Molly finds out.

Molly was glad to have been proven wrong about William. She'd been dreading this date before arriving at Jacquard's and assumed that it would be a disaster like many others. How nice it was to enjoy herself this evening. William was a very intelligent man and he had many fascinating cases as a consulting detective. Not only that, but he was very interested in her career.

That was a big point in his favor since most men were turned off by her profession. Pathology, Molly found, was not an attractive thing to discuss with normal people. So, she considered herself lucky that she finally met someone she could talk to about post mortems and not worry about him throwing up or running from her in terror.

Another wonderful surprise she discovered was that, as a consulting detective, William often frequented the hospital nearest him, St Bart's, which just so happened to be where Molly started working at recently.

"You must know Mike Stamford, then."

"Of course."

"Well, he said the head pathologist plans to retire very soon, possibly next month. After that, I'll be able to take over, but for now, I'm mainly doing paperwork and staying during the late shift when most people have gone."

"I'll see if I can help you with that. The current pathologist at Bart's is a terrible pain in the arse and he's incredibly difficult to get along with. The man has thrown me out on several occasions and raises hell every time I request body parts for my experiments."

Molly furrowed her brow. "Oh, no. That's awful. I've had a few run-ins with him myself, so I completely understand. He has a hostile nature, but I suppose that's a good thing for his patients, since they're already dead." They both laughed and Molly ate a piece of her raspberry tart.

"He resents you because you're going to replace him. That aggressive territorial attitude has also done nothing to endear him to others over the years. In my opinion, Bart's has a superior pathologist already in hand. You'll brighten the place up considerably. It'll be a pleasure to see your face there when I need help for a case."

Sherlock's words brought a smile to Molly's face and indulgently, she reached across the table and touched his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

He stared down at her hand and gently squeezed it before looking up at her and returning that smile with one of his own. "You're welcome." They gazed at each other wordlessly, savouring this intimate moment. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Molly's mobile rang before he could speak.

"Hold on." She gave him an apologetic look and pulled out her phone. Then, her face brightened when she saw whose name was on the screen. "Oh, it's my friend, Mary. Well, our friend. I'll have to thank her for setting us up because I've had a lovely time."

Wait a minute. Our friend?

Questions began to circle around in Sherlock's head. No. It couldn't be Mary Watson. There were more than a hundred Marys who lived in London, so the likelihood of John's wife being on the phone was very slim. Or was it?

Sherlock briefly went into his mind palace, searching for any reference of a woman named Molly whom Mary might have mentioned recently. Within seconds, he found one. It had been earlier yesterday. Mary and John had come by Baker Street for a visit with baby Rosie in tow.

While Rosie had been playing with Sherlock's pocket magnifier, Mary received a call from a friend and she stepped in the kitchen to take it, but Sherlock had very good hearing. Without meaning to, he heard Mary talk in low tones with an even voice. Evidently, she had been trying to calm someone down.

"Molly," she had said. "I promise you, this guy is sweet. He'll like you and you'll like him. No, I am not sending you a picture of him." A pause. "Because it's a blind date, that's why. What's the point of knowing what he looks like if it's supposed to a blind date?"

After that, Sherlock ignored the rest of Mary's conversation - not because he felt badly for listening in, but because Rosie tugged on his pant leg, indicating that she wanted to be picked up.

Pulling himself out of his mind palace, Sherlock looked down at the creme brûlée on his plate and soberly, began to finish eating it. Now that he knew the truth, it was only a matter of time before Molly did too.

"Hey, Mary! Listen, thanks for setting this blind date up for me. I've haven't had this much fun in ages. William is nice." Molly's eyes sparkled, but as the woman on the other end of the mobile responded, an expression of confusion spread on her face. "Wait a minute. Slow down. What are you saying?"

In a handful of seconds, those beautiful brown eyes of hers widened in shock and she looked at him with a stare that could burn a hole in wood.

"Mary, what exactly does William look like?" A pause. "Because I'm sitting with a man who is definitely not my blind date."

There was more silence until Molly spoke up and ground out, "I have no idea, but I'll ask him now." She lowered the phone, but kept it near her face as she said, "Obviously, you're not William. So, who are you?"

Sherlock interlocked his fingers together, placing them on the table. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"And are you a consulting detective? Or was that a lie, too?"

"I am a consulting detective and everything I've told you tonight has been the truth. The only thing I misled you about was my name, although it really is William. I just go by Sherlock."

"Oh, and that makes it all better, does it?" The bitterness in her voice made a knot form in Sherlock's stomach.

"I would never presume to think that, Molly."

"And why not? You already presumed another man's identity and even if you happen to share his first name, how do I know you're not just lying? You could be a murderer or a rapist or some other kind of criminal who likes preying on innocent women."

"You're jumping to conclusions. Look, if you need proof of who I am, go online and type in my name. I'm certain you'll see pictures of me if you haven't already."

"Seriously? You think I'm just going to type Sherlock Holmes on the internet and find pictures of you? What are you, some kind of celebrity?"

Sherlock nodded. "You could say that."

"Oh, please. I-" Molly stopped talking when the woman on the other end of her mobile began speaking. After several seconds, she huffed. "Are you sure?"

The glare was still on Molly's face as she handed Sherlock her mobile. "Mary wants to speak to you."

Wordlessly, Sherlock accepted the phone and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"My God, Sherlock. You have really stooped low this time!"

"Mary. You were the one who set Molly up on a date." The words came out as a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I did. A date that you barged in on! I can't believe you let her think you were someone else! I'm disappointed in you!"

"Wait a minute. How do you even know Molly?"

Mary sighed. "We were roommates at uni. Shared a lot of the same classes, so we became pretty good friends. We still are, obviously."

"But you never mentioned her before."

"That's because she moved to Dublin to be with her father. He died a few years ago and she's just now come to London to be the head pathologist at Bart's. God, why am I even telling you this?"

"Molly already informed me of these things herself, Mary. You haven't done her a disservice."

"I know I haven't, but you have. Now, listen, does Molly like you?"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that she hates me at the moment."

"No, you git. I heard the way her voice sounded when she thanked me for setting her up. She likes you. That's probably why she hasn't thrown her drink in your face and stormed out."

"You have a point. So what now?"

"I know you pretty well. You're not a man who just lies about who he is for no reason. I think something about her caught your interest and you like her back. God knows she deserves better, but this can still be salvaged."

Sherlock refused to admit anything about his blossoming feelings towards the lovely woman who sat across the table from him, but he couldn't deny his attraction to her. A foreign heaviness weighed on his chest and he felt a little desperate.

I don't even have her, but I don't want to lose her.

"What do I do?"

"Let Molly know that the reason you pretended to be her date is because you're genuinely interested in her. Sincerity is your only hope right now. But first, hand the phone back so I can smooth things over for you."

He did as Mary told him, feeling like a total arsehole from the angry glare Molly sent in his direction. Minutes passed while she held the phone to her ear, listening to Mary. The stiffness in Molly's shoulders dissipated and her face softened a bit.

Sherlock had no idea what Mary was saying on the phone, but he knew that however this night ended, he would owe her a lot.