They keep looking over here. It's hilarious.
Send.
Aren't you supposed to be solving a murder?
Solved it. I'm just here laughing at John and Greg as they wonder at my texting you.
Send.
Sherlock. You need to stop. Just go over and tell them who to arrest…naughty.
He smiled broadly.
Perhaps a punishment is in order…
Send.
Oh my god just stop and tell Greg who to arrest.
Oh all right. I suppose it's enough. I'll speak to you later.
Send.
He cleared his throat and put the phone away. He walked over to the body on the ground where Greg and John were standing.
"Decided to join us?" John asked.
Sherlock smiled, and put his hands in his pockets.
"Never mind. Can you just tell me who did it?" Lestrade sighed. "I need to get on with it."
"No one."
"What?" John and Greg both replied.
Sherlock smiled even more broadly…"The markings on his wrists were not made by a rope, they are old scars from him cutting himself, and then reopened. Probably because he became suicidal once more. His coloring is off," and he pointed to the man's face. "Not from being fished from the river, but from years of alcohol abuse. He was alive not two hours ago, and due to the dramatic and very sudden drop in temperature, his skin congealed in an odd way, causing a look of having been in water longer than he was. He disappeared on a drunken binge, depressed…and fell, accidentally, into the Thames. No one needs to be arrested," he backed away.
"There," said John. "Was that too difficult?"
"No, and neither was it urgent, which is why I was texting Molly," he flipped up his collar, and began to walk away from the scene.
"So…you and Molly Hooper…" Greg began. "Pretty unbelievable."
"Is it?" he sounded vaguely annoyed.
"Well, yeah. She's loved you for years. And now, out of nowhere…"
"Hardly," and he stopped, the other two men with him. "This is hardly 'out of nowhere'…"
"Sherlock…" John's voice held a note of caution.
"Molly has been an important part of my life for years. You know this. Just because I wasn't aware of my depth of regard doesn't mean that I didn't care for her. And sex and the like merely makes our friendship, or relationship, or whatever rubbish term you wish to employ, more close. Nothing has changed, not really, except that I am in love with her. Why is this such a topic for discussion?"
"Because it's funny," Greg shrugged. He paused. "Did you have sex with her yet?" he smiled.
Sherlock's face set. "And what makes you think that I'd share that information with you, hm? I've seen the way you've ogled her arse over the years. You have had designs on her from a very early time."
"As a friend, Sherlock. You're with her, and that's all fine. I was just asking…" he turned to John. "Jealous bloke."
"Yeah," John said. "Sherlock…" he said, turning.
But the detective was hailing a cab. "Coming?" he yelled to John as he hopped in.
John got in and sighed. "Sherlock. You need to…"
"Please don't give me a lecture. Everyone is always offering me their opinions, which leads to a diatribe, which is endlessly boring."
"But you care about Greg, and he was only showing an interest in your life. You know, like a friend does."
"No. He was being a typical man wondering if I'd fucked my girlfriend whom he has been attracted to for years and desirous of sordid details to color his masturbatory session later."
John's mouth hung agape. "So…girlfriend…?"
"Oh for gods sake," and he took out his mobile.
John laughed. "I don't think you're being fair to him."
"I don't really care."
"Yes you do. You love Greg Lestrade. Now, you should apologize and be done with it."
Sherlock let out a soft sigh. "While you are undoubtedly right, I think I'll wait and let him stew a bit…" he smiled.
"Punishing him for being attracted to Molly?"
He shrugged and smirked.
"How very fifteen of you, Sherlock," he laughed.
"Speaking of, would you like to come to Sherrinford with my parents and Mycroft and I on Saturday?"
"What?"
"Well, I'm going to ask Molly as well, but I thought that perhaps you'd want to go."
"Why?"
"Because it's a family affair."
John smiled. "If Mrs Hudson is available to watch Rosie, sure. Thanks," he folded his hands. "So…when are you seeing her again?"
Sherlock put his phone away and leaned his head back. "It's ten now, is that right?"
John checked. "Ya…about that."
"Then…in approximately six hours, fifty four minutes."
"Wow."
Sherlock looked at him and smiled. "I'm going to try to get some sleep beforehand. But it's unlikely."
"Are you…meeting her after her shift?"
"Surprising her," and he looked out of the window.
"I'm so happy for you, mate. And if Mary were here…" his voice cracked a touch. "If she was, she'd be thrilled, too."
Sherlock looked at him, nodded, and squeezed John's hand.
She was cleaning some instruments and taking off her lab coat. And by god she was beautiful…even though her hair was somewhat askew…he hadn't thought to ask her about her appointment…and she appeared to be rather tired…
…and she hadn't spotted him, which was a marvel.
He was standing in the doorway to the lab, and was unintentionally obscured by shadow. He began to advance toward her while her back was to him, and was able to accomplish this with a remarkable amount of stealth.
He reached and touched her left shoulder …she squealed, jumping, turning to her left… and he reached around and kissed her right ear, holding out a yellow rose in front of her.
She looked at it, and took it, then turned and smiled at him. "Hello, Sherlock."
"Hello, Molly," and he kissed her lips softly, noting the almost completely absent pang.
"What are you doing here? It's five in the morning."
"Walking you home," and he leaned against the counter next to her.
"What?" she smiled.
"I'm walking you home. Is that ok?"
"'Course it is. It's just so…such an unholy hour."
"Only if you make it so…" he winked. "Let's get your coat. It's cold out."
She blushed and nodded. "How did the case go?" and she put her coat on, still holding the rose.
"Obvious. Accidental death. No arrests necessary."
