Author's note: Hey, everyone. Thanks for all the follows and review so far :)

Chapter Two

"Didn't fancy sitting inside, then?"

Molly, sitting on a wooden bench, looked up at the man stood before her.

"Not really," she replied, holding out a cardboard cup of hot coffee as a way of greeting.

"Ah, cheers," he said with a smile, quickly checking the empty portion of the bench, before sitting himself beside her. He was a little awkward with his movements, what with the walking stick and all, but it tended not to hamper his mobility too much.

After relinquishing her hold on the coffee cup to him, Molly clutched her own receptacle with both hands, relishing its warmth. Although the weather app had predicted a beautiful day, it hadn't mentioned how chilly it would be, especially not in the shade. John Watson seemed not to share the opinion, though, as all he wore on his torso was a thin jacket over a checked shirt. She tried not to be too jealous of him; after all, it wasn't his fault that she felt the cold so easily. Looking around at passersby, she discovered that she was one of only a very few people wearing jumpers beneath their jackets or coats.

For several minutes, they sat together in easy silence, as each blew and sipped their beverages, before something solid dropped into Molly's lap. She almost spilled her drink in surprise and plucked the object from her legs, holding it up for inspection. It was a Nutri-Grain bar and Molly's eyes looked up to meet John's gaze.

"I'm assuming you haven't had breakfast," he remarked with a mildly reprimanding expression.

Molly simply rolled her eyes in reply, before begrudgingly setting the half empty cup aside. Although she didn't feel particularly hungry, she knew he wouldn't let her leave his sight until the entire bar had been eaten, so she complied, chewing her way through it as quickly as possible in order to get the ordeal over and done with. It wasn't that she didn't eat, she just tended not to do so until the afternoon or even evening. She could never force down a meal first thing; the dreams always affected her too much to hold anything down for very long.

John remained quiet as she ate, his patience in no way forced or making her feel uncomfortable. He was always good with that, being one of the few people who could actually listen to someone without making them feel like too much of an imposition. If he'd gone down the route of treating mental illness, rather than physical, she reckoned he could have been an exceptional psychiatrist. Unfortunately, even if he had become a head doctor, the man would have only fit the saying that therapists were as crazy as their patients, because John had a few mental issues of his own to sort out.

It was how he and Molly had first met, just less than six months ago. As part of her rehabilitation, she was asked to participate in a session of group therapy. It was an idea her therapist, Ella Thompson had wanted to try and she'd already recruited a few other patients. Molly was unwilling and sceptical at first, but eventually got talked into it and started attending. John hadn't been at the first session and, after five minutes, Molly had felt like bolting from the room, but she made herself stay the entire hour, as each of the five patients sat in a circle and introduced themselves. In the end, it hadn't been all that bad and Molly felt a little more enthusiastic about attending the next session.

John came the second time and she saw straight away that his reluctance to participate far exceeded hers. Limping heavily, the butt of his walking stick clicking loudly against the linoleum floor as he entered the room, his face was set in a stony expression and Molly had initially been wary of approaching him. With the air of determination he exuded, she wondered how Thompson had managed to even talk him into attending.

Eventually, he introduced himself to Molly and she was amazed at the transformation he went through when he smiled. He looked like a completely different man! No longer threatening or surly, he seemed to shine light into the cold room and she was surprised by his amiability.

The sessions continued each week for the next month and, with every meeting, she got to know a little more about Doctor John Watson. She discovered that he was a fully qualified physician, who'd served in the army until recently, when a gunshot wound forced him to return to England. Molly had initially assumed the injury was the cause for his limp, until further study made her suspect otherwise. She kept her observations as subtle as possible and never questioned him about it, as they still hadn't got to know each other very well by that point.

During the second month, signs that sessions would soon come to an end began to show, as a couple of the patients started arriving late or failed to even show up. If she was honest, Molly's only motivation for going was to see John, as she had come to enjoy his company and, when Thompson eventually called an end to the group therapy, it saddened Molly to think she probably wouldn't see him again. Luckily, one of the other patients, Mark, had contacted the other members to see if any were interested in still meeting up weekly to chat. Although she'd never really spoken to him much, Molly had no issue with the man, so agreed and was both surprised and delighted when she discovered John had agreed too.

