How Lucky You Are

by Berouge

How lucky you are to have friends who love you for who you are inside. Behind every great person, there are the people who help prop them up when they are weak, sick, or drunk. Brilliant Sherlock Holmes is as only as infallible as the people who believe in him. But before John grounded his feet more securely to Mother Earth, Molly had been instrumental into smoothing things down.

7. Chapter 7

AN- It was my Birthday on the Friday the 29th and I planned to post this as present to you all. Spent Saturday recovering from the brown bottle flu...Sunday was Easter- Happy Easter guys!- and today is fittingly enough, April Fools day! Because Molly's ringed with fools. There was a point in there I'm sure, but whatevs.

Thank you all so much for you're input! You the reader! It's still so fascinating to me that you are enjoying this. It really is and it makes pushing these puppies out so worth while!

I can't fangirl like this in the real world! I'd be locked up. Also...this chapter was HUGE! Like...40K words in length- yeah I ain't that nice. I cut into it and that's what took so long.

***italics mean past things

Mistakes are reminders- check your work! They suck finding after posting!

How Lucky You Are

By: Berouge

Molly was well aware, since her early years in high school, that on a good day, her looks were passable fraternizing with cute – she at least thought so- and on a bad day, they were a few degrees south of 'woof'- she thought so too- and she was relatively okay with the middle ground of average because she'd always had other things, more important things to really focus on- namely school and work. Boys and relationships didn't come into the picture until much later in her development- she was a late bloomer but her 'am I ugly?' panic attacks were more prevalent stepping out of high school right into university where such things didn't quite matter as much anymore since members of her year were starting to focus on what she always had- work and school.

Oh, boy, but did she had her moments- what girl didn't?- and they were as terrible and self-destructive for her as any other woman her age, but she got through them moderately well and rekindled her focus into the important things like her future career, her schooling, and her family. Significant things that were not dependent on if her hair did what it was supposed to or if her mouth could have been a lot fuller- which it so could have- and these beliefs had managed to pull her through the upheavals and angst of her teenaged and early college years. Vanity had never been a trait she had meticulously or willingly cultivated for herself- what was the point? Being good looking only kept your grades afloat for so long before even they couldn't save you- which in hindsight was bloody fantastic because Sherlock was a right peacock in comparison and she could barely handle him, let alone a hypothetical past personal option she could have seriously entertained.

Sherlock and his sharp suits, fetching colors, imposing coat, loud wordy mouth endorsing how devastatingly intelligent he was like an alarm clock that was allowed to keep slipping off the snooze setting every five minutes- he was his own wonder as well as being bad enough for several egos worth of narcissism.

And vanity, especially his brand of vanity, came with a whole collection of mannerisms that a person could swap and try on depending on what fit their mood.

Sherlock was a big fan of modeling every single one at the most random and unfortunate of opportunities- how did she figure he was her best friend again? In what warped reality did she think someone who physically applauded the refulgence of a cleverly executed murder made a healthy best friend? According to the busybodies- cough, sodding Donovan, cough- she must have lost some screws when Little chucked her into that wall- that snarky woman was rapidly becoming her least favorite person in Lestrade's legion of pin balls, and hearing her announce an obiter dictum on two highly personal matters had her spitting mad, even if she was starting to give a infinitesimal credence to it.

The cow.

How dare she make a credible observation!

So what if one of her good friends was a sight off the mark and rather impressed with himself? Anderson was a flaming idiot and no one saw Molly pointing fingers and being rude- that was Sherlock's job- and she didn't take kindly to having that churlish heifer of a DS muttering things during check-ins and body drops. How many times was Molly going to have to refrain from having a fit over implied slights on the six foot consulting ulcer?

He was her friend- Sally and Anderson never seemed to get over it! That it was physically possible for someone to actually like Sherlock Bloody Holmes and that someone was Molly Hooper!

Sherlock, for his useless part, just seemed plagued with cramps when she had snapped the 'f' word loudly at Anderson when he had bumptiously addressed what he assumed was a Sherlock sensitive issue- that git could care less, it was Molly who nearly mauled the Serious Crimes forensics member in the lab during a seeing- who would willingly be friends with the walking psychopath that glorified brutal slayings?

Uh, she would- she should have been highly offended at this point in their friendship that the goofball still rolled himself into a wanker wad over the gushy sentimental moniker. Granted, she supposed him being weird about affection was highly preferable to him being emotionally injured by someone's dislike.

Emotionally injured Sherlock Holmes. Like water and oil- didn't mix right. His self-impressed…ness…came fully equipped with foot thick armor. Strange, it didn't make her sleep easier knowing he still faced such spite when he was out harassing the village.

She'd have stopped doing it, making a right fool of herself fighting off the rats in an unmoved Sherlock's defense- wishful thinking and it wasn't like he was helpless, but she couldn't just not say anything- if certain members of the Yard had the courtesy to bite their tongues from time to time- they just seemed to be getting worse, and she couldn't figure out if it was over exposure to the git, or if they weren't as disciplined as Lestrade had managed to lead her to believe. Sherlock's hellacious personality was as constant and steady as the Sun rising in the east, and he never cared, but for some deep rooted reason, SHE could not accept his nonchalance at this abuse- even years later it was enough for her lose her cool, which Donovan got to learn firsthand. He could be a pest, but he was her pest.

She could remember saying that to him, just to see what he'd do- and was disappointed that he didn't react and actually lectured her on something completely off subject.

Sherlock sucked sometimes.

But even on days when he appeared to have purposefully worked to earn those scornful rebukes and the name calling, when she was at her wits end with him in the lab, it only took the word Freak to set her off on the speaker. He could probably shove granny off a cliff and Molly would totally blame her if she uttered 'freak' right before she tumbled out of sight.

It wasn't healthy, but far be it from her to stop her repulsed reaction to hearing the vile thing whispered from person to person in libelous clouds around a case he was called in on to assist them with.

Freak.

How she loathed that word.

She was shaking from the fury and adrenaline thundering through her veins, making focus difficult. Eyes locked on the face of the dead man on the table, Molly curled her fingers into the sheet she was holding up for the group at large to view the body and its patchwork of damage because this poor bastard apparently had drawn the phalanx attention of precincts far and wide despite remaining rather innocuous in nature aside from being quite dead, and the little side note of being a big fish dealer. Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, some new guy named Todd, DI Dimmock and two of his lackeys were crowded into her morgue, discussing connections, motives, links, and other police things that frankly went right over her head…or at first they were.

It wasn't a shocker- stuffing that many cops into a room from various other units and suddenly it was break time at the coffee shop regardless if a dead body was twelve inches away.

This wasn't the problem- Lord knew she slacked off on the job enough for several people so she wasn't one to call attention to such instances. It was the bitch session about Sherlock, who wasn't even here as he was out doing all the work, which was eating at her manners and good mood. She wanted to remind them of who was doing the mental heavy lifting and it wasn't any of them- at least this is what it looked like to her.

Lestrade, in her grumpy estimation, just seemed drained and quite frankly exhausted of the conversation, having just accepted that this sort of thing came with the position he found himself in being lead dog and Sherlock's buddy- but he had to maintain a working relationship with these people and he was just one man caught up between Sherlock- who was a life saver in mystery but a problem in his own right- and his team- who were critical, mouthy, and in Molly's rapidly deteriorating opinion, largely useless.

He shut them down when they became too acerbic, but for the most part he had to just roll with the punches. Sherlock, he said, was a big boy, and could more than handle any of the garbage that Serious Crimes could conjure up and throw, but she did not care.

She didn't care that he rolled his eyes and sniffed pompously at the lack of creativity amongst the Yard ranks. She didn't care that he was blessedly unaffected and a good deal stronger than she was about name calling- he thought he was a wonder to mankind, remember…he gave vanity a poster child and popped collar.

She cared a great deal- because it was a terrible, awful thing to say to him! He knew he was abnormal, that freak meant things like oddity or anomaly, and he was just peachy keen about it because to be normal was to be boring- or some rubbish to that nature, she had been too busy being mad to really listen to him explain it. To her, freak was a harsh sounding dig at his persona, his special gift that made him so damn valuable to the ignorant wankers of London's MET and NSY, and how dare they…try…attempt…to make him feel bad about it!

Even if he was being a Class A prat with a heavy side of tosser, he used his special talent for a respectable purpose- he was a good person who desperately wished to shed that idealistic sound bite.

Lestrade was shackled to a desired smooth working relationship with these…people, but she was not.

She had no compunctions or hesitations towards Lestrade's team because without her, they were up a creek without a damn paddle- or at least until they could find a replacement- but out of respect for her role, her position, and poor Lestrade who did not need her attitude on top of Scotland Yard and Sherlock's antics, she swallowed her pulsing temper, once, twice…

They had mostly just shat on Sherlock's prickly behavior- and she ground her teeth and stared hard at nothing, or Lestrade, who looked a little more ridged and uncomfortable because he hated the slander just as much as she did but had far less control over it- even DI Dimmock had a few choice words and she counted down from thirty.

But it was when Anderson and Donovan shared a look with each other and said simultaneously 'What a Freak' that she reached her limit and lost her cool. She didn't have much power beyond the walls of the morgue- very little within them in fact- but she did have enough to make things difficult and press her point- one which most ignored because Sherlock was just too outrageous.

She threw them all out of her lab- and there was nothing any of them could do because cadaver viewings were at her discretion and if she said no, outside of board intervention, which there wouldn't be because Donny Mathews had bigger issues to deal with than huffy cops wasting his pathologist's time, they were regulated to the same humdrum rules as the public.

