Sleep did not come easily to Molly that night. Every time she got comfortable, some strange new thought would pop into her head. Sherlock's rather dramatic appearance and his sudden decision to be a human being had thrown both Molly and John. They kept trying to watch television, but in the end they decided to set up this new phone. John just kept staring at it like it was a trap or something, like Sherlock had done something to it for an experiment. That was when Molly found out that he was still shocked that Sherlock had moved all his experiments off the kitchen table while they'd been out shopping yesterday. Sherlock hadn't ever done it when John had asked before, and all he'd really asked him was to make the place more presentable. Molly couldn't understand it at all, she'd been in their flat less than 24 hours, and there was no way Sherlock was doing this to be nice or because he felt bad about being mean to her. So what was it? Maybe he just wanted to make things normal for her, to put her at ease. Molly didn't think Sherlock actually knew what normal was though.
Eventually, she was sick of tossing and turning and decided to get a drink. Usually she would have warmed up some milk, but she didn't want to disturb John sleeping on the sofa. Cold milk would be just as good, she was sure she'd seen some in the fridge earlier. She was quiet as she could be as she entered the kitchen, hoping the light from the fridge didn't wake up John. As she pulled the door open a little, she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. Spinning round, she found Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table facing the fridge. The light had fallen right on his face and he was furiously blinking to adapt to the sudden change in light levels. Molly stood by the fridge, the door swinging right open to bathe him in its yellow glow. She swallowed hard as she looked at him, hoping she hadn't annoyed him.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't sleep, I needed a drink."
Sherlock said nothing in reply. His eyes had adjusted now and he was looking up at her. It was like he was looking at her for the first time, analysing her so he could better understand her. She was now painfully aware she wasn't wearing a bra under her vest top. Folding her arms across her chest, she went to glare at him for staring, but now his eyes held hers in their strange gaze. It was like she was rooted to the spot, unable to look away from those eyes.
Having never seen her outside of more formal surroundings, either at work or that dreadful Christmas party, Sherlock took the opportunity to look at her properly now. Looking down, he took note of her bare feet. Chipped nail varnish, an electric blue by the look of it. The pyjama trousers were very loose, the light from the fridge shining through the thin material. They were clearly too big for her, especially given the way they hung off her hips. They had slid down enough to expose the top of underwear, which appeared to have owls on it. For some reason, he found that strange. Little cartoon owls on her underwear, it seemed almost childish. Maybe there was a childish streak to Molly, a fond remembrance of a childhood spent watching cartoons that she wanted to recreate. He could imagine that she had a few of those awful Disney films somewhere in her house. She probably knew all the words too.
His eyes moved up to find that her lower abdomen was exposed. Crossing her arms had caused the top to ride up, a silvery streak on her skin indicating a scar. There were still purple blotches, only in the past few years, and the location suggested an appendectomy. The folded arms pressed down hard on her chest, desperate to hide the fact she currently wore no bra. Sherlock didn't know why she cared so much; her breasts were of little interest to him. Her long fingers dug into the top of arms, the nails short, clean and well cared for. That explained the nail varnish on the toes. Couldn't have her fingernails painted, and certainly not in such a garish colour, she hid it on her feet so only she knew about it.
At last he let his eyes stop on her face. Her eyes were still fixed on him, the dilation still betraying her feelings towards him. Under her eyes, he could see the dark circles she went to great pains to conceal with makeup. Long eyelashes, usually coated in black mascara, he found were actually closer in colour to her hair. He could see a few marks on her skin, betraying the first signs of blemishes starting to form. The sides of her hair had been pulled back, but the rest hung loose. Sherlock found himself oddly intrigued by Molly. This was the first time he had ever seen her in what could be described as her natural state and it was a whirl of contradictions to what he had expected. Clothes too big, cartoon animal underwear and garish coloured toe nails that only she would ever see. It all just seemed odd to him.
