Molly looked around the pub where the geography seminar was taking place, before heading to the bar and ordering a half pint of Guinness. Then she edged her way to the room upstairs and took a seat towards the back.
An older gentleman with a shock of white hair on his head smiled at her and walked over.
"First evening joining us?" he asked holding out a hand. "I'm David Parker. Welcome to our little club."
"Oh, thank you," she said shaking his hand. "Um, Molly Hooper. I'm…just trying things out."
"Always good to have some new blood in the group," he said. He leaned forward. "If I hear another seminar on the Galapagos, I may resort to drastic measures. What's your field of study?"
"Pathology, actually," she said. David blinked and she laughed a little awkwardly. "I'm, ah, trying something new."
"Well, that's, well," he chuckled a bit. "We're happy to have you, Molly. Any geographic regions you fancy in particular?"
"I've always rather liked deserts," she said hesitantly.
"Oh, we haven't had a good look at a desert in some time," he said nodding. "Excellent. I'll look forward to hearing from you on the subject."
"I'm not-" she tried to protest, but he walked off greeting another member. Molly fell silent and sipped her drink, wondering if she'd made a mistake in coming,
You're already here, so you might as well stay, she told herself and she settled in to watch the other members arrive.
She blinked in surprise when Sally Donovan came in shortly before the seminar was to start. She greeted a few people briefly and when she looked around the room, her eyes widened when she spotted Molly. Molly just raised her glass a little. Sally blinked and then headed her way.
"Hey," Sally said looking confused. "So…"
"Just giving it a go," Molly said quickly. "I…wanted to learn something different."
Sally thought for a second and then nodded. "I know what you mean."
"Do you want, um, a seat?" Molly asked, shifting her coat.
"Yeah, all right," Sally said with a shrug before sitting down.
They sat in relative silence and listened to the others give talks and slowly, Molly found herself relaxing. An older woman in a lime green pashmina shawl gave a lovely talk, complete with a Powerpoint presentation, on the Mariana Trench that had Molly leaning forward in her seat.
Her talk was followed by short talk on the coastline of Madagascar and Molly clapped respectfully along with the others.
David Parker got up, thanked them all for coming and ended with a 'Please, come down and join us for a pint, everyone.'
Molly glanced at Sally who was looking at her thoughtfully.
"Are you here for a case?" Molly asked hesitantly.
"No," Sally said. "We helped them out last year and it's interesting and, well, I was told that I should try something new."
"By who?" Molly asked.
Sally made a face. "My nan. She says I need to do more than just chase after unsavoury types."
"Mine calls me asking if I still cut up dead bodies," Molly said.
Sally snorted and nodded. "So, you're not here for a case, then?"
"No, this is for me," Molly said firmly.
"Nice, me, too," Sally said getting to her feet. "Pint, then?"
A half hour later, Molly had met most of the other members of the group and had tentatively signed herself up to give a talk on Death Valley at a meeting in three weeks' time.
She found herself back by Sally and blinking a little. Sally just laughed.
"They're an enthusiastic bunch, aren't they?" she said to Molly.
"It's somewhat refreshing," Molly said looking around. "I'm used to, well, you know what I'm used to."
"Tell me about it," Sally said. "No one tends to stand up and express their opinions at you, do they?"
Molly giggled above the rim of her glass. "Not as such."
"Unless, of course, the great ponce detective turns up," Sally said starting to glower.
Molly set her pint down. "Sally-"
"I know, I know. I know, all right? I shouldn't let it get to me," she said holding up her hands. "It's just… God, do you know what it's like being a woman in a traditionally male profession?"
Molly paused, her drink halfway to her lips, and said in a dry tone, "No, Sally, haven't a clue."
Sally winced. "Right. Sorry. So, you do know. And so you know that feeling like they're all just waiting for you to screw up?"
"The one where they try to look like they aren't watching over your shoulder but really are watching over your shoulder?" Molly said.
"That's the one," Sally said. "Well, imagine it's your second month on the job, you've just found something horrendous, but you know precisely how to start the investigation, you've made your list, you're about to present it to your guv, when this pale, tweaked out mess of a fellow comes out of nowhere, says a bunch of nonsense that happens to solve your case and then proceeds to rip your entire background to shreds in front of the team you've been working your arse off to impress."