She figured it was the first time in living memory that she and Lestrade had a mutual disagreement- as opposed to him doing something utterly stupid and hurting her feelings- but she wasn't budging an inch and he was just damn lucky she didn't ban anyone- Anderson and Donovan. He never said anything about Sherlock that wasn't directly to Sherlock's face- because he was a good guy and Sherlock's pal- but she felt he hadn't tried hard enough to keep his goons in line and on task. Points against him, because she had been feeling particularly protective of the insufferable man recently for reasons she didn't fully understand herself but knew they had related to her dating someone again- Sherlock was acting weird about it, and she didn't know how to un-weird him back to normal.

"Molly," Lestrade was actually mad. "Be reasonable. We are working on a case! This could be seen as a form of infringement of an ongoing investigation."

She was unmoved, and not at all impressed. "Clearly, you need to work on your team's time management and conduct, Detective Inspector," He winced a little at the title, because she never called him that, and all but cringed at her criticism, because how could he argue against the truth? "Your team just wasted forty-seven minutes of my busy day complaining. I have it on the minutes. I have families to call, and body's that need attention, so unless you want to make an appointment for another time to start what you never began, Tara will assist you."

He was beyond frustrated as she held her ground outside the double gray doors- his team and Dimmock down the hall in reception no doubt bitching about her too- "Molly, Sherlock is not going to collapse into a sobbing mess over the stupid shit Anderson and Donovan manage to dream up." He tried soothing her ruffled feathers and it back fired on him.

"He might not care, but I do." And you should too. It was the silent bit she left off, but Lestrade was smart and loyal and heard it loud and clear. Hunching his shoulders he glared at her.

"Molly, I don't like it any more than you do, but I can't silence my team every time he does something to offend them. It's not a totalitarian regime, it's a loose chain of command that keeps going up, and they are people too." Rude ones.

She huffed, scowling up at him. "Right, well this is my lab and all that fall under my control are subject to my rule- Anderson and Donovan are not allowed here without prior notification and only through appointment from now until Christmas." That would keep the buggers out of her hair.

Lestrade gaped. "Wha- Molly! They are my team! You will not do that!"

Watch her. "I'm serious, Greg. I'm sick of their 'freak' this and 'freak' that business. Sherlock is my friend and if you are going to have him help you, than have the decency to keep your team under control in my morgue."

He was ticked. "Molly! This isn't high school! Sherlock isn't a baby, and you are being unreasonable-"

"He doesn't let them get away with it when people say things about you." She hissed and Lestrade seized up. "He shuts them down before they know what's hit them."

The DI mouthed for a second, clearly not expecting this- she had heard him do it from a distance, that night of her failed date and the horrible discovery of that poor child, right before they disembarked for the lab. Lestrade had to go find someone for something and two guys she didn't know made a quip about Lestrade's competency and Sherlock heard. He wasn't sentimental, but it had been established for some time that Sherlock was protective of what he deemed his. Lestrade was his favored DI; therefore, Lestrade was off limits to all but Sherlock in Sherlock's presence.

It was surprising to see, and yet made perfect sense. Plus, Molly felt the long suffering man before her deserved to know that Sherlock's git tendencies came with a few boons of friendship as well- not that she had originally planned on hitting him over the head with it like she had just done.

"You keep them quiet and I'll reconsider." She finished, glaring down the hall at a sneering Anderson- who Tara had no doubt told to 'sod off' at this point because she thought he was creeper. A badly regrouped Lestrade was struggling to make her see reason, but ultimately gave in- because he must have felt guilty, and he should- muttering a tense 'good bye' he turned and left.

She had secretly wondered why Lestrade just didn't come in by himself- she would have let him because he never said anything against their mutual wacky friend. Lestrade was rather fond of Sherlock- it was plain as damn day to see despite how he suffered because of it. But did he really need Detective Smart Mouth and that moron Anderson to be present? And why did Dimmock have to come that time too? He was a grouchy old man and had a special place in his soul for Sherlock hating- all because the consulting detective made one little slip up and outted his son as gay, something Dimmock could not forgive because he had latent homophobic issues. Or so she highly suspected and because Sherlock said so.

She would have thought he would rather go and instruct green horns on appropriate behaviors amongst the citizenry and proper public service protocol than enter into what was, by all accounts across the board, Sherlock's hidey hole. Lestrade must have drug him up- she couldn't imagine him coming willingly- by telling him the six foot whirl wind of intellectual dexterity was off hustling dealers and smugglers for clues- something that Lestrade was not thrilled about knowing that he could do.

So imagine her shock when it was Sherlock who her dear DI sent to reason with her. Sherlock looked highly confused- or was intensely constipated- as he drifted into the lab two days following the great purge of the law and mentioned that Lestrade wanted access.

"Lestrade needs to see a body, but as to why he texted me to inform you of that-"

"Tell him his 'team' needs to make an appointment, just like everyone else." She interrupted bitterly as she carefully dropped the glass slip onto her loaded slide, sealing in her sample. Sherlock, for his part seemed perplexed- or supremely disinterested, it was a hard to tell when she was busy not looking at him. She actually had to pause and shake her head in amazement that he had tried using Sherlock to bridge a social hiccup. Lestrade must have been truly desperate.

"Anderson?"

She pursed her lips irritated at hearing the name but not at all surprised he was fishing around her cold demeanor for what was setting her afoul. She sighed. "Are you working on the Mills case? The one with the tiny drug dealer?"

"Solved it. Dull. Uninspiring." He reported, eyes zipping over her, catching nuances she wasn't sure were supposed to be there, the little traitors. "Why is Lestrade texting me to speak to you?" Ah, the group dynamics were giving him trouble, hence the curiosity, and because in the normal order of things, she and Lestrade got on famously all the time. This disturbance in his little world was bugging him as it was obvious that Lestrade hadn't the cojones to communicate to him why they were having a minor domestic. She garnered all this from his telling her what Lestrade said since he usually didn't pass messages on because he couldn't be bothered to be decent like everyone else on the planet.

Then what he said caught up with her huffy disposition and ruined it. She sighed, hand already reaching for the phone in deep resignation. "It's a moot point now." She may be annoyed, but she wasn't petty, nor unprofessional enough to keep the truth undisclosed from the proper authorities, even if Sherlock chose to purposefully be forgetful in that regard.

Lestrade had been relieved at her phone call- probably aided by the fact she had good news concerning his case- and slunk in later that day with a fat sack of Greggs pastries as a peace offering. Sherlock had been bored at this point by their little dispute and hadn't bothered to comment. This acceptance was sponsored by the fact that she let him pick a level five bio-hazard in reward for a job well done- he was on a severed hand binge at the moment and all but twisted himself into intellectual hysterics over the possibilities.

Utterly high on himself, Sherlock was. His vainglory knew no bounds and he made sure those that didn't understand, were completely aware of just how far they fell in comparison. How many times she found herself on the receiving end of one of his 'how wonderful it must be inside your vapid little mind, all that room to stretch' comments- they came in a myriad of forms and levels of offense, but she was seldom put off by them now. She had a sneaky suspicion he could sense it too, because his salient attempts were becoming more and more…pointed. Sometimes they were mean, sometimes they were just shy of deceptively amusing, but all were increasingly more refined in a way that just stating she was ignorant no longer sufficed. Now it was a compilation of the evidence as to why she was displaying such ignorance.

Verbose git.

For instance, her dating Joe- who Sherlock did not like- had inspired many lectures and orations on why she was making a mistake settling down- wherever this was coming from, it was deficient and stupid and needed to go back to the factory since they had barely been officially dating for two weeks. Sherlock appeared lobotomized with disinterest when she pointed that out to him, stating they were just figuring out where they stood with each other and having fun while attempting it before he cantered off into one of his lists of deduced reasoning of why Joe was insufficient- he complied these while in social retrograde on his couch, or hiding behind his microscope. For whatever the reason, there were three points he always came back too- like a disapproving parent in a lot ways- which was super annoying.

Firstly, the nickname 'Doughnuts', for whatever made-up reason in his vast and wacky brain, was truly tragic and inexcusable and he did not hesitate to flog her with it.

-"Doughnuts! What sort of image is he wishing to convey with such a farcical byname? By the way, you've gained weight haven't you? Of course you have. Four? No, five pounds."

"I- oh, my God, Sherlock!"

"Lay of the pastry, perhaps."

"Jesus! Go away!"

Man, she wasn't a thin mint, and had a tendency to be a little on the buxom side of things- Kitkats in all their magical healing abilities bore a price, one she was more than willing to take on- but what girl liked having her weight catalogued so specifically like that? And how did he know? She had spent hours trying to see how he could tell where the weight was showing- admittedly, she didn't think five pounds was much of anything, but having someone like Honest Abe Arsehole at the lab point it out made it feel like it was twenty five pounds and she should be very concerned. He was making her as vain and full of herself as he was!

He was a butthead to give her such a complex.

Secondly, there was the whole career aspect of 'Doughnuts' and how mind-numbing it was. Sherlock, the tosser he so beautifully embodied, did not hesitate to ask if he was entombed in the fast food industry somewhere. When she had snipped that he was in marketing for a logistics company, Sherlock was so unimpressed he looked as if he were going to suffocate under the tedium of the words.

-"How boring."

"Shut up, he's fun!"

"Domesticizing already? Were you always this potentially stale?"

"Were you always this jealous?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Then why do we always talk about Joe?"

"Because it boggles the mind that you would willingly choose such an insipid dullard as a companion."

