A/N: I'm a geometry student, I'm biased. So sue me.
"So...we're going to basically pretend to be university students, is that your idea of a friendly outing?" Molly stood obstinately facing her genius (yet very clueless about human emotions, in an annoyingly funny/extremely frustrating way) sort-of friend (or was colleague a better word?) Sherlock Holmes, the edge of her kitchen counter pressing into her lower back. She'd crossed her arms over her pullover-clad chest, her green bag crossing over her torso and hanging at her right side. Toby the cat curled around her ankles, still slightly wary of the Belstaff-covered stranger in his territory.
"Um...yes," Sherlock said uncertainly, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
"And...we're going to be catching some criminal as well?"
"Yes," Sherlock admitted after a few seconds, biting his lip and looking at the ground first before turning his icy eyes towards Molly's chocolate brown eyes.
Molly sighed. She did so want to spend a nice afternoon in a nice cafe with a few books and a consulting detective…
"Okay. Fine," Molly told him.
Sherlock instantly perked up, and Molly knew just as instantly that the unusual uncertainty and shyness she'd seen in him was all a mere ruse to bring her on board. "Bring some books, make yourself look like a student," he ordered in his usual authoritative tone.
Molly rolled her eyes, but smiled affectionately at how much he had to try as she walked to her bookshelf.
"I've researched for a while," Sherlock whispered to Molly outside a sidewalk cafe. "There was a murder at the university nearby, remember? A student found dead in his dormitory, no sign of the killer?"
"Yes," Molly replied, adjusting her bag.
"I"ve been doing my research," Sherlock continued, "and I found the murderer. Completely clean record, no suspicious behavior. The former lab partner of the victim. He was questioned and then released. I also found that the best way I could find him was in that cafe." He pointed to the awning of the small restaurant, plastered with the fading lettering announcing its name as Odds and Ends Coffee Shop.
"So, if the murderer comes in, I'll get Lestrade to be waiting at the door for when he leaves," Sherlock concluded. "In the meantime…"
"Watch and wait," Molly finished.
"Precisely," Sherlock replied. "That's why I asked you to bring some things with you."
"Oh," Molly realized. "That's actually a pretty good idea."
"Of course, Molly, why wouldn't it be?" he said, sounding pleased with himself.
Show-off. Bloody know-it-all.
"Ooh, Sherlock!" Molly gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart.
"What is it?!" he replied in a panic.
"Your head's grown about ten centimeters!" she replied, a touch of sarcasm coming through in her tone. "Really, Sherlock, a bit more bragging and your head will swell to twice its size."
"That's not scientifically proven. And you talk like John," Sherlock sulked, throwing open the door for Molly.
"Grow up," she smirked and elbowed him gently before she walked in.
Molly's senses were immediately assaulted by the heady smell of roasting coffee beans and pastries. She breathed in deeply and slid into a booth. Sherlock slid into the seat across from her and immediately steepled his fingers. Sighing, Molly took off her bag and tucked it into the corner, only taking out her pocketbook. "I'm going to get something," she said across the table to the consulting detective. "Do you want anything? Coffee?"
"I take it black -"
"And two sugars," Molly finished off. "I know."
She headed to the counter and leaned over to the cashier, a gangly and pimple-encumbered man who looked like he could be in his mid-twenties. "What can I get for you today, miss?" he asked, and Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was obviously forcing his voice deeper than its true pitch, in an attempt to imitate Molly's companion.
"I'll have one regular coffee, one green tea, and a chocolate muffin," she replied. The man in front of her ran a hand over his dirty-blonde hair, and Molly resisted that oh-so-tempting urge to roll her eyes yet again.
"'Sthat all?" he asked her, voice cracking on the last word.
"Yes, that's all," Molly said exasperatedly and handed over the money needed.
"Coming right up," the cashier replied in that forced-deep voice of his and Molly nodded a "thank-you" to him, stepping away from the counter.
