Molly was tossing and turning pages across the table as the male's voices echoed throughout the laboratory.
"How in the WORLD is this making ANY sense Greg?" asked an unbelievably sour, like a lemon, voice.
"Ju-Just wait Anderson, give him a chance." Answered Inspector Lestrade, though he too, seemed very tense with his arms folded across his chest and an occasional wipe of his rough hands across knitted graying eyebrows.
Molly continued looking for the notes Sherlock asked her to fetch when he, Dr. Watson, Greg, Sally and Anderson stepped so abruptly into her lab.
She opened drawers, cabinets, threw folders across the room, letting papers spill across her table and float through the air down to the floor.
"Molly?" the harsh voice of the so handsome, tall and dark man shot at her, pressing on her already pressured mind.
"Yes. Yes Sherlock I-I'm looking." She trailed off.
He began to pace back and forth behind her, looking unpleasantly at Anderson and Sally, turning his back to them, walking toward Greg and John. Then again, back and forth.
All molly managed to understand from the 5 minutes of their- what seemed to be a long arguable conversation- was that a girl was found dead. She was drugged with a special chemical. The main suspect was her boyfriend.
But that chemical- that drug in her.
That one specific drug had certain quality that could prove the boyfriend was not the killer.
And Sherlock had to prove it.
Meanwhile, Anderson and Sally found it very enjoyable to cross their arms, raise their chins and disagree with anything the sociopath had to say.
So there was little Molly, throwing papers all across the room just to help Sherlock crack this case and, hopefully, impress him a bit. Oh what the heck! She though I'll find the papers, he'll take them, insult Anderson and Sally and walk out of the Laboratory leaving me with this mess!
But she had to try? Right?
"Inspector this is simply an outrage!" Sally complained "Anyone can get their hands on any drug these days..."
Lestrade raise a hand to stop her but Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes of COURSE anyone can Donovan but I already told you, this boy simply can NOT!"
"And HOW the HELL can you prove that?" Anderson yelled.
"Molly!" Sherlock called for her.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," she dropped a file unto the floor and picked it up quickly before too many eyes looked at her with pity "I'm looking."
John touched Sherlock's arm, giving his friend a look that said please-be-patient. Sherlock shrugged the hand off his arm, shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes to the unpleasant features of Anderson's face.
As a return, the ugly man dropped his shoulders and glared at Lestrade, then began talking:
"Come ON inspector," Greg cocked his head in response, "You have got to stop listening to the filthy bastard!"
This comment slowed everything down in the room.
Sherlock's pale eyebrows rose.
John's raised his chin.
Molly slowed down her fiddling and tried to concentrate on what went on behind her.
"Inspector Lestrad, with all due respect to you, but this is simply all bull- shit! This man," he waved a careless palm toward Sherlock "For all you know could be the killer himself! Stop listening to that moron. We all know about his drug habits in the past."
Lestrade's jaw tightened "yes and it's the PAST Anderson, and be careful with what you are saying becau-"
"Because WHAT? Lestrade."
At this one Molly stopped everything and her face turned deep shade of red.
Anderson chuckled and turned to glance at Sally. She raised a shoulder and he turned back, continuing "This man is a sodding maniac Lestrade! He should not even be part of the police! He doesn't work with us, he isn't at the station working his brains out!"
Sherlock smiled, muttering "oh so that's where yours went..." under his breath.
Molly also smiled with her back to everyone, she was sure John Watson did too.
Anderson's voice, however, grew louder.
"Would you shut, the fuck, up!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "You sodding psychopath! We don't need you here at all! In fact, I am sure NO one EVER does! Our police was just fine before you brought your useless deduction rubbish to it!"
Molly whispered oh so quietly "Shut-up..."
"No one needs you there Sherlock!" the man continued in rage "In fact, I don't think ANYONE needs you!"
Molly's stomach knotted in anger.
"Who the hell is sodding crazy enough to actually care for a, thing! Like you,"
Shut up...
"Or think anything good about you?"
Shut. Up.
"You're worthless Sherlock!"
SHUT. UP.
"Worthless! Psychopathic! Sodding FREAK!"
"SHUT UP!" The words shot across the room like a fired bullet, and their source, was none other than Molly.
The room fell silent.
All the people in the room glared at the small woman, they could hear a soft hum of machinery in the room, they could hear each other breathing, the blood rushing into Molly's cheeks, maybe even a speck of dust landing on a shelf.
Molly dropped her head. Clearly not planning on continuing what she began.
Lestrade finally broke the agonizing silence "I think you should go..." He glared at Anderson.
Anderson looked toward Sherlock, but Sherlock was looking at Molly with wide, socked look, and maybe a hint of admiration.
Anderson waved his hands in the air and cursed another juicy word before yanking the door open and rushing out of the room, followed by Sally who murmured a little 'freak' before following her partner, then Lestrade left after mentioning at the paralyzed Sherlock and proud Doctor to contact him as soon as the information they needed was found, then he left.
John stood in the room, but one look at Sherlock's eyes fixed on Molly told him he should leave.
"Eh hmm well I-" he didn't finish the sentence before rushing out from the laboratory.
Sherlock and Molly stood there for a few seconds. She knew he was looking at her but couldn't bring her face up to look at his eyes.
Finally, he coughed uncomfortably just to break the silence and bent down to pick up a fallen file she dropped earlier on.
"Here," he commented as all the papers were tucked back in it and he handed it to Molly, who finally raised her head and smiled, taking the file and adding a thank you.
Sherlock glared at her again, unsure of what he felt.
Defiantly proud. Proud for her.
He felt, cared for. Loved? Would that count?
Whatever Molly just made him feel proved an enormous point, large enough for him to place a hand on her arm, bend down and press two soft lips on the skin of her flushed, pink, cheek.
It wasn't romantic, somewhat, no, not really.
But it made Molly proud.
She felt like a friend.
She felt appreciated.
And unknowingly, Molly Hooper just made Sherlock Holmes feel the exact same way.
A/N: yeah yeah tacky but it's midnight I so wtvr... im tired. Gd'night.