"And he's still breathing?" Molly asked, her eyebrows rising. She'd always suspected that something like that had happened, but had never had the courage to ask either party. Hell, Sherlock had probably deleted the entire thing anyway.
"It was a close thing," Sally said flatly. She set her pint down on the table with a clunk. "I'm not stupid, Molly. And I'm honestly not one to ignore a lead just because the source is questionable, but there is something about that man that just…argh."
"I know the feeling," Molly said. "But look. The man has no impulse control or internal filter and he is never going to change."
Sally waited before saying, "That's it? Did you just tell me to suck it up and deal with it?"
"Yep," Molly said with a sigh. "I've found my life has gotten much nicer since I did that."
Sally frowned. "That's bollocks."
"On the plus side, it'll drive him mad wondering what he did to encourage such neutrality," Molly said.
"Ooh, that's a thought," Sally said brightening. She shook her head. "Right. You're right. And Christ, I come to these meetings so I don't think about work and here I am, thinking about work."
"Sorry, my fault," Molly said.
"No, it's mine," Sally said. "I need to let things go. Therefore, no more talk about the blokes at work or the blokes that I arrest or the blokes that interfere with investigations."
"A sort of 'Sally's Okey-Dokey No Place for Blokies Karoake'?" Molly offered. "Without the karaoke, of course."
"A fan of Miranda Hart's, are we?" Sally said grinning.
"A fan of adding 'are we' to the ends of sentences, are we?" Molly retorted.
When Sally dissolved into actual giggles, Molly couldn't help but join in and another weight she hadn't known was on her shoulders lifted, too.
She arrived home a bit later and more squiffy than she'd planned on, but she was smiling when she crawled under her duvet and fell asleep planning to research the soil layers of Death Valley for her presentation and planning to text Sally the next day to meet for coffee sometime.
Three nights following her foray into the geography group, she trudged her way up the stairs to 221B.
"Evening, everyone," she called.
"Molly!" Mary said from her position on the sofa. "You're a doctor!"
Molly froze. "Um, well. Sort of? I'm not the sort you probably want, though."
Mary waved her hand. "You'll do. Tell himself over there that I'm perfectly fine to be popping down to the shops on my own."
Molly glanced at John who was glaring at his wife with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I think that you should do whatever your OB-GYN has recommended?" Molly offered. "And always make sure you tell John when you pop out?"
"A perfectly mediated answer from Molly Hooper," Sherlock intoned from the hall, "as expected. Now, may we proceed?"
"Proceed with what, exactly?" Greg said as he came up the stairs behind Molly. "I just received a text that said: 221B. This eve. Imperative. Hiya, Molly. "
"Hullo," Molly replied and ooh, was that a bit breathless? Darn it. She hadn't actually seen him since The Kiss and apart from a few texts during the day and one very long phone conversation, she wasn't altogether sure where she stood.
But Greg just grinned at her and held out his hands to take her coat. She shrugged it off and handed it to him and he draped it and his own on the hooks.
"We are here this evening to discuss who was behind the video stream of Moriarty," Sherlock said walking to his wall covered with photos and papers.
Molly hurried over to sit next to Mary who was patting the space next to her. Greg leaned against the sofa and frowned.
"All right, then," he said to Sherlock. "On with it."
"Oh, this feels a bit like school, doesn't it?" Mary commented as she adjusted her back against the couch. "Will there be a quiz, sir?"
Sherlock gave her a quick glare and Molly bit her lips to hold in a laugh. He clicked the remote in his hand and the image of a man appeared on the screen. Molly blinked and took in the blue eyes and lean face. He looked almost delicate, but sharp somehow, the lines of his cheekbones were perfectly defined and his eyes were astonishingly blue.
"This," Sherlock said triumphantly, "is Sebastian Moran. You will recognise the name from the gentleman last year who made the attempt. This is his half-brother, same father, different mother. While the connection has never been made public, they are very much related."
He clicked the remote and Moran appeared again, this time in uniform.
"For a while, Sebastian was his own man, quickly scaling the ranks within the Army, and then accepted into the SAS," Sherlock looked out at his audience. "His specialty is sharpshooting."