A loud groan from the living room and the shuffling as John rearranged himself on the sofa made Molly jump. She broke the eye contact, her arms dropping to her sides as she tried to peer round the corner to see if John had woken up. Sherlock took a cursory look at her chest before looking back up at her concerned face, he had been right there was nothing of interest for him there. When it appeared John hadn't awoken, Molly looked back at Sherlock who just looked deeply bored now. Without a word, she shut the fridge door and hurried back to bed. As she lay there trying to sleep again, she found herself unable to shake how much Sherlock had studied her, studied her body. It was unsettling in a way, to be scrutinised by those seemingly emotionless eyes. She wasn't quite sure if this it had been a good thing, though she was sure she'd find out in the morning. The thought of the morning reminded her of his state of undress that morning and Molly found she was able to drift off to sleep with some very pleasant thoughts.
Daily life at 221b Baker Street had to find a new rhythm now, which Sherlock certainly didn't take kindly to for the first few days. All his experiments had been moved out of the way to accommodate their guest, which infuriated him. On top of that, he found that his mornings were full of chatter and laughter. John would go out to check on Molly's house (the car was still there) and the hospital (again, the car was still there) before heading back to the flat so Mrs Hudson would come up to join Molly for a cup of tea and to give her some company. Sherlock was always in the room, but Mrs Hudson liked to point out he wasn't always good company. He didn't mind really, gave him a chance to try and figure out this strange character that it seemed he had misunderstood. The clothes were unexpected, all loose fitting jeans and baggy jumpers. She'd wander round the flat in bare feet, painted toenails all on display, unless she was on the sofa when she'd curl her legs up. The full face of makeup and liberal application of perfume every day caught him off guard at first. He assumed it was just for his benefit, but it didn't take him long to notice that Molly Hooper was certainly falling out of love with him. Then he put it down to self esteem. She needed that mask on, that face she put onto the world and the confidence that gave her. He had seen her with her mask breaking that first night, and the second he had seen her without the mask completely. There was a change in her when she had that makeup, she held herself differently. It was strange how some chemicals and pigments could do that.
The fact she was falling out of love with him was quite obvious to both him and John. When John would arrive back after his daily checks, the three of them would continue their attempts to figure out what on earth it was that Molly knew that would put her life in danger. Sherlock, as always, had a scathing remark for everything she said. It only took, John would say, a few hours before she started to bite back. The first time she actually showed that she could be just as sarcastic as Sherlock the look of shock on his face was so priceless John found himself laughing so hard it hurt. Never had he imagined that Molly would stand up to Sherlock like that, but it seemed that seeing that she could actually overpower the great man, with a knee to the groin, was doing wonders for her confidence. Sherlock's definite confirmation she was no longer so in love with him as to barely speak to him was when he burst into her room one morning without warning. A sudden thought had come to mind and he desperately needed to talk to her about it. Flinging the door open he found that she in the process of getting dressed and was currently only wearing jeans and her bra. Once again, he found himself bemused by Molly as the bra was one of those very lacy bras usually advertised as being an instant turn on to men. It certainly did nothing for Sherlock, but he imagined the right man seeing her surprisingly toned stomach and pert breasts in such a garment would like it. When the hairbrush hit him in the chest, it took him by surprise. So lost in considering her underwear, he hadn't even noticed her throw it. Molly did not look embarrassed or timid now though, she just stared him down. "Get. Out," she said slowly, dragging out the two words between gritted teeth. Sherlock had taken the hint, it was a rather obvious one after all, and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. John was stood outside the bathroom down the corridor with his arms folded shaking his head before disappearing back into the bathroom. Sherlock mused that he still had a lot to understand when it came to Molly; his view of her seemed to be changing all the time.
