"Don't wish, don't start... Wishing only wounds the heart." - Elphaba from Wicked
"Molly."
The pathologist gave an undignified squeak before whirling around, peering through her blood spattered safety glasses at him.
"Sh-Sherlock." She gasped, cradling her bone-saw closer to her chest. She fell into a nervous state at Sherlock's sudden presence only inches away from her. Molly could feel her cheeks flushing furiously, though she tried to surpress it. Goodness, she was turning bright red- "You shouldn't have scared me like that!" Molly admonished, turning around and setting the blood saw next to the gruesome mess she had been experimenting on. Biting the inside of her cheek, Molly pulled off her gloves, silently composing herself, then turned back to the detective.
Sherlock was watching her in bafflement, his icy eyes trained on her with his characteristic intense focus. His eyes seemed to penetrate her like a blinding searchlight. The sensation of being so exposed made her squirm; yet Molly found herself attracted to it all the same.
"Your heart." Sherlock said simply. "I need it." Molly felt her heart lurch uncomfortably in her chest. Had he finally noticed...
"My... my what?" Molly stuttered, blinking rapidly, gripping her hands nervously.
"Your heart." Sherlock repeated dully. "You said it had a deformed chamber, wanted to get a second opinion. Said if I deduced the deformity properly for you I could keep it. Now, where is it?" Sherlock demanded, his eyes scanned the laboratory, ripping apart the scene hungrily.
"Oh, that." Molly mumbled softly, unsure whether Sherlock had even heard what she said. She sighed, reprimanding herself silently for being so timid. This was her place of work; she was the professional in charge here. Yet when someone was in the daunting presence of Sherlock Holmes, their status seemed to slip somewhat. All seemed trapped beneath the shadow of his trailing coat.
Molly cleared her throat, cringing internally at the awkward noise, then turned away, swiftly walking over to the walk-in freezer. Eager steps followed hers; Sherlock was impatient to get his newest toy. He was an odd one, with the heart of an excitable child carefully concealed underneath his biting attitude. If only his tongue wasn't as sharp as his wit… Fishing her card out of her lab coat, Molly swiped it through the security scan. The pinprick of light flashed green, and Molly tugged at the knob, her tiny frame straining to budge the heavy freezer door. Without warning his hand was there, brushing against hers-
Molly withdrew her hand as quickly as though it had been electrified, then immediately regretted it. She had quite like his touch, but it had startled her. She now craved the sensation again, perhaps now more than ever.
Sherlock held the freezer door open for her, his black curls sweeping into his face. Molly hastily mumbled her thanks and walked in, her heart somewhat lighter.
He had opened the door for her.
That had to mean something.
The blinding fluorescent light in the freezer did not add any comfort to the sight. The smell of preserving chemicals choked the frigid air. All along the shelves were jars showcasing various human organs and entrails floating about in solutions. Brains, spleens, livers- all found swimming eerily on the shelves in well-attended rows. The gruesome, alien- all in all, disturbing- sight, however, did not turn Molly's stomach any longer. She strode into the freezer without a second thought. Her shyness was aimed at the young man accompanying her, and yet she was not intimidated at all about a place that would have shaken the bravest of people.
Molly Hooper was indeed an unusual woman.
Scurrying passed a horrific array of human tongues, Molly crouched down to look at the lower shelves. Her small hands grasped jars curiously, intently reading the labels. Large intestines, an infected pancreas, a jar with kidneys- Molly popped back up, her cheeks pink.
"Here you are." She stumbled happily, holding out a jar with a diseased heart bobbing up and down grotesquely in the solution. Sherlock's eyes brightened, and he took the offered jar enthusiastically.
"Fantastic!" Sherlock breathed, holding the jar eye level and peering at the contents with a lopsided boyish grin. Molly could feel her heart swell with pleasure at the sight.
"Think you can tell me the cause?" Molly asked almost teasingly, her confidence stirring.
"Of course." Sherlock said immediately, his eyes so bright they almost blinded her. His confidence and excitement were too big to contain in this freezer. It was ensnaring Molly, making her heart beat faster, more resilient. It was invigorating, like running across the bustling streets of London. Sherlock Holmes in action, doing what he loved-
Molly could feel his passion as though it were her own. It was intoxicating.
And then with the twirl of his dark coat, it was gone.
"I'll be using your microscope for the autopsy," Sherlock called over his shoulder. "I can already tell the lividity is off, so I'll need use of your toothed forceps." And with that he was gone.
Molly stood alone, her breath coming out in puffs of fog.
The back of her throat ached, as though she had tried to drink something hot and burning, only to have it scald her.
She shouldn't have hoped, Molly scolded herself, her harsh words trying to fill the emptiness steadily consuming her. It ached, it throbbed, it echoed hollowly like a coin thrown into an empty wishing well.
She shouldn't have gotten swept away in her little fantasies, Molly berated. Very orderly, Molly picked up her emotions and folded them, then placed them in a corner to be sort out later.
With an air of detachment, Molly walked out of the freezer. She closed the door, never minding how difficult the labor was. She walked back to her desk, breezing passed Sherlock.
He didn't even look up.
She didn't care, Molly told herself. But she knew better.
She cared too much. That was the problem of it.
Dutifully Molly looked down at her work, but her former fire had been snuffed.
With a little huff of indignation at her own inner turmoil, Molly brushed it off, her gloves snapping back over her hands. Taking scalpel in hand, Molly set back to work.
It wasn't easy at all, that small smile she wore for the rest of the day. Lifting the corners of her mouth seemed to be as difficult as lifting the weight of the sky. But when she did finally smile, it was genuine.
Molly was determined that the world would never know how brave she was.