The week passed very slowly for Sherlock. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, as the time grew closer to Friday night, he grew both more apprehensive and more excited.
You do not like sentiment of any kind, he told himself sternly several times, but for some reason his logical thinking was not quite as in control as it usually was.
Sherlock reached the library at his usual time. Molly was not there, and he felt a little twinge of disappointment. He walked through the stacks and found the volume of Jack the Ripper he had been reading the previous week. When he returned to the table, his heart gave an involuntary leap. She was there, and she looked as if she was waiting for him, standing near the spot he had occupied the previous week.
"Hi," she said softly, holding out her hand. "Here's your hanky. I washed it."
Sherlock took it from her. "Thank you." He sat down and then patted the seat next to himself. "Care to join me?" Now why did I do that? he wondered. Why am I trying to prolong this acquaintance?
She smiled at him. She has an extraordinarily sweet smile, he thought, then wondered why sentiment continued to creep into his thoughts. He hastily added, "Of course, you don't need to. You might have other plans."
She twirled a piece of hair nervously around her finger as she responded, taking the seat he had indicated. "Actually, no. My plan was to be here with you right now."
Again he felt a little leap of his heart. He did not really know why she would even want to get to know him. He knew his own reputation on campus for being completely cold and logical, lacking emotion of any kind. Abruptly he asked, "Why?"
She seemed a little taken aback at that and pursed her lips. "I...I don't really know. Maybe because I enjoyed our conversation last week? I don't have many friends."
His lips twisted slightly. "Well, I don't have any friends. I don't go in for that sort of thing," he said a little wistfully. Wistfully? What the hell? He didn't want friends.
Apparently interpreting that note in his voice, Molly offered shyly, looking at him with large, coffee-coloured eyes that seemed to stare into his soul, "I'd be willing to be your friend - if you would let me."
And suddenly he found himself saying, totally against the cold, logical advice of his brain, "I'd like that."
He found himself talking with Molly about the things he was doing in his postgraduate course. With her interest in pathology, she was completely absorbed. She told him a little about herself, and what a shock it had been to learn of her father's cancer diagnosis. Sherlock, who usually was interested in nothing beyond his own studies, found he felt sorry for this young woman who was facing the prospect of losing her father at an early age.
They talked until it was time for the library to close, and suddenly, Sherlock found himself doing something very odd.
"If you would like some help with your studies, I'd be happy to assist you," he offered.
Molly looked at him and bit her lip. "You'd really be willing to help me?"
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. He suddenly felt as if he must get to know this young woman better. She was - interesting. "Why not? My course is very easy. I have plenty of spare time and I often suffer from boredom. Perhaps helping you would alleviate that somewhat."
"When are you available?" she asked, raising a hand to her hair and playing with it absently, as she had done earlier. Obviously a nervous habit of hers, he reflected.
He leaned towards her slightly, looking at her intently. "As I said, I have no friends. I spend all my evenings in my flat, except for my Fridays in the library." On a sudden impulse he added, "If you want to come to my flat, I could offer you coffee or tea while I help you study."
Molly's hand stilled from twirling her hair, and instead, she folded her hands into her lap primly. "I'm not sure I should go to your flat. People might talk."
Sherlock was disappointed. For some reason he really wanted to get to know her away from the campus. "Nobody has to know," he pressed. "My flat is very close to campus, only a few minutes walk. Who would know? Of course, I'd walk you back there afterwards if it was dark."
She hesitated. He knew she was about to refuse, so he reached over and laid a hand over her clasped ones. "Didn't you say you wanted to be my friend? You could be my only friend." He tried to make his tone persuasive.
And she capitulated, just as he had hoped she would. "Alright. When...when should I come?"
He thought a moment. He decided it might be better if she came on a weeknight, when the campus didn't have as much foot traffic, so she would be less likely to be seen wandering off. "Monday? Or Tuesday?"
"I have a singing lesson on Mondays, so Tuesday would be better," she responded.
"You sing?" he asked in surprise. There was obviously more to Molly than met the eye.
She blushed slightly, as if embarrassed at divulging something so personal. "I've always loved singing. I've sung in church since I was little, but it isn't something I'd choose as a career. It's a difficult field to get into."
He only half heard her. She had said a very disturbing word - church. Sherlock didn't believe in God. He was a man of science. So much for them having a lot in common. He really hoped they wouldn't get into one of those types of discussions. He blinked, trying to focus on what she had said.
"Sherlock?" Her tone was slightly confused.
