Molly Hooper wasn't completely unaware of the intensity in the tone in the deep voice, the fleeting looks, cautious and wanting, yet still benign and with utter self-control behind them. Truthfully, she found them to be flattering, and sweet. Not once did he ever say or do anything that wasn't put forth with true intention of friendship and gentlemanly concern, or with the utmost professionalism.
It was obvious to her, though, that Greg Lestrade fancied her. Molly may have had her heart set on Sherlock Holmes, but she was still a red-blooded woman with clear vision.
Greg had the warmest, kindest dark brown eyes, but they betrayed his every emotion, and she wasn't even sure if he realized it. If you knew him well enough and had had occasion to work with him as well, she thought, you soon enough learned this trait of his and how to read it. Greg's eyes, expressive to a fault, were truly the windows to his soul. And what a beautiful soul it was.
His hair, much darker when she'd first met him, but over a few short years had turned a most attractive combination of silver in just the right places to look distinguished, giving him a look of ironically boyish wisdom.
His voice, at the very least matching Sherlock's baritone – at most possibly even surpassing it, depending on his mood. That by itself was an incredibly attractive trait for Molly. There was something about a voice like that which she found to be incredibly comforting and reassuring. Maybe that was part of her attraction to Sherlock, and maybe it was part of the reason she knew that if not for Sherlock, she may even fancy Greg.
His heart, only allowed on his sleeve in front of those he trusted most with it. And she knew, along with everyone else, that the very last on that list was his cheating soon to be ex-wife.
They were close enough friends that she knew that she was amongst those at the top, however. She knew Greg Lestrade's heart, because he trusted her with it, without any expectation of anything in return besides the loyalty of friendship.
This man, who held so many attractive traits, provided you weren't already in love with another, was definitely an ideal catch. She recoiled inwardly at the thought of being the source of his pain, but then again, she was no stranger to that herself. Perhaps, she thought, that's why the idea was so repugnant to her – she knew how it felt. She knew exactly how it felt, and she wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a man as good and honourable as Greg Lestrade.
And then, Sherlock had strode into her lab, with a look of intense purpose on his face.
"Molly," he said, his voice crackling with unfamiliar emotion and determination. "We need to talk."