It starts off soft. It's delicate; tender; almost hesitant. His fingers, slightly cold, brush across your face. His touch is electric. The faint taste of tobacco on his breath is alluring and, heart pounding, you pull him closer to you. "Sherlock!" You gasp as his hands begin to roam elsewhere and-

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Molly snaps out of the daydream and desperately tries not to blush as she looks up to see Sherlock standing next to her.

"Oh. Um, no, of course not," she says, flustered. How long had Sherlock been there? "I was just... having lunch."

"At this time of day?" Sherlock asks, raising an eyebrow. Momentarily confused, Molly catches sight of the clock and groans - it's almost half past one. She should've gone back to work at least twenty minutes ago.

Molly looks up at Sherlock and frowns. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Simple. You don't often stray into other departments and you take your lunch between twelve and one, but, if you're busy, you'll take it a bit later. You weren't in the morgue, so I knew you'd be here," Sherlock says dismissively. "I need a body. Do you have any fresh ones?"

Molly tries desperately to regain her composure. "Yes, of course. I'll go and take one out for you."

Molly watches through the window as Sherlock lashes out at the corpse with his riding crop. Even in his most weird and eccentric moments, she's still completely infatuated with him, possibly even more so. She can't help but wince as the body on the table jolts as Sherlock hits it repeatedly, but she's not horrified or disturbed like some people might be. Sherlock's eccentricities intrigue her rather than put her off, and there's nothing she'd like more than to be able to understand him; be on the same level as him. The way his mind works is completely fascinating, although that's only half the attraction. That hair, those cheekbones, that voice. Molly smiles and melts a little inside as she thinks of him. Her thoughts turn to her earlier daydream. There was nothing she wouldn't give for that to be real. It never would be though - Sherlock would never be interested.

Or would he?

Molly's thoughts flick back to their conversation in the cafeteria. He knew when she went for lunch and how much she stayed in her own department, and he would have to have been paying close attention to her to know that. And why else would Sherlock Holmes pay such close attention to her? Molly feels the smile spread involuntarily across her face as the unshakable thought - preposterous though it is - takes hold of her. In the morgue, Sherlock is still beating the body, with surprising vigor. Seized by a sudden fit of euphoric confidence, Molly decides to go in and talk to him, maybe even ask him out for coffee. She wonders if she has time to quickly apply some make-up before he leaves and goes to the lab upstairs.

Sherlock still hasn't finished with the body when Molly enters the morgue. He hits it intensely a few more times before turning away, slightly out of breath.

"So, bad day, was it?" she asks, conversationally. She can't just jump in and ask straight away. It's far too forward and she's nowhere near that confident around him.

He ignores the question, and starts writing in a small notepad. "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Molly takes a deep breath. He's obviously finished. She has to ask him now, or she knows she never will. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished-"

Sherlock looks up and stares at her intently. "You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er... I refreshed it a bit," Molly says, flattered that he's noticed.

"Sorry, you were saying?" Sherlock gives her one last look before turning back to his note book.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she asks firmly, not taking her eyes from him, almost certain he'll say yes.

"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs." He smiles at you and then leaves.

Molly stares after him. She'd been so certain, so very certain, and he'd just...

"Okay," Molly says in an unusually high voice and heads off to make Sherlock his coffee. A lump is beginning to form in her throat, and she tries to blink back the tears welling up in her eyes. She has to keep going as normal, at least until Sherlock leaves. "Okay," she repeats, and wipes her tears away, "it's okay."