"A lovely hobby," John said mildly and Mary shifted in her seat.
"Moran the Younger was a decorated soldier within the SAS and eventually specialised in engineering once he was discharged," Sherlock continued. "His mother, originally from Ireland, a teacher, in fact, moved to England when he was a young man and shall we guess who one of his young school chums was when he was growing up?"
"Moriarty," Greg said flatly.
"I believe that they kept their partnership quiet," Sherlock said. "In reserve, for something like this. I believe that I can link him to several industrial accidents and missing equipment that your team has been following, Lestrade. I'm not sure what he's planning, but, I do know this," he turned to the screen. "He is the man we're looking for."
Molly studied the picture and compared it to Sherlock's profile.
"Blimey," she muttered.
"It's like the battle of the cheekbones, isn't it?" Mary murmured.
Molly snickered and Mary grinned. Sherlock turned his head and glared.
"Ladies, if you don't mind."
"Yes, sir," Mary said while Molly said, "Sorry, sir."
Both John and Greg snorted.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Have you had any odd cases lately, Molly? Any involved with accidents in warehouses? Or the docks? Anything industrial?"
Molly frowned as she thought. "He didn't come to me, but a man in his late fifties came in as I was leaving with severe blunt force trauma to his head as a result of a steel beam falling from a piece of rigging."
"Excellent," Sherlock said. "I'll be by tomorrow to examine him."
"He's not on my schedule, Sherlock," Molly said. "He's Dr Murton's."
"No," Sherlock said. "Fix it. Only you can examine him. Bat your eyes at him and get him to switch with you."
"I'm not going to bat my eyes at Dr Murton, Sherlock," Molly said rolling said eyes. "I can just ask, you know."
He waved a hand, clearly having moved on and currently beckoning Greg over to look at something.
"I don't think he realises that the majority of people can get things done without resorting to subterfuge," Mary said in a quiet voice.
"Why would he?" Molly said. "The real world isn't as much fun for him as the one he creates in his head."
Mary snickered. "Isn't that the truth?"
Greg was nodding at whatever Sherlock was saying and pulled out his phone to make a call.
"Wish this was all over, though," Mary said, almost under her breath. Molly glanced at her and despite her words, she saw a glint in Mary's eyes as she studied the wall in front of them. It looked like…eagerness. Almost predatory. Certainly as though this was not the first time Mary had been on the trail of someone. A few more things fell into place in Molly's mind.
"You're not what you seem, are you?" Molly asked her voice quiet and calm.
Mary looked at her, at first in surprise, then with a bit of melancholy. "Is anyone in this room what they seem?"
Molly gave her a smile and nodded in understanding. No, no one in the room was exactly what they seemed. She certainly didn't look like someone who could bring a man back from the dead. She glanced around the room and her eyes fell on Greg who was pacing by the stairs, still on his mobile.
He is, she thought, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. He is exactly what he seems.
Greg looked up and met her gaze. He kept talking while he looked at her and she didn't blush or look away, she just watched him.
Eventually, a corner of his mouth quirked up a little and he winked at her. It was so quick and unexpected; a giggle was startled out of her.
"Sorry," she said waving a hand in the air when people looked over at her. "Just…gallows' humour. Or something."
"Or something," Mary said with a nudge of Molly's shoulder. "Something to share with the class?"
"No," Molly said lifting her chin. "At least…not yet."
Mary's eyes lit up and she grinned. "Are we going to need to have a girl's night out at some point?"
Molly just smiled.
After listening to Sherlock expound on his theory of keeping an eye out for any cases in and around industrial areas, the group disbanded. Molly headed out at the same time as Greg, leaving John to help Mary up off the sofa while Sherlock stared at the image of Sebastian Moran from where he perched on the edge of an armchair.
"What's this I hear about you and my DS?" he asked Molly as they headed outside.
"Oh, we're in a geography meet-up group," Molly said smiling. "Just sort of ran into each other."
"Oh, yeah," he said as they walked down Baker Street. "We had a case with them about a year ago. One of them robbed the other of some valuable maps. Caused a bit of a to do amongst the group. I half wonder if Sally doesn't go to make sure they stay on the straight and narrow."
