, because that's too much for even Molly Hooper to hope for, but maybe…just maybe…he'll notice she's a woman who's attractive to someone of the male variety.

When she enters the room, she can tell Sherlock's already bullied Harold into giving him what he wants and that he's intently focused on analyzing whatever is under that microscope.

"Any luck then?" she asks, heart already beating a little more quickly at the thought of introducing Sherlock to her sort-of boyfriend. Jim did kiss her, after all.

"Hey!" Jim calls as he heads in the doors. She can tell he's excited, and a little nervous, and her heart warms to him just a little more.

"Come in, come in. Jim," she turns towards the detective at the microscope, who is studiously ignoring everyone in the room. "This is Sherlock Holmes."

She turns, frowning, at the man behind him. With Sherlock in front of her, and her sort-of boyfriend next to her, she's flustered all over again and can't seem to remember the man whose blog she regularly reads now. "And…uh…" she blushes, and looks at him apologetically. "Sorry."

Molly can tell he's a little put off, and she cringes internally, but he supplies his name. "John Watson."

Duh.

"Hi," Jim smiles, nodding at the doctor, then returns his attention to Sherlock. "So you're Sherlock Holmes! Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" He walks around the counter, trying to get a look at what Sherlock's looking at.

Molly suddenly feels very nervous, because she knows Sherlock hates people touching his things – he barely trusts her to help him – and she wonders for a moment if this was a bad idea. She resorts to babbling. "Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. A bit of an office romance." She giggles, and so does Jim.

"Gay." The deep voice from the consulting detective swipes the silly grin off her face in an instant.

Surely she's heard wrong. Jim kissed her. On the lips. It was a chaste little kiss…but still. "Sorry? What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock mutters, then glances at Jim with a false smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Jim replies, and Molly does have to admit that the way he draws out the word, it does sound, well - and then Jim's knocking Sherlock's things off the counter and she cringes outwardly as well this time.

"Sorry – sorry!" Jim apologizes profusely, laughing, nervous. She wonders if that's how she looks half the time she's with Sherlock, and she hates this moment just a little bit more for its reflection of her in it. "Well, I'd better be off." Jim turns to her, smiling again, and she forgives him for reminding her what a fool she is to be in love with Sherlock Holms. "I'll see you at the Fox, about sixish?"

Her smile is a warm one. "Yeah."

"Bye…it was nice to meet you." Jim's looking intently at the back of Sherlock's head, but he doesn't give a response.

John clears his throat. "You too."

Molly's smile follows Jim as he leaves the room, then turns on Sherlock. She's angry, really, truly angry at him – because he's a prat and how dare he ruin something that's given her so much confidence in less than a week? She's not sure where this confidence is coming from, now that Jim's left the room, but she'll use it to her advantage this time. "What do you mean, gay? We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

This makes her angrier, but it also catches her off guard. Her smile falters a bit, but she's proud that when she replies, her voice doesn't waver. "Two and a half."

"Well…three." And the smug sound of his voice, coupled with the fact that he hasn't even had the decency to face her while dismantling her hopes for a normal relationship, sends Molly over the edge.

Her cheeks color and her eyes are bright when she yells at him. "He's NOT gay. Why do you have to spoil– he's not." She glances towards John for support, embarrassed, because she knows Sherlock's always right, and she already feels like a fool for bringing Jim around.

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock finally breaks his gaze from the slide to look at her.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair," John says, returning her glance, trying desperately to save her. And Molly feels a surge of thankfulness towards this man, and she vows to always remember his name from now on.

John's rescue is to no avail. Sherlock scoffs. "You wash your hair, there's a difference. No…no…" he's shaking his head at their stupidity. "Tinted eyelashes, clear signs of concealer round the frown line and liner round his eyes -" he shoots off support for his theory, and Molly has to admit she hadn't really noticed the tint or concealer before – "and then there's his underwear."

Molly's face contorts into something akin to rage and embarrassment's love child. "Underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline – very visible – and with that thick of a neon band…plus, there's the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish." With those last words nailing the lid on the coffin of her love live, he pulls said paper out from under the dish with a flourish. He's…proud. He's…enjoying this.

"So," he continues, "I say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly's eyes look around the room, trying desperately to find something that will excuse her from this maddening situation. She finds nothing, and does the only thing a mouse can do, when faced with a predator intent on destroying it: she flees.

She doesn't notice that Sherlock's smirk falls as he notices the tears in her eyes, or the confusion that briefly plays over his face as she escapes. She most certainly doesn't hear the conversation that follows as she leaves the room.

John sighs in frustration. "So…well done. Well done."

Sherlock is still confused, frowning. He had assumed she'd want to know she was wasting her time with a gay man. He had thought he was helping her, as she had so often helped him in the lab. Apparently, his analysis of the situation was – and still is - dead wrong. "Just saving her time," he explains, turning to John. "Isn't that 'kinder'?"

John snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. "'Kinder'? No, no. Sherlock…" and he sighs the way a mother sighs when her child does something unbelievably stupid, while knowing that he just didn't know any better. "That wasn't kind."