"You're an insipid dullard!"

"It's a wonder how you managed medical school with such lackluster focus on the details."

"It's a wonder that I don't choke you with the way your jealousy makes you so rude."

"I thought we established that I am not jealous.

"Lie to yourself all you want, you are so jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

She found that if she pointed out he was being jealous- and he so was- he'd derail and back off for a while. Sherlock was like a damn bull with his tenacity at hammering his points and views home- he did not care for her dating any of Wades friends because they couldn't be trusted to tell their asses from their elbows- that wasn't an exact quote, but he had been loquacious and glib and she felt dusting off a dictionary to translate what he said to be over kill and a sure fire way to encourage his antics. The thing was, Sherlock jealousy was a highly concentrated version of childhood jealousy- Lestrade could be a psychologist…or a git interpreter with his insights- in that he did not relish sharing anything that fell under his convoluted territorial expanse of that which he considered 'his'- the lab, the city cabs, interesting cases, any serial killer within a hundred clicks of London, and by extension to these things, herself and Lestrade. Sherlock was possessive- yeah, not as romantic as it had always seemed in her head- and he became almost destructive in his attempts to keep what he deemed 'his' where he thought it should be. What this meant in layman's terms, was that she came with the lab package- she furnished him bits and space for him to do what he pleased and Lord have mercy on any who tried to pry that from him. While this was…hugely insulting at face value, Molly knew for a damn fact it went deeper than that, and wasn't remotely put out like Tara demanded she should have been.

He didn't want to share her attention; she could work with that because it meant he cared a great deal despite words to the contrary.

Also, Molly hadn't bothered to clue Tara in on all the small moments between her and the consulting detective, the ones that were most precious and carried the most weight in terms of importance. Like them hanging out, trying to cheer- or in his case, monitor and scowl until she was normal- each other up when the other was down for the count. How he kept her company when she was scared, and how she had looked out for him when he couldn't do it himself. How they huddled over bodies and discussed experiment data, and put down articles in a well-respected science journal Bernard favored- they were pretentious and boring anyway and Sherlock had managed to disprove a few of them out of spite for a writer he actually went to school with. Molly didn't talk about how he made her laugh- because most of it was at other people's expense and she was thoroughly going to Hell for it- and she didn't share how their bickering had evolved into more match like competitions rather than point wars.

She kept his secrets- the drug problems and rehabs, the bad days where he wanted to tear his brain apart just to shut it up, and the quiet vulnerable moments where he was more boy than man- and in return, he allowed her to lean on him when her business threatened to suffocate her under the reality that she wasn't as strong as she wished she could be- which embarrassingly happened a whole lot more to her than it did to him but she supposed that was okay.

He had a reputation to maintain and she was lucky she hadn't gained one for being such a cry baby- it had been an admittedly rough year.

Theirs was a unique relationship of give and give and take. It was unbalanced and hectic and she wouldn't change it for the world. He was flawed and tough and rude and brilliant, and she adored him for those qualities because despite everything, he had still managed to affect change, bring closure to the grieving, and made a damn difference in a city that sometimes seemed to be full of nothing but bastards and problems- despite his best efforts to be just self-fulfilling and all while remaining a good person. Yes, she knew she had looked at him with something akin to mild hero-worship when he managed to do what others could not- he intensely frowned upon such imagery, which was nothing new since he frowned on everything at some point- but it was hard not to see his work and be completely floored.

He had made the impossible, possible, and it was impossible for her to not believe in him.

And this led to issue number three and quite possibly the trickiest and most hazardous to her budding relationship with Joe:

Joe liked Sherlock about as much as Sherlock liked Joe.

And Molly wasn't stupid enough to not see the potential for a disaster long in the making.

She was rushing to finish up her autopsy log- she hated rewriting her findings out after recording them as it was such a bloody waste of time- but she had a date later and who could be bothered with paper work now?! Typically, she lazily put the logs off until the end of the week, procrastinating on the laborious monotony of listening to her voice- she didn't sound like that- and copying word for word with little thought points here and there or expanded explanations in the margins. She would put them off much longer if she could- indefinitely- but experience had shown that anything beyond the eight day mark meant she'd be hard pressed to catch up.

She paused considering- seriously considering- dropping her log and leaving it for later. She and Joe were going out tonight as he was down from Manchester for a few days for spot training in the new facility and really, she wasn't all that interested in…what was this anyway?

Grimacing, she tipped the packet into the light of her desk lamp. "Aw crap." She forgot to write down the name and case file…for three pages. There were at least thirteen cases on her recorder- she could die of old age trying to relocate the appropriate start gap.

There was a soft snort from nearby.

Groaning, she shifted to pull her recorder over- now she'd have to find the start of this autopsy-

"Higgins, file SBDL3412, case number 119." Sherlock rattled off as he used the sleek microcscreen monitor to compare soil samples from a crime scene. "I'm sure you can manage the next two pages."

She sighed in relief. "Thanks. I thought I'd have to listen myself again to relocate the start."

"Hence my intervention." There was a ninety eight percent chance he was making fun of her, but she was going to just pretend he was being helpful. She scribbled what he said down, before she forgot the minute details and had to ask him again- in which he'd just pick on her without the cover of bogus 'niceness'.

Peaking at the clock, Molly calculated she could push it another ten, maybe fifteen minutes before she should be on the next train home, and as that thought settled, she let her eyes drop to Sherlock, who she hadn't yet informed she was leaving early…

Er….wups.

It had been a few weeks since he revealed his thoughts on the matter of her withholding things from him- he did not like it- and she had gone out of her way to be accommodating and not because she felt some need to please his lordship like a rug maid. She had felt terrible that he thought she was purposely being evasive and sneaky- for a man that loved mystery, he sure did not like it within their little circle of friends…er…their little triangle of friendship.

The triangle of trust.

She hadn't forgotten but he had been super grouchy about her bailing on the work day early the first time. She was unsure how he'd react to the news that she was planning a repeat and quite frankly she didn't want to argue with him as he had been in a rather pleasant mood all day- because someone had been graphically smeared all over the walls out near the docks and the answer wasn't stupidly obvious for him- and she was dreading ruining it.

However, the longer she put it off… "So, just so you know, I'm leaving in ten minutes…to…ah…"

He had lifted his head slowly and fixed that cold gaze of his on her, the one that could see what the vertebrae of her spine looked like, and her voice rattled off into nonexistence. Steel blue eyes watched her every move and Molly squirmed in her chair like a small child expecting a dressing down.

Well…fudge. "I have a date at five." She told her pen conversationally. "We're going to the movies."

There was a scoff, and he turned back to his work. "Sounds exceptionally boring. Joe will love it."

She waited with bated breath to see if he'd continue or not- if he did then she would have to actually rise to her date's defense and while that sounded terrible of her, if she pointed out his comments irked her, he'd dig deeper. The work to keep Sherlock from saying mean things was not worth the battle- she'd never win that one in a trillion years. Luckily, he seemed content until she started shuffling her papers into order and putting her outgoing paperwork into the right tray-

"Wait, ten minutes? If your little bore fest-"

"Prat."

"-begins at five, why are you leaving at two thirty?" He steamrolled right over her as if she weren't even there.

Molly could feel the pressure of making this argument stay reasonable and calm pressing on her temples. "I'm a girl. Girls need time to make themselves presentable. Two hour minimum."

"That's absurd." His voice clipped out.

"No, it's called preparing for a date." She pulled a file toward her and stared at it blankly before shutting and leaving it lying in the center of her desk. "What guy wants to take a mousy pathologist fresh of the line, wearing no make-up, and in a mustard stained shirt to the movies?" And she wished with all her might that she could retract that sentence.

"Any guy with a name like 'Doughnuts' should consider himself fortunate that natural selection hasn't offed his chances-"

"NO! NO! Don't finish that sentence!" She squeaked in a panic. They were not going down there with him acting like this- he would just insult her to kingdom come and back.

"For a forensic pathologist, you're rather squeamish about human nature."

"For a grown man, you're rather a brat." She exhaled. "And besides, it's not like my leaving will disrupt your work. Bernard doesn't fight your existence anymore and Tara is here until nine tonight. You have hours to muck around."

"How do you know that? I might need coffee! I can't just disentangle myself from thinking for such mundane undertakings!"

Molly looked heavenward. He was something else... "How inconsiderate of me…"

"At least you recognized it this time."

She scowled at him as she snatched folders off her desk. "Don't you have a case to solve? You were adamant earlier that I not bug you with my breathing."

Sherlock crossed his arms as he glared at her. "Rather uncharitable of him to agree to a five o'clock time slot when you clearly work."

"Would you rather I go out later?" She asked flatly as she plucked the appropriate paper work from under her daily collection of sweet wrappers to dump on Tara.

He rolled his eyes. "I'd rather you not waste my time with this."

She wrinkled her nose at him. Really? He made it sound as if her dating someone was a personal burden to him. What a git. "I'm going to pretend you said 'Have a good time on your date tonight, Molly' and just leave it at that."

"Delude yourself all you want, it doesn't change the fact that this is highly inconvenient." He grouched as he refocused on his analysis.

Ugh…right. Time to go. "I'll make it up to you later if you promise not to touch, take, or displace any of the bodies in the stores. Oxford put in a request for hearts and what's one more on paper." She grumped back at him- she didn't really want to make anything up to him since he was being so childish, but leaving him unsupervised without incentive to behave himself was just shy of tremendously stupid. Another head recently went missing and she had chosen to not even make the slightest fuss- it had been a scary looking bloke from one of the prisons and she was happy he was out of her cooler and in Sherlock's flat somewhere so he could deal with it. The head looked suspiciously like Count Orlock's…

Molly had struggled to not tape garlic to the large walk-in as a precaution.

