I'M SO SORRY BUT FOR MY STORY (because I couldn't think of a better candidate, truly) I HAD TO CHANGE ONE OF THE CHARACTERS A BIT. Ok, a lot. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.

"Molly, I'll need you to pull out Edwin McDaver's body. I need to test for cyanide poisoning."

"Um…" Molly walked quickly to the pristine counter and checked her charts, her eyes glancing at the man standing next to Sherlock before turning towards him.

"Here you go." She wheeled the body out.

"And coffee. Black, two sugars," he added.

"Uh…yes," she answered him, but her eyes never left the man who had not yet introduced himself. He wore a long coat, a bit similar to Sherlock's, perhaps made of leather. But what really caught her attention was his smile, a killer grin directed right at her. His eyes reminded her of clear skies, a shadowless world that still somehow held slight greys, captivating her.

She blushed and hurried out.

When she came back with the coffee, she had just set it onto the table next to Sherlock (already absorbed in whatever findings he could elicit from the sample under the petri dish) when the man finally stuck out a hand towards her.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

"H-hi," Molly stuttered slightly and smiled at him through her eyelashes, her cheeks gradually turning pink. No one had ever looked at her like she was the most important woman in the world. And despite her…pleasure…in being able to see Sherlock, she wasn't immune to his charm.

"I'm Molly. I'm Sherlock's pathologist."

She didn't realize she had given him claim over her. But unseen, and without glancing up, Sherlock's lips turned up slightly at the corners.

But Jack noticed too. Interesting. He glanced at Sherlock, then turned back to Molly.

"So, Molly Hooper, St. Bart's pathologist," he corrected her, "I'm involved in some pretty serious business," he nodded his head toward Sherlock," but," his voice dropped, and he leaned closer to her ear," I would love to take you out to dinner tonight if you have time."

Molly's eyes subconsciously wandered toward Sherlock for a moment before returning to Jack's face.

"That sounds great," she replied.

Sherlock's jaw clenched, but he didn't move.

"Great," Jack pecked her on the cheek and headed out the door, "I'll pick you up at 7 tonight."

Just as Molly was about to ask him how, his head peeked back through the doorway.

"Don't worry. I'll ask Mycroft for your address," he clicked his tongue and disappeared again.

Molly smiled. He was so full of energy and (she didn't have a problem admitting this to herself) so attractive.

"Don't go with him," a voice spoke up suddenly right behind her, and she jumped.

"Sherlock, you scared me," she shoved him back gently. Ever since the Fall, they had become a bit closer. Perhaps good friends, Molly Hooper thought, and that was probably all she was ever going to get, so she might as well be happy about it. It wouldn't do any good to hold a grudge; he wouldn't understand anyway.

"He's a scum who plays with people's hearts. I'm sure you think I wouldn't understand but I do. He'll –"

"Please, Sherlock," Molly interrupted him, "just…just don't ruin all my dates," she sighed.

"She didn't see his fists clench. But she felt the raw strength in his hands as he gripped her wrists tightly, a slight pulse drumming through the thin wool of her cardigan.

"His own name is his pickup line, for god's sakes!" he took a step closer to molly, his face inches from hers. "Just listen to the intonation of his voice. So full of confidence," he spat, "why? Because he knows that a little girl who wants attention would definitely fall for his charms. He probably has women like Irene Adler for breakfast, he's so practiced."

Molly just stared at him, hoping the stinging sensation at the back of her eyelids would abate. He always said such hurtful things. Always.

"No, Sherlock," she looked to the floor, refusing to meet his eyes, "You date women like Irene Adler. She's always been The Woman for you." She gently pried his hands off her, walking out of the morgue even though she still had an hour left in her shift, her back stiff. She wasn't planning on returning today.

An hour later, Sherlock still stood in the same spot, his eyes unblinking, staring the hands she had pried away from her. He was just trying to warn her, he told himself. Any attempt of hers at dating would surely to be threat to national security. Yes. Mycroft would have to agree.

There was certainly no way he would give Captain Jack Harkness her address.