Chapter 2

Dinner with You

By the time Lestrade came trudging through the front door of the flat, the girls were already settled in across the city with their mother. It might have been a relief to have the flat away from the sharp attitude of his eldest daughter; after all, it hadn't exactly been an easy morning. Heather had refused breakfast, yelled harshly though the door whenever he tried to get her up, and wound up running down the three flights of stairs in order not to miss the bus. He'd yelled back, actually, quite a bit. But since he wouldn't see her again until Saturday, any threats were therefore rendered moot.

However, a few hours of work had somehow managed to lift his moods. London had been rather quiet lately, there were a few break-ins as of late, but that wasn't his division, so it was a few hours of mindless paperwork to numb his mind away from the resentment Heather was giving him and the stress of the custody battle. Mindless, monotonous – it was just what he needed.

But, once he crossed the threshold into his flat, he found himself overcome with a strange feeling tugging inside his chest. It almost felt hollow. There were still traces of his daughters' presence in the flat – Paige's breakfast dishes still laid on the bottom of the sink, the telly automatically flicked on to CBBC, Heather's cleats lay haphazardly beside the recliner, and there were crayons on the tea-table from where Paige had done her art homework the night before. Still, the knowledge that he was the only one currently occupying the space, it made him feel rather lonely. Particularly in light of what had happened on his way home.

He hadn't felt like taking a cab, he'd been sitting most of the day, and the urge to stretch his legs had been too good to resist. Then, well, he wished he had taken the cab. Standing in line to what had once been his favourite bakery, was Ella and what's-his-name. Lestrade stopped in the middle of the walk. He didn't mean to stare, but it felt awful. It was one thing to have Sherlock rudely inform him of Ella's infidelity. It was another entirely to see it for himself. To see his wife—ex-wife on Friday – with someone else made him feel like somebody had stabbed him in the stomach. He wasn't even sure if he had any romantic feelings to Ella anymore, but still – it hurt.

Not meaning to stare, he couldn't help but look. Ella had a look on her face very similar to one she gave him in their younger years—and as a side-effect, she seemed younger too. Less troubled. He hated to think that it was because he wasn't in her life any more. And, as for what's-his-name? One didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out this man had more time, charisma, and a much stronger libido than he did. Just seeing the way they were standing so close, with his arms around her, the kiss he gave her on the neck in the middle of the street, it was sobering.

This encounter, accompanied from the remnants of Heather and Paige's visit including a new padlock on Heather's empty bedroom door, caused Lestrade to sigh with the overwhelming realisation of just what a bloody awful husband and father he was. He should just stick to investigating murders.

Nodding to the flat, Lestrade removed his suit jacket, throwing it over the side of the recliner and kicked off his own shoes. He looked around room, at Paige's crayons and the dishes in the kitchen sink. At Heather's cleats lying spike-up in the middle of the room. He really ought to clean up. Then next week they'd have a talk about cleaning up after themselves. Resolving to get around to cleaning later, he lifted the lid to his laptop, and instantly found the Webkinz website blinking on his screen. Evidentially Paige had forgotten to close the browser.

He chuckled silently to himself. It must have been quite a sight. A nearly fifty-year-old man with a Webkinz browser open on his computer. Honestly, that might be something he'd look for in a murder case. He shook his head and put the track pad over the favourites bar, changing the girlishly coloured sight to a more socially acceptable site of dark blue and white.

As he scrolled through a page of friends' poorly focused photographs of themselves and their friends, Lestrade found himself slightly annoyed. In all of these photos, the person in question was not alone. Hell, even Anderson just uploaded a photo of himself and his own wife – and Anderson was a dick.

He scrolled some more and saw a large photo of Heather in the middle of the screen. She had her arms around the shoulders of teammates, and under her foot was a black-and-white football. She looked happier than she ever did in real life. Under it was the caption, We won! :-] With this, Lestrade found himself feeling guilty for not making it to watch the game. Even if he hadn't known about it. He was certain Heather hadn't told him at all.

Was this going to be the way things were? When the girls were gone, just wasting time on social networks and news sites? Then again, he wouldn't have time soon enough. Soon enough there would be a case demanding his attention, and he'd be in his office until late at night. At least then he wouldn't have time to be lonely.

In the next moment, there came a sort of soft knocking on his front door. A bit confused, as he hadn't heard the buzzer to allow people in the building in the first place, Lestrade crossed the flat again in order to swing the door open.

Waiting for him, on the other size, was none other than Molly Hooper standing on the other side, with a small smile on her thin lips.

"Molly," He said, rather surprised. "Hullo."

"Hi, Greg," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small card of some sort. "I believe this is yours."

Lestrade took the card, blinking at it. His Scotland Yard I.D. "What? Did I drop this on the way in or something?" He muttered, more to himself than to Molly.

Nevertheless, she came equipped with an answer. "Oh, no. Sherlock…well, he took it from you. He and John came down to the morgue today – Sherlock needed…things to experiment with. John asked if I could give this back to you."

"Surprised I missed it." Lestrade mumbled under his breath, putting the I.D back into his wallet.

"Well," Molly said, "I'll leave you to yourself."

As she turned to go, recent events caught up with Lestrade. "You look cold," he said abruptly. "Care to come in for some tea? Or something?"

It only took Molly a moment or two to consider, and then she nodded. "Thank you, that would be nice. Yeah."

At first, it was sufficiently awkward. Molly remained fairly silent as Lestrade moved around the kitchen, trying to find the kettle and tea leaves. She pulled on the sleeves of her jumper and looked around the room.

