Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own them so please don't sue.

A/N: I wrote (a version with different names of) this story about 10 years ago in school, as part of an exam. The exercise was: The first two sentences (in bold) are given and then you have to continue.

I really wanted to include the phrase "finders keepers" in my text, because I had just learned it while watching Emergency Room (Carby 4ever!). So, while all my class mates wrote stories about joyful train rides and fluffy clouds, my morbid mind made me do this:

When she looked up from her newspaper, she realized that they should have come out of the tunnel long ago. At that moment the train stopped abruptly.
"Just great," she thought as she sighed and lowered the newspaper. Automatically the emergency lights came to life. For some reason they were flickering and that made the interior look quite creepy. She couldn't help the thought that it reminded her of some horror movie. She was waiting for someone to suggest, "We should split up!"

In her mind she tried to picture a map to find out where they probably were. About 2 and a half hours ago they had started their journey from London to Dartmoor; so that left them somewhere between Taunton and New Abbot. They meant Sherlock and her. Since John was on his honeymoon ("No, Sherlock, we won't call it sex-holiday! That's why there are such things as euphemisms."), he had asked her to join him. And since she thought it would be a good distraction to get her mind off the end of her relationship with Tom, she had jumped the train (no pun intended). Obviously some female scientist from the Baskerville Military Base (whom Sherlock knew from their Baskerville case) had asked the detective for help. Sherlock hadn't gone into detail (Actually now that she thought about it, he hadn't really said anything at all about the nature of the case…), but just had asked her to join him on the case. Well, "asked her" wasn't right. He "asked" in a Sherlock-kind-of-way, "You will join me on a case in Dartmoor. The train leaves at 7:03 p.m. from Paddington. Mike Stamford already knows that you'll need a few days off." With that he had left the morgue with a flying Belstaff, leaving a speechless pathologist behind.

Of course she hadn't complained and of course she had been waiting on the platform with a small suitcase (She had had no idea what to pack when going on a case with Sherlock Holmes. John Watson would have taken his gun with him for sure, but since she had no gun…). He had greeted her, given her the ticket and even helped her with the suitcase (You could say what you wanted about the Holmes boys, but their mother had taught them some manners. The question was just, if they were in the mood to show them).

At first they had been alone in the compartment and Molly had used the opportunity to ask him about the case. But like said before, he had not elaborated and when she had asked him why he needed her to come with him, his face had become a stony mask, and he had mumbled something like, "Someone needs to collect the stories for John's blog." But before he could avert his gaze, something had flickered across his face. It had been an odd mixture between worry, embarrassment and fear. But it had passed so quickly that Molly could not be sure if it had just been her imagination.

She had heard a little bit from John about their previous adventure in Baskerville. John had told her that he had never seen Sherlock like that before. The detective had been frightened by what he had seen in the woods of Dartmoor and hadn't had any idea how to cope with that. So Molly figured that was the main reason for him asking to join her: He didn't want to be alone, in case something similar would happen again. But Sherlock Holmes would not be Sherlock Holmes, if he would admit anything like that. And since she was Molly Hooper, there was not really any need to do that – she knew it without him telling her, and he knew that. That's why the pathologist felt honoured that he would trust her enough to "ask" her to come with him. It gave her the feeling that he had meant what he had said: she did count and she did matter.

Knowing not to press that matter, she had not asked any more questions about the case and they had settled in a comfortable silence. She had started to read the newspaper and Sherlock had retreated into his mind palace.

After about half an hour train ride, when Molly had been just about to finish an article about some woman called Gloria Scott, Sherlock had broken the silence.
"I'm sorry about you and Tom."
Molly had put the newspaper down. "No, you're not."
His mouth had twitched, like he had been resisting to grin wickedly. But he had sobered his face quickly. "No, you're right. I'm not."
"But I appreciate the effort though."
"He was downright boring. I don't understand how you could…" When he had seen her face, he had shut up and had looked down on his lap.
She could not resist a chuckle. That had made Sherlock look up again at her surprised. She had explained, "It's okay Sherlock. I know you don't mean to hurt me. So insult away." Her tone had been light and to say he had looked thunderstruck would have been an understatement. He had cleared his throat.
"Well, then I can say that I'm glad you've come to your senses and that you're mine again."
The moment he had realized what he had said, he had looked at least as shocked as she had.

Her mouth had opened and closed a few times and she had thought, "I've always been yours." Sherlock's face had taken on an even more shattered expression, if that had been even possible. He had looked downright catatonic. That was when she had realized it had not been a thought, but she had said that out loud. Her eyes had gone wide and she had brought a hand over her mouth. Not for the first time (and probably not for the last) in her life, Molly Hooper had wished she could take back what she had said.

Although he had sat there unmoving, a dozen emotions had been swirling in his eyes: shock, fear, denial, disbelieve, wonder, affection and some others Molly could not name. They all had been battling for dominance.

Molly had felt the need to mitigate her statement, at least a little bit.
"Sherlock, I didn't mean…" But before she had had any chance to finish her sentence, denial had won out, and Sherlock had gotten up abruptly. His body had been stiff and his jaw tense. Without a word he had opened the door of the compartment and had not been seen again until Taunton.