Soon though, a few days turned into a week and a week turned into two and suddenly it had been three weeks and they were no closer to figuring things out. Everyday John went to check if the cars were still waiting for her, and every day they were there. They spent long afternoons and evenings trying to go through things to figure out what Molly might know. Sherlock was getting increasingly exasperated by her memory, which could be a little vague, and often stomped off to sulk. Most nights, Molly and John just sat on the sofa and watched telly for hours. She was starting to feel a burden now, disturbing the balance of their flat. John just kept reassuring her that they'd rather see her safe than in danger just to suit Sherlock's erratic moods. It was nice to sit and talk together, to bond over strange medical mysteries and the odd man they called a friend.
Sherlock would sit with his door open and listen to them talk, not for the sake of his own ego at being called nice things, but just to understand the two of them a bit better. He knew John quite well, but even he could surprise him sometimes. Molly was still a mystery sometimes. Wearing cute cartoon underpants, but sexy lacy bras. Putting on full makeup just to sit around in the flat. The ability to drink more milk in a day then he and John could go through in a week (he was convinced she was a cat somehow). The fact she could be as scathing in her comments as he could and yet still appeared to have some very deep feelings there. She was so strong in her mind and yet so vulnerable in her emotions. It was like she was a walking contradiction. Which was impossible, surely that was a title reserved only for himself?
On day twenty three of her extended stay, Molly found herself home alone with Sherlock. John had gone to see his sister, something that had been arranged long before all this had happened, while Mrs Hudson had disappeared off somewhere. For a while they just sat in the living room on silence. Molly was curled up on the sofa reading one of the books she'd found in John's room while Sherlock just sat staring off into space. Molly was fairly sure that was the way he always looked when nothing was happening, fingers together and eyes slightly unfocused. When he sat forward, uncrossing his legs, Molly glanced over the top of the book at him. He was looking at her.
"Molly Hooper, let's go shopping," he said, which made her lower the book to look at him inquisitively.
"Shopping?" she asked, trying to figure out what was going on in that strange little head of his.
"Yes shopping. I believe you ran out of perfume three days ago and mascara not much after. As we are no closer to ascertaining what those gentlemen want with you, I thought you might like to acquire some more."
"And it would be a good way to check if those men know I'm here and are just waiting for me to leave your flat," she responded, raising her eyebrows in that way to try and tell him she knew what he was up to.
"Well, there is that too," he said at last, acutely aware that she was starting to learn how his mind works more quickly than he'd expected.
"Right, I'll just go get changed and grab my bag. I could do with some other bits and pieces too and some fresh air would be nice."
With that, she was off towards John's room. Yet again, Molly had confounded Sherlock. Surely the idea that they might get attacked when they walked out onto the street was meant to be frightening, not a cue to go and get dolled up?
When she reappeared a few minutes later, her usual baggy outfit had been replaced with tighter fitting jeans and a blouse. Her hair was loose for once, falling around her face in untidy waves. Another look Sherlock had not seen before, trying to quickly take it all in and understand it. "Shall we go then?" she said, breaking through his concentration. Sherlock just nodded and followed her out of the flat.
The taxi journey to Oxford Street had been uneventful. It didn't appear that anyone was following them so far, and at least they were unlikely to strike at them on such a busy street full of members of the public. When the taxi had dropped them off, they just stood for a moment looking down the street. Then Sherlock leaned down to whisper in Molly's ear, "Shall we try a little experiment I've wanted to investigate for a while?"
"Sure," she replied. Again, she didn't even ask what it was, just went along with it. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders before looping his arm through Molly's, made a great deal easier by the fact she appeared to have bought some shoes with a heel to them, and started to walk down the street. Molly reached across with her other hand and laid it on his arm, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You've never walked down a street with a woman as a couple?"
It seemed he wasn't as impossible to read as he thought he had been. He could not fathom how after only three weeks she had come to learn so much about him.
"After all those pictures came out and that dear blog of John's, I have apparently become somewhat of a minor celebrity. A minor celebrity whom everyone seems to believe is in a relationship with my flatmate. I have been wondering what the reaction would be if people who recognised me thought me to be heterosexual instead, if that would change the attention they graced me with."
