His Best Friends Girl
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just adore them. Please don't sue – I promise I am not worth it.
Characters: Sherlock, Molly, John (So far)
OK. This was one of those little things that go around and around in my head and won't go away until I write it down.
All comments, suggestions and corrections are very welcome. I am not sure how far this will go – probably just a few chapters. It's pure fluff, and doesn't really have a massive plot line.
SH SH SH SH SH SH SH
Molly glanced at the clock on the wall of her office, and groaned. It was late again. 9pm. She should have finished at 5pm, but an urgent case had come in, and Lestrade was hoping she'd provide immediate answers. Molly was used to working on her own, and didn't mind being alone in the lab. She had a habit when working late of putting her small earphones in, and listening to classical music whilst she worked. Her small office was just off to one side, and from her chair, she couldn't see the door to the main lab. Therefore she didn't see or hear Sherlock enter the lab and take up a seat at the bench and proceed to switch on one of the microscopes.
Molly finally finished her notes, removed her earphones, and picked up the phone and dialed his mobile number. "Hi Greg, it's me Molly. I have the results you were looking for. I hope it's good news. The autopsy shows that Mrs McGregor died from a stroke." She paused. "I would say 99% sure it was natural causes. She was 92, I know her doctor had prescribed various medication for high blood pressure, and unless the toxicology reports shows different, I have no reason at this stage to think it was suspicious." Molly smiled down the phone. "I've just sent you an email with my preliminary report. No problem, have a good evening. Night Greg."
Hanging up the phone she stretched and rolled her shoulders. Her mobile phone sitting on her desk suddenly pinged. Molly sighed. She didn't have to look to know it was her mother. No one else texted her. She remembered a time when Sherlock had started to text to check whether she was in the morgue before he turned up. Those were the ones that both excited her and filled her with dread. Excitement that she would see him, but dread for the inevitable feeling of uselessness that he'd leave her with. He had finally given up texting her when he realized that she nearly was always in the lab.
Reluctantly she decided that it would be best to call her mother now, she could then plead that it was late, she still needed to get home, and she could cut the call short. She dialed her mother's number from memory, and tucked the handset under her ear, so she could start to tidy up.
Sherlock hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but with the lab so quiet, he couldn't help but overhear her one sided conversation.
"Hi Mum," Molly said pleasantly.
Obviously false, she's trying too hard
"I got your text."
Duty not desire
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm still at work, but just finishing up now. Yes I know it's late, but the police needed the results on a body urgently."
The police not Greg. She didn't want to mention his name. A man's name. Avoiding questioning about a man.
"Yes mum. No mum. I've been busy. No, I didn't call Tim."
Tim?
"Because I didn't want to."
Who is Tim? Irrelevant – she didn't call him.
"Because I'm busy, and I am not that desperate that I need my mother setting me up on blind dates."
Blind date. Mother worried about lack of grandchildren probably. Sherlock put another slide under the microscope.
"Look Mum. I'm kind of seeing someone."
What? Who? Sherlock thought surprised, almost dropping the slide.
"No one you know. Just someone at work. Well, not at work, but I see him at the hospital," said Molly, twirling the phone cord in her fingers.
OK, she said "Him" – good, a male then. Not a colleague. A patient? A social worker? Sherlock began to run through a list of possible candidates.
"It's early days, Mum. We are just taking it very slowly."
Sherlock continued to listen to the conversation, the slide forgotten in his hand.
"Look, his name is John. He's a locum doctor at a local surgery."
Sherlock sat very still. Molly was talking about John. Molly was dating John? John hadn't mentioned they were going out. He sat very still, awaiting more information.
"No mum, I am not bringing him round for tea." Molly sighed. "As I said, it's early days. He's very kind and thoughtful, and we like each other's company."
Sherlock mentally snorted. Ha! Kind and thoughtful, like each other's company. Not exactly passionate then. Although given John's usual track record with woman, it usually only took a couple of dates before John got them into bed. Oh good grief, mental image of John and Molly in bed – delete image quickly.