Sherlock was displeased but she wasn't all that concerned. He'd get over it- or just sulk until something far more interesting stole his attention elsewhere- which could happen at any given moment so why fret?

Loudly flapping her papers at him- just to irritate him- she pottered down to reception to drop off her completed transfer slips and a few police autopsies for DI Dimmock- who had made several comments on her work ethic himself, the old bastard- to come collect whenever he got around to not being a gigantic prick. Tara was tapping away on the computer with torpid resignation of the fact that she was going to be staying late to file all the backlogged cases- something she had to do twice a month now that the morgue's load increased. This sounded like nothing, but Tara, despite all her girlie, airheaded proclivities, was remarkably efficient and succinct in her work. Once, Sherlock had muttered something along the line of Tara giving Anthea a serious run for her money in the field of secretarial oeuvre. Molly wasn't certain what he meant, but it didn't sound like a total put down. Still, if she was being kept late for this stuff, she had Molly's utmost sympathies.

"Sherlock may be staying." She winced in regret as she sat her stack down on the counter and Tara blinked owlishly at it.

"Doubt it, but thanks for the heads up." The younger girl jabbed a finger at the three inch pile. "How come you let these things grow so big? Are you trying to make me lose my mind?"

Molly sighed. "I'm long winded according to Bernard."

"So it's you! You're the reason?!" Tara gaped at her in faux indignation before turning back to her monitor. "Get out."

She shrugged. "Okay. I have a date anyway."

"Oooo, where too this time?" Tara schmoozed, immediately twisting back around and propped her chin up on her palm, watching Molly as if she were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. "You've done dancing, dinner, the zoo, the Eye, the Saturday market." She listed off on her fingers.

"You know too much about my personal life- I do not remember dishing on the Eye."

Tara giggled. "Joe called Wade and because the bro code doesn't hold up for these things and Wade wanted to watch his zombie movie instead, I got to talk to Joe."

Figures. Molly snickered. "He chatters more than I do?"

"Like a high school girl." Tara agreed reaching for the top folder in Molly's stack. "He's nothing but a river of mush for you."

Something warm and fuzzy lodged itself near Molly's jugular and she thumbed at the corners of a pile of logs. Normally this was never the case with her former boyfriends- loser, jerk, nice but dim- and it was so…so…wonderful…so unexplainably endearing to finally have that happen to her. To be the one gushed about instead of the other way around. She'd always been the girl passed over- the sweet but naïve wallflower- for the more interesting, or alluring creature standing beside her. Joe was affectionate, patient, and kind, and gosh darn it did she need those things in her life at the moment. "He's a prince."

Tara grinned up at her. "He's also going to be left waiting if you don't shake a leg! Tell Sherlock to suck it up and go have a good time."

Molly laughed and Tara winked at her as she turned and bustled back down to the lab- and a surly Sherlock who was petulantly having none of her happiness business near him. He muttered nonsense at his microscope as she gathered up her belongings- tracking her phone down took a lot more work because Sherlock had sticky fingered to send out random texts full of things she could not fathom- and made for the door, but not before she ruffled a hand through his hair in passing his work station.

His loud complaining followed her to the double gray doors and Molly had to practically gag herself to keep the snickers under wraps.

By the time she arrived outside of one the smaller cinema complexes, Molly's buoyant glee at seeing Joe already there about sent her heart into an arrhythmia. He dimpled at her and she grinned back before she pressed in close for a good squeeze- something he was rather brilliant at- and together they ambled into the cinema's dark interior to buy tickets.

Whatever movie they were seeing- some foreign film about a WWII Nazi love affair that had won best picture at some film festival she'd barely heard of- it totally wasn't anything either of them was in to. They spent the majority of the three hour film giggling, making fun of the ostentatious lead character, and having silent, but furious popcorn fights.

It was a wonder the hipsters in front of them didn't turn and avada kedavra them for spoiling the show.

By the time they stumbled through the front doors, they were wheezing from hysterics. Molly had to lean up against the wall to control her breathing as Joe braced his hands on his knees. When their fellow movie goers toddled out behind them and glowered at their continued mirth, Joe decided it would be best if they skedaddled down the sidewalk, less the throng of wronged college kids decided to lecture them.

They picked and grazed their way across town, munching of street vendor delights and sipping bottles of tea and pop. Somehow, they eventually ended up moseying along the river front walk, chit chatting and laughing about everything and nothing- a rather marvelous spot to take in the night scape of the city. Parliament and Big Ben were lit up and glittering off the Thames in a mesmerizing dance and Molly stopped to brace herself up on the guard rail, the cool breeze most refreshing after a long, stuffy summer's day.

"Indie movies aren't really my thing, I suppose." Joe grinned impishly at her. "Just an excuse to impress."

Molly flashed a cheesy grin at him. "Impress? Well, that idea needs some serious work."

"No it doesn't." He brushed up against her side and she shivered. "Who ignores a deep intellectual thinker who is also sensitive and…other sappy stuff that girls like."

She was giggling like mad as they all but rotated around each other in some odd not dance, teasing and touching and just having a bloody good time.

Just as Joe was leaning in for the kill- about damn time too- lips barely brushing hers- a phone rang obnoxiously loud, startling them enough to jump.

"What the-" Joe twisted to look at the red phone booth a few paces behind them. As if sensing their stares, the telephone fell silent after two more awkward rings. Molly titled her head before giving Joe an affable shrug. Whatever, weirder stuff had happened.

She reached a hand up to Joes face and proceeded to draw him back down to her when the ringing started up again, thoroughly snagging Joe's attention from her. Sighing, and trying to contain the disappointment at having her moment ruined again, Molly tapped his cheek with her finger. "Let it ring." She suggested, hoping that she'd be more than plenty enough to lasso his focus. The ringing stopped and Joe just turned his face back toward her with the goofiest expression.

"I saw a horror movie start off like this one time. Romantic location, pretty girl, studdly guy…then the telephone box starts ringing and it all goes promptly to Hell at the hands of a psychopathic killing machine."

Oh, well that was comforting. "Did they answer the phone?"

He smirked at her, barely blinking when the red booth fell silent once more. "Well I don't remember. I just recall something a little more…personal." And he dipped down and captured her lips.

For all of two seconds before they were interrupted- this time by an incredibly uncomfortable woman.

"I-I'm terribly sorry to bother you." She cleared her throat and Molly about jumped the rail into the Thames trying to break away from Joe. "But, I'm looking for a Molly Hooper?"

She had her hands fisted in Joe's shirt sleeves to keep herself grounded, mind oddly slow, she had to work a few times to get her voice to return to its post. "Th-that would be me." She stuttered. "Can I help you?"

The woman was obviously as flustered as Molly was but trying to wrangle herself back in. "There's a person on my phone that wants to speak with you?" She hesitated as she held out her mobile, and Molly had to jog her manners to remember to accept it.

"Er..Hello?" She said delicately into the stranger's mobile, afraid of mucking it up somehow even though it was lent to her of free will.

Or not.

"It would be highly prudent of you to charge your phone before venturing out." An aristocratic voice crooned down the line at her and Molly's eyes bugged out as she turned to gape at the woman.

How the Hell did he do this? "My-Mycroft?" She asked just to make sure her assumption was on the mark. A supercilious thought wafting briefly across her brain that was reminiscent of a git muttering about sloppiness and assumptions made her feel better about probing the obvious. If only minutely.

"Very good." She bristled at his condescension anyway. "Now ask Mr. Doognerts to extract his phone and wait for the call." He disconnected and Molly blinked stupidly at the two people standing in front of her. Pulling the phone away, she gave it a once over to make sure she hadn't dirtied it somehow before handing it off to the woman dying to leave. "Thank you, ma'am."

She nodded tensely and all but scuttled off, looking back at them once to see if they were possibly following her.

Ugh…

"Joe, may I borrow your phone?" She asked belatedly as he slanted a look at her, quietly extracting his mobile- that was already freaking ringing- from his pocket, brow crinkling as he took in 'blocked' heading on the ID screen.

"Who is Mycroft?" He asked quietly as she surrendered to its insistent buzzing and gave him a truly apologetic look.

Mycroft was apparently not pleased to be kept waiting those few precious seconds in between unwilling phone partners- Holmes's and their bossy, presumptuous, demanding, infuriating, oh she could on- and didn't even let her suck in enough air to speak before he was condescending all over her evening once more. "-promptness is a problem as well. I need you to go get, Sherlock."

"I- what?" She asked, dumbfounded by everything- this was happening too much as of recently.

There was a heavy sigh and she immediately gnashed her teeth in annoyance. "Sherlock has lodged himself in a bit of a situation down at New Scotland Yard. Detective Inspector Lestrade called me and I am occupied elsewhere at the moment in France."

"What did he do?" She focused on the important facts first and not about how the desire to hang up made her fingers twitch. "I just left him not four hours ago at the lab- he was behaving himself!" She said that last bit like should hold some sort of weight in the large scheme of things.

"He's ravenous insistence for a good murder no doubt." Mycroft grumbled. "Lestrade won't post his bail without considerable headaches from overhead and as I cannot physically be present to sign his release forums, you are the next available option."

Jesus, she was going to kill him. Wait. "Can't we just leave him there for a while? I'm a little busy myself!" She added looking at Joe, who hadn't moved and had an odd gleam in his eyes.