For the next few months, the trio would meet on a regular basis and it had quickly left the realms of therapy, to become a simple exercise in socialising-something Molly hadn't even realised she missed until then. They'd meet for lunch or coffee and discuss all manner of things and it was during those moments that, for the first time in a very long time, Molly felt something akin to human again.

Due to relocation to Manchester with his family, Mark eventually left the group, leaving just Molly and John, but it didn't seem to bother either of them. They still found plenty to talk about, especially when they discovered they both knew Mike Stamford and had trained at St Bart's. It became a common occurrence for them to meet up after therapy sessions, often to compare notes and laugh at one another's insanity, each knowing they could do so without the other's judgement.

Today was one of those days.

"She wants me to start a blog," he said, his voice carrying all the derision his face projected. He had a very expressive face, one that revealed pretty much every emotion the man was going through. "Thinks it'll help me better adjust to "civilian life"."

"She said the same to me," Molly chuckled, amused by his semi impression of their mutual therapist. "She reckoned it'd be a good emotional outlet for me."

"I wonder if she has one," he mused. "Since she's apparently so fond of them. I might ask her next time."

"Are you going to do it?" Molly asked, gulping down the last of her drink.

John sighed. "Dunno. Suppose I'd better try it, at least. The only problem-and I told her this-is that you need something to write a blog about and nothing ever happens to me."

"You couldn't write about your time in the army?" she suggested, but his look told her that wasn't an option he favoured.

"I'd rather not become the latest "victim" to burden the internet," he replied.

Molly could understand that. The reasons behind her therapy weren't things she particularly wanted to write about, either. Seeing the downward spiral the conversation was starting to send his mood, she decided to switch topic.

"How's the flat hunt going?"

Her tactic had worked, as the corners of his mouth twitched in a small grin. "Funny you should ask," he said. "Because I'm due to look at one tomorrow."

"Oh, really? You managed to find one you can afford, then?"

"Well, it's a flat share, so I'll be living with someone else," he explained. "Mike recommended the bloke to me, but he seems a bit…odd." An expression crossed his features that Molly couldn't quite decipher, but it passed as quickly as it had arrived, to be replaced with a proper smile. "Still, beggars can't be choosers, eh?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't have set you up with a total nutcase," she reassured. "You'll have to let me know how it goes. Where's the flat?"

"Baker Street. To be honest, even with a flat share, I don't know if I'll be able to afford it."

"Well, good luck," Molly offered, to which his smile widened.

"What about you?" he queried.

"Well, today I had my interview at the hospital."

"Yes, you did," he commented, his torso shifting a little to face her more. "How did it go?"

"I return to work in a fortnight."

"Congratulations," he quietly cheered. "And you're ready for it?"

"Yeah," Molly answered, after a moment of consideration. "I mean, I think so. I can't spend the rest of my life rotting away in a crummy bedsit. I need something to occupy my time and, hopefully, it'll provide a good distraction from…other things."

"Still not sleeping well, then?"

"It's getting better," she said, trying not to think of the nightmare that had forced her out of bed at stupid o' clock. "But work will give me something to focus on, something worthwhile to do each day."

It was John's turn to nod in understanding. He'd told her once about the troubles he sometimes had sleeping and it was another notch on the chart of their similarities, which made Molly feel far more at ease talking with him, than pretty much anyone else-even her therapist-at times.

"Are you job hunting yet?" she asked.

"If this flat share goes through," he began. "I'll need to settle there first, but, after that, definitely."

"What sort of thing are you thinking?"

"Probably locum work or something. Maybe even a permanent position as a GP. Who knows?" he threw yet another grin her way. "We'll have to see what life throws at us."

Molly smiled back and picked up her empty coffee cup to hold aloft between them. John mirrored her actions.

"To whatever life throws at us," she declared.

"And blogs," John added.

They both laughed, as the cups collided with a soft tap.

0

Molly felt an unusual sense of purpose in the days that followed. Now that she had her job back, she was no longer wandering aimlessly through each day, without a clue of what would come next. Pretty soon, she would have a reason to get up each day and there had been no negative responses to her news so far. She wondered how much might have changed during her absence and the worry that she might have forgotten what to do lingered at the back of her mind, although she proceeded to spend numerous hours each day pouring through all her old books that focused on her line of work.