"So you want to see if walking down the street arm in arm with me is going to get you less gay jokes?" she asked, glancing up at him as they walked. He looked down at her and those eyes filled with mischief and mirth.
"If you want to describe it at its basest level," he replied drolly.
"I like everything at its basest level Sherlock," she responded quickly, a wicked smirk gracing her lips. Innuendo? That was new as well.
When they reached the department store to get the perfume and makeup, Sherlock was quick to point out that dear Mycroft was going to be paying again she could get anything she wanted. Her eyes lit up at that and she was suddenly off to one of the more expensive counters. It seemed she already knew what she looking for, making small talk with the girl at the counter before coming back to Sherlock with a small box.
"I've wanted to treat myself to some of this for ages, so thank you," she said, already starting to wander off towards a different counter.
"Molly," Sherlock said, sounding a little exasperated. "That is the smallest bottle of that perfume you could have bought. You could probably by one of everything at that counter with the amount of money on this card, and yet you still only pick the smallest bottle."
Turning round to face him, she looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. "I only wanted a small bottle. Now, the makeup I need is over there. As you have the card, you'd better come with me." That was all she needed to say apparently as she was off again. Sherlock started after her nearly dumfounded. That tiny bottle would hardly last her a few weeks, but that was all she wanted. There she was with the ability to buy the largest bottle of something she had denied herself of for so long, but turned it down in favour of something so small he couldn't understand why she could not have bought it herself. She certainly wasn't poor; it wasn't something out of her price range. That's when he noted that the makeup counter she was at was one of the cheaper ones. By the looks of things it was the same kind of makeup he had noticed when she had left her handbag on the table one day. She was buying the same makeup as always and considered the smallest bottle of perfume an extravagance. Molly Hooper was becoming the most infuriating woman he'd ever met, which was saying something after Irene Adler.
Sherlock said nothing to Molly as he paid for her items, she was chatting happily away to the woman at the till. When they turned to leave, they found their way blocked by two very happy looking young women.
"You're him aren't you? You're Sherlock Holmes?" said one excitedly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Indeed," he replied with a bored tone.
"Could we get a picture with you?" asked the other, holding her phone up to show the camera on it. Molly could see the annoyance on his face and could imagine the appalling things he was about to say to these poor girls, so jumped in.
"Of course he will, won't you dear?" she said it with a cheery smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Sherlock turned to look at her completely baffled. She leaned a little closer and whispered in his ear, "Think of it as part of your experiment."
That little light bulb went on in Sherlock's mind and he turned back to the two with the most normal looking smile he could imagine.
"No problem at all. Would you take the picture for them?" he asked Molly, who quickly took the phone from the now grinning girl's hand. Sherlock put one arm around each girl's shoulder and smiled as she took the picture. Once the phone had been returned, Molly stood next to him again, taking his hand in hers.
"So, are you two, like...?" asked the one with the phone.
"A couple?" asked Molly. "Yep. And a very happy one at that."
"Can we take a picture of you two together? My mate will never believe that you're straight!" cried the other one, suddenly very excited.
"Sure," said Sherlock genially, a tone Molly had never heard before she was sure. A picture was taken of them, heads leaning together with those smiles that happy couple always have.
The excited one could barely contain herself and suddenly blurted out, "How about a kiss?" before she could help herself. The one with the phone just glared at her friend for her outburst.
"Come on Sherlock," said Molly. "One little kiss for the camera."
Now Sherlock had come to a moment he had not been expecting. John had made it very clear that he was not take advantage of her feelings for any twisted little game. It had been clear at the start that Molly was in love with him in some odd way, but that did seem to have changed over the past three weeks. On top of that, she was the one who had suggested all this to help his experiment. Perhaps, in another way, Molly needed to do this to confirm one way or another if she still felt anything for him in that manner.
