You say you think I'm a square
You don't like the clothes that I wear
"You're square, you know that?" Molly pointed out and was already sorry she spoke at loud, as soon as she started talking. Sherlock turned his head from the microscope and looked at her with an eyebrow slightly arched.
"Excuse me?"
"You're square," Molly said, as she barely stood her ground under his amazingly attractive stare. "You're conservative, never willing to have any fun and you are way too honest for anyone's opinion. I tried to think of a word that could describe you. And here it is."
John sat on his chair and watched them from afar, not uttering a word. By the look on both of their faces, he knew it was going to get interesting.
"You silly little Molly," Sherlock shook his head. He had an amused smile on his face as he was encouraging the break from his work. He had an excuse to look at Molly after all. "Please, enlighten me, what makes you think I'm any of those things?"
"Well, um," Molly stuttered, a little nervous about her deductions. "You're always doing the same old things, in a same old kind of style. For example, you waltz in here and when you're in need of the laboratory, you never ask, you just say you need it, not letting me question you on anything about it. Or you come and ask sweetly to look at a body in the same, drilled tone and the same words."
The careful Sherlock Holmes, who always did something different, just for the sake of no one ever being able to read him, realized it was true. He looked back on all of the memories of him coming to St. Bart's. It was always the same, though sometimes he was himself, sometimes he wasn't.
"And as for having fun ..." Molly continued. "Please tell me, have you ever thought of just doing something different than solving a case or doing an experiment?"
"I did." And he was speaking the truth. These few past days he mostly thought of her. How her hair looked, what changed since the last time he saw her and how she brightened his day with only her presence. And every time she made a deduction of her own, she got secret bonus points in Sherlock's mind – not that she knew that, of course.
"Of what?" Molly asked, sincerely curious about the answer. She waited for Sherlock to give her an answer and thought of his hesitation as time he needed to think of something, not as time he needed to think of a good enough excuse for not telling the truth.
"My mind is perfectly capable of thinking about more than just two important things that make my life a bit less dull," Sherlock cleverly finished the conversation about it. He looked at Molly. "And as it is for the last accusation, the one about me being too honest ... I am honest, I tend to pronounce what I see in words. But I don't think anyone physically able to be too honest."
"What do you think of what I'm wearing right now?" Molly asked. Sherlock took the chance for a free examination of her body. He frowned inwardly. The grey sweater, with the word HARVARD printed on it in big red letters, she was wearing didn't hug her curves as he hoped he would, though the jeans she was wearing seemed acceptable. They were shaping her bottom and slim legs perfectly.
"Well, the sweater is horrible," he decided to emphasize the fault in her clothing. "It's way to big for you, and I know you didn't go to Harvard, you went to a colleague here in London, but since it's a men's sweater, I would guess brother or father. Your brother is the more rebellious type, so I guess he went to America and sent you only this as a message that he didn't forget about you. Your jeans seem acceptable, though they aren't new. The material is already worn out, so I would guess they're pretty old. From when you went to colleague, I would presume. Hm, I didn't know women were able to carry on having the same weight they had ten years ago."
Molly pursed her lips, annoyed at the mention of her brother. How did he know those things?
"This is just what I was talking about," she said as she tried not to look hurt. She pulled on the fabric of the sweater and decided to not tell him about how by sending this sweater was the biggest thing her brother did in the past years to show love and affection she knew he didn't have for her.
She bit her lip and looked at Sherlock, who was already deciding the talk was over. With a corner of her eyes she saw John, who apologetically looked at her, as if trying to say sorry for his friend. She let a sad half smile shine on her lips, before she excused herself and walked out.
"Why did you do that?" John asked Sherlock. "Can't you, with your genius mind, see how much you're hurting her with things you say?"
"She wanted me to be honest, just to prove her point. And I did just that – if anything, she was supposed to be happy."
"You dumb arse," John said, raising his voice. "If you want to make her happy, you have to compliment her hair or say something nice about her! Don't just criticize her clothes like a douchy fashion designer."
Sherlock, to John's surprise, looked up from his project, interested in what John had to say.
"So she wasn't happy that I helped her make her point?" he asked, like he had a slower mind than a simple-minded farmer.
"No," John said. He calmed down a little bit, but he still wasn't sure why Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective, the one person who didn't care about anyone ... Actually seemed to care about Molly Hooper.
He had already tried to continue talking, but was cut of by the small pathologist, who came back in. Sherlock stood up, ready to leave.
"Well, John, our work is done here," Sherlock said. He took another glance in the microscope, making sure that what he thought was true. "Let's go tell Lestrade the butler did it."
As they went out, Sherlock made a quick deduction on Molly's face. Her mascara was a bit smudged, but was wiped of her cheeks quickly and with lack of accuracy. She tried to hide the fact that she was crying.
That he made her cry.
And it probably wasn't the first time.
"By the way, Molly," he could hear himself call out, when he was halfway through the door. "The red writing on the shirt really brings out your naturally blushed cheeks. Maybe you should wear red more often, it would be a nice change. And, for the love of God, wear your hair down for once. No one will notice how well I fits your eyes, if you keep on wearing them in a ponytail."
He left then and John followed, almost laughing out of cheerfulness.
It might not seem like much, but he was sure as hell he just witnessed Sherlock Holmes paying a compliment ... Well, a compliment that would need some exercise.
"Oh, and Sherlock?" he said, trying not to sound as if he was mocking him. "Next time try and say those things when she will actually be wearing her hair down and a new shirt."
Sherlock looked like he didn't hear him, but it was everything he wanted to hear as an insurance he hadn't said anything wrong again.
The tall man's lips curved in a smile so small it wasn't noticeable even to John, who was walking next to him.
Molly Hooper would indeed look nice with her hair down and a red shirt.