His lips quirked. "Sorry, my mind tends to wander sometimes. So, you were saying Tuesday then?"
'Yes, if you are sure you want me to come." Her voice was uncertain, and he suspected she was wondering if she had bored him already, because he had drifted off into his mind palace during their conversation.
"I'm sure, Molly," he said hastily, wanting to reassure her that he was not at all bored by her. She looked a little flustered by the way he had said her name, almost as if he was caressing the syllables.
The librarian made some loud noises, clearing her throat, indicating that it was time for them to leave.
Sherlock and Molly collected their things. On the steps of the library, Sherlock gave Molly his address, which she quickly jotted down. "What time?"
"Depends if you want to have dinner first." She seemed startled by the suggestion, and he added quickly, "I mean, I could pick up some chips to eat for us. There's a fish and chip shop down the street. I love chips."
Her lips curved upwards and a dimple appeared in her cheek. Sherlock decided he really liked the way Molly smiled. "Alright then. I like chips as well. Is six too early?"
"Six is perfect. It's a date...I mean, I'll see you then," he said awkwardly. Where had that come from? "Yes, our study date, of course," he amended quickly, feeling his fingers twitch nervously. He did not want her to think he had any ulterior motives. But do I? he wondered silently as she waved goodbye and he felt the blood pulsing in his veins. Sherlock had the distinct feeling she could turn his whole ordered world upside down if he allowed her to, and he wasn't sure whether that was something he wanted or not. Only time would tell, he supposed. He would just take things one day at a time and not try to overthink them.
It was a very pensive Sherlock who made his way home that night.
Over the weekend Sherlock decided he should tidy his flat. The first thing he needed to do was hide the evidence of his recreational drug habit. He did not want to spoil this budding friendship by putting her off. He had the feeling that she would not approve. If she knew he indulged in the habit, she'd probably be gone immediately. He also smoked at times, another thing he suspected she would not like. He got rid of all the evidence of both habits, putting the cigarette packet and syringes and the like into his bedside drawer. He felt no desire for the high or the stimulant, at least not right now. His thoughts seemed a little too occupied with the petite medical student.
Sherlock opened the windows to his flat, despite the weather being cold, in an effort to air out the stale smell of smoke. He wished he had confined his smoking to outside, but, well, he had not expected to invite anyone over to his flat. At least he had restricted his smoking to the small sitting room area.
Sherlock cleaned off his kitchen table as well so there would be room for them to study, dumping used coffee and tea cups into the sink and throwing away leftover Chinese take-away cartons. He was rather relieved he confined his experiments to the uni labs.
When he was done with the cleaning, Sherlock decided the flat had never looked more tidy. He wasn't sure why he was going to so much trouble for a girl, but he decided not to overthink it - after all, it was just a study date to help her out.
By the time Tuesday evening rolled around, Sherlock was feeling rather nervous. He had managed to keep the flat tidy, but he was sorely tempted to have a cigarette to calm his nerves. Perhaps he could sneak one while he went to the fish and chip shop? But no, he would end up smelling of it and that would not be good. At least the flat held no trace of the stale smoke smell, the way it had days earlier.
Sherlock made his way to the shop and picked up the chips, arriving back at his flat about ten minutes before Molly was due to arrive. He put the chips and two plates on the table, then started to pace.
At exactly six o'clock, his doorbell rang and once again, he felt his heart give a little jump of anticipation. He mentally counted to ten, so he wouldn't appear too anxious, then opened the door to the girl who stood there with a pile of books in her hands.
"Come in, Molly," he invited her, opening the door wider and she entered, a little hesitantly, with a shy smile.
She was here, she had actually come.
Author's note: I know this may seem a little unusual, to have Sherlock actually interested in getting to know Molly already, when most stories show him as being completely unmoved by sentiment at this age. My excuse is that it is the more enlightened, post Sherrinford and happily married Sherlock who is dreaming this whole story, so his perceptions of himself as a uni student have become more romanticized as a result, as is his desire to get to know Molly. But who knows? Maybe she really could have had an impact on his life in a positive way if they had met earlier.
So, what do you think? I'm absolutely open to hearing different opinions. It's fun to share our own perceptions of oSherlock in his younger years, because it is so open to interpretation. I hope you are enjoying this, probably more unusual interpretation.
The review box below is calling your name and begging you to share your thoughts too on what you think might happen between them. Guest reviews, even though I cannot respond to them personally, are always welcome as well.
Follows and favourites are always appreciated as well. If you like what you read and have fellow Sherlolly fans as friends, I'd be grateful if you would direct them to my stories!