The revolution that was soon to shake Sherlock Holmes' world started quietly and without warning on a Sunday afternoon.
I NEED HELP WITH AN EXPERIMENT. COME TO BAKER STREET – SH
With a single typed word, Dr. Molly Hooper fired the first shot of that revolution.
NO – MH
Molly doesn't say "No," at least not to him.
ARE YOU COMING ?– SH
NO – MH
? - SH
Sherlock received no further response. Since this presented him with a slightly more interesting puzzle than anything involved in the aforementioned experiment, he retreated to a quiet place in his mind to think it over. A short while later he had decided that the most obvious explanation was that his pathologist was feeling under the weather, but not sick enough to burden him with concern about her health. He would magnanimously forgive her for not explaining further, as it was done, after all, to spare him worry and concern. He considered going over to her flat to check on her, but decided that if she were truly ill enough to require his attention she would have mentioned it. He would let her rest.
The following day Sherlock showed up at St. Bart's, looking for the corpse of a recent murder victim, as per DI Lestrade's request. He was slightly taken about by the condition of Molly's health.
"Why do you look so healthy?", he enquired.
"Is that some sort of backhanded compliment, Sherlock?"
"You didn't come to Baker Street yesterday. I naturally assumed you were ill."
"No," Molly said evenly.
Sherlock looked at her with, to her satisfaction, a slightly to moderately puzzled expression upon his face. "I need to examine the corpse of the former Danny McGuigan. Will you be so kind as to retrieve it for me so we can get to work"
"No," said Molly once again.
"Pardon?"
"Dr. Sanjay will help you Sherlock. I'm needed elsewhere." And with that Molly smiled sweetly and left the lab.
The following day Sherlock and Dr. John Watson were having lunch at a chips place near St. Bart's.
John was between office visits, and Sherlock was at loose ends. As per their usual practice, John was eating and Sherlock was observing. Sherlock seldom ate when he was on a case, and his friend had long ago gotten over his reticence about enjoying his food while Sherlock fasted.
"Okay, Sherlock, what's going on?"
"Molly said 'no'," Sherlock said, as if this simple statement explained the urgency in his voice as he requested this meeting.
"Molly said 'no' to what, Sherlock. I'm going to need some context here."
"Does that matter. Molly said 'no' to me! Molly never says 'no' to me!" The arrogance would have been insufferable in anybody but Sherlock. With him it was made bearable by his look of disbelief and concern.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, everybody says 'no' at some point. I tell you no all the time, Mrs. Hudson tells you no as if you were still a child at times. I'm sure as hell that Mycroft refuses your requests at regular intervals. You're overreacting, mate."
"Perhaps."
Sherlock went home to think over John's remarks. Maybe he was still thinking of Molly in her old context. He had to admit that he had used her, perhaps even abused her, in the past. He had taken advantage of her feelings for him to get what he wanted, whether it be expedited lab reports, additional time in the lab, or the occasional body part. She had never told him no. But things had changed since he had come to realize what she meant to him. She saw the real Sherlock, and was willing to help anywhy. She had risked her career, maybe even her life, to help him fake his death. She asked for nothing, and in return he had tried to be kinder to her, gentler with her feelings. Maybe he hadn't been succeeding in his campaign to convince her of her value as well as he thought. He would try harder.
A few days later, Sherlock was sitting with his eye to his favorite microscope in Molly's lab. He had made a concerted effort to be friendly, smiling in what he hoped was a sincere manner, and complimenting her on the cleanliness of her lab coat. That last one may have been a bit of a stretch, he conceded. But he had now become completely engrossed in the microbial action taking place in the petri dish in front of his eyes.
"Get me some coffee, Molly." Sherlock knew as soon as he said it that he had made a mistake. He had sounded abrupt, arrogant, and aloof, all the things he was, indeed, but none of the qualities he wanted to express to the pathologist sitting next to him.
"No, Sherlock, you'll have to get it yourself."
