Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and story from BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Prompt: Molly meets Sherlock for the first time.
The moment Molly set eyes on him, she was smitten.
Her job was simple: go in and explain the state of the cadaver to Lestrade. She had done it dozens of times before, never failing to let anything get in the way.
Molly had heard that there was someone else working on the case with Lestrade that day. The grape vine had led Molly to knowing that the man's name was Sherlock Holmes— a consultant who swooped in to help Lestrade in this particularly tricky homicide. No word yet on what this Holmes character looked like, but Molly had imagined a rat-faced man with a bulging belly. She had managed to spill coffee on herself when she giggled at her mental image.
Stepping into the lab, her mind was effectively turned to a useless pile of mush.
"Ah, our pathologist has arrived," Lestrade announced when Molly stepped into the room.
A man was stooped over a lab table. Even from behind Molly knew that her mental image had been greatly distorted. She was sure that Sherlock's waist was even smaller than hers. When he turned around, the buttons of his burgundy shirt strained against his chest— threatening to pop at any moment. His grey eyes peered at her curiously.
"Aren't you going to show me the body?" he asked.
Molly was too busy staring at his dark tousled hair to articulate a fathomable answer. "Uh, I— er, of course… sorry."
She quickly shuffled to fetch them the corpse, but as she moved, she realized that every movement she made was being observed by Sherlock. The coffee stain on her lab coat suddenly made her feel extremely self conscious.
"Are you sure she's qualified?"
Molly heard Sherlock ask this to Lestrade. She immediately blushed and bumped into a table.
She would show Sherlock. It's not like Molly had always been small and timid. She went to protests when she was at college. This was Molly Angela Hooper, not Little Molly. She would think of a biting remark that would put Sherlock in his place. She would—
"Would you like to have some coffee?" she heard herself asking.