Molly always found herself trying too hard. Despite the fact that she knew it was pointless and it made her look like an idiot. So she made a solemn vow with herself that tonight would be different.
Mary had called a few days ago and invited her over to her and John's flat for some dinner. "Everyone" would be there, and Mary had wanted to have Molly there so they could get to know one another a little better. She was touched really, because Mary couldn't have knows much more about Molly than whatever she heard from John and Sherlock. They must not completely put her down when in private, the way that she sometimes feared they do.
She didn't bother to dress any different, or do her hair, or put on more than her usual coverup and blush. She just put on her favorite jeans and a sweater and pulled her hair to the side in a lose ponytail. She had picked up a bottle of wine and decided that was enough to bring for a casual friends dinner party.
Molly arrived at the flat after most other guests already had, and so most of the party didn't take much notice when she came in and began to hang up her coat and take her shoes off. Much to her surprise, Sherlock came directly over to where she stood by the door, audibly announcing, "Hello Molly! Good of you to make it!" but then adding under his breath "Mary has clearly invited some idiot single male friend of hers to meet you this evening."
"What?!" she sputtered out, looking horrified and searching the small crowd immediately.
"For God's sake, Molly, try not to be so obvious. Do not look right now, but he's the one wearing the tan jacket and he's got a dark crew cut...I said do not look right now!"
"But, Sherlock, how do you know...oh, never mind," she said, wondering how many times in the course of her life she would stop herself mid sentence from asking that pointless question.
He seemed to indulge her this time, because he began to explain. "He has no connection to the people with whom John and I are acquainted. And he's also being introduced to the other friends of Mary's as if he's never met them before. Those other friends of Mary's are all married or dating, so he couldn't be here for the benefit of them. Most likely he's an old friend who recently got back in touch. He looks to be in some sort of construction work based on his hands, but he made some sort of an effort to pull himself together tonight based on this fresh hair cut and the fact that he's wearing too much after shave. It was clearly an effort to be kind on Mary's part, seeing as you are recently broken up and he's clearly single..."
"Sherlock?" she cut in.
"Hm?"
"Do me a favor, and please try to answer this question as honestly, and kindly as possible. Do I look alright?"
Sherlock frowned as he looked down at her and the wheels began turning in his head.
"Molly, you can't possibly be considering...believe me, the man is a complete and utter moron. Haven't you had enough of those for a lifetime? I've already spent a full half hour listening to the man talk, though all I had to do was watch him to know how ridiculous he is. He's a liar, Molly! Half of what he's said to the people here are lies, and those were stupid petty things. Think of what else he may be lying about! Actually, give me another five minutes with him and I'll be able to tell you." Sherlock began to turn, but Molly grabbed his arm.
"Stop, Sherlock! Just leave it. I can handle myself alright? You don't need to deduce literally everything all the time. I am capable of finding my own boyfriends...don't say it...now, can you please just answer my question so I can actually leave the welcome mat?"
Sherlock was extremely frustrated. Clearly she couldn't pick proper boyfriends, as she was well aware he could point out. Why not take his expert advice on this man who she'd never met before? What could be more useful? But he sighed and looked her over again.
"You look like Molly Hopper, and that's exactly how you should look."
She stared back at him, then broke free of his steely eyes to walk past him and greet Mary and John.
Sure enough, this Blake fellow was one of the first people to be introduced to Molly, which completely confirmed what Sherlock had already known. He watched as the man offered Molly a drink and they talked to a few other people before taking a seat in the living room with a few other friends.
Sherlock marched into the kitchen where Mary was getting some food together and John was helping her.
"How long have you known that man Mary?" he demanded.
"What? What man, Sherlock?"
He rolled his eyes and gestured outside the kitchen. "The one making a disgusting display in front of Molly!"
Mary laughed a little and exchanged a look with John.
"Sherlock, I went to school with him. He's a nice guy. Moved back here recently and found me online. I felt badly for him since he doesn't know many people around here since coming back, so I invited him here tonight. What's the problem? I figured Molly could do with a little distraction since Tom."
"Clearly you don't know who he truly is. He's been lying about stupid little things to your guests in an effort to impress people. No doubt he'll do the same thing with Molly, and it'll probably work too! That girl needs to stay away from men, she cannot pick a decent one!"
John and Mary both tried to contain laughter and Mary picked up a tray to take out to the living room.
"She's a woman Sherlock, and you may just need to take a step back and stay out of it," Mary said with a smile as she walked past.
Sherlock leaned against a counter and looked over at John. "What?!"
"Nothing! Nothing at all. I just had thought that you'd perhaps be relived that Molly is paying someone else all the attention tonight. Must be a terrible burden all the time for you to be so deeply adored by another human being. Perhaps you should just enjoy the weight being lifted from your shoulders!"
Sherlock's eyes widened, and then narrowed. And he looked at John, or rather right through him, as he was clearly onto something. Then he said, "You are rather more experienced at these things than I am, so I do in this instance need your input."