"He fancied you," Sherlock pointed out as Molly slid back into the booth.
"Like that wasn't obvious." Molly snorted contemptuously.
"He's already in a relationship, by the way," Sherlock said.
"And why would I need to know that, Sherlock?" Molly asked in confusion. Sherlock shut his mouth with a snap, but Molly stifled a giggle at him to cover up her disbelief. Wait, he's worried that other men are flirting with me?
Choosing not to comment, she opened up her bag and lifted out an old, worn geometry textbook she'd found at a used-book sale and had always wanted to continue reading and solving. She also dumped a graphing notebook and a few pencils on the table next to it, and finally lifted out the pocket scientific calculator that had graced her pocket for years.
"Geometry? Really?" Sherlock asked.
"Oi, don't judge," Molly reproached. "I joined mathematical decathlons in uni, and we jumped around to a lot of different branches of math...but geometry was the one that really stuck with me."
"I never knew that," Sherlock said, un-steepling his fingers and trying to pull Molly's geometry book towards him.
"Hey!" Molly tugged it back. "I'm still working on Chapter Seven."
Sherlock pouted, but he relented and gave the book back to her. "Thank you," she said, shoving her earbuds in and playing a song from her playlist.
She worked in silence for a few minutes. The drinks and muffin slid onto the table suddenly, and Molly yanked out both earbuds and looked up to see the acne-ridden man standing by their table. "Here's your food, miss, sir," he said in his oddly deep voice and grinned to reveal teeth reined in with braces. Sherlock grabbed his coffee and dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into it instantly. Molly took her tea and muffin and placed them both by her geometry. The waiter didn't leave, he looked at Sherlock to make sure he wasn't watching and turned to Molly. "He doesn't look like a very good boyfriend to me," he said to her conspiratorially, taking a slip of paper out of his pocket. "If he's not treating you right, here's my number," he said, trying desperately to tip her a wink but instead blinking with both of his eyes. Molly had to resist the urge to roll her eyes yet again. He tried to hand the paper to Molly with a shaking hand.
It turned out Sherlock had quicker reflexes and better ears than Molly realized.
"Excuse me," Sherlock said loudly, snatching the paper out of the waiter's hand and tossing it away. Molly's eyes widened and she recoiled back a bit at the sudden action. "She's with me, in case you hadn't noticed. And you'd do better to stick with your girlfriend, as your current girlfriend seems to believe that the sun rises and sets on you."
Molly's head whipped around at the consulting detective. There was a sort of gleam in his eyes she'd never noticed before. "Um…" she started, but Sherlock cut across her with further observations about the waiter, who was now quivering in shock.
"You're obviously used to getting girlfriends quickly, using them for a few months, and then dropping them like stones. How did I know? You pulled out your number extremely smoothly and quickly-you've done it many times before. I can tell that you have multiple slips of paper here: your breast pocket puffs out just a little as there are more slips in there. Very trembling of the hand was all an act, because your gaze was steady as you stared down my companion, and you met her eyes, not showing any other signs of anxiousness. If it were real, you would've been nervous and not look at her at all, but since you've had practice… Anyhoo, the wink was so badly done that it couldn't have possibly been real. As for all of the relationships you've had before, you've probably forgotten all about them but the one you have currently is a clinger. Clear by the fact that there is a strong aroma of perfume-women's perfume-around you. She's probably the best you'll ever get with a reputation like that, so I recommend that you don't go around trying to catch some new girlfriends. Do tell your girl, however, that she needs to change the brand of the perfume. Your nose keeps on twitching, probably from that cloud that's surrounding your collar. Disgusting to you, lovely for her. Also-"
"Sherlock Holmes!" Molly angrily said through clenched teeth across the table, her face growing hotter. "That's enough!"