Crap.

"Do you want to deal with him after being locked away for hours on end without sufficient stimulation?"

If this was any other person, anyone else in London, that they were discussing, she would have said 'sounds good to me', but it was Bloody Sherlock Sodding Holmes! And he would tear everything apart in his flurry of energy and fury. He'd be a right pain in the rear and probably say douchy things because someone had managed to cage him against his will.

"No…" She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No, I don't fancy that at all."

"My apologies for the inconvenience, Ms. Hooper. Please inform my brother that I will be in touch soon." He ordered imperiously before disconnecting- again- leaving her with a whole new problem and a yet ANOTHER ruined evening to look forward too.

Sodding Hell. She was never leaving work early again- she'd just call in sick and damned be the 'crisis' that arouse in her absence.

"So…what was that all about?" Joe inquired politely, hands shoved deep in his pockets and Molly knew immediately that he already had a good idea.

She rubbed ruefully at his smart phone's screen, wishing she could erase the conversation and redo the last five minutes without Holmesian interpolation. "The man on the phones- and I have no idea how he did that with the booth but at this stage, not a whole lot surprises me anymore with him- was Mycroft." She started slowly as she held his phone out for him to reclaim.

Joe just waited for her to drop the device into his hand. "Oh?" he said lightly and she swore at Sherlock and Mycroft in every language she knew.

Joe…Joe for all his wonderful traits and sweetness and patience, did not like Sherlock one bit. They had been dating for almost a solid month now, and the six foot genius had rapidly become a thorn in their perfect little world. At least for Joe he had, as Molly was more than used to the whirling wiz kid blasting into situations and scrambling up the order. Sherlock demanded a certain level of constant attention and with her dating someone she wasn't as 'emotionally' accommodating as she had been while single. Nothing changed at work or with her job- she always came in if the police needed her, but she spent more time chatting with Joe on the phone at lunch or in between autopsies and boring paperwork, but Sherlock abhorred this change in dynamics because that had always been quiet time or bicker time, and he wasn't one to hold his piece on something that bothered him- they had their go around, several of them- and she had to resort to pointing out his jealousy- this was rapidly losing potency, soon he'd be immune and she'd be lacking a arresting defense. Joe, because he had friends in Wade and Tara, who both worked near and with Molly- and Sherlock- heard about all of this. Not that Molly was one to go and expound on these moments because that was just plain stupid- not mention highly out of context and Sherlock probably came across as a truly terrible individual- but somehow Sherlock's inherent rudeness and mouthy disposition always made it back to Joe. He didn't like that Sherlock 'bossed' Molly around- he didn't really, but Molly wasn't one to fight over dinky useless stuff and Sherlock always reacted better to her demands if she gave ground in other areas, but Joe didn't care. Sherlock said rude things to her, he did to everybody, and Joe took serious offense because he apparently felt it was his job to protect her. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she could more than handle Sherlock's wanker tendencies, and Sherlock positively boiled when he first experienced Joe's 'stepping in between'- 'bloody interfering' Sherlock had snapped and Molly quickly separated them by dragging Joe off to lunch.

Molly wasn't a fool, she knew that her friendship with Sherlock would inevitably test her relationship with any guy she happened to attempt a romance with and she had promised herself that she'd deal with it as best she could when that time came- and for a while there, it had looked like a distant horizon she'd never see or have to worry about.

Then Joe happened.

So she had chosen the cowardly way and just elected to ignore there even was a problem because what was she meant to do? She'd asked Sherlock to not be so offensive and he had just grunted, and she accepted and translated that as a 'sure thing, Molly'. She had also informed Joe that Sherlock was harmless and he grunted something about 'it not being right' which she also superimposed to mean 'understood, no worries here.'

It was a brewing problem- and looking back, she could see how she had aided in the destruction- a problem that was probably going to blow up in her face at some unassuming spot down the road.

Most of the complications stemmed from, sadly, Sherlock and his wackiness, but what could she do? Seriously? Sherlock could be highly irritating with his impromptu flights of fancy, his smothering dialogues, and space consuming habits, but she'd long learned to live with them. That's what made Sherlock who he was, what partially made him so fascinating. But at some point she had realized while watching the interactions of people around him, a person either had to let it go, or walk away from him. For instance, Bernard had just given up and let Sherlock get on with it, as had, shockingly Tara.

Oh, the receptionist and the git had their moments- their squabbling was of a different caliber, like two little kids- but Tara wasn't so quick to dismiss Sherlock either. Bernard once told her that if she was out, or not in for the day, Tara assumed Molly's role of Sherlock sitter and they were most amiable about it.

Whatever that meant…

Joe was still getting used to the oddity that was Sherlock Holmes and she was desperately trying to smooth things between them so he could just…just see what she saw and not try to dissuade her from interacting with Sherlock- Joe hadn't yet tried and she feared the hypothetical day because it was non-negotiable and would not end well for her. Sherlock would either come around, or stay staunchly bratty, but she felt she could manage him well enough that he wouldn't purposely antagonize Joe- she had nearly three years' worth of experience at wearing the detective down on some things- she almost had him to the point where he didn't automatically chew on the students that came to the lab for course work.

It was a thirty step program.

She was being stupidly optimistic as well.

She was pissed.

Here she was, on a date with a lovely person who she happened to get along with so easily it just worked, and Sherlock decides to expand his criminal résumé!

And Joe was…Joe was not pleased. "And who is Mycroft?" He asked again and she could feel her jaw rust as she worked to gather the strength to spear their date in the gut, hating that she would do it in the first place because her reckless buddy landed his butt in the clink.

"He's Sherlock's older brother." The skin around her eyes tightened as he stilled halfway through Sherlock's name, a sinking feeling trickling down her brain to her stomach.

He smiled at her, and there was a brittleness there she was unused to seeing on his normal jovial face. "And, ah, what did he do that you need to go take care of?" Molly swallowed nervously; what idiot girl wanted to tell the guy she was dating that she had to break their date to go post bail for their pain-in-the-ass best friend who also happened to be another guy that he didn't like?

She wasn't completely stupid! But she could only put this off for so long- Mycroft seemed the type to keep calling until his will was completed, and anyone who had the time to hack a phone booth from France and then a stranger's mobile, and then her date's phone just to tell her to go do something would have no qualms about doing it all again.

Dang it…

"Sherlock," She started with a huge sigh, "Sherlock, is, ah…he's well…I need to go pick him up from Scotland Yard." She explained poorly, cringing about telling Joe that he was currently behind bars because he said or did something rash or illegal.

Probably.

Joe's face slowly folded into a hard frown. "Why do you have to do it? You aren't his sister or caretaker."

She wasn't his family- she could be labeled as a caretaker, or babysitter- and because Sherlock Bloody Holmes was her difficult best friend. "Lestrade…probably put him there and Mycroft is in France." She rattled off.

"So?"

She didn't want to tell him she couldn't think of there being anyone else to call- Sherlock didn't have many friends. "I'm the next best option." She paraphrased Mycroft. "I wish I could just let him stew for a few more hours, but that's really a very bad idea."

"Why? He doesn't understand common courtesy to others." Joe reasoned smoothly and Molly blinked.

Of course he didn't, but that was only half the problem. "Lestrade doesn't want him left in his jail cells for too long. He suspects Sherlock scares or indoctrinates the other 'guests'." She improvised on a whim. No matter if she felt that whim held a boulder of truth.

Joe sighed as he looked out over the river and Molly felt…unsure for the first time. Sucking in a shaky breath, she stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. "I'm really, very sorry about this."

She was skinning Sherlock. And Lestrade. And mailing Mycroft a pipe bomb.

Those asshats never let her have damn moment!

"I am really very sorry that this happened- again. Look, if you want, after I go spring him, we can go…" Where? It was getting late and they both had work in the morning. "Go get and ice cream?" She said a little desperately. Ugh! She was begging!

How ridiculous and unappealing…begging for this date to stay afloat from a guy who was no doubt put off. She was so embarrassing…

Joe looked down at her and sighed, "Sure, Molly."

He knew it too.

Heads were going to roll!

They caught a cab and rode the entire way in silence, er…near silence- Molly couldn't help the relieved babbling she sometimes did to fill awkward silences- but even she couldn't keep it up for fifteen minutes straight without getting annoyed at herself. Joe, for his part, played attentive if quiet sound board and Molly was tempted to just throw herself out the moving taxi into oncoming traffic to escape the terrible awkwardness.

What a dreadful way to move an evening along with a person you were still trying to impress!

New Scotland Yard loomed suddenly out around a corner and she scowled at it as if the fools inside could somehow feel her wrath as they approached. The cab pulled smoothly up alongside the curb and Molly dug money out to pay the fare, all the while grumbling to herself about tossers, wankers, and asshats.

She turned to Joe and offered a cheerfully false "Shall we?"

"Actually…I'm a little tired, Molly." He started and she felt something akin to horror drop into her belly.

Aw…hell. "O-oh." She cleared her throat, desperately trying to keep a bottle on her wounded feelings.

"It's- uh…I had a good time before." He waved his hand and Molly could only nod, feeling intensely uncomfortable and foolish with this conversation taking place with an audience of one, in a steadfastly not listening cabbie.

"S-sure. That's…I had a good time too." She told him, feeling the need to wrangle a promise of a phone call from him but lost on how to do so.

"I'll…I'll call you." He said, eyes guarded and she gave him a hopefully encouraging look.

Please do…

"Thank you, Joe." She smiled sadly at him as she slipped from the back seat and watched as the taxi pulled back into traffic where it was soon lost with its swarming brethren.

