Note:
I'm sure you've noticed the decrease in quality as the time between updates has also decreased.
I've chosen to publish 2nd drafts so that the story can be enjoyed on a reasonable time frame.
That being said, I do apologize for not presenting my very best work.
Also, I want to thank everyone for their comments and reviews.
I read everything in a positive light, so please never hold back your criticism.
I enjoy hearing what you like, as well as what you don't.
It helps me grow as a writer.
Genuine perspectives are beautiful, and I promise to never cause anyone to regret speaking up.
"Expecting someone else?"
Molly looked down at the stack of folders on the table in front of her, "Yes."
Sherlock fumbled with the envelope in his coat pocket.
"Did you need something? It's pretty slow today," She asked wrestling open a drawer to begin filing the reports.
Sherlock watched as she brushed a lock of stray hair back behind her ear with her fingertips.
"I think you're right," he spoke quietly.
"Oh," the broken sound belied her determined posture. She pushed the drawer shut, "It's okay. Nothing's changed really..." With a forced smile she raised her palm to his cheek, "Thank you. It was sweet of you to try."
"Molly, I meant..," he began to pull the envelope from his pocket.
"It really is fine, Sherlock. We can still be friends. I will always be your friend. It's best this way... in the end," her voice became more insistent as she abandoned the files and took off her lab coat.
"Why is it best?"
"I'm just not your type," she managed with a chuckle.
"Not my type?" Sherlock dropped the envelope back into his pocket.
Molly sighed, "Yes, You don't find me attractive. I said it's okay." She hung her lab coat on the peg and turned to face him.
"Why would I have sex with someone I don't find attractive?"
"Sherlock!" watching the door, Molly quickly contained her reaction.
Eyes narrowed in a piercing stare, Sherlock took a step toward her and shifted discontentedly.
"That doesn't count," Molly hissed as she stomped toward him.
"Of course it counts," Sherlock returned through his teeth.
"It was a long time ago and you were high," she accused. "And I'd been drinking," she concluded with a derisive shake of her head before she dropped it in shame and turned her back to the room. In an effort to compose herself, Molly looked around for her handbag, silently cursing her constant inability to fend off the emotional storm. Refusing defeat, she strode confidently to the shelf where she'd left it.
"No," Sherlock confessed, "I wasn't."
Molly stopped and turned to him incredulously, "What?"
"I wasn't high," he repeated with emphasis. "You'd had just enough to drink to believe I was. Come now, Molly. You always know the truth. How could you have possibly missed that?"
"You took advantage of me?"
"Don't be ridiculous! I just knew otherwise you would never..."
"I trusted you!"
"And you know I'm telling the truth. So see? You were wrong. You are attractive," Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.
"No, no!" Molly ground out through clenched jaw as she struggled to open her fist enough to point at the door. "Get out," she commanded, proud that her voice didn't fail her, but held an even tone.
"Why? I never shagged Molly Hooper."
"Get. Out."
"You know it's the truth," Sherlock argued as Molly marched toward him and physically spun him around to face the exit.
"I never shagged Molly Hooper," Sherlock called louder as she shoved him toward the door just as Greg entered.
"Oh, sorry."
Molly immediately stepped from behind Sherlock, leaving him to stumble for his balance. "It's fine, Greg. Ready then?" She casually grabbed her handbag and walked out of the lab. Glancing from Molly to Sherlock's face, Greg quickly followed.
"I NEVER SHAGGED MOLLY HOOPER!" Sherlock bellowed down the hallway.
"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Greg smirked discarding his menu.
"No," Molly laughed, "Not really."
"You sure? Because I can always get it from John," Greg quipped.
"Well, you're in a mood. What's happened?" John asked noticing a small envelope impaled on the mantel.