Oh, god, here he comes, Molly thought, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. She tried to appear busy with paperwork as he approached her but she kept stealing glances out of the corner of her eye. Sherlock Holmes. He's so beautiful. How can one man be so beautiful? Those dark curly locks that I just want to run my fingers through. That pale, perfect skin. Like he's made of porcelain. Like he's so fragile. I just want to hold him! And those eyes, when he looks at me I can hardly think. Oh, no, he's looking at me! She glued her eyes to the paper in front of her, refusing to look again until he stood directly in front of her and spoke.
"Any fresh bodies in today?" he asked in that silky tone that made her melt.
Stay calm, Molly. It's only a question. Just answer it. "Er, yes. There's probably one or two."
Sherlock gazed down at her, staring her in the eye. She could feel a nervous nausea creeping up on her.
"Show me."
"O-okay," she stuttered, "Um, right this way."
Molly stole a deep breath to control her nerves and stood from her chair. He looked at her intensely, studying her every detail in curiosity. It was something he did often and it left her feeling both flattered and on edge. She started to move, leading him out of her small office and downstairs to the mortuary. He stayed on her heels the whole trip and she conjured up every ounce of self control she possessed to contain herself.
Sherlock walked absent-mindedly, barely paying attention to where he was going, but Molly was distinctly aware of his presence the whole time. She was alert, anxious, and excited that he had cause to speak to her. She opened the door to the mortuary and allowed him to go first. He even smells wonderful. Like chemicals. She followed him in, letting the heavy, metal door close behind her.
"Here, on this table," she said, leading him to a body bag laying on a metal surgical table.
Sherlock walked around the table to stand at the head. He examined the bag before unzipping it halfway to peer inside.
"How fresh?" he asked, holding the bag open as he studied the body.
"Just in," Molly replied, eager to please. She walked around the table to Sherlock's side as she continued talking. " Sixty-seven. Natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."
Sherlock zipped up the bag.
"Fine, we'll start with the riding crop," he replied, turning to her with a smile that made her heart palpitate.
"Oh! Riding crop. Well, I'll just… I'll," she pointed toward the exit but his attention had already shifted away from her.
She walked toward the door, shoulders slumped and spirit crushed. He never gave her a second glance or a second thought. Is there something wrong with me? I'm so stupid. I don't think he even saw me. He was looking but he could've been talking with a plank of wood and had the same conversation. What will it take to get him to see me? To notice me in the way I want him to? She slipped through the door, hearing a resonant click as it shut behind her, when she had a thought. Oh! What if I… I could try something subtle. Like make-up. Maybe he'll be more interested in me then. Maybe I'll hold his interest for more than a few seconds.
She bit her lip as she thought, mulling it over. After a few minutes, Molly decided that her idea couldn't hurt and jogged up the stairs to the ground floor. She beelined to her office and shut the door behind her to ward away anyone with questions. She plopped down at her desk and opened the bottom right drawer to a set of spare clothes, a toothbrush, a bottle of anti-anxiety medication, and a few cosmetic supplies. She spent a lot of her time at Bart's so she started keeping a few things around just in case she had somewhere to be just after work. She almost never did.
There wasn't much of a selection but she didn't want to put too much on, just enough to get her noticed. She picked up a tube of lipstick that was a more modest shade of red, plucking off the plastic cap off of the top to examine the color more closely. Is this too red? Not red enough? I used to be so sure. I used to be a lot of things… This will have to be good enough. It's the only one I have. She grabbed a compact from the drawer, twisted the bottom of the tube, and applied it carefully. She didn't want it dark so she applied just enough so that it made a slight change. She checked her handiwork in the compact before storing it away. Maybe he'll see me now.
Molly closed the drawer securely and quickly fixed her clothes before heading back to the mortuary. She slowed her pace as she walked around the outside of the room Sherlock was in, watching him through the window. She stopped in her tracks, becoming absorbed in his actions.
He had taken off his scarf and coat, leaving him in his suit with a riding crop in hand. The body he picked for experimentation was lying on the table, being repeatedly abused by the force of the riding crop on its cold flesh. Sherlock's face contorted with the strain of each strike. Molly flinched each time the crop connected with its target, a pained grimace on her face. That looks like it hurts. Oh! Oh, god! I can't. I mean, I knew him! Oh! It's… It's for science, I guess.
She frowned, moving away from the window to enter the mortuary. She walked up to Sherlock hesitantly as he finished what he was doing. He set the riding crop down on the table, slightly out of breath. What do I say to him?
"So, bad day, was it?" she asked, mentally berating herself as soon as the words left her mouth.
He didn't look up as he spoke, completely ignoring her comment.
"I need to know what bruises form within the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me," he said, pulling out a notepad and pen, writing down observations.