They hadn't even ended their date with a hug…

They always ended their dates with a hug.

She stood there for a moment longer, feeling abandoned and hurt, before slowly turning to drag herself down the sidewalk toward the gleaming front doors. She'd only ever been up NSY headquarters once or twice before, and never to collect someone from the holding cells. So she had to get a few instructions- because of COURSE she was at the wrong bleeding end of the building- and distinctly ignored the judgmental looks of the staff who stared at the lone girl out to collect someone from the metal bars of the law.

Tossers.

High heels clicked down a now empty hallway as she felt the night's events weigh hard on her shoulders, making her feel both exhausted…and still very much hurt. It really wasn't Joe's fault- how could she blame him? What guy found this attractive? What guy liked having dates broken by police intervention with a side of Sherlock Bloody Holmes?

What guy wanted to stay and deal with this? If the roles were reversed, would she put up with it? The constant possibility of broken dates? They hadn't been together nearly long enough to have securely cemented foundation to weather these things.

He'd be a massive fool to want to stay.

That didn't stop her from hoping he would call, and not blaming him if he didn't.

Groaning, Molly stopped to check her directions once more in the glass and metal maze, before toddling sluggishly down the next hallway. Palming an eye, Molly quietly raved at the unfairness of it all- she had done nothing, not gone out, sat at home watching Supernatural, how many times in the last week? The one night she gets to have Joe, and BAM, this happens. Did they do this on purpose?

Did they know how upsetting and hurtful this was?

Her temper flickered, but at this point, she just wanted to go home and mope. She could always be angry tomorrow…if she didn't die of humiliation tonight at possibly being dumped outside of New Scotland Yard.

Pushing through a heavy door, she ended up off to the side of a large reception area that was more lavish than she would have expected. She could see down the hallway toward the doors that led out into twilight London and something told her to pay attention when she left to where they were located- not that she had any intention of collecting from here again.

Shuffling up to the counter where a bored cop sat sipping tea and watching a football match, she waited patiently until he slid his chair up to the window.

"Name?" He greeted indifferently, barely giving her a second look.

"Molly Hooper." She pursed her lips as his eyes finally flashed to her, not even entertaining the idea that she held a reputation in this stinking place.

Because that's all she needed.

"Business?"

"Collecting an idiot." She offered wearily.

He didn't smile. "Through that door, first right."

She dipped her head in thanks before moving off to follow his instructions so she could get this done and be home within the hour. Rounding the corner, she came to another station where two uniformed officers sat watching the same match the first guy was and as she stepped up to that counter to capture their attention, and froze in surprise at seeing Ben the Cop staring at her from his place beside his fellow officer.

Well, didn't she have all the ruddy luck? There best be some folks winning the lotto and beating cancer for the crap heap she kept getting slapped with tonight.

He cocked his head in confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be on a date?" Of course he knew…

"Yes." She said and tried not to cringe at how sullen that sounded. "But I've been summoned." Figures it was Joe's friend Ben that was going to be handling her transaction today.

His partner seemed to finally remember that there was a protocol that needed to be followed. "Name and who are you here for?"

"Molly Hooper, here for Sherlock Holmes."

They both stilled and she stared flatly back at them, unimpressed with their theatrics. She watched as the one cop that wasn't Ben reached for the phone. What, were they planning on arresting her for associating with Sherlock now too? That would just be utterly fantastic. Perfect end to an abysmal evening…

"Sir, Molly Hooper just turned up." He rumbled into the mouth piece and she sighed loudly.

Ben was shaking his head, still watching her with a worried expression. "Where's Joe?"

She swallowed, not looking at him. "He went home." Stupid voice…broadcasting how upset she was without proper consent from cerebral headquarters.

"Bummer." He sympathized and she only nodded as she looked at the scar on the back of her hand, adjusting the glittery bracelet so as to not draw attention to it.

Setting the phone down, the second cop pushed suddenly back from his station and collected a clip board with a forum attached to it. "Fill this out. The DI should be here before you finish."

"Gre- DI Lestrade is coming down here?" She corrected her slip, aware that this was his place of work and that he did hold an impressive title, no matter how weird it felt using it.

Ben snorted. "Sure is. Told us to inform him when you turned up." Molly's brow furrowed at this news. She so wasn't in the mood for this. Inhaling, she tugged the clip board toward her and started filling in the blocks of information, struggling to not write snarky things like 'Sherlock is a humongous git' in the box under 'Why are you here'.

It was taking a lot longer to do this than it should have- she kept spacing out, mind wandering back to Joe and how she screwed things up- so she didn't notice Lestrade at first when he all but slammed through an adjoining door. It was when he leaned up alongside the counter beside her that she acknowledged him by starting badly.

"Where were you?" He asked tightly, and Molly felt herself shrink from the temper he was struggling to suppress.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been calling for hours." He shot a look to the unfinished paperwork between her hands. "You're still working on that?"

His attitude was just a bit much on top of everything else that happened that night. "Yes, actually I am." She snapped heatedly. "Excuse me for not being prompt."

"Do you have any idea of what I've been dealing with?" He growled, before stampeding right over her no doubt disrespectful response. "Sherlock blew up a damn shipping warehouse!"

That…that was not what she had been expecting. "I...what?! Is he okay?" She asked quickly, earlier anger reduced to a throbbing worry that lasted maybe five seconds as the reality that he was in lock-up and not London General caught up with her.

"Blew the whole sodding thing right to Hell and then felt the need to yell at the owners!" Lestrade was obviously having his own conversation, because he just kept ranting at her as if Sherlock's new arson career was somehow her fault. "We've been swamped trying to keep this by the sodding book!" He shouted at her.

Molly's hands tightened into shaking fists. "Why are you shrieking at me? I didn't set the thing on fire, nor encourage him to do it."

"You wouldn't answer your damn phone! You never answer your damn phone! He's dismantled two of my holding cells already from being cooped up and you were off who the Hell knew where! I had to call his brother Mycroft and it took work getting that information from that flipping- I didn't even know he had a brother!"

Why was she catching so much slack for her phone etiquette? No one ever called her normally. And why was Sherlock's reckless abandon for the law and rules her fault? She never encouraged his illicit activities...outside of bit nicking- which so didn't count! "How does this translate into me getting yelled at-" He buried her argument easily.

"Go get him out and take him home!" Lestrade barked inches from her face and Molly actually leaned back before she heard one of the guys scuttle from their spot to fetch Sherlock.

Molly's heart was pounding hard in her chest, but whether it was from anger, hurt, frustration or just plain adrenaline she didn't know. Lestrade was as angry as she'd ever seen him and she was at a loss for what to say that wouldn't push him further overboard. Trembling, she dropped her eyes to the still uncompleted forum. Picking up the pen, she hurried to finish the questions, desperate to just go home. His yelling was the final straw. She needed to go home.

She had a serious inkling that she was going to cry and no way did she want to do that here. She could have a fit at Lestrade another day, she could pitch a damn bitch some other time, but for now, she just wanted the day to end.

Worse day ever.

She heard Sherlock coming long before she saw him- he was muttering and the cop with him only seemed to agitate him further. Rounding the corner, she felt Lestrade tense and she sped up the last few questions, not caring that they were quite possibly illegible.

"I best not find that holding cell tampered with, Sherlock." Lestrade snarled at the accused.

"Still besieged with ignorance are you?" The consulting detective harrumphed as the officer unlocked his handcuffs.

"You're antics are going to get you killed one day and I'll be damned if you drag this institution down with you!" His voice cracked loudly over her head and Molly just nudged the completed forum toward a busy Ben who was smartly trying to keep from drawing attention himself.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't aware your lot had the information as to the true nature of the situation." Sherlock flippantly waved his hand, and Molly accepted another clip board with little 'x's that needed her signature next to them. "You single handedly could have killed off a whole slew of Serious Crimes."

Oh, he did not…Molly scribbled her signature faster, sensing the temperature in the room drop below freezing.

"And what the fuck did you think you were doing? Setting that thing off like that? We have rules and regulations-"

"None of which would have mattered in this instance, Inspector-"

"They are designed to keep from getting people killed unnecessarily-"

"And they wouldn't have worked this time around since you had a crew come barging-"

"You're as bad as Molly about listening you sodding-"

She dug out her bank card and handed it and the last sheet back to Ben, who was watching her with something close to concern as Sherlock and Lestrade continued to tear into each other, their voices becoming an extremely volatile white noise. Ben hesitated with her card, before sharing a look with the cop next to him, and slowly extended it back to her.

"You alright?" He asked softly, words practically crushed under a loud outburst from an enraged Lestrade. She sucked in a breath to tell him 'yes' but decided there was no point in hiding it anymore- her anger at how unfair her evening had been would not be heard in this melee of testosterone. And thinking about it, she didn't really want to share her failure and possible being dumped because she had picked her friends' childish BS over a worry free Joe out by the Thames.

"Not really." She sighed, letting her swimming eyes sink to her scarred fingers, and blinked when her green card was pushed under them. Looking up, Ben just shook his head trying for a weak smile as a particularly rude insult from his DI thundered overhead spurring Sherlock to out stripe him spectacularly.

"-You could have killed my people you smart mouthed-"

"-Unlikely it would have been me getting them killed as you haven't figured out how to-"

She rubbed at her temple, as she stuffed her card away and quietly asked if there was anything else they needed from her. Off the hook, tired, and fighting back building tears, Molly turned into the fracas as Sherlock built up a head of steam to rival Lestrade's.

