Thanks to SammyKatz for inspiring the actions of the last chapter!
The cab ride was rather quiet given the events at the crime scene. Molly was smiling to herself, as was Sherlock.
Oddly, there was no discussion about whether she would be returning to 221B, she simply did.
They entered the flat.
"Molly, can I just say...that was effing brilliant? You really socked him? How did I miss it?" John was beaming at her.
Molly blushed ever so slightly. "Well, he's an annoying ass. He had it coming, didn't he?"
"Quite," replied Sherlock. "Ah...Molly. I have something for you." He went to the kitchen, & returned holding a box. "Here. These are some items I...borrowed from the lab. Silly, really. I can certainly afford my own. I suppose I did it..."
"Because you could?" Molly said, though she wasn't angry.
"Yes. Yes I suppose so," he handed the box to her smilingly.
"Well. Guess I'll be off. Thanks, for letting me go."
"Truly, the pleasure was all mine." Sherlock hesitated, he almost wanted to hug her or something. But instead, he smiled & said goodnight.
"Well, well, well. I must admit. That was bloody brilliant. First, you divert her attention from the potential disaster of her overhearing our conversation. Then, you impress her with your intellect at a crime scene. Then you admit your obvious fault while doing something sweet by returning her lab things. To top it off, she punches Anderson for being rude to you. I couldn't have done better myself. You might win after all."
Sherlock smiled once more. His cheeks were beginning to sore from the exercise.
Molly sat in her flat, pretending to read while she pet her cat. She had to admit, her resolve had broken somewhat. Watching Sherlock Holmes work was an aphrodisiac like she had never known. Dammit. And she punched a man. True, he was obviously a huge prat, but still. She. Punched. A. Man. Molly enjoyed her newfound self, but even she was unsure what to think of her.
He laid awake contemplating the Game. He had begun to feel ever so slightly guilty at the thought. He knew Molly would be angry if she knew, yet it wasn't without a genuinely honorable purpose. John was offering incentive to pursue something that he was unused to pursuing; something, in fact, that he would normally cringe at (he still did, truth be known). What next? He thought she was pleased with the crime scene. He certainly was. Perhaps he should involve her in other aspects of his life, that way, when he won & she was his, she wouldn't be taken off guard. She would be prepared for who he was: staggeringly brilliant, astonishingly eloquent, adoringly eccentric, a touch mad. Well, perhaps more than just a touch, but it wouldn't do to dwell on that.
It was almost a week later that he went back to the morgue. This was purposeful. He didn't wish to suffocate her. The seed had been planted.
"Good evening Molly."
"Hello, Sherlock," she looked up from her list. She was awaiting a new cadaver, it was late. But, at least the body could boast death as an excuse.
"I was wondering, would you like to assist me in the lab this evening? John has a date." He added the last bit to deflect any inquiry about using John instead.
Molly looked at him crookedly. "I have one as well, Sherlock. Sorry. I'm really rather busy now, too. Some other time?"
Damn. He hadn't expected this. "Well...the thing is, I need these samples by tomorrow morning. I suppose I could do it myself, but an assistant would be most helpful, & you are the only person I know competent enough to do this, save John."
He was hoping she would cancel her date, but instead she said, "Ok. I'll call Paul. Will an hour be enough? We can postpone it an hour, we don't have reservations."
Sherlock smiled. It would have to do.
Molly was half listening to Paul talk about his boring job. She was thinking about how, in the lab earlier, she & Sherlock worked together on the solutions he was mixing. She thought about how his fingers had brushed her hand, twice. How he leaned a bit closer toward her than he usually did. She wasn't angry at him any longer, that she was sure of. She was still hurt. She still thought he was an arrogant self-absorbed wanker. But it seemed like he was trying. He was attempting to right some wrongs. She had to give him credit for that much.
Sherlock arrived at 221B in the sourest of moods. Angry that Molly was on a date that wasn't with him. Angry that he was angry. Angry that there was no John to complain to. He loathed jealousy. His mind writhed with the fact that he was jealous. He wouldn't rest until Molly Hooper succumbed to his charms, & it was doubtful he would rest thereafter, for he would constantly hate himself for it.
He required a plan of action to dissuade her from any future dates with this "Paul." He knew that one of the rules was to not sabotage dates, however, as long as he wasn't bursting in on said date, he felt like it was fair game. He quickly went to his laptop to look up any Pauls that worked at Bart's. Three. By process of elimination (one was old, & one was a nurse. That left Paul Weslow in microbiology) he discovered him. He examined his picture & profile. Ha. Easily dissected. Child's play.