Molly was nervous as she entered Bart's that morning. But this is nothing new. Molly had a history of habitual nervousness. For once, though, she felt entirely justified.

She enters the silent morgue and sets her purse on the chair by the door. She picks up the stack of folders on her desk and skims the reports tucked inside. Before long she is wandering over to the two new bodies, absorbed in the work. She doesn't even notice that her nervousness has melted away until four hours later when the doors to the morgue snap open with a dramatic flourish.

She looks up from her spot at the desk, heart suddenly jumping into her throat because Oh god, oh god only one person walks into the morgue like that and did he notice yet? Oh god, don't stare, don't say something stupi-

"...Molly?" Sherlock is frozen just inside the doorway, his face blank, his eyes wide and staring.

It strikes Molly just how unsure Sherlock sounds when he says her name, and as she rises from her chair she feels perversely satisfied by it. Good, let him flounder in shock for once.

Of course Sherlock recovers quickly, and of course the bastard doesn't mention anything after that. Molly can feel her artificial confidence plummet as the moment passes and five minutes later they are both elbow deep in a corpse when John walks in.

"Sherlock, they didn't have any...Christ!" John stops a few steps inside the door, staring at Molly. His eyebrows nearly jump to his hairline and his mouth freezes halfway open. The effect is comical and Molly giggles as her perverse satisfaction returns.

"Jesus...You look...," John trails off.

Molly runs her fingers through her short hair. It feels a bit stiff from all the product, sticking out at cute little angles and framing her jaw. She knows how flattering the bob is on her. She sports a pair of pink metal rimmed glasses as well, and they give her face quite the air of maturity. Deciding to go for broke, she had bought some new blouses to complete the new look – ones in deep, jewel colours with daring necklines.

The overall effect had seemed very sexy to Molly, and she had felt so confident that morning putting it all on.

John is still staring and next to her, Sherlock straightens with a frown.

"Come along John, I've found what I was looking for," Sherlock is brushing past Molly and tossing a pair of gloves in the bin. His coat billows as he strides past John and turns to wait at the door expectantly.

"You look great, Molly," John smiles and Molly smiles and it's just one of the best moments she can ever remember. "Really."

"Thanks, John."

"Come along John."

John sighs and does an about face, walking calmly through the doors. Molly watches as Sherlock hesitates, his body halfway out the door before he turns back with a quirk of the lips.

"Molly," It's just her name, but the way he says it makes her blush and she can't shake the unreasonable feeling that Sherlock is giving her a compliment.

"Sherlock."

The door swings shut behind him softly and for the first time that Molly can remember, her wide, toothy smile isn't faked at all.