According to most of the people who know me, Sherlock and I are scarily alike and my best friend is –surprise, surprise- very similar to one ex-military doctor. I also have a friend who is just like Molly and a close friend of hers reminds me of Jim Moriarty. (Regrettably our Jim switched schools and now the Molly girl misses her terribly. And I am a poor substitute.)
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
The lab door opens.
Two sets of footsteps.
"Jim and I took up the gym membership together. And I just never got around to canceling mine after he left and never came back."
Molly smiles sadly.
The young man smiles back at her.
Sherlock scoffs at the two while still staring intensely at his scientific experiment on pig blood and human hair. But even as his concentration appears to be focused on his test tubes and microscope, the genius detective still cannot help the chilling rush of emotion that nearly overwhelms him at hearing Molly's words.
He suppresses the urge to text John.
To make sure that John is real.
To ascertain that the other man is alright.
To see his face and hug him and to feel the warmth of his skin.
Sherlock shakes his head. Not now, he scolds himself.
At the moment his hands are busy with the experiment in front of him. He has no time for sending silly texts to his flatmate. Friend.
Sherlock turns back to the microscope and jots down some notes. Meanwhile Molly is showing the future doctor around the laboratory. Neither is paying any attention to the third occupant of the room. Which suits Sherlock just fine. He's finished anyway.
Without saying a word he stands up, the sudden movement making the young student start in surprise. The detective just rolls his eyes at the other man.
Pulling on his coat the dark haired man gives the room one last look. "The result wasn't what I had hoped for. Molly, clean up after me, please." She looks taken aback at the almost polite request, but manages a small nod. Then Sherlock leaves.
It takes less than a millisecond for him to fish out his phone from his pocket. He writes a quick text to his flatmate. Friend.
Then he is on his way home.
The End