John looked around him in mock amazement. Then Sherlock continued.
"Would you say that history of an extended romantic attachment to one person would outweigh the excitement of a first encounter with another person who you find attractive?" he asked at the speed of light.
John cocked his head and looked confused. "Say what, Sherlock?"
Sherlock gave a look of "how could you not understand me?" and then went on to clarify for his friend.
"To put it bluntly, Do you believe that Molly's past feelings for me would be enough, if put to good use, to distract her from this man she's just met?" He raised an eyebrow at John.
John's eyes widened in horror at the idea Sherlock was proposing.
"Sherlock, you cannot be serious. Please tell me you wouldn't do that! Sherlock, get back here, you are making a huge mistake and she will never forgive you this time! Don't be a fool!"
"Clearly your answer is a yes. And don't worry, John, it's for her own good. I'd do the same for you...well not exactly. But I'd be sure to come up with some other sort of brilliant plan to steer you away from a foolish choice in romance. Hmm, isn't it nice I wont have to worry about you on that score now?"
"You are not listening to me, Sherlock! You're playing with fire, and you're gonna burn yourself and everyone else in this dinner party!" he tried to say as loud as he could, but Sherlock had already left the kitchen at the word "listening."
John rubbed his temples and groaned as he poured himself a glass of wine.
Sherlock made his way past a couple people and sat right next to Molly on the couch, who was deeply involved in a conversation with Blake. But because of how purposely conspicuous he made his taking a seat, she turned and acknowledged him.
"Oh, hi, Sherlock. Thought you'd be with John."
He made a quick note that if he over did it, she would actually be able to see that he was making a show and would disregard his attention with some irritation. He would have to be a bit more subtle.
"I was. I wanted to come sit with you for a while though."
She looked up from her glass of wine, and already seemed flustered. Even from that small mention of his desire to be close to her. He couldn't help but think to himself, this is going to be incredibly easy. Definitely easier than he had even thought. But it seemed Blake wasn't easily put off. He attempted to continue their conversation as if Sherlock hadn't ever sat down.
"Must be a little weird working with dead people all the time. I don't think I could ever do that!" Blake said to her.
"Molly is one of the best in her field. I'd certainly never want to work with anyone else," Sherlock interjected, and he made a point to examine Molly's face thoroughly with his eyes as he spoke the words. He watched as color began to rise in her cheeks, and she nervously looked back at him. He had a passing thought that he hadn't told one word of a lie so far.
Blake clearly didn't have any desire to talk with anyone but Molly, but he took the cue that Sherlock wanted in on the conversation, so he reluctantly asked, "So, you two work together?"
"Not officially!" Molly answered quickly. "He's in the lab often, just to gather information though. He helps the police with some detective work." She watched the two men nervously as she noted that they were eying each other.
"Detective eh? Interesting," Blake said quietly. And Sherlock scanned him up and down, deducing that the idea of him being a detective made the man very nervous.
Sherlock felt this was going to be trickier the longer Molly stayed sitting next to this man. He needed to figure a way to remove her from the couch...Then he saw his opportunity as a friend of Mary's was making her way to the chair next to where he sat. She was carefully balancing a glass of red wine.
He moved the coffee table ever so slightly which made it touch the woman's leg as she took her next step. She lost her footing, and spilled her wine perfectly onto the front of Sherlock's jacket and shirt. There was a moment of commotion as there was a flurry of "sorry" and "not to worry." And, as he knew she would, Molly jumped up to help him as he made his way to the kitchen.
"Oh, Sherlock that's probably ruined!" she said in a worried tone as he removed his jacket and the dark stain was revealed that covered almost the entire front of his white shirt.
"My own stupid fault. I shouldn't have been moving the coffee table with my foot. Perhaps they have some club soda or something," He slowly began searching for something among the bottles laid out on the counter for guests, waiting for what he knew she would say next.
"No, no, there's no point to that now. It needs to be left to soak. The stain's huge! We can't just douse you in club soda!" she laughed a little. Molly then stuck her head out the kitchen door and called to john.
"John, could you get Sherlock a clean shirt to borrow? This one's got to have a soak."
"Good lord, Sherlock," he muttered under his breath, then said aloud to Molly "Right away. I'll get something."
She looked back at Sherlock who was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt in the middle of the kitchen. She fought the urge to turn around like a teenage girl who couldn't handle the sight of a man without a shirt on. But she was also afraid that she couldn't contain the redness in her cheeks, so she tried (with little success) to focus her eyes elsewhere. He had the buttons all open and was undoing the cuffs when John came in holding a shirt.
John came in and stopped for a second, rolling his eyes at Sherlock, out of the view of Molly.
"Here you go you blundering idiot," he muttered.
"These sleeves are going to be extremely short on me I believe," Sherlock said, ignoring the disdain in John's voice, and pulling the stained shirt off.
"Right! I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?" John said with one more look at Sherlock before walking out shaking his head.