"Mum, it's late, and I haven't eaten. I need to go home and feed Toby. I'll call you at the weekend, OK."
Sherlock realized that if Molly was about to leave, she would see him. Did that matter? She'd realize he'd heard her conversation. Again - did that matter? Sherlock was torn. Should she know that he knew, she was seeing John? Would her knowing that he knew be an issue? They had obviously been keeping it low key.
Sherlock suddenly found himself on the other side of the lab door and halfway down the hallway, without even realizing he had made a conscious decision to leave the lab. He turned around and began to walk back towards the lab, just as Molly exited.
"Ah Molly," he said. "Going home?"
Molly juggled her coat and bag as she tried to find her key to lock the lab. "Er… yes, actually. Did you want something?"
"Never mind, it can wait until morning," said Sherlock.
Molly stood looking at him. "Really?"
"It's fine," Sherlock looked at his watch. "I didn't realize how late it was."
Molly couldn't help but stare. Sherlock was actually being considerate. Oh my goodness, is he dying? Molly though. She took a step forward, "are you sure OK? I mean, you don't normally worry about the time."
Sherlock gave a tight smile. "John is trying to get me to keep better hours."
Molly smiled, and Sherlock's stomach gave a little lurch. She smiled at the mention of John's name. This is more serious than I thought.
"You're lucky to have someone like that looking after you," she said.
She wanted John to look after her like that. Sherlock thought sadly. Sadly? Good grief what had come over him.
Molly turned the key in the lock, and started to walk down the corridor towards the stairs, Sherlock trailing after her. Molly looked over her shoulder. Gosh, he looks so lost. I wonder what's wrong.
They left the building together in silence. Once outside Sherlock waved his arm and a taxi immediate stopped for him.
"Good night Sherlock," Molly said politely "I'll see you tomorrow then." A statement not a question. She then started to walk towards the main road.
Sherlock paused. "Molly, wait."
She turned, surprised to be called back. "What?"
"I can drop you off," said Sherlock indicating the taxi. "I'm going your way."
"Which way?" said Molly confused. "Baker Street is nowhere near where I live."
"I'm not going to Baker Street," he said. "My brother asked to see me, I'm going to visit him. And I am practically going past your house."
Molly looked slightly dubious, "are you sure you aren't going out of your way?"
"It's fine Molly, get in."
Molly gratefully climbed into the taxi. "Thanks very much. I don't enjoy the tube very much at this time of night, so I usually walk."
Sherlock nodded. "Canonbury Road," he said to the driver.
"Number 45, please."
Molly sat back as the taxi pulled away. "I always think there is something so decadent about taking a taxi in London."
Sherlock looked over puzzled. "Decadent."
Molly lowered her voice, "it's so much more expensive than the tube."
He pondered her comment. "I'm guessing you watch your pennies." He looked at her clothing, all of it was good quality, but old. Her handbag was a cheap supermarket one; functional and practical, but not exactly stylish.
Molly shrugged. "Living in London is expensive. My mortgage costs an arm and leg."
"You're buying your own house?"
Molly giggled. "Flat. Sherlock, it's a flat. Nothing fancy like yours and John's. But it's my little piece of London. All mine with a balcony and the tiniest garden you've ever seen. And I can't imagine being anywhere else."
Sherlock tried not to stare at her. He was like he was seeing a completely different person. Not the professionally competent, but slightly scatter brained pathologist, but Molly, a flesh and blood person. A person who had a mortgage, 1 cat, and had to carefully consider each purchase.
They continued the rest of the journey in silence, until the taxi stopped. "Well, this is me." Molly climbed out the cab. "Do you… Would you like to come in for coffee?"
Sherlock hesitate. She was seeing John, she shouldn't be inviting him in. But she was John's girlfriend therefore a mutual friend. Did he actually think of Molly as a friend? "Thank you Molly, but I need to be going."
