Title: Seeing is Not Observing

Author: Akuhei

Summary: Set after "The Fall", Sherlock comes to the morgue one evening to vent out frustration over a case. He's using his riding crop and Molly tenses as each strike falls. Sherlock sees, but does not observe.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Sherlock…sadly.

Author Notes: This is the first fan-fiction that I have written in a very long time. Sorry if there are any errors that I missed. Possibly may continue, but not sure. Let me know what you think.

Molly Hooper had been sitting at her desk doing her best to work on the paperwork that had begun to pile up when a very agitated and annoyed Sherlock Holmes came bursting through the doors brandishing his riding crop and demanding a body. She knew what that meant – Sherlock was stuck on something.

It rarely happened, but when it did he would often find his way to her morgue. He knew that she had a supply of non-complaining victims to take out his frustrations on. She knew that after a vigorous amount of swinging she would hear him mutter "Of course!" before turning and swooping out of the cold room as quickly as he had arrived.

As he had bustled in, she had stood and flashed him and easy smile, "Having a rough day?"

He barely graced her with an answering grunt as he stalked the rest of the way into the room.

Her smile wavered slightly before she turned it up full blast and walked over to the lockers. "Well, no problem. I have one right here for you. Getting ready for the burner, so I don't think we have to worry about complaints this time."

"Ah," he sighed, "ever so thoughtful. Thank you, Molly. This will do quite nicely."

She beamed at him and hurried away to her desk to leave him to it.

She could hear Sherlock behind her breathing heavily and grunting as he brought the crop down again and again. It had been an hour since he started in on his personalized form of therapy and it didn't seem as if he would be letting up any time soon. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, slow and ragged. Her heartbeat was erratic and she tried her best to control her thoughts and focus on the work in front of her. It was hard with all that grunting and what not going on.

Finally, as her mind began to blank, Molly stood up, walked closer to Sherlock and asked, "Need some coffee? I…I..was just about to go get me a cup."

The usual reply was, "Black, two sugars."

She did not get the usual reply. This time she was completely caught off guard when he whipped around and dragged his hands through his dark curly hair in exasperation. "No, Molly" He practically sneered, "What I need is to figure out why the shoes are missing!" With that quick announcement, he turned and beat the body a few more times before starting to mumble off facts, brandishing the riding crop all the while to help emphasize certain points. "Young woman, 28, out for a night on the town with friends. Met up with a chap and began to get intimate. Friends lost track of her around 2:30, but were not concerned because of her past promiscuity. She was found dead outside the club around 5:30 once the clubs closed up. It's obvious that the ex-boyfriend did it because of the positioning of her body. Whoever killed her had a pervious intimate relationship with her which could be determined by the careful way that the woman was positioned. If it had been an impersonal killing then the body would have just been dumped and left, but this woman…oh this woman was carefully laid out, her clothing arranged around her and her hair positioned in a way that framed her face. Even her purse was left in her hand and nothing was missing from it, which means that it wasn't a robbery and it wasn't just someone who was taking advantage; ergo-a former lover."

"Oh!" Molly quipped, taking her eyes off the riding crop and giving him her best sheepish smile, "So, you solved it then!"

"Of course, I determined who the murderer was, but what happened to her shoes!?" he groaned in frustration. "They were not on her feet or anywhere in the vicinity when we got the crime scene."

"I…I…don't understand…if you figured out who the murderer was then what do the shoes matter?"

If she could have recoiled for the look that Sherlock shot her, she would have. The icy cold glare that he faced her way was one of irritation and annoyance. "Those shoes are a loose end! I do not like loose ends. They could tell us where she was before she was found where she went in between, how far she traveled. Those shoes could fill in the blanks!" With the last word, he turned and began to take out his frustrations on the body behind him once more.

Molly let out a gasp at his intensity and felt her body tense up as she watched him bring the crop down over and over. She swallowed hard and tried to stay focused on the topic at hand, "Well, I…uh…I guess they are important...but she probably just kicked them off under that table at the club…That's what I…" She never got out the last bit as Sherlock turned around and gave her the most intense look. She froze by the slab and her eyes widened.

As quickly as it was there, it was gone. Sherlock turned and fished his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Lestrade: Check under the club tables and ask the staff. – SH

After he hit the send button, he turned and brought the riding crop down once more. It was not as hard as the previous ones, but just a 'One more for good measure', kind of thing. The slap echoed throughout the room and was quickly followed by a soft mewling sound. Sherlock's eyes snapped to Molly. Molly's eyes were wide and she brought up her hand to cover her mouth, almost as if she had tried to prevent the obscene noise from escaping her lips.

Before she could turn and flee back to the safety of her desk, Sherlock's eyes had switched from his "I'm the smartest man in the room" eyes to his "I'm going to deduce everything about you in a span of 60 seconds or less" eyes. He took two steps towards her with his long legs and stopped in front of her.

She was stuck like a doe in the head-lights and when he reached for her arm there was nothing that she could do to prevent it. The scrutiny that she had been trying to avoid during these instances was staring her in the face. Molly could see the cogs turning at super speed in his mind as he pieced together all the details.

Dilated eyes : not abnormal, but definitely more so than usual. Heavy breathing, flushed cheeks, and quickened pulse: indicate extreme feelings and arousal. Consistently wetting lips: mouth dry from rising body temperature due to arousal and emotional stimuli. Conclusion: Molly Hooper is aroused.

Sherlock's eyes widened at the thought and he quickly began to piece together what could have aroused her to her current point. Sure, she was usually flushed and nervous when he came into the morgue, but he attributed that to the little crush that she obviously had on him. This reaction was completely…different. This was a woman who was completely aroused by what was going on in her surroundings. Quickly, his mind went back to what he had been doing previously. He had been taking out his aggression, he used a riding crop, he had been beating the body with the riding crop. He had noticed Molly flinching, assumed out of fear or discomfort to the noise…no! There was something more…if it was discomfort she would be flushing she would have been pale and sweaty. There would have been a look of unease in her eyes like when she approached him in her feeble attempt to ask him out for coffee.

Deduction: Molly was aroused due to the use of the riding crop.

As the thought came to him, his eyes widened slightly and he tilted his head in a way that asked, 'really?'

As if she could read his thoughts, Molly flushed deeper than she was previously and bit her lip.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone went off indicating that he had received a text message. He fished it out of this pocket without even looking and looked down. It was from Lestrade: How do you do that?!

"Did they find the shoes?" Molly asked quietly.

Sherlock looked up and nodded, "Just as you suggested."

They fell into a tense silence. Molly could have sworn her heart could be heard banging against her rib cage. In a single moment, as if he realized he still had a grip on her, Sherlock dropped her wrist and watched her eyes drop to the floor. There was a beat of silence and she quickly mumbled, "I….I…have to go. Coffee…yeah…I need coffee."

Hurriedly she turned and made a beeline for the door while Sherlock watched her leave. She turned for a quick glance back and he saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips as she pushed the door open and disappeared through it.

Sherlock stood in the morgue, alone and in silence. The riding crop hung from his hand. His mind continued to go over this new information about his favorite pathologist. "Interesting." He mumbled, his mouth turning up into a smirk.