Sherlock arrived home at the same time as Mary was leaving. John was just starting to clean dishes but he soon abandoned it in favour of tea and a chat with his flatmate.
"I take it your evening went well?" asked Sherlock.
"It did. Exactly to plan," smiled John.
"So you'll be progressing to spending the night at her place within one to two weeks then?"
"Hopefully. How was your evening with Molly?"
"It was fine. I worked out what I had missed before in The Usual Suspects and then we watched The Princess Bride, which is one of Molly's favourite films."
"Did you have fun?"
"We did."
Sherlock sounded surprised at the admission.
"John, did I take Molly on a date?"
John was more than a little surprised at the question.
"Well, only you can answer that. Did you plan it that way?"
"I didn't think so but now I'm not so sure."
John shook his head as Sherlock retired to his mind palace.
A few days later, at the mortuary.
"Well, that turned out to be an easy solve. I think Scotland Yard might have gotten there on their own in the end," said Sherlock.
"I don't know. I doubt Lestrade would have paid attention to the kitten's behaviour," replied John.
"What happened to the kitten?" asked Molly.
"It went to a shelter."
Molly looked a little sad.
"Do not make that face, Molly Hooper, you do not need a second cat!" exclaimed Sherlock.
"No, probably not. Everything I own is already covered in cat hair as it is."
"What is it with women and cats?" asked John.
"Way to generalise, Dr Watson. Some women prefer other animals and still more don't like any!" Molly retorted.
Sherlock was standing by the lab bench, trying to look casual, not something he often did. It wasn't entirely successful either.
"So, Molly, now that we're finished the case, shall we have coffee?"
"Oh right, I thought you were leaving? I'll just go make some – black & two sugars for you, John – tea?"
"Yep, thanks."
She left the room.
"Sherlock, I thought we were leaving too?"
"Yes, I may have asked that in the wrong tone," he conceded.
"Wait, was that you trying ask Molly out?" John started laughing.
"Don't laugh at me. What was wrong with my tone?"
"Nothing. It's just that after years of fobbing off her attention and treating her like a servant, you'll have to make more effort to get your point across. And the conversation about you asking a girl on a date is going to happen later, when we're at home."
"I really don't think so."
"You've no choice. It'll be like role-reversal, I'll talk and your input will not be required but you'll be forced to listen anyway."
"You know, sometimes I miss just having the skull for company. He never subjects me to unpleasant conversation."
"That is a female skull – how did you not notice?"
"What? It is not."
"Are you arguing with a doctor?"
Luckily, Molly's return with hot beverages prevented further argument. Sherlock decided he wasn't going to try again with an audience, even one as supportive as John.
Once they were home, John made good on his threat.
"So…"
"So what?"
"So you're asking Molly out on a date? What's prompted that? The other night?"
"I just changed my mind."
"I don't believe that for one second," said John.
"She's cool, I like spending time with her."
"She's cool? What are you: 15?"
Sherlock glowered at his flatmate.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," he snapped.
"No, but you need my advice and I won't help you if you aren't nice. I'll have some tea, please."
"You just had some at the morgue!"
"Well, I'd like some more. And some biscuits."
Sherlock stomped out of the room and reluctantly complied. It absolutely killed him to admit that he did need John's help here.
"Alright, hmm, I don't think you can just ask her out straight off. She won't believe you. In fact, she'll think you want some body part."
"I know, I already tried that."
"You mean that was your second attempt?"
"No, it was the third," he said with gritted teeth. "But we did actually go out last week – remember?"
"But she didn't realise that was a date. Probably meant she was more relaxed actually. You make her nervous."
"I had noticed, thank you. Should I aim for more of these "relaxed outings" then and throw off the idea of making it a formal date?"
"That could work. Once she was used to seeing you outside of the hospital, you could put your arm around her or give a little kiss. Something tiny though because you don't want her to faint from shock."
"Are you suggesting that kissing me could be detrimental to her health?"
"Why not? Just knowing you is dangerous. The last few years of my life have been far more risky – and may I remind that I was in the army. In a war. In Afghanistan."
"That's not a kind thing to say, John."
"You know I love you anyway. Even if your nemesis did take out a hit on my life once."
Sherlock put his considerable brain power to work coming up with non-date dates to ask Molly on. Despite the effort he put in, his first suggestion was the same as the last.
Cinema tomorrow night?
John needs the flat.
SH
Only if you promise not to talk during the film.
MH
I can't promise that.
But you can pick the movie.
SH
You'll take the risk of it being some girlie romcom then?
MH
I can always leave if it's awful.
SH
You wouldn't dare!
There's a showing of Some Like It Hot.
Leicester Square, 6pm
MH
That's very early.
SH
You can watch me eat afterwards.
MH
Molly wondered about Sherlock's motives. She decided to send John a quick text, which he received in the detective's presence.
"Sherlock, I've just had a text from Molly."
"What does it say?"
"Do you really have a date tonight?"
Sherlock's face was a picture of confusion as he worked through her reasoning.
"She presumes I have an ulterior motive," he said shortly.
John nodded. He couldn't think of any answer that was suitable.
"I shall endeavour to be more transparent then. Will you please reply and confirm you do indeed have plans to seduce Ms Morstan here tonight?"
Yes. Mary's coming over.
Don't worry – Sherlock just needs entertaining.
Hopefully it'll be mutual!
JW
"Done. Don't worry. I suppose you've only got yourself to blame for her suspicion. Just start making it up to her."
Sherlock dressed with extra care and even made a futile attempt at combing his hair. He didn't want to be too obvious. He just had to approach it like any other time he'd played a role in a case.
