Chapter 2

"Morning, Sherlock." Molly walked into the lab, her hair swinging. She was already in her lab coat. Sherlock was behind a table, analyzing something beneath the microscope. He didn't have a case, but he needed something to do. He was usually granted access to the lab, and it was where he spent most of his time. Molly worked at the morgue as well, analyzing things in the lab. She specialized in diseases. This was where he was sure he could always find her. He continued to peer into the microscope, but wasn't really seeing it. He may not have a case, but he was on a mission. John had utterly failed him last night, and Sherlock decided to take matters into his own hands. He shouldn't have asked John in the first place. Although acts of kindness were not his division, he was absolutely certain that he could do a better job than John. He glanced up at Molly. She had her back to him, and was reading some files that had been left on her desk. It was about some strange findings in a murder victim's blood from a few weeks ago. Sherlock knew because he had already read them. He always read what was left on Molly's desk before she arrived. He had assisted in said case, and found that the murder was actually a suicide. Simple case. It had barely taken him 10 minutes to solve. He observed Molly as she worked. She was humming very quietly, and shifting from foot to foot. Everything about her portrayed social awkwardness, but Sherlock knew better than to make assumptions about her intelligence based on that. She was the smartest person that he knew. Besides himself, of course, but that went without saying. At first, Sherlock hadn't noticed much about her besides her obvious attempts at flirting with him, but as he began to get to know her, he realized how much he loved her little quirks. The way she would tuck her curls behind her ear, and then pull them out to frame her face again. The way she would sing when she thought that no one could hear her. The way she was able to determine the cause of death by having just five minutes with a dead body… Sherlock had not realized that he had fallen for her until it had already happened. He did try his best to convince himself otherwise; to tell himself that it was not possible to have feelings for anyone. It was no use. He quickly tore his gaze from her as she turned around. He had work to do. As he deduced, the information passed in front of him as if on a screen. Perfume: slight hint of jasmine and rose. Jeans: introverted and not wanting to draw attention to self. Yellow top: Feels need for logical order. Ponytail: Professional. Makeup: Concealer to cover dark circles; hasn't been sleeping well. Lipstick: Feels a need to impress someone. No jewelry: Not attached to many material items. Sherlock stopped as he realized that Molly's eyes were on him. She jerked her head down, but not before he caught sight of a blush. "Molly." He said before he could stop himself.

"Yes, Sherlock?" She replied, obviously still embarrassed.

"I would like to know if you have plans tonight." Molly looked flustered as if that was the last thing she expected to hear.

"Well, I… I don't think that I have anything planned tonight."

"You don't. You never have plans." He replied.

"How do you know?" She was getting a bit defensive at his inferences. "Perhaps I am meeting friends, or…" She paused.

"You have not had plans on a Thursday evening for the past 7 weeks. You will most likely be working late at the lab, or retiring to your apartment to spend the evening alone."

"Okay, Sherlock. There is nothing wrong with being by myself. My plans and my social life are none of your business." She was pressing her lips together, and he could detect anger, and hurt in her expression. This was not going well. "I need to get back to work."

"Molly." He called. She turned back to face him. "I wanted to know if you wanted to do something with me this evening." She was speechless for a moment.

"Y-you… You want to do something tonight with me? Me? You mean… Like… A date?" She was sputtering and looked confused as if this were some sort of trick.

"No..." Was it a date? Well, he supposed it was. "Yes…" He felt awkward, which was not a feeling that he associated with himself. He quite disliked it. Molly was not replying. She just looked at him, mouth open, and disbelief in her eyes. She soon recovered, however, and stuttered a response.

"O-of course, I think that that would be fun. W-where are we going?"

"I will pick you up at eight tonight, and drive you."

"So, it's a surprise?"

"I suppose it is."

"Alright."

"Alright."

Bloody hell, what had he just gotten himself into? There is no way he could handle this…