Molly's clothing style trended toward comfort and practicality. She chose cheerful colors and prints not only because they reflected her personality, but also because they made her happy during her long shifts in the morgue. She had a few pencil skirts and professional blouses for the occasional meeting, and hanging behind her coat was a little black dress that all the magazines said she had to have. But none of those outfits would work for her date with Sherlock.
After spying Kelly Harper in the cafeteria wearing a cute herringbone jacket, Molly raced over to ask the nurse where she had got it. Pairing the jacket with black jeans, tall boots, and a scarf, Molly felt as if she had pulled off a fashion coup. She was so pleased with herself that when Sherlock promptly arrived to pick her up for their date, she did a little twirl in front of him.
He took in her appearance. "You clearly want me to notice what you have on. While it is a different style than you usually wear, it is suitable and fits well."
"Yes, but do you like it?" she asked hopefully.
Sherlock answered honestly. "I have no particular feelings about your outfit. Is it special?"
Deflated, Molly still managed a small smile. "No, I suppose it's not. Shall we go?"
Her spirits picked up when he opened the door of the cab for her. She enjoyed every second of their ride to the museum, although it wasn't remarkable. Sherlock scrolled through his messages, occasionally making an editorial comment about the sender; Molly chattered about recent hospital goings on. When the conversation lulled, she stole a glance at her companion's dark suit and attractive white button up. She envied his ability to wear clothes with a casual elegance, as if he could care less about them but couldn't help looking good in them.
The museum's outdoor lighting made it look more like a theater as they pulled up. While Sherlock paid the cabbie, Molly made a mental note to check what was playing in the West End. She knew Sherlock wouldn't enjoy Wicked, but maybe she could find a good play or two he would tolerate. Grinning, she reminded herself that there would be many more dates to come.
Sherlock guided her through the crowd as they funneled into the human anatomy exhibit. Molly secretly pinched the back of her hand. It was real: She was on a date with Sherlock. As he had said, they had an "understanding." Whatever that meant, it had to be a good thing.
"Isn't this nice?" She smiled up at him.
Remembering John's advice to be engaged, Sherlock tried to look interested in their surroundings. "Very nice."
They strolled through a display of figures that were very lifelike, except they wore their insides on the outside.
"Molly, do you see how this is depicted?" Sherlock stared intently at one figure, but she was looking in the other direction.
"Here comes George Maynard, the curator. I met him the last time I came to a preview night."
"Look at this," Sherlock insisted. Molly followed his line of sight and once she recognized what he was looking at, nodded once.
"Dr. Hooper, it's good to see you again," Mr. Maynard said. "And I certainly recognize whom you're with. Mr. Holmes, it's an honor to meet you. I follow Dr. Watson's blog."
Sherlock looked pleased to be recognized. "Thank you."
"We're excited to see the new exhibit," Molly gushed.
Mr. Maynard puffed up. "My staff worked very hard on it."
"Really? I have spotted an error," Sherlock stated.
"Sherlock!" Molly tried to laugh it off. "He's joking, Mr. Maynard."
"No, I am not," he said.
The curator flushed pink all the way to his earlobes. "I hardly think, Mr. Holmes—" he sputtered.
"Clearly, or you would have caught such an obvious mistake in the billiary tree on this figure," Sherlock said.
Flustered, Molly took his arm. "Good evening, Mr. Maynard."
"I was going to explain what was wrong," Sherlock protested as they walked away.
John never hesitated to correct Sherlock's behavior, but she wasn't accustomed to it nor was she sure she even wanted to. "I know you didn't mean to, but you embarrassed him."
"You spotted the same mistake I did," he said, amused.
Molly blushed shyly. "Well, yes, but that's not the point. Never mind. Why don't we keep looking?"
They strolled through an interactive exhibit on how muscles function to the display on the heart. It was laid out like a heart itself in four sections.
"Isn't the heart fascinating? We think of it as the center of love, but what it does daily to keep us alive is gobsmacking." Molly peered into a display case. With a giggle, she pushed a button, causing a loud lub-dub sound to echo around them.
Sherlock began to reply when his mobile came to life. "Go on ahead. I will meet you in a few minutes."
"I can wait," Molly said willingly, but he shook his head.
"I need to take this." He walked in the opposite direction.
Molly moved through the left ventricle to the aorta slowly, hoping Sherlock would catch up with her, but when he didn't, she headed toward the exhibit exit. She looked left and right, finally spying him near the large windows.
"Better reception here," he said putting away his mobile.
"Everything OK?"
"It was Lestrade. I will consult with him tomorrow about a new case. I also have received a text from my current client. Very annoying. She wants an update. John usually handles that sort of thing because he feels it is important to talk to the client."
"And you don't?" No matter how long she had known him, Sherlock continued to amaze Molly.
"The client in most cases does not help me solve the puzzle," he stated. "He or she merely introduces me to it."
Wanting to return to the exhibit, Molly nodded toward the foyer. "It looks like they're serving drinks over there."
"You appear to be correct," he said.
"Wouldn't you like to get a glass of wine?" she asked cheerfully.
Sherlock looked at his watch. "No, thank you. I am not thirsty."
Molly bit her lower lip. He seemed restless, ready to leave.
"Are you hungry?" Sherlock suddenly asked. "We should go to Angelo's."
Molly brightened. "That sounds wonderful!"
