Here's a little fic I wrote for the Sherlolly Valentine's Day Fic-a-Thon for demi0123; I hope you enjoy this, demi, and happy Valentine's Day! For everyone else, check out demi0123's blog on Tumblr for fun Sherlock-related stuff and other musings . . . Also, thank you to broomclosetkink for arranging this awesome idea, and making this day special for all of us Sherlolly fans!
Something was bothering Molly Hooper, and Sherlock Holmes was determined to discover what it was.
It all started when he strode into the lab at St. Barts on a chilly Tuesday morning in early February. He removed his snow-flecked coat and scarf in one flourish, breaking the stillness of the room and, apparently, Molly's quiet concentration. She glanced up from the microscope she was hunched over with an irritated grimace, which Sherlock steadfastly ignored. She abandoned her usual cheerful greeting for stony silence as she refocused her attention on the specimen she was examining.
"I need a hand," Sherlock announced.
"With what?"
"Five fingers, preferably," Sherlock answered, swinging open the doors of a nearby cabinet and rustling through the contents.
"Oh, right," Molly sighed, swinging around on the stool to watch him. "You do know I don't just have unlimited access to any pieces of human bodies that I may wish to collect, don't you? I know you've been given some special clearance and everything, but I doubt that includes everyth . . . Hey, make yourself at home, why don't you?" She narrowed her eyes at Sherlock as he dug deeper into the cabinet, shoving vials and dyes out of his way.
Sherlock glanced over at her. Since when did she care what he used in the lab? If she really did have some sort of organizational system being implemented on this shelf, he should certainly be able to pick up on it, but it appeared to be a random assortment of rarely-used and half-empty odds and ends. He was just about to comment on this, but decided not to when he saw the scowl on her face.
"Really, Molly, I doubt your subject will find it to be of any further use," he muttered, but decided to drop the subject and pursue his main purpose for coming to the lab, which was to test some bacterial samples that had been collected from his most recent client's handbag. Or, perhaps he should start referring to her as his most recent ex-client, considering she had been found dead yesterday morning. Either way, the solution to the case could be resting on the results of this test, so Sherlock decided to focus his full attention on the contents of the petri dish he was currently studying through the microscope . . . which shouldn't have been difficult, considering the absolute silence of the room.
It was precisely this silence, however, that attracted his attention as soon as he obtained the results of his analysis (which were, he noted with a self-satisfied smirk, exactly as he had been expecting). His time spent at St. Bart's lab had always been punctuated by Molly's casual chatter, which ranged from lovestruck idolizing when they first met, to admiring fascination in later years, and then more recently to companionable small talk. He had found his own responses to her presence changing, too. He had been wrong to ignore her at first, to assume that everything she had to say was just her natural way of trying to ward off awkward silences. He had even found himself enjoying their casual conversations; not many people were able to have an evenly-matched conversation with him about pathogen growth, forensic methods, and the relative benefits and drawbacks of various tissue staining techniques. This heavy silence was certainly unusual, considering such long periods of conversational lag generally seemed to make Molly uncomfortable. It was highly unlikely that she had not noticed it, which could only mean one thing: the silence was deliberate.
Despite having completed his intention, Sherlock continued to hover over his microscope for a few minutes, sneaking occasional glances towards Molly. He decided that there could only be a small number of reasons for her silence, the most likely of which included:
a.) anger towards him, most likely due to a recent violation of appropriate social conduct,
b.) a personal distraction, probably of a distressing nature, such as a recent break-up, personal illness, work-related issue, PMS, or the illness or death of a pet or acquaintance, or
c.) a high level of preoccupation with the sample she was currently evaluating
He couldn't remember recently committing anything that could be considered an offense, really, mostly because he hadn't even spoken to Molly in nearly a week. And she didn't seem to be particularly interested in her current project, considering the fact that she kept fidgeting with her hair, jewelry, and small objects in her immediate vicinity. That was, in fact, more a sign of distraction and anxiety, which supported the only remaining option; some personal problem that was troubling her.
A break-up seemed unlikely, simply because she had only recently gotten over her most recent split a little under two months ago. Sherlock could tell that this one had not been particularly difficult for her; the decline of effort put into clothing choices and hair style, which he usually observed to some degree after each breakup, had failed to occur, and there had been no sign of dark circles or weight changes. In fact, much to his annoyance, he had not even been able to deduce the occurrence of this break-up until Molly mentioned it off-handedly.
The next option, personal illness, seemed equally unlikely, considering it would also probably involve a slight change in appearance, as well as time off from work. She had been in the lab or morgue every time he had dropped by recently, although he supposed . . . .
"Arggh!"
Sherlock was abruptly snapped out of his contemplations by a frustrated shriek from Molly. "Damn, wrong sample!" she moaned, violently pushing away the Petri dish that she had just added dye to. She dropped her head in her hands and groaned again.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow; he had never heard Molly curse before. He realized that whatever was bothering Molly should be of no interest to him; she was perfectly capable of working through problems on her own, and there was really no point in getting involved. However, mistakes made in the lab were simply not acceptable. What if this had been a sample from one of his own cases, and she had not caught the mistake? Besides, he really wanted that hand sometime in the near future, and if Molly didn't get over this soon and get in a better mood he may have to resort to slightly less legal methods of acquisition. He pushed his microscope aside and slid into the stool beside Molly.
"I doubt that Mr. -" Sherlock picked up the discarded blood sample and glanced at the label – "Thomas will mind giving another blood sample, considering he's dead."
"I know," Molly sighed, raising her head. A few stray strands of hair came loose from her ponytail; Sherlock noted the exhausted look on her face as she brushed them back. "It's just seems like this day couldn't get any worse," she added under her breath.
"Hmm. That hardly seems to be an accurate observation, considering the comparison between the day you've experienced and the day your patients have. Take Mr. Thomas here, for instance."
"Shut up, Sherlock," Molly growled, "Why are you here, anyway?"
"I told you, I need a hand," Sherlock answered. He realized that his previous statement may not have achieved his intention of cheering her up, "And I wanted to test this sample. Oh yes, and when you do Mrs. Barrow's autopsy this afternoon, check to see if there are chips in the nail polish on her right forefinger."
"What? Fine, sure," she snapped, her tone conveying the exact opposite sentiments of her words, "And if she doesn't have any polish on?"
"She will."
"Right, right, because you're Sherlock Holmes and you know everything!" Molly spat. She stood up, gathering up some papers behind her and heading towards the door. Sherlock opened his mouth, searching for a response, but she had already pushed her way into the hall.
What could possibly be bothering her this much? Sherlock was quite certain he had not done anything to her this time.
One thing was certain; he wouldn't be getting that hand today.