Sadly Molly didn't let him consider it for much longer as she reached up and turned his head to face hers. There was that gleam of mischief in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, like she was thoroughly enjoying this game, before she moved forwards to kiss him firmly on the lips. Knowing that for the sake of accurate results in this experiment he should make it look real, he kissed her back. It was an odd feeling kissing Molly Hooper. He felt no desire there really, no need to proceed any further in terms of physical contact. Her hand was in his hair, those long fingers just resting gently in his curls. He let one hand touch on her hip not far from where he'd seen that scar. It was fairly clinical as he assessed the feel of her lips, the taste of her mouth and what having her hand in his hair was like. Molly's mind however was racing. The thrill of kissing the man she had quite a few naughty dreams about, the mischief in playing all this up because he wanted to experiment on these women and the realisation that he had a hand on her hip. Then it dawned on her. If he had at the moment pushed his hand under her top or started whispering dirty things in her ear, she probably would have pushed up against the counter and tried to have sex with him right there. It was just lust though; she felt no emotional connection there. She just really liked the idea of having rough, dirty sex with him; the same idea that she really liked when it came to about half a dozen famous actors.
Breaking apart, they looked at each other for a moment. The loud squeal of the excited young woman made them turn to look. The two of them were huddled together over the phone, clearly already messaging everyone they knew and probably putting the picture up online somewhere. The women looked up at the two of them, giggled and ran away rather quickly. Sherlock now looked to Molly feeling deeply confused and slightly used. Molly just smiled at him, "Welcome to the world of having fans Sherlock."
She went to walk away, but Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her back close to him. He looked down at her with a strange look. "Molly, John made me promise I wouldn't manipulate the feelings you have for me. I need you to understand that I do not feel the same way that you do. That kiss was part of my experiment."
"I know," responded Molly. "I've realised I just don't feel that way about you anymore. You're a friend, yes, but I don't want to date you.
"Oh," said Sherlock slowly, suddenly very aware that Molly Hooper of all people was turning him down.
"Don't look so down Sherlock," she said with a smile, placing a hand over the one that was still gripping her wrist. "I'd still sleep with you so it's not a total loss."
Once again, Molly had Sherlock lost for words. There was clearly something very wrong in her brain somewhere, he just couldn't quite figure out what.
For a while after that, the two of them just walked down Oxford Street, now holding hands, but saying nothing. Eventually they reached Marble Arch and Sherlock decided to steer them towards Hyde Park. Too many things had happened with Molly, his head was spinning trying to make sense of it all. He needed to sit down and talk her. The moment he found an unoccupied park bench, he let go of her hand and sat down, waiting for her to join him. Still without speaking, Molly sat down next to him ensuring she was sat close enough to still make them look like a couple while arranging her bags on the other side of her. Their thighs were touching; an idea which not so long ago would have made Molly's heart beat so fast she probably would have fainted or something. Now, it was oddly comfortable to just sit next to him in silence watching the world go by. It was nice to know that in the current madness that was her life, she had someone nearby, even if it was someone as tactless as Sherlock Holmes.
"Molly," said Sherlock at last. She turned to look at him, though she found he wasn't looking at her. He was staring straight ahead with an expression that seemed to imply he was finding it hard to say something to her. His lips were tight together and his nose had wrinkled up, which she had to admit was strangely adorable. "I..." he halted. "I do not understand you."
"Are you being serious?" she asked before laughing slightly.
"I am being deadly serious, I would appreciate it if you did not find that so amusing." Sherlock spoke in a low tone and turned to look at her. It did seem from the look on his face that he really was being serious.
"How is it even possible that I of all people can confuse you?" she asked him. "I'm nothing special or unusual."
"Your false modesty is really quite unnecessary and almost insulting you know," he responded coldly. Though as he continued to look at her, he realised she really did think she wasn't important or special at all. He wondered how she could go through her life and spend every day thinking that about herself? How could she possibly think so little of herself?