Molly was waiting when he arrived in Leicester Square, which hummed with Friday night cinema goers. She had obviously come from work, having her enormous stripy work handbag and many layers of clothes to cater for the coldness of the morgue and the summer weather outside. Sherlock looked delicious, as usual, and made her feel under-dressed but this was hardly new. It was only the cinema after all.
"Hey," she greeted him easily.
"Hello. Shall we go in? Do you want popcorn too?"
"I do. I'm surprised to hear you do though. Is it your day for eating then?" she teased.
"Yes, I can eat on Fridays. Only junk food or takeaway Chinese though," he joked.
"So what's this film about?" asked Sherlock.
With anyone else, Molly would have been astonished that they'd never heard of such a famous film but this was the man who had once admitted he didn't know the Earth moved around the Sun, so all bets were off.
"It's a classic comedy about two men who cross-dress to hide out from the mob. Marilyn Monroe is in it," she sighed.
"Funny how that never occurred to me as an option when I needed to hide out!" said Sherlock.
"I don't think you'd make a good woman. You're too tall to get away with it."
"Hopefully you'll never need to find out. Though I'm sure I'd dress better than you."
Sherlock got a thump for his comment.
"Thinking it and saying it, Sherlock. We've had this talk before. Sometimes it's better to keep it buttoned up!"
Molly stalked off towards the popcorn stand. It was a miracle he didn't get smacked more often for his blunt honesty.
When they went into the already full screening room, it was an old-fashioned style with red faux velvet seats, lots of gilt work, and no legroom. Their seats turned out to be one of those double seats, favoured by teenagers more interested in privacy than the film, and nicely dating it to about 1960.
"Oh dear, we'll just have to make do with this seat," said Molly, biting her lip.
"It'll be fine."
"Apart from the lack of a middle armrest. Don't blame me if I repeatedly nudge you by accident."
"Nudge away."
The false show of bravado covered a range of different emotions for both of them. Molly was sure Sherlock would be uncomfortable sitting so close to her for the whole film, while he was quite keen on the prospect. He casually put his arm across the back of the seat, leading Molly to wonder why men did that. It never looked comfortable and seemed to serve no purpose.
"What's with the arm?"
"Just stretching out."
"I don't understand why men do that. How can stretching your arm out like that be comfy?"
Sherlock thought she was rather missing the point but didn't want to get in more trouble for blunt comments. The movie passed in relative silence and mirth. At one point, Molly got up to use the loo and had to squeeze by Sherlock's overlong legs to get out. When she came back, he was ready. As she approached, he stretched out his left leg, causing her to trip over him and fall neatly into his lap.
"Oh!" she squeaked.
"Ssssssshhh" whispered some other person.
It was too dark to see her properly but having her on his knee felt really cosy for the few seconds it lasted, as though she belonged there.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"Don't worry about it," he replied, his breath warm against her ear. All too quickly she re-positioned herself back on the opposite side of the seat, trying to create as much space as possible between them.
As the movie ended on a line that summed both Molly and Sherlock up nicely, the lights came up. Molly was flushed from the heat of the darkened full room and the proximity of Sherlock. The redness of her cheeks gave her a healthy glow that was normally absent in the harsh light of the mortuary.
"What? Have I got crumbs on my face?" she said, wiping her hand over her mouth.
"No. You just look flushed – it suits you."
"Is that a compliment, Sherlock Holmes? Without an ulterior motive? You must be coming down with something!" She put her hand on his forehead in mock concern.
"Actually, you are quite hot. I mean, your temperature is elevated."
He raised an eyebrow at her verbal antics.
"I wouldn't say it was a compliment entirely without motivation."
"What?!"
"I just wanted to see you smile."
"Oh right," was her surprised response, though it did produce another smile.
"So where do you want to eat?"
"Well, I did say it had to be Chinese takeaway, so I suppose back at your flat?" he replied.
"I'd have thought you were sick of the sight of my place after being stuck there for weeks."
"Apparently not. Perhaps I've missed the cat."
"Aren't you full of jokes tonight? Well, come on then. We're going on the Tube. No. Shut up. Taxis are needlessly wasteful."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it.
They strolled back, enjoying the late brightness that comes with June and collected food along the way. Soon, they were ensconced in Molly's sitting room eating dinner. Both were recalling the time Sherlock had spent there. As fond of him as she was, she was quite glad to have her personal space back. Molly had a ridiculous cuckoo clock that had driven Sherlock to distraction and as it crowed 11pm, she yawned.
"Right, time for you to go. I'm sure it'll be safe at this stage. She'll either be gone or in his room."
"Thanks for that image, Molly."
"No problem. Now get out. I want to go to bed."
If Sherlock had any clue how to flirt, as opposed to manipulate, he might have responded cheekily to her comment. Instead, he stood up and stretched. Molly got up to walk him to the door.
"Well, thank you for looking after me tonight," said Sherlock, trying to stall.
She just nodded.
Sherlock leaned down and gently brushed her lips.
"Good night," he whispered and turned to leave.
"Stop."
He stopped.
"Turn around."
He complied.
"What the hell was that?"
"Er. Sorry. Caught up in the moment," he scrambled.
"What moment?"
"You know. The, er. Look, I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again."
He swiftly opened the door and swept out. He was just embarrassed now. All the times he'd imagined kissing Molly Hooper, she had wanted to kiss him back. It had never occurred to him that it might be unwanted. How mortifying.
"Wait," said Molly pointlessly to the back of her door.
"I didn't say it was unwelcome. Just unexpected."
But he was gone.