So instead of doing another multi-chaptered story, I thought I'd keep my muse going with some little Molly/Sherlock one-shots. Nothing special, just something to tide me over. This one came from the idea of Molly meeting Sherlock. I always found it nice that we don't know how or why they met. Here's my take.

Tried to keep it in character. No out and out Sherlolly, though. Just glitters of it.

Enjoy.

M E E T

It took Molly fifty two seconds to notice there was a man present in the room with her. She was hunched over a body, scalpel prodding and slicing as she hummed to herself. She leant over for a pair of pliers and her peripheral vision caught sight of a dark blur. With a scream and a flail she sent her sheath of medical instruments cascading across the tiled floor, the most almighty of sounds echoing through the lab. The man standing there didn't move to help her, neither did he jump. He simply peeled off his leather gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his sharp black coat.

She'd never seen him before; she was sure she couldn't have missed a man so interesting looking. He stood at about six feet tall with dark brown curls falling down by his ears. He dressed smartly, a deep purple shirt and black blazer just visible above the collar of his coat. His face was sharp; cheekbones and nose carved into his skin. He had very striking blue eyes. Molly took a deep breath, calming down from the shock.

"Sorry." She said in a small voice, "You scared me."

"It's quite alright." He answered, looking around the morgue, his icy eyes scanning each and every detail of it. Molly realised she'd apologised when she'd done nothing wrong, and he'd just taken that apology as though it was needed in the first place. Who the bloody hell was he anyway? He should be the one apologising. Molly was about to say something along these lines but, when she finally came to from her thoughts the man was a lot closer, almost touching her, his hand holding out a silver scalpel.

All need to say anything melted and Molly gratefully took it from him. His blue eyes met hers for the briefest of seconds.

"Thank you." She said, hoping he wouldn't notice that her voice was quivering.

"You're welcome, Molly."

She sunk to her knees collecting together all the instruments, her hand fumbling blindly under the slab for an elusive suturing needle. He didn't move to assist her. At the exact moment she realised he'd just said her name she felt something stab her in the hand. Whipping her hand straight to her mouth she stood back upright, sucking at the blood which the needle had left. Hair dishevelled, she looked with a perplexed expression back at this man.
"Do I know you?" she asked almost sternly. Well, as stern as you could get with a bleeding hand in your mouth. The man's mouth twitched to the side; it was almost a lopsided smile, but the distinct lack of eyebrow movement said otherwise.

"I don't believe so." He replied smartly, walking forward. "Hold out your hand."

"How do you know my name, then?"

He didn't respond to that, but this time he did smile. To himself, naturally, as he looked at Molly's hand. His forefinger was pushing down on the small pinprick on her hand.

"Don't suck it. Pressure." The words left his mouth like honey running down a knife. If he wasn't so simple in expression she could've sworn he was trying to be seductive. She almost melted into a puddle by the way his tongue clicked on the word 'suck'. He spoke again, this time sternly, snapping her from her fantasy, "Put pressure on it otherwise it won't stop bleeding."

"Yes, thank you." She said, whipping her hand back as she pressed her fingers against it. "You didn't answer my question."

"I need to use the lab." He said, peeling off his coat and blazer in one movement. His purple shirt contrasted amazingly with the darkness of his hair and the porcelain quality of his skin. He hung his coat ceremoniously on the back of a stool and began collecting pieces of equipment from the lab counter.

"Are you a doctor here?" Molly asked a little more brazenly. He couldn't just waltz in here and commandeer the bloody place no matter how chiselled his face was or how smooth his voice sounded. She had work to do and he couldn't just march in here and put a stop to it.

"No." He answered simply, still collecting Petri dishes from the shelf.

"Then you can't use the lab." She retorted, sniffing indignantly as she crossed her arms. Her confidence was soon shattered as this man ignored her completely, suddenly looking through her collection of scalpels before choosing one to add to his collection of equipment.

"Would you be a dear and fetch me a beaker of ethanol?" He turned to her swiftly, a cocky edge to the way he spoke, "I don't have a pass to get into any of the rooms."
Molly could hardly utter a word. The pretention and confidence of this man had rendered her speechless. Who did he think he was?

"These labs…a-are booked in advance." She stammered, trying to thrust her point at the man, falling over every word she said, "Y-you need a pass to get in and you n-need to be a doctor and…"

"No I don't."

"What?"