"I think she likes not being reminded of work," Molly said. "That's why I went."
"Is this okay, then?" he asked.
"What?"
"Me walking with you," he said. "Don't want to be a bad reminder of something."
"You could never be a bad reminder of anything," she said startled and blinking up at him. "You're lovely, Greg. I like being around you." He came to a stop and just stared at her and she winced and covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, didn't mean to say quite that much. That was… I mean… I can't stop thinking about the other night and I mean that in a good way and I want it to happen again. You're not just a port in a storm. You're wonderful and… Oh, crumbs, that was a bit much, wasn't it?"
"Do you mean it?" he asked seriously. "You want this to happen?"
Molly nodded, her hand still covering her mouth.
"Then it wasn't too much," he said curling his index finger around her wrist and tugging her hand away from her mouth.
"Good," she said quietly. She realised that somehow their hands had entwined and she glanced down and then back up. He just raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Problem?'
She answered his silent query by curving her hand around his and starting to walk again.
They walked the length of an entire row of terrace houses before she spoke again.
"I'm not very good at this," she said.
"At what?" he asked.
"Dating," she said chuckling. "I honestly thought that Tom was the right bloke for me. I really, really did."
"There wasn't anything wrong with him, Molly," he said.
"No, just me," she replied.
He stopped and tugged her close. "Molly Hooper, you have lived an extraordinary life and done and seen some extraordinary things. You shouldn't settle for something just because you think you should. Which is what it seemed like with Tom and please feel free to deck me if I'm talking bollocks, yeah?"
"You're not," she said softly. "You're talking complete sense."
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said stepping in close.
"There's nothing wrong with you, either," she said, tipping her head back to meet his eyes.
He laughed and looked down at his shoes. "Well, that's up for debate."
"No," she said tugging on his hand. "It's not."
He looked up at her with something like bashfulness and said, "I'd like to try this out, Molly. I know the timing is crap, and I won't have anything resembling free time in the foreseeable future, but I'd like to go for it. What do you say?"
This is it, Molly, my girl, she thought. Now or never.
She rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his and then dropped back down. "Let's go for it, then."
The grin she got in return was nearly blinding and the kiss that followed sent sparks through her nervous system and she found herself giggling somewhat madly into his mouth. He pulled back with a grin.
"Every impulse I have is telling me to get you to a bed this minute," he said pressing his forehead to hers.
Molly's eyes widened and he shook his head.
"Yeah, I know. We're gonna go slow, yeah?" he said. "Might be a good idea for me, too."
"Yeah," she said nodding. "Slow is…probably best?"
"Yeah," he said. He made a face. "God, I hate being responsible."
Molly grinned and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "I know, but it's a very good look for you. Sexy, even."
"Oh, well in that case," he said, leaning down to kiss her again. They both froze when his stomach rumbled. "Christ. I can't remember when I last ate. I'm starving. You?"
"Mm, yeah," she said remembering her sad little lunch of Ryvita's and cream cheese.
"What do you fancy?" he asked starting to walk backwards down the pavement, pulling her along.
"Could really go for a chicken tikka, if I'm honest," she said.
"Curry night at Weatherspoon's too working class for you?" he asked.
"You kidding?" she said smiling. "They have far better cheesecake than the posh places. Lead on, Detective Inspector."
True to his word, Sherlock arrived the following day shortly before noon to check on the body Molly mentioned the night before. He swooped into the morgue in his usual fashion, John sporting a slight abrasion on his cheek and Greg holding a handkerchief to a cut on his right eyebrow.
"Oh, my God!" Molly said, staring at his brow and wanting to go over, but couldn't due to her hands being full with stitching the man on her table back up. "What - ?"
"Some lads took exception to us asking them some questions down by the river," Greg said with a grin. "It's fine."
"You're bleeding," she countered.
"Don't worry," he said. "I've had worse."
"Oddly enough, I don't find that very comforting," she said tying off her last suture on the Y-incision.
"Don't fuss, Molly," Sherlock said coming to stare down at the body. "It's brilliant!"
"How is that brilliant?" Molly asked.
"We've got them on the defensive," Sherlock said, a gleam coming to his eyes. "They know we're on to them."