"Oh OK." She smiled brightly, and shut the door. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Thank you very much for the ride, I mean lift. Thank you for the lift. Er, Good night Sherlock."
"Good Night Molly."
He looked back as the taxi pulled away, watching Molly wave; a short "bye" wave. He felt sad. He'd almost accepted her offer of coffee. I want to see what her flat is like. Is it jumbled and chaotic like Molly, or is it clean and clinical like her lab. But no, if she is seeing John, it wouldn't be fair. I missed my opportunity with Molly – I see that now. But did I even want an opportunity?
"Where to then mate?" asked the driver interrupting his thoughts.
Sherlock sighed. "Baker Street, 221B Baker Street."
Sherlock gazed out at the city, and sighed.
The cabbie suddenly pulled him out of his stupor by speaking. "You know the thing with us Cabbies, is that we see so many aspects of a relationship, but in tiny little snapshots; just the length of the cab ride." He paused to look at Sherlock in the rear view mirror. "It allows you to see a lot of people, and you can learn to read them in an instance."
"Really?" said Sherlock only half listening.
"Yep. You care about her, she cares about you. But either you're too scared or too pig headed to admit to it."
"And what makes you think that?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.
The cabbie grinned, "because we're going back the way we came to Baker Street, not to wherever you told her you were going. You weren't going her way, you just didn't want her to leave."
Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. "I wanted to make sure she got home safely. She's dating my best friend."
"Ah," said the cabbie. "That's tricky then. Especially as she likes you."
Sherlock glanced up.
"Look mate. She invited you in for coffee. Friend or no friend; that was her asking you to take a chance." The taxi pulled up outside Sherlock's flat. "There you go."
Sherlock passed the man his fare, and a healthy tip on top. "Thanks."
The cabbie nodded, and pulled away. "Good luck."
Sherlock stood on the pavement and looked up at the lit windows of the 1st floor. Home. Well at least his little piece of London. Even if it was rented. How did Molly manage a mortgage? She must live on tinned spaghetti hoops. Sherlock saw a shadow past the window, and propelled himself towards the door.
Trudging up stairs he heard John speaking on his mobile phone and paused at the landing, "It's fine Molly. No, I understand completely," John laughed. "Harry would have said exactly the same thing. No worries. See you tomorrow."
Sherlock waited a moment until John had clearly ended the call, and completed the rest of the journey up the stairs.
"Evening," John said conversationally, when he saw Sherlock enter the room. "Everything alright?"
Sherlock nodded. "Fine." He removed his coat and scarf and left them hanging on the door. "You?"
"Yep. Not bad at all." John stretched out in his favorite chair and wriggled his toes in front of the fire. "I had a great day at work. We have a new nurse helping out. I even remember to get the shopping, and managed to get the number of the checkout girl. Yep a pretty good day."
Sherlock cocked his head on one side. "You picked up the checkout girl?"
"Not exactly, but she gave me her phone number. Not that I actually intend to call her." John looked around but Sherlock was already retreating to his room.
Sherlock paced around his room. John was seeing Molly, yet he was still chasing some other piece of….. piece of …. skirt! And eyeing up a new nurse. How could John do that to her? It would crush her if she found out. Molly would never stand for someone being unfaithful. He flung himself down on the bed.
Why was he getting so worked up over this? Because if John screws things up with Molly, she might stop access to the lab. Then where would he work? Who would assist him? Who would provide the organs for his experiments? Who would smile and bring him coffee? He'd miss the smell of her perfume – Calyx by Perscriptives – an unusual scent, but then Molly was pretty unusual. He'd miss her smile. Sherlock stopped thinking and it suddenly hit him - He loved Molly Hooper.
Good grief. He loved his best friend's girl.
SH SH SH SH SH SH SH
#believeinsherlock
Thanks to all that read. Come on, I don't bite, hit review! Make my day.