Sherlock rose from his chair without a word. When he had returned from the hospital canteen, he carried not one, but two, containers of coffee. He placed one gently by Molly's right hand. "Just the way you like it", he said. Molly expressed her thanks, but nothing further. Sherlock was beginning to think he was losing something that he hadn't even known he wanted. The feeling was unsettling.
Three days later he texted Molly.
I NEED THE LIVER OF A FRESHLY DECEASED ALCOHOLIC BETWEEN THE AGES OF THIRTY AND FORTY – SH
NO- MH
AGE SOMEWHAT FLEXIBLE – SH
NO - MH
The next day went just about the same.
I NEED A HEART – SH
YES, YOU DO – MH
Ah! An attempt at sarcastic humor. Perhaps things were about to approach a modicum of normality.
CAN YOU BRING ME ONE THEN? -SH
NO – MH
It was close to one o'clock in the morning when John answered his phone in a huff, "This had better be important, Sherlock. For all you know I could be having sex with my wife, and I certainly wouldn't appreciate any interruptions!" Mary was, in fact, snoring peacefully beside him, having just gotten the baby to sleep.
"Don't be ridiculous, John. You're not having sex."
"If I find out you've got a bloody camera in here I'll kill you, mate."
Sherlock ignored this last comment and said in a calm voice that still managed to convey a sense of desperation, "Molly said 'no' again, John."
John took a deep breath, beginning to realize how much this meant to his best friend. Maybe after all this time Sherlock was finally feeling something. He knew that Sherlock cared about people, his friends, his family. He just didn't know how to deal with them. It was a lesson he had to learn eventually, and John was relieved that Molly Hooper had decided that she would be the one to teach him. Knowing Molly's feelings for Sherlock, it almost amazed John that she had lasted this long. But he also knew that Sherlock must have refrained from using these feelings to his advantage, as he had in the past. She would never have been able to resist a full-blown assault of the Holmes charm, so Sherlock must have been very circumspect in his dealing with her.
"Listen, Sherlock, I'm tired. I want to go to sleep, so I'm going to make this short and sweet. It's time to make up your mind. Do you want Molly in your life, or not? You know how she feels about you. It seems like she's trying to distance herself from you. Are you willing to let that happen?"
"No," the response sounded more decisive than John had thought it would.
"Well, if she constantly tells you no, then you're probably asking the wrong questions, chum," and with that John hung up his phone and went back to sleep. But Sherlock didn't sleep.
The next day was Saturday and Sherlock Holmes had decided on a course of action. If Molly was determined to keeping saying "No" he would have to turn that to his advantage. As per John's suggestions, he would just have to ask the right questions.
He rang her doorbell early in the morning. Knowing her routine, he was aware that she would be just rising for the day, and probably putting on some coffee. When she answered her door, he asked casually, "Mind if I join you?" Her answer was a slightly startled "No," so he pushed through her half-opened door.
He sat on her couch and studied her as she pulled her robe more tightly over her pajama-clad body. "Do you have any idea how lovely you look in the morning?"
"No," came out of her mouth quite disbelievingly.
Sherlock rose from the couch and approached her slowly. He smiled his devestating smile, and even went so far as to toussle his own hair. He took off his coat to reveal his snug fitting purple shirt, the one Molly stared at so frequently, and gazed at her with his beautiful blue-green eyes. If he was playing for keeps, he certainly wasn't going to play fair!
"Am I making you nervous?"
"No!" Molly practically squeaked out the lie.
And with that Sherlock finally asked his last carefully planned question for the day.
"Then would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"
"No," Molly barely had time to get the word out before Sherlock closed the small gap between them and covered her mouth with his. It was quite a time before they separated and Molly stood with her arms around Sherlock's midsection and her head tucked under his chin. "Sherlock, please be honest. Are you just playing a game with me?"
"No," he said gently and kissed the top of her head. "No more games. This is going to be a lot more fun!"