Lestrade put the kettle over the stovetop, and then went over to the recliner, whereupon he sat down with a sigh. It took him a few moments, for some reason, avoiding Molly's eyes. Somehow, it felt awkward. He didn't know why. He did not know Molly that well, and certainly wasn't sure how to branch out from small talk with her. Then again, small talk might be the perfect thing. When you get down to it, all he wanted was to take his mind off it all. Talking about the weather might just be the best thing to do.

Thus, they started in on the weather. Then they attempted discussing football (a difficult conversation as neither of them really followed sports) and the X-Factor (a dead conversation for the same reasons). Eventually the conversation turned to work, from this, they nearly got an hour worth of conversation, during which Lestrade took out left over containers of the Thai carry-away, and they wound up having dinner together without even realising it.

Then, in another strange conversational turn, they found himself listening about Molly's every day life.

"It's nice of you to invite me in," She said, "I haven't had dinner with a friend in…well, it really has been forever. It's nice."

"If you didn't turn down every sod asking you out for dinner, maybe you'd think less of my impromptu invitation." Lestrade waved his hand absentmindedly.

Molly raised her thin brows. "Oh, well…this is the first invitation for anything I've gotten in a while."

Sensing his own faux pas, Lestrade felt a warmth creeping up his neck. He managed to shrug slightly, "In that case, everyone else is missing on brilliant company."

With this, Molly turned quite scarlet. Lestrade had to keep from smiling at the effect of his words.

He found himself trying to store away the sight in his mind. She really looked rather pretty with her cheeks tinted, and that nervous smile.

Without warning, Lestrade found himself standing, inside his mind, on the walk outside that bakery. Watching Ella and that P.E teacher standing intimately in public, without a care. They had the façade of a perfect couple – of a perfect family. He couldn't help but think of what it was like – if Heather actually listened to him, if Paige didn't refuse to eat new things when he proposed to. It seemed as though, for that side of the family, everything was perfect. Something he could never live up to. He wasn't perfect at anything, and certainly not when it came to family or love.

A few moments later, Molly had leaned forward on the sofa, and suddenly her voice got soft. "Are you all right, Greg?"

"What?"

"You seem…sad, all of a sudden." Molly muttered, eyes darting around the room. "What's bothering you?"

Lestrade sighed. He really didn't like to talk about his problems. But, the sheer fact that a woman was prying to know was almost a comfort. Ella hadn't bothered to ask in years. So, he gave in and decided to attempt to vocalise to Molly Hooper.

"Just the divorce," He explained. "It's—difficult. I've been married forever, it seems. And with the girls…well, you see the lock Heather put on her door. I don't think any judge is going to let us keep the split custody arrangement we've got now."

Molly nodded slowly, and then for a moment, she choked on words. Then, she finally said, "For what it's worth, you're definitely concerned about them—you love them, I can tell. And judges will keep that in mind."

"But I've got a feeling Heather's going to be adamant against living with me, even part time." Lestrade absent-mindedly began rubbing his temples.

"She's thirteen," Molly said kindly, "Of course she will. She'll be adamant against living with her mum, too. Wait and see."

Lestrade paused, and after a beat, found the corners of his mouth turning upwards. "Thank you," he said.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

He just looked at her, and she back at him, but there was something strange to it. They'd looked at each other so many times before, but something was different this time. Some sort of subliminal connotation had been built, and Lestrade found it difficult to move his eyes.

Hers were brown. He'd never thought that was a particularly thrilling eye colour. Suddenly, he knew that was a wrong prejudgment.

"Oh, God," Molly said suddenly, looking down at her mobile, springing upwards. "Is it really that late? I've got to get back downstairs. Toby's probably ripped the sofa to shreds."

"Toby?"

"My cat." Molly explained, picking up the Styrofoam container she had been eating from, and threw it in the bin.

He walked her to the door, opening it for her. He thought he saw a small grin playing on her lips as he did so.

She walked through the threshold, but then turned back to him. "Greg," she said, biting the side of her lip. "Thank you. It was fun."

"Yeah," Lestrade said, trying to suppress some sort of tremor in his stomach as he watched her. "It was."

She nodded and began to walk down the stairs. He began to walk back into his flat, but then on a strange, new whim, dashed back towards the stairs.

"Molly?" He called down the case, seeing her turn around after being nearly halfway there.

"Yeah?"

Without warning, Lestrade found himself for a complete lack of words. He hadn't known why he'd gone after her in the first place. As far as things like this went, he was out of practice. Whatever 'this' was, anyway. "Er…"

Thankfully, Molly seemed to understand. "I start working a little later on Fridays," she said, compensating for his dumb silence. "Do you want me to show you a good place to get coffee on this part of town?"

"Yeah," Lestrade said nodding abruptly.

"All right," Molly smiled. "Half passed eight, tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good."

Molly nodded back, and turned to continue down the staircase. "Night, Greg."

Lestrade found himself, yet again, watching her continue down the stairs. Once she was out of eyeshot, he realised that he was possibly the biggest idiot of all time, and slapped himself in the face to remind him.

Closing the door back behind him, he began to pick up the things Paige left behind.

What was he doing? Had he really just asked Molly Hooper to coffee? Well, technically, she had asked him. Though initially it was his idea. Either way. Wasn't it a bit soon to have interest in someone? The Decree nisi wouldn't be back for another six weeks yet, he still had to sign the petition. Besides. He was almost twenty years older, with too much baggage. A nice girl like Molly deserved a nice man who didn't come with so much drama. Was he interested in her? Was he just trying to distract himself? If it was the latter, he instantly felt guilty. It wasn't fair to her.

Yet, the fact that he couldn't get the way she bit her lip out of his mind, seemed to prove the former.

He sighed audibly to no one. Wasn't he getting a bit old for this?

A/N: :\ Not sure how I feel about this one. Any thoughts? Seriously, guys. Review. Please.

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