Sherlock just couldn't focus on his experiments. It's not that this research was dull, or that he had the results of this experiment figured out already. It was in fact very interesting. He was looking for a way to indicate blood in a large amount of water, and he was nearly there. No, it was something else. But what? He just could not lay a finger on it. What was the word?

Suddenly he jerked his head up. Would she understand he meant six o'clock in the morning? What if she thought it was in the evening, and he was waiting there for nothing? But it could also be that she knew it was in the morning, and what if he would appear in the evening and she had been waiting for nothing?

He immediately took out his phone and texted her.

I meant in the morning.
-SH

Only seconds later, his phoned beeped.

Sure. Can't you sleep either?
-Molly

I hardly need sleep.
-SH

He waited for a response, but didn't get any. He quickly glanced at the clock. Half past three. His own equipment was not sufficient, he needed a better microscope. He stood up, grabbed his jacket from the couch, put on his coat and scarf, and was surprised by John, who came walking down the stairs with a sleepy look in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" he drowsily asked.

"Bart's, I need the microscope there. Why are you up so early?"

"Heard some noise, and thought 'better check'. Shall I come with you?" John offered.

"Oh, no, you don't have to, John. It's nothing special. Boring, even. Go back to bed, I'll be back around midday."

"You look nervous" John drily observed.

Ah, nervous, that's the word. "Why would I be nervous?"

"Don't know." John looked as if he knew very well why.

"Sarcasm?"

"Yeah. You know what? Off you pop, say hi to Molly from me, will you? I'm off to bed," and without saying anything else he left Sherlock standing in the hall while he went back to bed with a smile around his mouth. Well done, Molly!


She really hadn't meant to be late. She was up on time, fed Toby, got a shower, wanted to get dressed. And that is where it went wrong: she couldn't decide what to wear today. Nothing too stylish, nothing too ordinairy. At last she was content with a swirling skirt and a tight fitting top. Perfect hair. High heels or not? It made her taller, so she decided to get into these black peep-toes. Thankfully it wasn't raining. Molly was all happy, until she glanced at the clock.

A quarter for six.

It would take at least 20 minutes to reach Bart's, and she had to get coffee. Oh dear! Finally some sort of date with HIM, and SHE was LATE! She grabbed the newspaper from the mat without looking and rushed outside, slamming the door shut behind her.


"You're late," Sherlock observed, as soon as Molly entered at a quarter past six.

"I know. Sorry. Here's your coffee." She handed him the paper cup, and when he reached out for it, their fingers brushed against each other. His cold eyes bore in hers, and she noticed the cold shade turned a bit darker again, just like last night. This time it wasn't anger that caused the change. Caution, perhaps?

Both sat down at the high tables on stools, and stared awkwardly at each other.

Molly bravely asked at long last: "What did John say last night when you came home so late?"

"Nothing special. I had to say hi from him. This is good coffee. Made it yourself?"

"No, I was, erm.. late. Things to do, you know."

"Ah."

Suddenly his eye fell on the newspaper. He snatched it from the desk and folded it open. His eyes flew over the lines and he tapped with his finger on an article, with a gigantic picture, at the front page. Molly looked up from her coffee and tried to read the article upside-down.

Her wide-open eyes locked in Sherlock's. The unasked question was written all over her face. Breathlessly she asked: "did you do this?"

His eyes narrowed. "You didn't do this then?"

Molly shaked her head. Suddenly Sherlock felt uneasy, so he stood up and walked towards the window. He slid aside the blinds and looked down on the street.

Turning back to Molly, he said: "I fear we have been followed. We'll be safe here for some time, better read this thing first."

Sherlock Holmes's Love Affair: Who Is She?
By Kitty Riley
The famous detective Sherlock Holmes attended a party at St Bart's yesterday, themed Blind Date. He left the party early, accompanied by a female colleague. After going for a drink in a nearby pub, he walked her home where they parted romantically. Apparently they had a great time, as the printed picture below shows us. According to our sources, this woman is Molly Hooper, pathologist at St Bart's, and consequently close to Mr Holmes. As things turn out, this can be dramatic for Holmes's reputation, as his friend and flatmate, John Watson, will probably not really like this turn-up. At the time of going to print, we are not yet informed of any future dates, but Mr Holmes and Ms Hooper, be warned. We will be following you!

"Dear goodness," was all the baffled Molly could utter.

"Of course. Anderson," muttered Sherlock under his breath. "Molly, ready to face the press?"

She swallowed and looked like a little rabbit that faces the great head-lights of an apporaching lorry.

"Me neither."

Quickly he scribbled down some of the notes, and placed them in his breastpocket. Molly had walked towards the window and glanced down. At least fifteen photographers were waiting outside, and suddenly someone pointed up, at Molly. Sounds of flashes from photocameras and lots of other noises drifted upwards.

"Go away from the window, Molly!" Sherlock snapped impatiently. "Now they know we are here. I'll phone John. We need a cab. Follow me, Molly."

He walked outside, and bumped into Lestrade. "Well done, Sherlock," the DI praised Sherlock. Too much sarcasm for one day.

"Shut up, I need to talk to John," Sherlock said, already phoning his flat-mate. But somehow John didn't pick up. With an irritated look on his face he looked at Molly.

"Emergency Exit it is then. Ready?" But when he looked down at her feet, he saw she was wearing high heels. "Why are you wearing high heels? You weren't wearing them before. Never mind that now. We have to go," and he pointed towards the end of the hall, where a paparazzi photographer had already caught a glimpse of them, and he clicked some pictures now and then.

"Molly, take my hand."

Without further thinking she entwined her fingers in his and started running. Well, she tried.

"Come on, Molly!"