She first checked Sherlock- she knew him to be fine with the way he was having such a fit- he looked a little singed around the fringes, hair crazier than ever and smelling faintly of char and smoke, but otherwise perfectly fine. As he flung his hands around to make his point, Molly shifted slightly to catch one- he actually kind of slapped it off her arm by mistake but that slowed him down enough for her to grab hold, dragging his rant to a sudden stop as well. Heated steel blue eyes locked on her with such a force she felt it so she quickly looked elsewhere to deliver her parting.

"I'm going home." She told his chest as silence settled uneasily around them, unable to meet anyone's eyes. "You're free to go."

With that, she spun and scurried from the room, legs rapidly eating up the space that stood between her and the front doors, ignoring the suffocating silence that prowled behind her retreat.

She checked the clock in reception that told her she had a mere five minutes to make it to the nearest tube station if she wanted a cheap ride home. Bursting from the front doors, Molly hustled out onto the sidewalk, and started up Broadway- she knew there was a station around here somewhere- and hoped she was traveling in the right direction. She had minutes- she was not taking a cab or a flipping bus all the way back home.

Scuttling around the corner of St. James's Park, she saw a tube station sign and sped up, feeling the pressure of time and tears egging her on.

It was so hard holding back a good sob session in public, but she had thoroughly mangled her emotions for one night and adding public spectacle of humiliation was not on her bucket list.

She diligently followed the markers and groaned once she saw it was a district line as opposed to her normal one…she would have to do a carriage change, but a line change was better than no ride at all. Swiping her train pass, she wiggled past the gates and exhaled in relief at having time to spare in the near empty train depot. Sulking toward an empty bench, Molly sank down and tried to remain composed, before giving in and burying her face in her hands.

What a terrible, no good, very bad evening. Her mind looped over her conversation with Joe, and she quickly dug out her phone- knowing it was dead- but still praying that maybe there was something left in the battery to power up for her check for one missed call.

It was very much dead, and she scrubbed at the skin under her eyes, wanting more than anything to be at home where she could let herself go. She slowly dropped her face back into the comforting pressure of her hands and she sat like that until the train came thundering into the station, and then assumed a similar pose until her next stop where she switched trains once more and continued looking and feeling miserable.

Thank God the carriages were near empty this time of night- thank God she didn't have a curious audience, because she stared at people trying to hold their shit together by the skin of their teeth and didn't want that happening to her. She was tired of the public exposure- had enough of that to last twenty lifetimes.

By the time she was stumbling up the stairs to her flat, she had tears leaking silently from her face as she was no longer able to hold them back at the thought of sanctuary only being mere paces away. Pushing into her flat, she slammed the door, kicked off her shoes- tears running messily everywhere the entire time now, coupled with the occasional whimper.

Stupid boys.

She dropped her purse in the middle of the floor and her mobile sprung free and skid toward her couch.

She thought about leaving it, but decided ultimately that if Joe did try and contact her, she needed to have it charged up. Snatching it violently off the floor, she shoved the charger cord into it and hurried off to bed so she could cry.

Never once did she look back to see if Joe had called.

She had been upset. It was hard to hide how much so the next day as she drooped into work, hoping she'd see Tara so she could get some much needed girl comfort and advice- Tara was fantastic at both and would probably have something to say from Joe's end. But Tara wasn't in yet- because she refused to be anything but precisely on the dot of eight, so a resigned Molly had slunk past reception down toward the lab.

Joe hadn't called and she felt like an ogre because of it.

Years later she would remember, because Bernard wouldn't be around forever and despite his displeased disposition on everything, he always had supported her like a caring father or grandfather figure. Seeing him putzing around the lab, doing something with blood centrifuges calmed her, because he was consistent and uncomplicated, and when he turned around and saw her, he dropped everything to engulf her in a much needed hug and gave her the best insight to a problem she didn't even realize she had, though the signs were as big as double decker buses and twice as flashy.

"Molly, what happened?" He asked as she let her forehead thunk solidly against his shoulder. He smelled faintly like cinnamon or some sort of spice and she sagged a little more into him and told him in a muffled voice about everything that had transpired the night before.

How she had been so excited to see Joe, how their date had been so much fun, and how the phones started to ring…

The realization that Sherlock had needed her, and the consequent stiffness of Joe because of it…

The cab ride…departure at NSY headquarters…and her hurt feelings…being dumped…

She was sniffling miserably, not full on bawling because that would have required making more tears and she was pretty sure her reserves were all stored in her pillow at home. "Why am I so upset over this?" She asked out loud.

She maybe knew why- she did know why. Being dumped sucked; it never got easier when she really liked the person.

Bernard was rubbing a hand in circles on her back, comforting her in a way reminiscent of a beloved parent. "I think it's the fact that he couldn't accept that part of your life that's hurting you the most."

She paused, head still buried most securely between his shoulder and neck. That wasn't what she had been expecting. "I…"

What? "What?"

Bernard had always reminded her of a kindly looking Santa Clause impersonator- an ingrained happy look, twinkling eyes, beard and moustache whitened and kept to a proper length- and as he smiled at her, she had a feeling he knew things she did not- not a surprise really. "For three years- or near that- I've watched you become a key member of this facility in both your work and proficiency toward getting the job done right the first time. I've watched you grow and suffer and learn and prosper and most of it has been at the side of that brilliant nitwit Sherlock Holmes." He said kindly, dragging a thumb over her cheek to catch a few stray tears. "Where most people would have bricked the front door to keep that nutter out, you not only welcomed him in, but all the chaos that came in the form of New Scotland Yard and the MET."

"The police came before Sherlock. It's kind of the other way around." She pointed out, briefly wondering why they were talking about him as opposed to Joe- who she was upset over. She didn't want to talk about her wanker friends who liked to make her life hard and ruin her chances at a successful date.

"Not to the extent that they are now. The DI, the one before Lestrade, and Lestrade now, normally never involved himself so directly in the affairs of the dead outside a folder of information, but that was before. Sherlock's methods, while highly unorthodox and quite possibly illegal, deliver unprecedented results favorably to the proper authorities."

So…he was criminally brilliant and the fuzz liked that. Big deal. "Maybe I'm just a little slow today…" She offered, hoping he'd make his point in a way her muzzy head could wrap itself around. Clarity Bernard, please.

Bernard just grinned at her. "Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes are part of the all-encompassing package that comes with Molly Hooper. I had to accept that your involvement with them went both ways and that nothing I could say would dissuade you from keeping them- mostly Sherlock that thief- at arm's length."

She sucked in a breath. "But, what guy would want all that? What guy would tolerate having their dates stalked by ringing phones and being broken by cops…and…that stuff." She added uselessly, trusting he'd get at what she was trying to say.

"A guy that wants you more." Bernard said and she felt distinctly cheated when he offered nothing else up.

"That…that, while very sweet, doesn't help me solve my problem." She groaned, sponging her dribbling nose on her sleeve and not caring how it looked.

"It's something you need to realize though." He tugged her over to a stool. "You're too loyal to those boys. You won't leave them if you think they need you, and any guy that feels it's either him, or the highway, needs to man up." Her eyes jumped to his face in surprise. "This isn't an all or nothing situation, and anyone who asks that of you is not the man for you."

Uh…Sherlock. "But…Sherlock…" She started; unsure where she was going with that but she knew was probably along the lines of 'Sherlock is that selfish'.

"He's a box of possessed crazy and arrogance that one, doesn't like to share. He's selfish, but not to the point of demanding you pick only him. He complains- about everything- but that's about it. He doesn't keep you from Lestrade, or that Wade fellow, or Tara." He explained. "It's not the same. Sherlock's always been a huge support system for you, but I've never figured out why you'd pick that maverick. He likes severed body parts the way most men like a cold beer on a hot day."

She snorted wetly. "I just…I just really wanted…" What? To have what? Joe assent to this part of her life without complaint? To agree to broken dates and interfering cops and Sherlock's unique brand of intrusion, strip search, and seizure? To shrug and say 'off you go' during anniversaries and other important events? Was that even fair to ask, despite Bernard's statement to the contrary?

Did she even know if these sorts of incidents would be common place? Twice could have been just a coincidence.

"You need to find someone who won't force you to choose between these people you love so dearly, and a normal relationship." Bernard offered gently. "Because the flavor of the month will never hold up against those idiot boys you have hooked your trolley too."

"But…normal is safe. I need normal." Didn't she? There was enough unusual in her life for several people.

"Not if normal forces you to choose. You will never walk away from them. I don't think you physically would be able too." She let her eyes sink to her shoes, and tried to think of something to say to that. "I want you to be happy, Molly. That's why I never truly fought Sherlock's presence in the lab- despite how many rules and regulations were shattered because of it- he was, is, good for you, just as you are for him. Lestrade only added to it and before I knew it, you had a little family of weirdoes clogging my morgue." Bernard continued, looking thoroughly put out about it.

Her smile wobbled at him. "It sounds like you think I should be dating Sherlock or Lestrade."

"Heavens, no!" He looked appalled. "They are ridiculous. No!"

She did laugh at that.

"But they make you happy, and it goes both ways." He continued resolutely. "I cannot fault them for that."

"What should I do about Joe?" She asked quietly, not feeling any better about how things went last night, but no longer automatically whipping herself about it. Bernard had a good point. She would never walk away from her boys- even if she they were complete wankers and hurt her feelings with their stupid wanker antics.

Asshats.

He took a seat beside her, and tipped her chin up. "Firstly, not feel bad. If he chose to leave, that's his choice and his loss. You're a sweetheart, and deserve better than a temperamental adolescent who cannot distinguish between duty and desire."