Sherlock pulled the shirt over his shoulders and began fastening the buttons. When he finished, he held his arms out and smiled at Molly who laughed at how ridiculously short indeed the sleeves were.
"Here, why don't you just roll the sleeves up instead? I think that looks nice anyway." He was pleased to see that she came right over and began folding one of the cuffs up once, twice, three times. She smiled at her handy work. "Much better right?"
"Much," he said softly. More softly than he actually meant to, but she was standing too close to him...and his voice seemed to change itself without his consent. He looked down at her as she repeated the same folding on the other arm.
"What do you need?" He heard it again in his head, same as the night he had felt sorry for hurting her feelings. It bothered him. He wasn't sure why he was hearing it right now, let alone at all. But then he remembered what his goal was this evening, and concluded that perhaps he was drawing sentimental memories to the surface in a unconscious effort to help his cause.
"Thank you, Molly," he said, softly again, as she finished the second sleeve.
"It's ok, I don't mind," she said, and he could feel her nervousness as she stood so close to him. But she did manage to look up at him, and when she did, he almost had to look away.
It was a little like deduction. It felt the same. The wheels turning and thoughts racing. But it was the feeling of deducing something that he'd almost rather have left uncovered. And that didn't happen often. Sherlock began to think that there was a good reason he hadn't paid much mind to Molly Hopper in the past. Maybe he had always knows somewhere in the extensive catalog of his mind that it would be a dangerous disadvantage. A dangerous disadvantage that he'd done well to avoid thus far in his life.
"Sherlock?" Molly asked quietly noticing that his gaze seemed intense. When she said it, she very gently grasped the hand that hung at his side. She seemed to have done it unconsciously, because she looked extremely shocked and seemed to stop breathing when she felt Sherlock's fingers close around hers. But she added, "are you ok?" in no more than a whisper, and she searched his eyes with some concern.
It occurred to him that she'd never seen him looking at her like this except for when he believed he could be about to die. And in a way, this was a very similar feeling to the one he had experienced that day.
"I'm not...sure," he said in a deep whisper, and it was the truth.
"Well," Molly began slowly, and he swallowed nervously as he saw how her gaze had begun to dart back and forth from his eyes to his lips. "What's wrong?"
He drew in a slow breath and carefully considered his answer. He began to squeeze Molly's hand more firmly and he felt her respond in kind. He watched as her breath quickened in connection to the increased pressure of his hand on hers.
"At this exact moment, Molly?" he said softly. "Nothing."
Molly gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and looked back at him clearly questioning what in the world was going on and what in the world she should do next. She was frozen in fear, and terrified that somehow she was inventing all of this that was happening in front of her eyes.
Sherlock leaned his head down until his forehead was almost touching hers. He saw Molly's eyes flutter closed when he did this, and then fly open again. Then she tilted her face upwards, first brushing his nose with hers, then going further and further till he felt just a touch of her lips against his own. And just as his own lips began to part...
"Oh that's just brilliant!" Blake said rather loudly as he walked into the kitchen. Sherlock and Molly were both startled into releasing their hands and stepping a foot or two back from each other.
Blake left the kitchen and they heard him leave the party a moment after speaking to Mary and John. It all happened at such a speed that Sherlock's mind had trouble keeping up for once. He ran a hand along the back of his neck as Mary and John came in the kitchen.
"Sherlock, why on God's green earth are you kissing Molly in my kitchen? You've scared away a guest now! And for what?" John demanded.
The crimson that had been in Molly's cheeks had drained away now and she looked rather pale. "Sorry, John. Sorry, Mary," she said in a sheepish voice.
"Oh believe me, Molly, it's not your fault!" John said, glaring at Sherlock.
"John, would you please not..." Sherlock began, suddenly afraid of what he would say.
"He was a perfectly normal nice guy, Sherlock! You could've just let the deducing take a back seat for once," he continued.
"John, maybe you shouldn't..." Mary began, as she had perceived what John hadn't.
"Wait, what? You mean...Blake?" Molly uttered now in a horrified tone as her eyes darted back and forth between John and Sherlock.
She began to draw the conclusion that Sherlock had now been afraid of. And he somehow wondered why this scenario hadn't clearly been played out and expected already in his mind. He realized that he had never before hurt her the way that he'd just hurt her right now in this moment. Not because of his driving away this man that had been interested in her, but because of what she now believed he had faked. He saw her eyes begin to fill.
"How...dare you?" she said in a shaky voice.
"Molly..." he began, though he wasn't really sure how else to proceed.
"I can't, Sherlock, please...Sorry guys, I didn't mean to cause any problems. I'm going to head home," she said to Mary and John. She left the kitchen and John went to see her out. Mary came over to Sherlock and put a hand on his arm.
"If you spoke up, I don't think she'd be leaving here crying right now. Never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes speechless. How does it feel to be like the rest of us for once?" Mary gave him a little smile before leaving him alone once more in the kitchen.
Sherlock heard the door close and knew Molly had left the flat now.
"It feels awful...and wonderful," he said quietly to himself.