"Or they were just naturally suspicious of the coppers coming knocking," Greg said. "We don't have anything to actually link them to Moran or Moriarty. At the moment, I'm only holding them because they took a swing at me, not because of any evidence of any wrongdoing."
"We'll find it," Sherlock said. "Molly, tell me everything."
"Well, I've run the tests you asked for and they're all negative," Molly said handing the printouts to Sherlock. "This was truly an industrial accident."
"Impossible," he said sharply, his eyes scanning the documents.
"Sorry, the data is saying otherwise," she said. "The impact of the beam on his head is what killed him. It hit him bang on his forehead and the damage is consistent with what happens when something very heavy hits you after falling from a great height and can I please fix that?"
She stopped looking at Sherlock and focussed back on Greg who was still dabbing at his head wound and making an utter mess of it.
He lowered his handkerchief and smirked. "Not tidy enough for you, Doctor Hooper?"
"No," she said firmly. "Go sit down and let me clean you up."
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," he said slowly, his smirk easing into a grin and oh, didn't that do something inexplicably lovely and flirty to her insides? She gave him a quick glare that was most likely derailed by the blush in her cheeks and grabbed her first aid supplies.
"Feel free to run the tests again," she told Sherlock who was still scrutinizing the reports. "And look at the wound to your heart's content."
Greg had perched on a stool and when she approached him, he deftly lowered the seat, so she stood over him just enough to get to his forehead easily.
"Thanks," she muttered.
"You're welcome," he said back, his voice going into that low register that made her skin tingle and her pulse simmer.
She bit her lip and opened a sterile wipe packet, then gently cleaned around the wound, making sure to wipe up the streaks of blood down the side of his face. She got a new wipe and frowned as she cleaned the wound itself.
Greg winced slightly and she cringed.
"Sorry," she said. "Been awhile since I've done this to someone who can actually feel it."
"It's fine," he said. "Been awhile since anyone's fussed over me."
Her frown deepened. "I'm sorry. That's not good."
"Well, can't say I didn't have a hand in the whole mess," he said, smiling a little.
"Still," she said. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of the -" she paused, because she didn't really know how to classify his wife's affairs without sounding mean, so she settled on " - the bad stuff."
"Yeah, well," he said. "It wasn't all bad, you know. Once upon a time, it was good. Really good. Was actually happy for a while there."
Molly smiled and stepped a bit closer to inspect the wound's depth. "I'm glad. You should be happy. You deserve it."
"So do you," he said simply.
Molly suddenly realised that she was very close indeed and that his hands were oh so lightly, grasping her hips. It was a gentle warmth and it completely flooded her body. She felt her cheeks warm and she bit her lip to hold back a smile. They'd ended their dinner the previous night with a chaste kiss before Molly caught the Tube back to her house and while she was happy they were taking things slowly, she found herself eagerly wanting time with him. And judging from the way he was looking at her and flexing his hands on her hips, he felt the same.
"Is this you still taking things slow?" she asked as calmly as she could, carefully holding a piece of gauze to his brow then affixing some tape to the edges.
"No," he said. "This - me touching you - is just because I couldn't stand not touching you. But I can stop if you want me to."
When she felt like she had enough internal equilibrium, she lowered her eyes to look at him and he grinned up at her and she knew that she'd probably do anything for him when he grinned like that at her and suspected he knew it.
"I don't want you to stop," she said not able to hold back a giggle. "And you really are such a lad."
"'Fraid so, Doctor," he said, his hands tightening slightly on her hips. "Think you can stand another evening with me?"
"Think I can make the effort," she said.
"If you two are quite finished, there is a criminal mastermind at play in the Greater London area and time is of the essence, inspector," Sherlock droned from the door having finished examining the body. "I need to go back to inspect the scaffolding that struck that man."
Molly sighed and said, "It's fine, I'm done."
She pressed a kiss to Greg's forehead and he smiled up at her.
"That to make it all better?" he asked.
"Naturally," she said lightly.
"I'll ring you," he said getting to his feet and heading towards the door that Sherlock had already swept through.
"Please do," she replied with a grin.