"Oh. I'm sorry," and they left Bart's.
"Well, you'll have those. How was work?"
"Fine. Mike is thinking of retiring," she paused. "I might look to find something else, too."
"What do you mean? I can't afford a stupid pathologist."
She laughed. "Well, these odd hours are beginning to take their toll. I feel it in my neck, and…"
He looked at her. She did…four…no. Five autopsies that night. "You're hurting?"
"Just my neck. From leaning over…?"
He nodded.
"But I've never worked regular hours. It might be nice to find something that offered that."
"Yes, I suppose…"
"Oh, Sherlock. Don't pout," and she nudged him with her arm.
He smiled at her. "I don't pout."
"Noooo…never," and they reached her flat.
He cleared his throat. "I was thinking…maybe I could make you some tea. And you could sleep…"
She shifted her weight. "Ok. Sounds lovely," and she opened her door.
They walked in and Molly hung hers and Sherlock's coats. She turned toward the kitchen…
"Go sit. I'll take care of it," and he started the kettle.
A bit shocked, she did as he bade. "Did you sleep at all? From when you solved the case until you left to meet me?"
"A bit," and he got out two cups, camomile tea bags, and began to cut some lemon. "Though not as well as after your texts," he smiled.
She pulled her legs up under her. "Yes. I fell right to sleep."
"Trust you for that," and the kettle screamed. He arranged the cups and brought them to her, sitting next to her. "How long do you sleep when you get home at this time, Molly?"
"Mm…" she sat back and put her feet on the coffee table in front of her. "About four or five hours, I guess," and she sipped.
He nodded. "And…I've something else to ask, but I don't want you to feel any pressure…"
"Ok…?" she looked at him.
"Saturday…you're not working, is that right?"
"Mm hm."
"Would you care to visit Euros with my parents and Mycroft and I? John will be going too, I think."
Molly swallowed. Her brow furrowed a bit.
"You can absolutely say no. I won't be cross," he offered.
"Can I…can I let you know?"
"Of course," and he sipped the tea, set it down, and reached around to her neck, which he began to rub.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes closing.
"Being an attentive…copain."
"A what?" she smiled, looking at him.
"French. You can look it up later."
Molly swallowed. "I wish you were always like this," she whispered.
"Well, I will certainly endeavor to be."
"Thanks," and she sat forward. "I'm good."
He folded his hands. "Aspirin?"
"No…just sleep," and she stood, and padded her way to the bedroom.
He swallowed…she was likely just tired, as she had said. But he couldn't help but feel as though she wasn't telling him something…
He grabbed a throw pillow and a blanket and laid on her sofa.
It was rather comfortable, but not so much so that he'd fall into a deep sleep.
…and three hours later he awoke. Sherlock got up, and went to the loo. He examined his forehead, which was now fully scabbed and a bit bruised still. And still, rather hideous. He used one of Molly's bandages and covered it, then went to her kitchen.
He hadn't allowed himself to think about the phone call when he was in the room a few hours ago, nor when he and John visited almost two weeks ago.
But in the silence and the light feathering in from the mid morning sun, he thought about it.
And he felt ill.
He really needed to alter his perspective on that, for it really was the catalyst to his current happiness.
He sighed, and began taking out some things.
About an hour later, the coffee was made, and the English breakfast was complete. Now, he only needed a Molly. He thought about knocking on her door…
"Sherlock?"
And there she was, wrapped in a dark purple dressing gown, her hair down, and slightly confused.
"Hello. Coffee?"
She nodded blankly. "What is all this?"
'It's…" he looked around. "Breakfast." …and indeed. Sausage, toast, beans, eggs…they were all there. "Do you enjoy breakfast?"
"Ah…yes. Yes, but…"
"Did I do something not right?" he scanned it. No, this was how mummy always did it.
"No. Everything is fine…Sherlock. This is just so…"
"So what?" his voice was full of nerves.
"Unbelievable? I mean…how have you never been in love? This is exactly the sort of thing you do when you're in love and the relationship is new."
"Well, maybe I'm just a natural. Stop overthinking, Molly."
"Oh that's rich, coming from you," and she sat at the table.
He smiled and sat across from her. "Yes…I suppose I have erred on the side of overly romantic and attentive this morning. The rose, breakfast, a neck rub…but I mean to prove myself utterly."
"Doing a smashing job," and she served him some beans.
"Good," and he sipped some coffee.
"Was Greg pleased when you solved it and his night was over?" she bit into some toast.
He cleared his throat. "I suppose so."
She looked at him crookedly. "Are you cross with Greg for some reason?"
"No," and he ate some of his eggs.
She stopped. "Sherlock…"
"Why is everyone so concerned about my being angry with Gregory Lestrade? He's a moron, just like the rest of Scotland Yard. Yes, he's my friend, but honestly."
"So you are cross."
He sighed and rubbed his face. "No. He just…"
She sipped her coffee, her eyebrows up…
"He…he's always…ogled you."
And she coughed, choking on the coffee.
"Molly!" he got up and patted her back, then got some water. "Drink this."
She downed it.
"You know, I'm beginning to think that we neither of us should drink coffee anymore. It never ends well," he said, sitting down again.
"Hang on. You're jealous of Greg Lestrade?"
"No!" but then he swallowed. "Maybe."
"Sherlock. You need to get a handle on that. Greg is my friend, too."
He nodded. "You're right. This is all just…it's so…"
"New and intense?" she smiled.
He nodded.
"S'okay. Just try, all right?"
Sherlock smiled. "So…day off. What would you like to do?"
She looked at the ceiling. "Let's replace your lab supplies for your kitchen."