~s~s~s~s~
Angelo seated the couple in a dark booth toward the back. "Anything you and your friend want, Sherlock, it's on the house!" the large man said. "He's a great one, our Sherlock. He'll help you with whatever case you have, miss."
Sherlock glanced at the menu and handed it back to Angelo. "Dr. Hooper is not a client. She is my date."
The restaurateur's astonishment couldn't be disguised. "Your date is a woman?"
Molly looked stricken, but Sherlock waved his friend off. "You know what I like, Angelo. Molly?"
"Oh, the penne would be lovely."
The two sat quietly as an exotically beautiful woman approached their table.
"Mr. Holmes?" she asked in a velvety smooth voice.
"Ah, Ms. De Silva, this is Dr. Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Luciana De Silva, my client. You did an autopsy on her sister."
The women looked uncomfortably at one another. Then the realization hit Molly and her mouth fell open.
"You invited your client to join us for dinner?"
"I told you she wanted an update," Sherlock stated and scooted over to give Luciana space to sit down. "She insisted on speaking in person. This was the most convenient way to give her one."
"Well, Mr. Holmes? What have you to report?" Luciana asked.
"You are correct. The homeless man did not kill your sister."
She nodded gravely. "It was Neil, wasn't it?"
As Angelo brought over their food, Molly twisted her napkin in her lap.
"I met him but have not deduced yet whether he is the murderer. I can tell you he is having an affair with the nanny."
After muttering in Portuguese what Molly could only assume was a string of colorful curse words, Luciana's dark eyes burned with anger. "In my sister's own home? The man has no shame."
"What can you tell me about Grace Dunbar?" Sherlock pushed his food away, uneaten, not noticing that Molly had leaned back unhappily.
"She's a quiet girl, keeps to herself. Some might think she is pretty, but I think she is plain. She is good with the children, but awkward with everyone else. I believe this is her first job. I can't believe Neil would be interested in her! It just shows what a dog he is."
"Does that mean you do not believe he would kill his wife to be with Grace?"
Luciana considered his question. "Perhaps not. Do you know I saw her that day, the day Maria was murdered?"
"Tell me more."
"Neil had called when Maria didn't come home, thinking she may have been with me. Naturally I was alarmed and went to their house. It was Grace's day off apparently, but Neil had texted her and she had come right over. The poor girl didn't even know how to put a decent outfit together."
In the dark booth, Molly blushed furiously.
"How do you mean, Ms. De Silva?"
"She had on sweatpants, a bulky long coat, and trainers that were pink!" Luciana looked at the pair. "Can you imagine?"
Molly wondered if she had ever worn an outfit like that.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, and you too, Dr. Hooper, for letting me know how things stand." Ms. De Silva slid effortlessly out of the booth.
After she left, Sherlock steepled his fingers. "Very interesting."
"What is?"
But he didn't answer. Instead he stared thoughtfully into space as Molly absently finished her dinner.
The cab ride back to her home was nothing like the one to the museum. Gone was her sense of great anticipation for what the evening would bring, but Molly still thought maybe she could salvage something of their date. "Would you like to come in for a minute?"
"All right."
Sherlock strode directly to her couch and reached for her laptop, giving Molly a brilliant smile that made butterflies take flight in her stomach.
"Have to check something," he said.
Molly sat next to him and watched as Sherlock rapidly opened search windows, looking up and memorizing data on different types of soil. He was so close to her now, she could forgive him for this evening because everything she always had wanted was just inches away, hardly any distance at all. Feeling intoxicated by the moment, Molly tilted her head and brushed her lips lightly across his cheek.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock's voice cut threw her romantic haze like a straightedge razor.
Flushed, Molly kept from crying by reassuring herself that at least he didn't look repulsed. He appeared more perplexed than anything.
She cleared her throat. "We should call it a night. Early morning shift and all."
"As a matter of fact John and I are going to the crime scene first thing in the morning." Sherlock rose and walked to the door. "Good night, Molly."
~s~s~s~s~
"Un-freaking-believable. What a stupid git," Sarah declared after Molly finished recounting the previous evening, detail by painful detail. The friends had met at a coffee shop near St. Bart's the next day when Molly had a break the next morning.
"I know Sherlock likes me, in his own way," Molly said. "But I don't think he feels the way I do."
"He does like you," Sarah said with a smile.
"Then why won't he…"
"What?" Sarah looked at her friend searchingly.
"Why won't he kiss me?" Molly cried out.
Sarah was taken back, but she didn't know why. This was Sherlock, after all. "He hasn't tried?"
Molly slowly shook her head. "He doesn't even seem interested."
"Oh."
"I know I'm not the most beautiful woman," she began softly.
Sarah quickly interrupted. "Don't you dare, Molly Hooper. You are beautiful. He's an idiot."
Molly took a sip of her now-cold tea. "What should I do?"
"This is only my opinion, OK? But if Sherlock doesn't know how to function in a relationship, you need to help him," Sarah advised. "Don't let him run away just because he isn't a genius about it. And don't let him ride roughshod over you with his bad behavior."
"I can try," Molly said.
Sarah gave a little laugh. "God knows I wouldn't have the patience to do it, but you're sweeter than I am. If you want this to work, you need to tell him what you want."
Seeing Molly's uncertainty, Sarah looked her friend squarely in the eyes. "You deserve the best. If he isn't willing to change, even though you love him, you may have to face the fact that maybe Sherlock isn't the right man for you."