A week before her start date, Molly decided to assess the contents of her wardrobe and found it severely lacking. It was the first time she'd done it in almost a year and the thing she noticed immediately was that all of her old favourites-the brightly coloured knitwear and heavily decorated blouses-had all been pushed to the back, making way for sombre blues, greys and black. The cut of the fabrics she'd worn more recently had taken a drastic turn for the unflattering, too, with shapeless jumpers, tops and trousers covering the body of someone who clearly felt they had no reason to make an effort anymore.

Well, she thought to herself. We won't be able to get away with that anymore, will we? The sudden fatigue that hit her the moment she thought about making an effort with her appearance was palpable and she was taken back to a time when the highlight of Molly Hooper's day had been deciding what to wear or, especially, how to style her long hair. That had been a particularly pleasing hobby for her, as she'd always considered her hair to be her best feature. Many a woman had professed their envy at how thick and healthy it always appeared to be. Currently, said hair was scraped back in a lazy ponytail and, whilst as healthy as it had ever been, it lacked the life it once had-much like the woman herself.

By that point, Molly decided to walk away from the wardrobe and do a little house (or bedsit) work, before her reminiscence depressed her any further.

With each passing day, the small ball of nerves that had developed in her stomach after the meeting at St Bart's steadily grew. By the time the second Sunday had arrived, her pulse was racing continuously and she found it impossible to remain still. Her home had never looked so spotless. It didn't help that sleep had been particularly evasive the past few nights and Molly didn't cope well with insomnia. In the end, she was forced to buy some sleeping tablets from the local pharmacy, just to provide her body with some much needed rest. It wouldn't do for her to have another breakdown on her first day back.

When Monday morning arrived, Molly spent a lot of it in the bathroom. The nerves had reached their peak and saw fit to purge themselves from her body. When she eventually felt able to go half an hour without vomiting, she began readying herself for work. At first, she had considered unearthing some of the more colourful items of clothing she'd abandoned, but, as the cherry patterned blouse was removed from its hanger, she knew it'd feel completely wrong. It'd be too false, like forcing cheer upon herself. It would've been the same as stuffing two rolls of toilet paper down her bra to give the illusion of cleavage she didn't possess. Nobody would fall for it.

In the end, she chose a smarter version of her current everyday self, but did manage to coerce herself into doing something presentable with her hair. Using tools that had been stored away for far too long, Molly eventually fashioned her hair into a large bun at the back of her head. It was nothing too outlandish, but gave her the feeling of making an effort for a change.

The sleepless nights had predictably done absolutely no favours for her face and she was resigned to putting a thin layer of makeup on to try and hide the dark circles around her eyes. There would be enough gossip about her flying around the office and she didn't want to fuel the rumours by turning up looking like the product of a zombie apocalypse.

By eight o' clock, Molly Hooper was ready for work.

And terrified.

0

Joseph Cornwell was assigned to help facilitate Molly's transition back into work and she was doing all she could to politely ignore his condescension. It was surprisingly easy. She'd never really liked him, but, for the sake of an easy life, remained civil. In fact, she'd hidden her dislike so well that she was sure he was absolutely oblivious to it and she didn't know if that was necessarily a good or bad thing.

"Well, Molly," Joseph said, with a patronising grin that a bolder woman would have wanted to slap right off his face. "I don't think you'll need me with you for much longer, will you?"

She simply smiled in reply, feeling like a toddler being praised for learning to use a potty.

"I should warn you, though," he continued, his voice suddenly turning serious. "We've acquired a visitor in the last few months."

"Oh?" Molly tried to sound interested, she really did, but it was hard to do when she'd spent the majority of the day tuning out whenever he spoke.

"Yeah, I think he's something to do with the police. Doesn't have a badge, though."

She couldn't quite understand his warning. They worked in a morgue; of course police officers would visit.

"The only reason I'm warning you is because he's a bit…well…" He spent a moment searching for the correct term. "The word arsehole has been thrown around."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "If he's that bad, why don't you report him or something?"

"Falls on deaf ears," Joseph complained. "He's clearly got connections somewhere."

Molly considered the information briefly, as she continued working and found herself wondering who the man he referred to could be. Anyone who annoyed Joseph was on to a good start in her estimations and she chose to reserve judgement until she met the man herself.

That meeting happened far sooner than she could have predicted.