"God. Oh, dear God." The whole shop grew silent as the waiter staggered away. "You're...that…"
"Consulting detective," Sherlock rattled off. "Only one in the -"
"Sherlock, you've scared the wits out of the poor waiter enough, stop it now!" Molly hissed across the table at the clueless detective, the tips of her ears feeling like they were about to burst into flame.
The whole cafe was watching the scene unfold as the red-faced and obviously embarrassed waiter stumbled away.
"Sherlock, what've you done?!" Molly whispered over the table at Sherlock as the cafe burst into chatter again. "And Sherlock bloody Holmes, don't you dare adopt that look that just says I've-just-done-you-a-great-service-so-thank-me-on-bended-knee. You've just spouted out about a million deductions about how the poor waiter's a -"
"No-good jerk who takes advantage of people who actually like him," Sherlock pointed out.
"That, Sherlock Holmes, is a perfect description of your attitude towards others." Molly clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as she realized that she'd said it out loud. "Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm sorry...I...I didn't -"
"You meant it, Molly." Molly looked into Sherlock's blue-green eyes and saw a bit of hurt clouding them. Part of her felt a little bit satisfied that she'd gotten to the consulting detective, but she couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that she'd hurt him. "Molly…" he asked, slightly unsure of himself. Well, that's a first, Molly thought. "Do I...am I like...that? Tell me the truth, Molly. Am I like that to you?"
Molly didn't know how to answer for a few seconds, feeling like her heart had jumped into her throat.
"Please?" Sherlock asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"Yes," Molly finally burst out. "Yes, Sherlock. Exploiting my insecurities about my physical appearance to get an all-access pass to a body, making deductions about me in front of everyone at the Christmas party, for God's sake, Sherlock, that was humiliating. You're always taking advantage of me, putting me down, stepping all over me-for God's sake, Sherlock, I'm not the doormat to 221B! I'm not a get-a-body-for-free pass, I'm not just another stupid idiot that you can take your anger out on, I'm not a tool that you can use willingly, without caring what I think! I'm a person, if you haven't realized by now. I might be Dr. Molly Hooper: head pathologist at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, but I'm also a person with real feelings and emotions: not your personal robotic assistant who only exists to serve you and only you. I hate that about you, Sherlock, you know? I really hate how you can run me over with a steamroller and I…" She trailed off as she realized, with a pang, what she was about to reveal to the consulting detective. I really hate how you can run me over with a steamroller and I will still want you anyway.
Behind her, the door opened suddenly, the bell on the door jingling at the movement. Immediately, Sherlock took a look at who the door had admitted and sat up straight.
"What is it?" Molly asked.
Sherlock grabbed one of Molly's graphing paper pads and ripped a sheet off. Snatching up a pencil, he quickly scrawled something onto the paper and threw it across the table.
Molly picked it up and read it.
The murderer has just come into the shop. I'm texting Lestrade. Look like you're busy.
Her heart rate quickened even more, if that was possible, and she swallowed whatever she was going to say. Crumpling the note, she tossed it into her bag and continued solving problems from the textbook at a quick clip.
She was at the last part of Chapter Eight when sirens caused her to look behind at the door. Lestrade and a few officers had come to the coffee shop. As they burst in, all heads swiveled towards them. In a hurry, a tall student frantically tried to scrape his things together and make a run for the door. The murderer, Molly guessed.
"Ah, Lestrade," Sherlock said, rising to his feet and greeting the DI with a small smile. "I see you've gotten my text."
"This had better be important, Freak," one of the sergeants, a woman with curly dark hair, snapped at Sherlock.
"Donovan, lay off of him," Lestrade said quickly and she stepped back, not erasing the sneer from her face. "Hello, Dr. Hooper," he nodded at Molly. "So you've found him, Sherlock?"
"That I have," Sherlock replied easily. "He's currently trying to sneak behind you, so I recommend you turn around and arrest him on charges of murdering his lab partner."
Lestrade and Donovan whipped around and instantly saw the murderer, frozen by the trash bins. He dropped his bag and put his hands up in defeat.
