Author's note: this takes place after the end of Season 3. The URL for the prompt used is: post/80766720768/an-episode-where-a-girl-who-works-at-barts-and
because this site is weird and won't let me put it in the summary.
Sherlock glanced up from his microscope, grey eyes curious as they flicked from figure to figure in the room. Bonnie Newcaster, a medical resident at St. Barts and Molly's new lab assistant leaned listlessly against a nearby table, finger's drumming an absent rhythm against its metal legs. Molly was typing up a report across the room, drowsy from a long day in a hot stuffy lab. John was flicking through a pile of notes a few tables over, lost in thought.
The detective watched Bonnie's posture stiffen just a hair as Molly stood up and stretched then shuffled over to a filing cabinet and rifled through the drawers. The drumming sped up ever so slightly, before the young woman's head flicked abruptly the other direction and the tapping took on a deliberate, forcedly casual quality.
Bonnie quickly shifted, picking up a pile of reports from the heap scattered across the table and settling in on the far side of the Consulting Detective from Molly's desk. She began sifting through the pages with obvious disinterest, looking around him every now and again at the other side of the room.
Sherlock glanced at Molly, still obliviously digging through her filing cabinet, then back at the thick dark curls of Bonnie's bowed head.
"Have you told her?" he asked softly, under his breath. Bonnie stiffened immediately.
She glanced up at him about to protest that she had no idea what he was talking about, but stopped when she met his eyes. It was obvious he knew. She glanced at Molly's back and smiled sadly, then shook her head. She flicked her eyes briefly in John's direction as he stood up and sauntered out of the room in search of a hot cup of tea.
"Have you?"
There was a brief flash of sympathetic pain in those intense grey eyes and he looked away.
"Wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if we did, would it?" she coughed to cover up the inconvenient hitch in her voice.
"No. I don't think it would."
"Yours is married, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Kids?"
"One."
"Do you like her? The wife, I mean?"
He didn't answer.
"She was engaged…" Bonnie continued conspiratorially. "I thought I'd die trying to be happy for her, but god I did it. I smiled and I congratulated, and…. Then I thanked god like the heartless bitch I am when they split..." Her eyes dropped into her lap and she forgot to pretend to sort papers. "I know I don't have a chance. Ironic, cause I know you do. You'd get her in a second if you wanted to... but, I just… I can't help it. I can't stop myself thinking about her all the time and I just… I don't know how you do it. Keep pretending you're ok, even after-"
Sherlock abruptly shifted away from her, retrieving a new slide, though he'd barely touched the current one. She fell silent. Pages began to shuffle noisily again. John returned with a styrofoam cup and settled down again. The rhythmic clack of Molly's keyboard started back up, then slowed and stopped.
"Bonnie, do you have that report on Mr. Carruthers?"
Molly was turned in her chair, clearly unaware of the conversation she'd just missed.
"Oh….Yes, I think I have it here, just a moment." Bonnie stood up as Molly turned back to the papers in front of her. "Courage, mate." She whispered, giving his shoulder the most subtle of reassuring squeezes. And then she was gone, orbiting Molly like a doting satellite.
Sherlock glanced at Dr. John Watson, still obliviously reading and sipping tea. With a deep breath, he resigned himself to the microscope and the work.
"Courage indeed."