The following saw Molly back at the geography meet-up, seated towards the back with Sally. They did their best to listen to a lovely woman in her seventies named Matilda discuss Antarctica. She seemed to spend an enormous amount of time discussing types of snow which Molly found to be on the excessive side.
"Good Lord," Sally muttered. "I always thought there were two kinds of snow. Grey and yellow."
Molly swallowed a snicker. "I think we need to leave the city more often."
"You may have a point," Sally replied.
They sat and listened for another minute before Molly said quickly under her breath, "You should probably know that I'm sort of dating Greg."
Sally turned to look at her and then said, "About bloody time. The man needs someone nice and you need to get laid."
"Sally!"
"Am I wrong?"
"No, but that's not the point," Molly said, flustered. "I just wanted to tell you about it, and make sure it's well, okay."
"Would you stop dating him if it wasn't?" Sally asked.
"Not a chance," Molly said.
"Good for you. As long as we still keep these as No Blokies evenings, and you promise to never tell me any details," Sally said, "we're good."
"Good," Molly said with a smile. They listened to Matilda talk for a while longer until Molly said, "She really likes snow, doesn't she?"
"She really does."
Life went on.
Molly went to work, then to 221B for more 'war councils', and gave, in her opinion, a rather good presentation on Death Valley complete with diagrams and photos at the geography meet-up. For the first time in ages, she felt she had a life of her own that ishe/i directed.
It felt incredible.
She'd forgotten that feeling of ownership, of empowerment, of knowing that the motions you went through day after day were yours and yours alone.
She also managed to spend some wonderful hours with Greg, talking, eating, watching terrible movies from the 1970s, and she was fairly sure that she'd never made out this much with one person in her entire life.
Oh, she loved kissing him. He knew the exact way to touch her that made her boneless in his arms and she couldn't get enough.
Things hadn't progressed much further than that and while Molly had been more than happy to keep things slow at first, now she felt a simmering just beneath her skin and wondered just how one went about asking your boyfriend if they could move things along, please and thank you.
Almost a month to the day that they'd first kissed, Molly came to the conclusion that she should just say it flat out when he came over later for dinner.
She stopped short of actually practicing the words out loud as she finished up weighing Mr Jenner's kidneys. Her mobile rang as she took her gloves off and she managed to tap the speaker phone when she saw that it was Greg calling.
"Hi!" she called out.
"Molly, we think we've got him," Greg said breathlessly, sounding as though he was running. "We're going to end this today, I think."
"What? Really? How?" Molly asked.
"Well, it's something to do with explosives and water and the-"
"Thames Barrier!" Sherlock yelled in the background.
"Oh, bloody hell," Molly said flatly.
"I'll come by when this is sorted," Greg said quickly.
"Go! And be careful, yeah?" Molly said worried.
"Of course," he said and she could practically hear the grin in his voice.
She hung up and rolled her eyes. Well. All right, then. She slipped her phone into her coat pocket and figured jumping your boyfriend after he'd brought down a criminal mastermind was probably as good as any time. She smiled as she went back to her examination.
An hour later, she'd just tied off her last stitch on Mr Jenner and was washing her hands when the door to the morgue creaked open. Blimey. Saving the world hadn't taken very long.
"That was fast," she said turning. She blinked in surprise at the sight of a deliveryman holding a small parcel. "Oh! Sorry, thought you were someone else. Can I help you?"
"Yeah, got a parcel for Dr Hooper," he said looking down at his clipboard, the brim of his cap shading his eyes.
"Oh, that's me," she said drying her hands. "Just a sec."
"No worries," he said leaning against an examining table.
She finished drying her hands and walked over to him. "Surprised they let you come in," she commented, taking the clipboard from him to scrawl her name in the box. "They usually keep the parcels at reception."
"They seemed a bit busy and just waved me through," he said.
"Hmm," she said, her hand tightening on the clipboard. She paused. Took a deep breath and looked up.
The deliveryman raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "Is there a problem, miss?" he asked mildly.
"No, no problem," she said. "It's just…you have lovely cheekbones."
"My mother always said they were my best feature," he said, starting to smile.
"Well, she wasn't wrong," Molly said proud of herself for sounding so nonchalant as Sebastian Moran smiled at her.
