A/N: This is my take on what Sherlock might've been thinking regarding what Molly had to say to him in the lab. I hope I didn't butcher his character too much. Enjoy.

Sherlock's mind flashed and whirred; different possibilities and solutions flying through his head as he intently attempted to put together the pieces of the puzzle. His eyes narrowed determinedly through the microscope, the slide in front of him still refusing to give up its secrets.

Molly Hooper worked next to him; silently, for the most part. He almost wished he could feel remorse for dragging her back into the lab before she could ever get to her lunch break, but he found himself only focused on the importance of the case. Besides, all the girl had ever wanted was to spend time with him, so here he was. Granting her wish. For his own selfish reason… He had provided her with a lovely sack of crisps however, and that seemed satisfactory, his brain concluded. His mind, only spending half a second on Molly, switched back to the slide in front of him with alarming speed.

"What did you mean, I.O.U.?" Molly's voice interrupted his concentration. Sherlock eyes moved from the microscope to stare at John for a quick moment before shifting back to the slide. "You said I.O.U.?" Small silence. "You were muttering it while you were working-"

"Nothing, mental note," he cut her off quickly. Sherlock frankly didn't care for any conversation with Molly. The girl was shy, under confident, and utterly boring. He found that almost any exchange with Molly was usually dull and frustrating, and he preferred to not waste his time, especially with an important case right under his nose.

Sherlock hoped that his short answer had turned her off to any more conversation. But through the quick moments of silence, he could feel her eyes turn to him.

"You look a bit like my dad. He's dead. Oh, sorry…" she added embarrassedly. Sherlock kept his patience, but he didn't have the time to listen to her drabbling on.

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area." Not usually did he ever strive to be rude to Molly, but he needed quiet.

"When he was… dying, he was always cheerful." Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes. Where on earth was Molly going with this? His brain began to work again, only half listening. "He was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked… Sad."

"Molly?" Sherlock warned dangerously, still focused on the slide. He didn't want to have to deal with her outpour of emotions. He didn't handle those sort of things. He didn't enjoy reveling in someone unveiling his or her deepest, darkest weakness. It just wasn't appealing. It opened the door for pity, one of the most dangerous emotions in human existence.

"You look sad," she continued. "When you think he can't see you." Sherlock's eyes shifted to John, before finally looking carefully at Molly. He was slightly surprised; Molly was always so easily undercut when someone tried to shut her down. But she seemed determined to make a point known to Sherlock. She seemed almost… confident.

"You okay? And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you." Her words slurred together quickly. What was this? Why would Molly actually care about anything other than trying to make Sherlock care for her? Sherlock decided to play.

"You can see me."

"I don't count," Molly responded with a small, sad looking smile. Something quirked in Sherlock's chest, something very small and uncomfortable. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at her in response. "What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all… You can have me," she added with a smile, before quickly backtracking. "No, I just mean… I mean, if there's anything you need… It's fine," she finished lamely, looking somewhere behind her. Sherlock's brain was buzzing again. This sudden revelation of sympathy from Molly was confusing, to say the least. Genuine sympathy… But what had he ever done to Molly to make her offer him such random empathy? Her tone and uncharacteristic boldness seemed to ensure that she could give him something.

"But what I could I need from you?" he asked almost to himself, genuinely curious as to what she could possibly offer him. The question obviously caught her off guard.

"Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually." Sherlock then realized his question could've been taken as rude, but he honestly didn't mean it that way. He was curious. Simply curious. His eyes narrowed as he looked away from her, as if the answer to why his face and ears felt strangely warm was somewhere off in the corner.

"Thank you," he said hesitantly, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. Sherlock felt Molly walk behind him, making her way to an exit.

"I'm just gonna go get some crisps, do you want anything-? It's O.K," she suddenly revised. "I know you don't." Something suddenly prodded Sherlock to speak.

"Well, actually, maybe I-"

"I know you don't." She walked away quickly, leaving Sherlock alone with his slide for the moment. What was he about to say? He hadn't planned on responding to her, but something had provoked him to speak. Would he have asked for crisps as well? Water? Coffee? He honestly didn't know. He almost wished Molly hadn't interrupted him so he could hear what his brain would've formulated to make her feel useful... His brain suddenly hit a wall, hard and fast.

He had wanted to make her feel useful…

The realization was alarming, unsettling, and absolutely unwelcome. Sherlock immediately turned his attention back to the slide, forcing his brain to focus on the case. But in the back of his skull, he could still feel thoughts of a kind, Molly Hooper, picking at his head with annoying certainty. He then realized there was a more dangerous emotion than pity:

Compassion.

And that scared the bloody hell out of Sherlock.