"So explain to me how you don't understand me," she asked, pushing aside the urge to confront him on his earlier statement.
"Well," he sighed. "Let's take your underwear for example."
"Please tell you haven't spent three weeks thinking about my underwear," she interrupted with the slightest hint of a blush on her face. It seemed she still wasn't quite comfortable to discuss such personal things with him, but he carried on regardless.
"You wear underwear with cartoon characters on, little anthropomorphised creatures, usually designed for those adults who want to ignore the need to grow up and mature. Yet the bras you wear are covered in lace, the kind usually bought by women who wish to instil feelings of lust and desire in those whom they wish to sleep with. It is a complete contradiction. You want to be childlike and innocent and at the same time you wish to consummate some kind of sexual desires."
"Sherlock, is this really what you don't understand? For goodness sake, I bought the pants because they were on offer and I thought they looked nice and comfortable. I bought the bra because I like the lacy ones because occasionally, I do like to feel all feminine. No one else knows about it, but it makes me feel good and that's all I want sometimes."
Sherlock was looking at her like she'd spoken in some strange alien language. It all made perfect sense to her, but it seemed he had to read something into every little thing.
"If you insist, but then there are your clothes. You wear those horrible unflattering things around the flat, and then to come out shopping you decided to put on tight jeans and a blouse which is cut in such a way as to flatter your bust. These things are so vastly different again from what I have seen you wearing in the morgue." He was getting annoyed now, like he couldn't amply explain what it was that he was trying to say. "And that perfume! I gave you the opportunity to buy as much as you want and you buy a tiny bottle and with all those makeup choices, you buy what you always do. None of it makes any sense!"
Molly looked at his strained face, that furious look in his eyes and couldn't help put reach out and put a hand on his arm.
"You don't really understand women do you? I wear those things round the flat because no one has to see. And before you say anything about wearing makeup in the flat, I did that because I hated seeing the dark circles in the mirror every day. I wear what I wear for work because it's practical and plain, well the jumpers were so I could justify a little colour even if they didn't look so flattering. As for what I'm wearing now? I just felt like looking good, I wanted to feel more confident. You need to feel confident when you walk down the street next to you, and you need to look just as good. The perfume was just because I don't like wearing the same perfume all the time, I like to be spontaneous. Finally, I buy the same makeup for the same reason on that night you tried to kidnap me you said I used the same route, I can be a creature of habit."
Sherlock looked at her still feeling deeply confused, but there was something approaching an understanding starting to form in his mind.
"Everything you do," he said slowly. "You just do it to be yourself. Sometimes, you follow social conventions and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you are spontaneous and sometimes you just do the same as always. It's all a contradiction, but it is what works for you."
Molly nodded and smiled, squeezing his arm. "There you go, you understand."
"I don't understand at all, but it appears this is how you choose to live your life so I will just accept it."
The laughing that he had elicited from Molly made him smile, he had found that these three weeks had entirely changed his perception of the lonely girl from the morgue and there was something nice about making her smile. It was the same feeling as when he made John smile. He was working on the theory that this was what friendship was, and now he appeared to have two friends. Not that he would tell anyone that. He'd never hear the end of it if he did.
"You know Sherlock," Molly managed to say at last, breathing hard from the laughing. "I can't live with you two forever. We need to do something."
The sudden change in conversation, but all with Molly still half laughing, caught Sherlock by surprise. Even after that conversation, she still liked to astound him with her sudden changeability.
"I know, but unless we discover what it is those men want with you, I can't see how we can get you living your life again."
"I do have a plan," she responded, that mischievous glint in her eyes once again. "But John isn't going to like it."
Sherlock didn't need to ask more, he knew exactly what her plan would be; it was the exact plan he had had but hadn't dared to air.
"I'm sure we'll persuade him. Though I'm sure you could just strong-arm him into it if we needed," he said, allowing the slightest smile to grace his face that mirrored her own smile once she realised she yet again had an ally in Sherlock Holmes.