"And if he comes back?"

"Then you need to make it clear that this is a fight he won't win. He can either hop on board or get the Hell out of your way. I don't want you feeling like you owe that young man anything and I'm sure Sherlock or Lestrade will be more than happy to assist in that department. Lord knows Sherlock was distinctly put out that you left early for…what was it? A 'dyspeptic inducing occurrence'…or some such nonsense."

She giggled, tired, but feeling a lot lighter than she had when she first pushed through her double gray doors. "I'm not exactly pleased with those two at the moment."

"Welcome to my world. I think Sherlock 'misplaced' that Nosferatu looking cadaver head. I needed it too." He said blandly, watching her twitch with a raised brow. "I know you didn't fight to keep it strictly safe, either."

"It was creepy." She defended weakly.

He nodded his head agreement as he heaved a sigh at the lost cause. "Feel like helping prep some limbs for a lab practical for Cambridge?"

Bernard had made a solid point, one she would carry with her for years to come, and as she worked diligently alongside her mentor and friend, letting him sooth her burned feelings and taking the stress off her shoulders for a time so she could focus on resetting her equilibrium, Molly repeated what he told her so she wouldn't forget again.

Only a moron would ignore such sound advice- she would not be that moron.

By the time eight rolled around, Molly felt good enough to talk to Tara, who came barreling into the morgue in a panic the second she got to work, armed with sickly sweet coffee and a bulging bag of pastries.

And as they had a girl conference, one that Bernard was unofficially initiated into despite his protests that he knew nothing of 'modern dating', Molly managed to convince her friend that, despite her hurt feelings, she would be okay.

Tara, in an amazing display of self-restraint, did not ask about what she planned to do about Joe, if she should call him- Bernard about stroked out on this because a 'lady should never have to do the calling'- or if she was just going to let it all go.

"He talked to Wade, that's how I even know." Tara said carefully, coffee lodged firmly between her hands as she perched on a stool across from Molly- who Bernard had let off the hook with the body prep because he loved her.

"Wade mad?" She asked, playing with her pastry halfheartedly. She liked Wade, and didn't want to have things weird between them when he ambled down to visit Tara or when they all took lunches together.

Tara flapped a hand at her. "He's a guy. They are a lot more accepting of domestics between dating friends then girls are."

Molly bobbed her head, staring at nothing when Tara tapped her hand. "He's right you know." Jerking her eyes up, Molly cocked her head, seeking clarification on what she was talking about. "Bernard."

Oh, yes. Yes, she knew that. "I still feel bad."

Whatever Tara had been about to say, was cut off as she sat up straighter, all but glaring at something over her shoulder. Molly groaned, knowing there could only three reasons for this and the first one didn't count and the second two were asshats that she was miffed at.

"I'll talk to you later, Tara. Bernard needs some help-" She turned and stopped talking at once.

Joe stood just within her lab, holding the prettiest spray of rainbow daisies with a hesitantly hopeful look.

Tara cleared her throat pointedly and Joe raised his hands as if she were holding a loaded gun at his head. "I'm seriously not here to rock the boat, Tara. I've already been warned."

Molly shifted nervously, at a loss for what to say. She turned to see that Bernard was staring hard through the windows but pretending to be checking stuff off on his clip board, while Tara was just plain scowling without restraint. She wasn't kidding about girls being less civil thing…

She was like a stylish Pitbull some days- it made Molly grateful to have her at her back.

"Uhmm." Molly started weakly, not at all sure what she was supposed to say with an audience watching so closely- granted it was Joe that was on the shitty end of the confrontation and not herself.

That was something she figured.

"I'm sorry." He took the reins without indecision. "I'm sorry about last night and I'm sorry that I wasn't more…considerate about the situation."

Tara made a noise behind her but Molly refused to turn around- she'd get the full analysis later.

"I shouldn't have left like I did and I know how poorly that reflected on me. I've thought of a hundred excuses and they are all lame enough to not bear worth repeating." He stepped forward and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. "I'm just…just know that I am really sorry."

She nodded, because she was forgiving soul.

"Can you forgive me?" He asked anyway as he edged closer- Tara hummed behind her like judge- "Can we perhaps try again?"

Caution told her to think- the little flutter in her heart told her yes. "You…you need to know that…that I'm not." She stopped, frustrated that this was so hard to get out- it shouldn't be. "This isn't a competition; I'm not picking people over each other." She wasn't picking him over her friends, or vice versa because she was an adult and this wasn't recess in primary school where it was all or nothing.

Joe sucked in a breath, an earnest look on his face. "My mistake- can't blame a guy for trying to hog you all to himself."

She offered a tentative up turn of the lips, praying that this would sink in- Bernard said get it out of the way. "If you can understand that, accept that, then all systems go?"

He nodded, and closed the distance between them. As his arms circled her, Molly let herself lean hard into him, closing her eyes to savor the moment. She really was missing a lot of affection in her life.

It was pathetic.

Tara snorted. "Took you long enough."

Joe shifted his grip. "Well…I would have been here earlier but Wade was a little cranky with me."

Molly snickered into his shirt. "Cranky? Wade?" She'd only ever seen him put out when the canteen didn't have his favored crisps in stock.

"Apparently he agreed that if I was stupid enough to mess this up, then I truly was an insipid dullard."

It took a second for that to sink in. Agreed? Insipid dullard? Wade was rather intelligent but he didn't flounce around with language like…

Molly's eyes flew open as the niggling memory hit home.

Sherlock.

She was surprised- beyond that really. She would not have believed in a million, billion, trillion years that Sherlock would have involved himself in something as inconsequential as her flagging relationships- he never did before.

She would have bet solidly on the odds that he desired the demise of such things as they upset his non-routine.

He was a Grinch after all.

She didn't ask Joe, because well…she was a little busy being happy he came to see her, but when he left, when Tara had mooched after him like ghost prepared to haunt him out, when all things returned to their rightful places, Molly wondered.

Did he go and talk to Joe? Or had Wade picked that phrasing up around the morgue when Sherlock had been in house.

It was as unlikely and fantastical as any fairy tale.

But...she needed more data.

And she knew the easiest way to go about getting it.

Sherlock was gone for a few days- off…doing things he did when he wasn't prowling around her lab like Lord and Master. Lestrade was not around much either- that she couldn't be too bothered by; he had yelled at her for no reason other than he was mad at the world and Sherlock.

Asshat. He should be so lucky she liked him.

So when she backed into the lab one afternoon, scribbling information down on an autopsy packet, Sherlock was anchored behind his favored microscope with an assortment of petri dishes holding the grossest assemblage of decayed toes she'd ever seen.

"Ew, don't you leave those there when you leave!" She pointed for emphasis.

He rolled his eyes. "You're embarrassing with your lack of clinical professionalism."

"Yeah, well you aren't exactly a textbook setup you butthead."

"Butthead." He parroted softly, probably despairing at her usage of such a low grade, low intelligence insult.

She slowly set her work down on her desk, debating whether it worth bringing up or not. It was a tossup- she could bring attention to it, spook him, and have it never happen again, or she could ignore it, maybe not affect him at all, and it never happen again anyway because he couldn't be bothered to be so nice twice in a lifetime.

She was a firm believer of credit being given where credit was due…

Sucking a quick breath- because he was probably going to dissemble into a toddler the second he caught on and say something inherently douchy- Molly ambushed him.

Sliding quickly into the stool next to him with enough force to bump it soundly into his, Molly ducked under his arm and wrapped both of hers around him in a ninja hug. He made a startled noise and of course tensed up a like ticking bomb but she just held on tighter.

"I don't know what you did, but thank you." She told him, hugging him harder and inhaling the faintest scent of tobacco and something else that made Sherlock smell so damn good.

He of course was having mini melt down. "Oh, of the love of- you're molesting me! Why must you do that?"

She just nuzzled him harder, taking complete advantaged of his pathetic resistance as his hands were held above her because he didn't know the basics mechanics of a hug the boob.

"Personal space! Boundaries! Quite touching me!" His baritone was reverberating in his chest and she took a moment longer to appreciate that lovely perk of him too.

"No, you need a hug." She snickered.

"NO! No! I do not need a hu- this is completely- would you stop that!"

She did laugh this time because he physically stopped himself from saying 'hug' and his voice almost reached new soprano heights in his panic to unfasten her from his person because of it.

"Consider this both a thank you, and payback, Sherlock." She gave him one final good squeeze and tried not laughing over his dramatics because it. "You ruined my date, so I'm hugging you. But you tried fixing it, so I'm hugging you too, but for different reasons."

He looked like he was going to explode- but Molly noticed that all his protests were of the vocal variety. He never once tried pushing her off- which he could easily have done and she sort of expected him to do.

"This is not a reward!"

No…it was a reward to herself because he kind of just outted himself as having meddled in her affairs. He could just deal with it. "Yes it is." She snuggled him and laughed as he squirmed like a cat desperate to get away.

Deciding she had tortured him enough, she pulled back and smirked in amusement at how scandalized he looked.

"You are such a girl." She told him. "You also need to read a book about proper hugging methods."

"I will do no such thing!" He sounded so serious about it, arms slowly lowering themselves as he leaned away from her less she attack him viciously like that again.

Standing up, she tweaked his ear and moved back toward her desk, laughing as he flew in incensed hysterics behind her at the crime committed all over his person.

How she adored that oddball…

---

For the record...I hate Joe. He doesn't listen.

Whatchu all think?