Clarity
Lestrade had seen Molly tons of times before, mostly wearing ill-fitting jumpers that made him wince or in over-sized lab coats that completely obscured her figure. He was aware of her infatuation with Sherlock, her simpering devotion that he really couldn't fathom. He'd be the first to admit that Sherlock was beyond brilliant when it came to solving crimes, but he was crass and unthinking when it came to human affection. Why any woman would invest her heart in a stone statue of a man was beyond him.
Lestrade gulped as she took off her coat, not believing what his eyes beheld. For the first time, he saw her with perfect clarity.
"Wow," he said, not believing he'd uttered those words aloud while his eyes traveled her form in the exquisite black dress she had worn for the Christmas party. He gaped at her, open-mouthed, not able to form any coherent thoughts.
He quickly drained the contents of his glass and then tapped her arm. "Would you like a drink?"
She nodded, giving her characteristic wide grin. And yet, for some reason, it seemed different to him. As he poured the red wine for her, he smiled to himself.
It seemed as though Christmas had come early that year.