"I don't need to be a doctor to get in here. I'm here aren't I?" The man moved closer to her, observing the gentle rise and fall of her chest speed up as he neared. She wasn't scared of him, he could tell this by the fact she didn't shy away. She remained still, her eyes flicking up to him when he was as close as he felt comfortable.

"Who are you?" She asked simply, her voice merely marred with the smallest drops of anger. He decided he should probably answer her question this time.

"I'm a detective."

"You're a policeman?"

"No." He rolled his eyes, "Consulting detective."

"What's that?"
"A detective whom people consult." He narrowed his eyes, "Anything else, Ms Hooper, or may I use the lab?"

There was a pang as she realised he knew both her names. She eyed him carefully, suspicion rising within her pupils.

"What's your name?" Molly breathed, suddenly aware that he was standing very close indeed. Her lab coat was sweeping against his legs.

"Sherlock Holmes."

An eccentric man with an eccentric name, she thought, seems legitimate. His eyes seemed to see right past hers, right into her mind, as though he was reading her like a book. He swallowed and she noticed the sharp rise of his Adam's apple within his throat. She was aware she was probably an unattractive shade of pink. He was close enough that she could smell the stain of mint on his breath, but not quite feel its warmness on her nose. It was really quite bizarre. She didn't like him, but he interested her all in the same token. She didn't quite understand it. He was arrogant and impolite, but he had helped her with her wound and he had picked up her scalpel. And he had nice eyes.

"Your eyes are orange in this light." He mentioned, his blue eyes penetrating hers. "They looked brown from far away."

She'd never had somebody analyse her eyes; truth be told nobody had been this near to her eyes in a while.
"They look nice." He said this slowly, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. Then, without warning he sunk dangerously slowly towards the floor. His head perfectly parallel to her body, not saying a word. Down he went, and she breathed an awkward breath as he crouched down by her feet. When he rose back up to meet her he held before their faces a large suture needle, glittering in the light. She plucked it from his hand, holding it between her forefinger and thumb.

"Thank you." She managed.

"I don't mean to cause alarm, but my use of the lab could mean life or death for one sorry individual within oh, let me see," he flicked his wrist around and eyed his watch, "the next twenty minutes."

Molly let out a small, surprised, 'oh'.

"So am I allowed one brief use of your lab, Ms Hooper?" He cast an eye over at the corpse still lying on the slab, "I'm sure this gentleman won't mind, will you sir?" Obvious silence. "See?"

Molly placed the needle on the slab and sighed, shaking her head. What could she do? She couldn't trust him, but then again, if he was telling the truth then the blood of some poor bugger would be on her hands. She pulled the white sheet over the body she was working on.

"Just this once, Mr Holmes." She warned, "Twenty minutes."

Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss firmly to her cheek, excitedly collecting her collection of scalpels from the table.
"Not a second more." He promised, rushing to various parts of the lab, collecting an assortment of beakers. Molly pressed the back of her hand to her flushed cheek where he'd kissed her. She hastened towards the door and picked up her bag. She could grab a cup of coffee in those twenty minutes. Before she left she stood at the doorway watching this strange man dash about the lab excitedly pouring different mixtures into different beakers while his free hand clicked on a computer.

"Did you want anything?" She asked politely before she left.

"Peace, would be nice." He said smoothly, if not rather rudely. Molly's brow knitted together. Thank God she was a patient woman. She was about to turn around and leave when she remembered something.
"How did you know my name?"

The man stopped what he was doing and cocked his head.

"You really don't know?" He almost smirked it, "I thought it was blindingly obvious."
"Maybe I'm not as smart as you."

"That's a given." He mumbled, "I'm a detective, remember. I can work these things out."

"How?"
"I have fifteen minutes to save a life, Ms Hooper." He reminded her, this time with a more polite edge to his manner. Molly nodded.
"Oh yes, of course." She turned to leave, "Sorry."

Yet again, Molly Hooper had said sorry to this man when she'd done nothing wrong. As she marched down the corridor towards the coffee machine she shook her head to herself. Silly girl; letting a total stranger into a restricted premises because he'd complimented her eyes. How pathetic was that? She hoped that when she got back all her equipment would still be there. As she searched through her bag for purse her eyes happened upon her ID card clipped to her lab coat. Her name was emblazoned up it in red writing with a large picture of her smiling a toothy grin on it. She almost laughed.

Blindingly obvious, she thought, well played Mr Holmes.

By all means review. I'm open to suggestions too. I like prompts and stuff.