Ten minutes later, Sherlock and Molly stood on the pavement with Lestrade outside the coffee shop as Donovan opened the back of the squad car for the murderer, who slid in.
"Thanks very much, Sherlock," Lestrade told Sherlock gratefully.
"It was easy," he shrugged off.
"Say," Lestrade said suddenly. "You look like you have a lot on your mind at the moment. Anything wrong? How's John?"
Molly looked at the ground in guilt. Probably what I said earlier.
"I'm fine," Sherlock assured Lestrade. "John is too. He couldn't come with me today, said it was something with the baby."
"Ah, I see," Lestrade replied. "Tell him I said hello."
"That I will," Sherlock told him. "It's just that, with me...someone just brought to my attention a wrong I am now quite desperate to right."
Molly jerked her head up suddenly, unnoticed by either of the two men. Hope spread through her chest.
"Well, it was nice to speak with you, Gavin," Sherlock closed out the conversation, extending a hand to Lestrade.
"Yeah. And it's Greg," Lestrade corrected.
Molly stifled a giggle. "It was nice to see you, Detective Inspector," she said, shaking hands with him.
"You too, Dr. Hooper," he replied cordially.
Sherlock and Molly were left alone on the pavement. They walked along the street, not entirely sure of where they were going, until they stopped at a bench.
"I was telling the truth there," Sherlock began.
"What do you mean?" Molly asked as she sat down, pulling out her geometry book again and flicking through the pages to the chapter she wanted.
"A wrong I must right…" The man trailed off and stared into the distance. "I have a lot of those. But the one I am most enthusiastic to solve lies with you."
Molly stopped mid-page. Slowly, her gaze traveled up until she met the consulting detective's eyes.
"Where is the direction of this?" Molly asked him in confusion. "Please, enlighten me," she continued with a vague wave of her hand.
"You told me I mistreated and took advantage of you in so many ways. You told me that I often use your insecurities to get what I want. And you told me that I commonly...what was it?... 'stepped all over you like the doormat to 221B.'"
"I-" Molly started, but she was easily and instantly cut off.
"You meant it, Molly," Sherlock said, looking rightfully ashamed of himself. "You really meant it. And...I'm sorry. Please...please, just...forgive me."
Wait.
What?!
WHAT?!
Sherlock Holmes asking for forgiveness?!
Oh, what a day you've gotten yourself into, Molly Hooper.
"Isn't that what you're supposed to say when you need to be forgiven?" A hint of panic greeted Molly as her ears finally quit ringing from the sheer shock of the whole thing. "Molly, please answer me! Isn't that what you're supposed to say?!"
"Yes, Sherlock," she replied quickly, "it is."
"So...will you? Forgive me, I mean?" The poor man was wringing his hands unconsciously, without realizing what he was doing.
Molly suddenly had a slightly malicious desire to say "no", to see his face crumple as hers had on various occasions. But she knew in her heart that that was something she couldn't do. She couldn't torment a person like that. However, she had been hurt by him many times...the Christmas party, all those times in the morgue, the Jim fiasco, being on drugs, the Janine incident, and most recently (and ongoing), the Moriarty-is-not-actually-dead problem. What she really needed was…
"Time," Molly whispered.
"Sorry?"
"Give me time to think," she replied, her voice stronger. Sherlock looked a little hurt at this, but he nodded energetically. "I can't say yes quite yet...I just need to really...look at myself more closely. You know?"
"All right," Sherlock said softly. Hesitantly, he stuck out a hand. Molly shook it uncertainly, feeling the smallest of smiles creep onto her face.
"And by the way," Sherlock added, "what concept were you on in your book?"
Molly put her book bag into her bag and stood up, adjusting the strap so that the bag lay on her shoulder more securely. "The Law of Sines. Why?"
"Just wondering," Sherlock said quietly, a new glint in his eye. "Shall we go, then?"