So I have always been interested in how Molly and Sherlock met, so I decided to write it out myself. Just a quick little one shot that kind of defies categorization. I hope that you like it! I would love to know what you think.
Also, I don't own anything. In case you were wondering.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Sherlock strode into the morgue, his coat billowing out behind him. He sat down at the nearest microscope and started rattling off supplies he needed and what this experiment might tell him about the triple murder. It took him four full minutes to realize that there was no one else in the room.
He looked around, wondering where Doctor Paliss was. It was unlike the old man to take a day off of work for any reason. It bothered him that he wasn't here, seeing as how he was one of the few people at the hospital that would actually work with him. Still it was entirely possible that... No, Paliss was gone.
Sherlock frowned at the realization, and looked at the evidence that had lead to it. There were a few changes around the morgue. A tube of lipstick lay near the sink, and the boxes of disposable gloves had changed sizes from larges to smalls. Along with the smell of death and antiseptic that filled the air was a tinge of lavender. A woman had taken over the morgue.
Just then, the woman in question strode out from the office. She didn't notice at first the dark man sitting at one of her microscopes. She washed her hands and donned a pair of gloves, then walked over to the table where her first autopsy of the day lay.
She was still amazed that she had even gotten this job. When she had applied two weeks before on a whim, she had been told that there were no real positions likely to be available for quite some time. It had always been her goal to work at Saint Barts, however, so she had applied and been interviewed anyway, being told she would be kept on file. Imagine her surprise last night when she had come home late to a message on her machine, asking her to start in the morning.
She was working two jobs for now, having only notified her boss at the café of her intent to quit yesterday morning. The last pathologist had left quite a few bodies piled up when they had left unexpectedly, and she was exhausted by the time she pulled out the week old body of a Dr. Paliss.
Just as she was about to make the first incision, a voice came from behind her. "I wouldn't bother." She jumped slightly, and turned to see the tall, gorgeous man standing less than two feet away from her. He smirked at her reaction, and then reached over, turning on the dictation machine next to her and began to speak.
"Male, 64 years old, Doctor Robert Paliss, former pathologist at St. Bart's hospital. Time of death, 8 o' clock Monday night. Cause of death, Myocardial infarction brought on by a blood clot somewhere in the circulatory system. Possibly caused by overstimulation, but more likely from the extreme aversion to exercise and whatever he ate that was constantly leaving grease stains on his lab coat. Tell me," he said, putting down the device and stepping a bit too close to her, staring intently at her, "how do you feel about performing the autopsy of your predecessor in his own morgue?"
She started at the realization that this had been the previous pathologist, and stumbled a bit as she answered the question. "I…It does seem a bit morbid, doesn't it? But I guess if I was going to be cut open and have my insides spilled all over the table, I would want it to be done somewhere I would feel comfortable." Her little joke fell flat as she caught his intense stare.
She remembered having heard a vague description of him in the interview. Apparently, she would be seeing him around quite a bit, and he was difficult enough to earn himself a spot in every interview. Incredible knowledge, smarmy attitude, impossibly high cheekbones… It could only be him. "You're Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"
A quick nod answered her, and then he went back to the microscope he had been working at. "I… I'm Molly Hooper, the new pathologist." No answer. She tried one more time to get him to speak. "Listen, I was just about to go get some coffee. Would you like to…" she faltered, trying not to be too forward, although quite frankly she had already become smitten by the man in her morgue.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and Molly felt like she was being X rayed by those clear blue eyes. It was a strange sensation, and she felt a bit out of place in her lab coat and sensible shoes. Having those eyes on her made her feel uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. It was more like she had suddenly become the focus of his entire world, and she felt like this stranger knew her better than anyone else in the world.
He opened his mouth to answer her unfinished proposal and she waited with baited breath. "Black, two sugars." He said, and without another word he turned his focus back to the microscope.
Obviously not, then. How anyone could have misinterpreted her intentions, even without her having stated them directly, was beyond her. Any normal person would have understood perfectly. Still, Molly felt her heart fall in her chest as she left to go get the coffee, mumbling a soft, "Okay" as she disappeared. Upon returning, she placed the cup next to him, although he barely noticed. She sighed under her breath and walked back over to the autopsy she had been performing. She cursed, finding the blood clot that he had mentioned before in the right pulmonary vein. It had been a heart attack. Of course he had been right.
She simultaneously cursed and blessed the name of Sherlock Holmes, already knowing that this was only the beginning, and many more things awaited her and the world's only consulting detective.