Oh God, make-up.
Her palette lay before her, displayed on the dresser, and she bit her lip.
Molly had grown accustomed to getting ready in the morning without agonizing over everything, but now all her old doubts and insecurities flooded back. Thankfully she had already gotten dressed before she realised he could be on his way, otherwise she might have been late to work!
She stared dejectedly at herself in the mirror, but then she forced herself to follow the plan: to pretend she didn't know he was on the case. to not do anything different...It was just a normal day at work...
Yes, that made it easier.
She picked up the colours she usually used in the morning, making sure not to apply anything more than her average, everyday make-up.
Molly inspected herself in the mirror...She could really use some eyeliner...No! She didn't have time in the mornings for eyeliner.
And her hand would be too shaky, anyway! The line would be uneven.
And he would notice.
Molly put on her coat and walked out of the apartment. As she tried to lock the front door, she found it hard to slip the key in the keyhole.
"Come on, get a grip, girl!" She muttered to herself impatiently.
Besides, he might never come.
"Taxi!" John called for the umpteenth time.
"Bloody London fashion week!" Sherlock muttered grumpily, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Well, it has been hard to get a taxi." John mused "But it isn't all bad." he added as a small Group of stunning models walked by.
John followed them with his eyes for a moment, then turned to his flatmate with a boyish grin, searching for some camaraderie.
He found none.
Sherlock looked at John reproachfully, turned away and pulled his coat closer to him. John sighed.
The doctor never knew what transpired between Molly and his friend. All of a sudden things became strange between them. Hoping to help, John had feigned a cough to leave them alone together. Later that afternoon Sherlock had come home in a foul mood, slammed the bedroom door, smashed something and did not come out or speak to anyone for the rest of the day. The next morning John had tried to bring him some tea, but his friend had left during the night.
Sherlock came back a few days later, but they never spoke of what happened.
Things became awkward at the hospital, Sherlock would always avoid going. Then one day there was a little party. Sherlock refused to go, and Molly seemed relieved he didn't show up. The next day she was gone.
John sometimes wondered if it would have been better to not start coughing that day...
Shaking his head, he finally managed to get a taxi.
3pm.
Molly tapped her fingers nervously on her desk. Concentrating on work seemed a Herculean task, one she was failing miserably.
With a slight moan of frustration she crossed her arms on the computer and let her head drop on them. Eventually she lifted it enough to look at the picture frames.
Maybe they needed a pathologist at the north pole?
No, too cold.
The Caribbean? Yes!
She'd open a nice little practice on some obscure Caribbean island where he would never show up unexpectedly. She'd have a nice tan and go swimming every day! Molly began to plan getting a passport for Toby when she heard a familiar voice.
"Hello, Molly."
"Doctor Paten!" She jumped to her feet as the elderly doctor walked into the room with a smile. Molly's eyes darted behind him to check...He was alone.
So, Sherlock hadn't come after all.
She breathed a sigh of...relief?
Yes?...Yes. It had to be relief.
It was relief.
Definitely relief.
"So, how have you been?" He asked amicably, sitting down on the chair in front of her desk. "Is Doctor Hoffe treating you well?"
"I've been very well, everyone has been very welcoming." Molly nodded sincerely. "I actually wanted to thank you, doctor Paten, for allowing me to come here earlier than..."
"Don't you worry about that, dear." He smiled. "You had become unhappy, and the doctor you recommended is doing a splendid job..."
They chatted for a few minutes, then he checked his watch.
"I have to leave you now, dear, I have a meeting with doctor Hoffe..." He stood.
"Doctor Paten..." Molly hesitated "Did you fly over alone?" She ventured.
"Yes, I did." He replied, shrugging.
Molly nodded quietly in response. The doctor started walking to the door.
"I had booked my ticket weeks ago. There was no room for Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson, they had to catch the next flight. Bye!" He added cheerfully as he walked out of the room, leaving behind a frozen doctor.
"Doctor Hooper?" Jane knocked at the door. " Inspector Hayes called. He's coming with Sherlock Holmes to inspect the body of the ambassador in a few minutes and..."
A quiet little island, somewhere in the Caribbean.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Jane smiled politely as inspector Hayes, John and Sherlock walked into the morgue. "I am doctor Merryweather. You must be the famous Sherlock Holmes." She extended her hand but the consulting detective just stared at her with his brow furrowed.
"I'm John." His friend stepped in politely. "I'm sorry if we seem surprised, but we rather hoped to see Doctor Hooper..."
"Oh yes, well..." Jane started to explain when Sherlock passed by her to the corpse on the table.
"The Ambassador had just recently returned from Austria, and was murdered in his home, correct?" He asked without taking his eyes off the body.
"Uhm, yes." the Young doctor nodded. "Doctor Hooper left the chart there, if you wish to see it."
Sherlock poked and prodded the body a while longer, then picked up the documents that were left on the table.
"Where are her hand-written ones?"
"Pardon?"
"Her notes! Her personal notes! Molly Always writes an official document for the hospital, and keeps a little booklet with her personal comments, conjectures, opinions and terrible deductions. Where is it?"
"If the deductions are terrible, why do you want it?" Hayes asked, puzzled.
"She had the advantage of time. This man was killed on Wednesday, three days make a lot of difference. Now where is that notebook?" He demanded, glaring at the now flustered and clearly incompetent excuse for a path...
"Here it is."
Sherlock turned around.
Molly was standing at the door, the notebook in her hand.
"Hello, Sherlock."
