Summary: "And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." Scenarios in which Sherlock is utterly oblivious.

Rating: T for this one

Disclaimer: BBC Sherlock and all characters from the programme belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

Quick AN: Thanks so much for the positive reviews! They're all very much appreciated- I'm thrilled I made some of you giggle! This one's not as humourous, but I felt like writing a bit of Molly, so here it is. (Although, no, I'm not a Sherlock/Molly fan. I'm all for Johnlock, but Molly as an individual has always made me smile, what with her quirkiness. It's rather cute, I think.


Chapter 2: Meaning

John Watson was not clueless when it came to women. What he lacked in height he made up with playful banter- wooing women with his words rather than his body. Because no, he wasn't the most fit man in England, and no, he wasn't tall enough for a date to be able to stand on her tip-toes just to be able to kiss him. John knew this, and he spent much of his young adult life longing to excel in the physical department of being a boyfriend. After attending medical school and joining the military, though, he realised he got on just fine without these traits. He could flirt with women like there was no tomorrow, and in return, women flirted right back. (With the exception of Anthea, of course...What the hell was on her mobile phone that entranced her so?)

Sherlock, however, did not share this skill.

Not that he needed to, really- he had made it very clear the first day they met that he had no interest seeking a romantic relationship of any sort. Still, as John watched Molly Hooper's hopeless flirtatious advances towards the consulting detective, he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock even knew what she was doing.

Molly was wringing her hands together, watching the taller man inspect the dead body on the lab table, "Sherlock, I was wondering"-

"Not now, John."

John's cheeks flushed and he quickly gave an apologetic glance towards Molly.

She fidgeted, "It's Molly."

"Mm," was his only reply.

Another silent minute passed before Sherlock promptly straightened his posture, striding over to fetch his scarf, "Right then, I think I've got everything. Come along, John."

John nodded and followed him towards the door, before lingering back a moment. He looked over at the awkward pathologist and couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl, "Actually, Sherlock, I think Molly was trying to ask you something."

Sherlock, who was already half-way out the door, flipped his head back instantly, glaring at John with utmost exasperation. The ex-army doctor merely gave a stern look in return, (one that a parent might give a disobedient child) and after a few seconds of battling with their stares, Sherlock groaned and pushed his way back into the morgue.

He stared at Molly expectantly.

She bit her lip and teetered on the heels of her feet precariously, "Um, I was wondering, maybe you'd like to have coffee some time?"

Sherlock straightened his collar, "We've just had coffee."

"I meant with me."

"We've just had coffee," he repeated.

"I meant without John, I mean maybe this weekend, outside of work. I know it's not your thing, but it could be fun- I'm fun. I don't mean fun as in fun, I mean"-

"Please stop saying 'mean', Molly. You're rambling again."

Molly stuffed her hands in her lab coat pockets, "Er- sorry. Um, so what do you say?"

"Oh, no. Keep the body free of examination, would you? I don't want Anderson to go poking around and ruining the evidence," Sherlock nodded to her, "Afternoon, Molly Hooper."

Molly simply began wringing her hands together once more, obviously not phased by his rejection, and nodded back with a small grin. So this is normal, then. It's happened before, John thought, because anyone one with a functioning brain could have deducted that much.

"Sherlock!" he scolded as soon as they were out of hearing distance.

Sherlock was typing away on his phone, "Hmm?"

"That wasn't nice, Sherlock," he stated simply, rubbing his temple in frustration.

"What wasn't?"

John sighed, "Back there, what you said to Molly. The poor girl's trying to ask you for a date and you flat out say 'no'!"

"Was she?" Sherlock asked, scrunching up his face in what looked like disgust, "Do dates usually involve sitting 'round and drinking coffe? Rather dull, don't you think?"

"That's not the point, Sherlock."

He brushed a curl from his face as the cool air nipped at their noses, "I didn't know she was implying that, John," he paused for a moment, "Honest."

"For someone so smart, you really are an idiot, you know that?"

"Hardly. Dating is useless, John- We've been over this."

"Doesn't matter, you've got to apologise to her."

"Uhhhm, no."

"What? What do you mean no?"

"Ugh, again with all this 'mean-ing'. I mean no."

"Yes."

"No."

"Sherlock."

"John."

In the end, Sherlock had typed out a short but meaningful text under the supervision and approval of John. Sherlock wouldn't have minded so much if John hadn't forced him to add a smiley face before pressing 'send'.