Every book lover in the world had heard of the amazing Sherlock Holmes who could always tell you what you're favourite book is or could recommend a book you'd enjoy to read. He worked at a library in London and had read every single one on their shelves.
It was a yet another rainy day in London and Molly Hooper was rushing for cover, straight into the entrance of the library. She sighed and shrugged her coat off. Molly cringed as she folded it over her arm and walked further into the warmth of the embrace of books.
"I'd say you're a fan of sci-fi and romance," a deep voice said from behind Molly.
She jumped and spun around to see a man with curly hair holding a large book smiling at her.
"Erm, I only read romance when there's another genre involved," she replied, looking him up and down.
He shifted the book in his hands and held out the free one. "Sherlock Holmes."
Molly froze. Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes?! Of course, that's why he analysed her the moment she walked in. "M-Molly Hooper," she stumbled out and shook his hand, a blush over her face.
"Hmm," Sherlock muttered, his smile replaced with a frown. "There was a negative reaction to my name."
Every book lover in the world had heard of the amazing Sherlock Holmes who could always tell what you're favourite book is or could recommend a book you'd enjoy. But Molly Hooper didn't believe in this "Sherlock Holmes". Who could look at a person and name their favourite book and books they'd enjoy? You can't tell that someone likes horror if they're wearing pink and look sweet.
"Just words on the street clouding my thoughts," she replied, evoking a small smirk from Sherlock.
"Would you like to take a seat with me?" Sherlock asked, scanning the rather empty library. "I think there's a table over there."
Molly looked up at Sherlock and looked across the library. "I suppose so. I didn't really have a plan when entering; just 'keep dry'," she replied with a small smile.
"I'll escort you to my favourite table," he said before offering his hand to her. She was hesitant in taking it, but decided nothing bad would happen if she did. "It sits right between the crime and mystery section, a very quiet place indeed. I'm almost always in the library," he told Molly as they walked.
"I'm rarely in libraries, nowadays. I buy stuff online or read it online. I don't have a lot of time in between working and sleeping," she told him, a blush rising again.
"I suppose it must be tiring working with the dead, though. What I don't understand is why you're here if you work at St. Bart's. Quite a way away," Sherlock said before motioning to a table.
He sat down and Molly gave him an odd look. "How do you know where I work and what I do?"
"Your ID is on top of your purse. It's easy to see," he told her, waving his hand as if it was nothing.
Molly sank down in her chair and crossed her legs. "I have to ask, since it's eating me inside, how do you know about people? Like, their favourite genre and book," she clarified, feeling somewhat embarrassed that she had asked him.
"I can read people. Where someone looks when they enter the library, where they're feet are, the way they hold themselves and speak, the way they dress and everything they do. To me, it screams out 'read me, read me' as though I have to understand everything. But I don't just get books from them. I can read their life stories from the way they look, from a string on their shirt, from the fluff left on a sleeve. Just the condition of your skirt tells me many things, Doctor Hooper." Sherlock cocked his head at her and his smile faded.
She didn't quite know what to think of Sherlock. He was a charming man, attractive and intelligent, no doubt. Her view of him had changed since walking in through those library doors only five minutes prior. But Molly didn't know how he felt about her. He was odd. And she liked that.
"Well, this certainly has been an interesting conversation, but I best getting home. I think it's starting to clear up a bit," she told him when she was unable to gauge his expression.
"Oh. Alright then. Erm, would you be interested in getting coffee with me, some time?" he asked, his cheeks a little red.
"Alright. I'll give you my number." She pulled a pad of paper out of her purse and scrawled her number before handing it to him, cursing herself for sounding too eager. "I'll hear from you soon, then?"
"Oh, definitely," he replied with a wink as she stood up.
She smiled and looked at the doors. "It was great to meet you, Sherlock."
"And you, Molly. I'll call you," he said before standing up and nodding at her.
With that, the two parted ways, both with the other in their minds for the rest of the afternoon.
A/N: Hey, darling reader!
I'm planning on writing more on this, making a larger story.
I'm not sure how to phrase this but I'm not going to write on this "story"... does that make sense? There will be a longer story but it won't be when you click on this story... alright. Let me know if this doesn't make sense, I'm not good at this "explaining myself" thing.
Let's pretend you understand.
Have a nice day!
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