Just look at him. He's so pretty. And right there. C'mon, Molly. Do something! Ask him out. What's the worst he could say? No? That's not so bad. I'd just respect his wishes and go back to admiring him from afar. Do it, Molly. Now or never. She stole a deep breath.
"Listen, I was wondering," she started, catching his attention. "Maybe, when you're finished-"
He glanced up at her for a millisecond, about to go back to his notepad, when he did a double take. He spoke, cutting her off mid sentence.
"Are you wearing lipstick?" he asked, his nose crinkling as he inspected her. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."
Oh, no! He noticed! No, wait, that's what I wanted. Play it cool. Wave it off.
"I, uh… I refreshed it a bit."
He quickly looked her over again before resuming his note taking. "Sorry, you were saying?"
This is it. I can do this. Remember, the worst he can say is no.
Her expression shifted to a determined one. " I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"
He closed his notepad, taking a breath for a reply. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."
He turned and strode out of the mortuary without looking at her again. She was left there, watching as he walked away. She was dumbstruck and numb, trying to figure out what just happened. The door had already closed behind him by the time she found her voice.
"Okay," she managed in a small, almost squeaky tone.
That… that was much worse than no. Her lip quivered, tears welling up in her eyes, but she bit her lip and choked her emotions down. She turned and tentatively left the mortuary, still trying to cope. What will it take? She walked up to the ground floor toward the coffee machine. All I see is him but he barely knows I exist. If he didn't need me for the bodies, he wouldn't see me at all. She paused, stumbling to a stop in the middle of a hallway as an unconventional thought occurred to her. That's it, isn't it? Dead bodies. That's all he's interested in. How can I make that work to my advantage?
She shook her head and continued on her route, still thinking. There are only two ways a plan like that would work. One would be for me to be a dead body which is ridiculous and completely contradicts the whole point. The other would be for me to make dead bodies for him which is silly! She almost laughed but her sadness from being rejected dampened that. I mean, I could never kill anyone, could I? No… of course not… It… It wouldn't be worth it. Would it? I can't believe I'm thinking about this.
She glanced at the passing people nervously, as if they might be able to hear her thoughts. She walked into the staff room where a few doctors were relaxing during the small amount of time they had available to do so. The coffee machine rested on a counter surrounded by cream and sugar packets and an assortment of mismatched mugs. She picked up the closest one, a brown, spotted mug, and filled it with the pre-made coffee, still warm in the pot. She replaced the half empty pot in the machine, added two sugar packets, and stirred it together, all while deep in thought.
Killing. Of course I couldn't kill anyone. Still, it would be more effective in getting me noticed. All I ever see him do, all that ever makes him happy, is working on cases. Maybe… if I gave him a case. Not just any case. A good one. An interesting one. It would make his day! To see him smile, knowing I'm the reason why! A bubbly feeling surged up inside her, one that churned her stomach in a pleasant way. Once again, she almost smiled until she remembered what she was smiling about. No, that's awful! I don't know what's gotten into me lately.
Molly sighed, picking up the mug in preparation to leave until she saw her reflection in a small mirror on the wall. The lipstick she wore taunted her, as if telling her that no matter how much effort she put in, she would never have him. She set down the mug for a second to grab a nearby napkin to wipe it off. Once it had all been removed, she trashed the napkin, picked up the mug, and carried it to where she knew he would be.
She was nervous and eager to see him again, to the point that it made her feel ill. She was terrified about what he would say to her. Well, it's hard to make this much worse. She opened the door to the lab to see Mike, Sherlock, and a man she didn't know seemingly in the middle of a conversation. Sherlock was typing furiously on the small keyboard of a cell phone and only noticed that she'd walked in when he finished. He handed the phone to the other man, the one with the cane and the sandy hair, before turning to her.
"Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you," he looked up at her as she handed him the mug. "What happened to the lipstick?"
She glanced around nervously before answering. "It wasn't working for me."
"Really?" he asked, turning around to walk back to his work space. "I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now."
She stared at his back as he continued to walk away, jaw slack in astonishment. "Okay…"
She turned on her heel and walked out again, no more hesitation left in her. There were no tears, no sadness, just anger and acceptance. She marched out of the lab with her head held high and made her way back to the mortuary. She brought herself to an ultimate decision with a lot of thanks to Sherlock.
I can't put up with him anymore! I wish I could just drop him but I can't. He never leaves my mind! If I can't forget him, I'll have to change him. No more meek little Molly. I won't be walked over anymore. I'll impress him so much that he'll have to notice me, have to love me. If all he cares about are dead bodies, I'll give him some. I'll give him some of the most impressive murders wrapped in a bow with his name on them and he's going to fall in love with the mastermind behind them. Me.