"Hang on, please!" she yelled, becoming fairly angry with him. "I can't run in this idiotic shoes." She stopped, slid them off and grabbed both shoes in her left hand. With bare feet she ran after Sherlock, her right hand locked in his left, down the hall, followed by the paparazzi.

When they reached the door, Sherlock pushed it open with his shoulder, and peeped around the corner. "It's safe, no-one to see here."

He looked down at her feet again, and then noticed: "Your coat is still in the lab. You're not cold?"

Molly shaked her head. It's not as if she had the time to get cold. On the run with Sherlock. It seemed life couldn't become more beautiful.

He threw a glance behind them and pulled Molly with him, down the emergency stairs. For a short moment, Molly was distracted by the look of his broad shoulders in his great swirly coat.

She ran after him, without knowing where they went, barefooted. She was not expecting to get hurt, not with him so nearby, connected by their fingers, but that was why the pain came so suddenly, unexpected. She slipped out a shriek of shock and pain, and hopped further on one foot, almost losing her balance. Sherlock looked back, again annoyed. He just wanted the press to have lost their trail.

But when he saw the tears of pain in her eyes, he stopped and his looks softened. Her big toe bleeded, and the little soft hairs on her arms were raised. She was cold.

Sherlock quickly considered their situation. "Moll, can you go on for half a mile? We will be able to get a cab at the main road."

He called her Moll! She nodded bravely, biting back the tears, and hopped behind him. However, it was not fast enough for him, so he turned around and lifted her in his strong arms.

He grinned when she looked up at him with shock readable in her brown eyes.

Far too quickly, if you asked Molly, they reached the main road after getting many looks from people in the street. Obviously, they made a great couple.

When a cab stopped to pick them up, he helped Molly ascend the car and went in after her. "Baker Street, please."


When they reached Baker Street, there was no paparazzi in sight, much to Sherlock's relief. He helped Molly out the car, and opened the front door of Baker Street. She hopped inside after him, and sighed. He looked down at her with a reassuring smile.

"I will get this sorted out soon. It will soon be as if nothing has happened."

Molly wasn't so sure whether that was a good thing. He had indeed been behaving much like his old self, not like the man he was yesternight. Well, she knew this was going to happen, didn't she?

He opened the door to Mrs Hudson's living room and placed Molly on the sofa. "John!"

Seconds later, John came down the stairs with a worried look on his face, but when he saw Sherlock standing in the door, he sighed with relief. "You're home early! It's not even 7 o'clock!"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but pointed John towards Molly. "Her feet are bleeding, can you take care of it?"

"What have you two been doing? Sherlock!" John demanded when Sherlock walked towards the table, but he was interrupted by Mrs Hudson, who came walking in with tea.

"Ah hello love! You looked chilled to the bone. Here, some tea will warm you up!"

"I don't need tea, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock answered curtly.

"I wasn't talking to you, young man. I meant the little lady over there. What were you thinking of, Sherlock, dragging her with you without a coat or shoes…! It's not very gentlemanlike of you."

"Never mind that, Mrs Hudson. It was this or something else."

John said nothing, but the look on his face was one big questionmark.

"Come on John, surely you've read the newspapers?"

John folded his arms and shaked his head. "Nope. You tell me."

Sherlock sighed, and explained the situation shortly to John. "Yesternight, Molly and I, erm… parted in a erm… friendly way. The papers got hold of pictures, printed them and now they were waiting outside Bart's. Must have been Anderson."

"What kind of pictures?" John asked innocently.

Sherlock sighed, but pulled out a newspaper from his coat-pockets and showed John.

John let out a stifled laughter when he saw the pictures. "Looks like you two were having fun. Seriously, Sherlock! You!"

Sherlock snapped the newspapers out of John's hands and folded it. "It's not funny, John." The detective looked sourly and sank down on a chair. John stood before him and looked seriously at Sherlock, just as long until Sherlock finally looked up. "What?"

"Sherlock.. was it serious or a one-off? You can't let her be miserable. Be honest: was it one of your experiments?" John whispered so that Molly wouldn't be able to hear their conversation.

Sherlock was unwilling to answer, but when John persisted, he shaked his head. "Well, I don't know. I was trying to find out this morning, but we were interrupted. By the press. Because of Anderson. I am going to kill the man!" He whispered too.

He inhaled deeply and looked back at John. "John?"

"Mm?"

"I never thought I was going to say this, but I don't know what to do."

John tried very hard not to grin, but when he saw Sherlock was serious, he sank down on a chair too and stared at Molly and Mrs Hudson. "She's a good girl, Sherlock."

"Yes, I have deduced that too. Thank you, John."

"No, I mean: don't mess with her. You want some time with her?"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "John, she doesn't have shoes nor a coat. I don't know where to go or what to do."

"Visit the zoo?" John suggested.

"Dull."

"Museum?"

"Tedious."

"Take a stroll in the park."

"Boring. And we will get recognised."

"Movie?"

"Seriously?"

"Visit a crime scene!" John snapped, almost shouted, at the end of ideas. "Why did you bloody kiss the girl in the first place!"

Sherlock cast John a warning look, but Molly had already overheard the last part of their conversation, despite their efforts to keep the volume low.

Molly looked up, and said: "We can stay here? Just you, John, Mrs Hudson, me? You play the violin, be cosy and… stuff?"

Sherlock looked at her and nodded. "Sounds good, doesn't it? Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes?"

"Do we have anything in?"

"Oh, I don't know Sherlock.. I think so. Give me a little mo, okay?" and the landlady disappeared in the kitchen.

Sherlock raised from his chair and walked upstairs, followed by Molly, who was supported by John, because her feet were really sore.

"We can play Cluedo, if you want? Scrabble, Monopoly?" John suggested, but a disaproving mutter from Sherlock was his only reply.


To be Continued.