For most of the first day, she and Joseph had worked together on whatever bodies needed assessing, but, by the afternoon, she was allowed an hour or two of respite, by leaving him in order to catalogue a series of samples that had been left in the lab. Just as she was finishing up the paperwork, the double doors swung open and authoritative footfalls signalled a determined entrance. Molly assumed it was Joseph and looked up, only to be left gobsmacked by what she saw.

It was him! The dandy! There, clad in dark coat and chin length curls, was the man she had watched walk by her window almost every day for the past few months. Mouth agape, her gaze followed him as he unwound the blue scarf from around his neck, having yet to even acknowledge her presence. He was there, in her hospital, entering her lab. Is he a new member of staff? The question remained in her brain, as she was still too busy gawping to direct the question his way.

Still refusing to offer an acknowledgement, the stranger started firing requests in a voice which suggested he belonged there and that everyone else's presence was merely to facilitate his needs.

"Afternoon," he said, shrugging the coat off his shoulders and hanging it on the coat stand near the door. His back was to Molly, so he was unable to see the blatant astonishment on her face. "I'll need a microscope, some Petri dishes, a blow torch, two test tubes and silence, if you don't mind. Oh, and the results from yesterday's soil samples would be marvellous. Who are you?"

All of this was said in one breath and at a speed that Molly's brain failed to match. She still hadn't recovered from her shock and was left simply scrambling mentally for some means of reply. Her lack of response failed to encourage any real reaction from him, as he moved on to the next question.

"Where is Cornwell?" he demanded, almost looking put out that her colleague wasn't present.

Still, Molly was unable to speak, save for a couple of stammered half-words, which seemed to annoy the man now stood before her. He was tall in a looming sort of way, with pale skin that provided a sharp contrast to the dark hair crowning his head. His eyes were a piercing shade of teal that seemed to intensely scrutinise everything their gaze came into contact with, making her feel a bit like a particle being viewed through a microscopic lens.

"For the sake of London, I do hope your skills at pathology are better than your attempts at speech."

That remark managed to snap some form of sense back into Molly and she attempted to reply in a small, uncertain voice, but his focus had already shifted.

"I need those items immediately," he stated, turning his back to her and settling at the counter, where a microscope was already set up.

If this was the man Joseph had spoken of, she was starting to see why her colleague disliked him, but Molly was still too surprised and, frankly, fascinated to be annoyed by his rudeness. She gathered the items he had asked for, placing them carefully beside him on the counter. He had a couple of small clear plastic bags in his left hand and she wondered what he might have inside that required such investigation.

She was about to walk away and continue her work in the silence he desired, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. In the distant part of her mind was that fear she'd always had of the people she saw in the street turning out to be boring, but there was something about The Dandy (that was going to be his title until she learnt his actual name) that warranted further investigation. Steeling her resolve, she finally spoke.

"Um," she began, in probably the least intelligent way possible. "Joseph mentioned that a…well, I guess a detective or someone to do with the police-"

"I did ask for silence," he interjected, without even looking up. "And since you've complied with my other requests so efficiently, as well as demonstrated your obvious lack of conversational skill, I would appreciate it if you kindly stopped speaking."

For the first time that Molly could ever remember, she found herself actually agreeing with Joseph on something; The Dandy really was an arsehole. As usual, she opted for an easy life and simply let him be, going back to the samples she had almost finished with. Unfortunately, no matter how much of a knob he presented himself as, Molly couldn't keep her eyes from returning to him. She wondered if he was consciously aware of how rude he was being or if he simply lacked any knowledge of social etiquette. In a way, although she bore the brunt of his discourtesy, it wasn't necessarily a personal thing, so she could afford to see some humour in it. She'd never met anyone so relaxed with speaking their mind before. It was tempting to call Joseph in, simply to see a moment of interaction between him and The Dandy, but she refrained from doing so. No point in antagonising the bizarre man and it would make a nice change not having to listen to Joseph's endless condescension.

She settled herself to continue the work The Dandy's entrance had interrupted, but, just as she had picked up her biro, another request was thrown her way.

"Where are those soil sample results?"

Well, at least she wasn't going to get bored.

A/N: I'd like to know what people think of Sherlock and John's introductions, as I want them to remain as in-character as possible. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll have the next update posted soon :)

Merry Christmas, everyone!