DAY 1: THEIR FIRST MEETING

Rating: G

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, DI Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper

I was inspired to rework the third scene from If You're Not the One for this post. I thought it was the best representation of my headcanon, so I just removed the soulmates AU bit and edited it some more. Hope you guys like it.

As per usual, I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

Sherlock leant back against the wall in the lift. He pressed his slightly trembling hands together and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. Shutting his eyes, he organised the case facts in his mind palace.

His first case in six months, it involved a businessman, Mr Steele, who suddenly died in his home. According to Mrs Steele, the victim did not have any illnesses and never took recreational drugs. Anderson found no wounds or bruises on the body and no possible murder weapon at the crime scene.

He had deduced that the man was poisoned, most likely by his mistress, using cyanide. All he needed was proof. So he and DI Lestrade were now on their way to look at the body, which the latter had sent to Barts for a post-mortem. I just wish the pathologists here were competent enough to reach the same conclusion as I did.

"Does Malcolm still work here?" he asked the silver-haired man.

Lestrade turned to him and shook his head, just as the DI's text alert went off. "He had a stroke the day after you yelled at him. He's still undergoing rehabilitation. He's not expected to come back." He paused as he typed on his phone. "You know, it took them a while to find a replacement." He put the mobile back in his jacket pocket and turned to look Sherlock in the eye. "So please be gentle to the new pathologist. Let's ease her into… well, your ways, all right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine."

The lift doors opened, and the two men walked down the long and empty corridor. A faint but clearly female voice wafted out from the morgue.

"Is that her?" the consulting detective asked.

"Yes. Please, please, don't terrorise her, OK? She has a promising future here. And she's really good, even if she's young and looks delicate."

"Young and delicate? Bit strange for someone who cuts up cadavers for a living, isn't it?" he remarked as he opened the morgue doors.

He stopped in his tracks and watched the petite, light-brown-haired woman dictate her notes to the tape recorder in her hand. He listened to her voice and noted the confidence with which she delivered her observations. His gaze followed her left hand—the third finger of which was devoid of a ring, he observed—as she put the tape recorder down on the trolley and began putting the organs back into the body.

"The patient likely died of cyanide poisoning. Further toxicological analyses are required before cause of—"

"Wait," the consulting detective interrupted.

"Damn it! What did I just say?"

Ignoring Lestrade's irritated tone, he strode towards the pathologist. He stopped within a few inches of the startled woman. "How did you determine that Mr Steele died of cyanide poisoning?"

"Sorry, wh-who are you?" She turned until she caught Lestrade's eyes, prompting him to step forward and drag the taller man away until they were standing across from her.

"Sorry, Molly. He's helping me out with Mr Steele's ca—"

"What makes you think it's the cause of death?" he interrupted the DI's explanation.

The slight and delicate-looking woman stared at Sherlock for a few moments before lowering her gaze to the body on the slab. "W-well, his stomach smelt of bitter almond and contained what looks like pureed fruit or fruits. I'll have to determine what fruits were in that smoothie and if there's any poison in it. His blood was also bright deep red, sort of like a cherry, due to the increased venous haemoglobin oxygen saturation. Also, while his lungs were actually healthy, the pleurae showed signs of inflammation. I took samples of his blood, urine, brain tissue, et cetera. I still have to run tests, but cyanide poisoning is on top of the list for possible cause of death." She chewed on her lower lip. "Er, why do you want to know? Are you a detective too?"

"I'm a consulting detective. I help out the police whenever they're stumped—which is always." He turned a deaf ear to Lestrade's groan of irritation but smiled at the pathologist's tinkly giggle. "I also take on other sorts of cases, as long as they're interesting."

Nodding, she resumed her work. "I see. Anyway, I'll get started on the lab work for Mr Steele this afternoon." She darted her eyes between the two men. "Unless, of course, you need the results soon."

"It's OK, Molly. Take your—"

"Could you, though?" He flashed the grin that he usually used for women. Judging by the way she stared at him, he would not be surprised if the new pathologist was already infatuated with him.

Her cheeks turned pink and she smiled. "Sure, of course. Anything for Scotland Yard."

"Thank you, Molly. Did I get your name right?" he asked in a honeyed tone, smiling and slightly leaning forward to look into her eyes. Brown, he noted. And rapidly dilating.

She had just replaced the heart in the chest cavity when she offered him her hand. "Yes. I'm Dr Molly Hooper. Pleased to meet you."

He nodded but did not shake her bloody, gloved hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Pleased to meet you too." He grinned brightly at her. "Would you mind giving me your mobile phone number?"

She stared at Sherlock. "M-my phone number?" Colour rose to her cheeks and a shy smile formed on her lips. "Why do you want my number?"

"So I can get the lab results directly from you." Though taken aback by her disappointed frown, he shrugged it off. "I'd rather not waste my time going through Lestrade," he continued, ignoring the DI's exasperated sigh.

"All right," she answered. Biting her lower lip, she peeled off her gloves and threw them in the yellow bin. Then she pulled out a business card from her breast pocket. "Here you go," she said as she handed it to Sherlock.

He thanked her as he committed her phone numbers to memory. "Oh, one more thing: do you happen to have any spare body parts?"

"Um, no, not at the moment," she said, wrinkling her forehead. "Even if I did, I can't just give you body parts."

"Not even for science?" He gazed at her, hoping that the tender look in his eyes would melt her heart.

"No, sorry, not even for science," she maintained. "Do you boys need anything else?"

"I think I've got nearly everything I need. Do remember to text me once you've got Mr Steele's lab results."

"Will do," she replied with a bright smile.

"Excellent. Thank you for your enormous help, Dr Hooper," he said, lowering his voice and winking at her.

"Anytime. But please call me Molly." She giggled nervously and blushed. "Everyone else does."

"Absolutely." Pulling his mobile out of his coat pocket, he gave her a nod. "Afternoon, Molly." He turned on his heels and strode away from the pathologist. "Come along, Lestrade," he said as he tapped away on his phone.

"Bye, Sherlock!" she called out just before the doors closed behind him.

He paid no attention to the noise coming from Lestrade's mouth, while he composed a short message to Molly and waited for the lift. He replaced his phone in his pocket and turned to the DI. "What are you going on about?" he asked as the lift doors opened.

The older man took a deep breath and shook his head. "Nothing. What do you think of Molly?"

"Her accent indicates she grew up in the East Midlands, possibly Northamptonshire. She's in her late 20s and unmarried. Cambridge-educated, thorough, and clever. Already, she seems more competent than all the other pathologists in this hospital." He smirked. "I think she's going to be an invaluable asset to my work."

"Right. Do you think she's pretty?"

He turned to the DI and furrowed his brows. "You aren't thinking of being unfaithful to your wife, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm just curious, because you made a point to mention that she's unmarried. Are you attracted to her?" Lestrade grinned and winked at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not. You know I'm married to my work. To answer your question, she's aesthetically pleasing. But I'm more fascinated with her cleverness and competence. I didn't think the single bowl on the dish drainer would be relevant to the case. But it now is, due to Mr Steele's stomach contents. Malcolm wouldn't have noted that."

"Come on, Malcolm wasn't that bad. But you're not attracted to Molly?"

"No, not at all. I do wonder if she could lend me some fingers for experimentation."

Lestrade shook his head and sighed. "Not unless your brother intervenes. But do you at least think her eyes are pretty?"

Sherlock groaned in annoyance. "No, I don't," he insisted. "Come on," he said as he strode out of the lift. "We need to interrogate Mr Steele's personal assistant."