Bored.
What have you got tonight?
SH

Molly looked at her mobile and smiled before texting back.

Car crash. Interested?
MH

Within two seconds, she had her response.

Very.
SH

Molly smiled again, knowing he'd be showing up soon. Sherlock's visits had become more frequent due to a decline in cases. In fact, he hadn't had a case "worthy of the time" in almost three weeks and Molly was doing her best to "keep him busy" with clinical pathology. It wasn't forensics, but it was all she could offer.

Fourteen minutes later, he arrived. Molly handed him a pair of latex gloves.

"They brought her in this afternoon," Molly said, unzipping the bag slowly. "Katherine Mary Higgins. Twenty-nine years old. Car ran off the road and hit a fence. Cause of death is ..."

"Blunt force trauma," he finished for her. His eyes widened as they flickered over her broken and bruised body. He was particularily interested in post-mortem injury. This was the best example she'd had by far.

"I thought you might find it interesting," Molly said, stepping back as he started his own examination. She tried to think of something clever to say but it was clear from his silence that he didn't want to talk. He wanted to work. Alone.

"Okay," she said after a few minutes of being ignored.

Molly proceeded to open another cabinet and finish her work up on Peter Scott Matthews's liver. He had been a cancer patient and his family authorized a clinical for research purposes.

It was nearly an hour later when Sherlock spoke again, his voice closer than expected.

"I need a scalpel."

"What for?" she asked, turning around. He was standing behind her now, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Her injuries were accidental at time of death. What if they were made deliberately hours later? I've had cases like that. It's essential I know the difference," he said, his voice lowering with every word. Molly's stomach dropped as she realized what he wanted to do.

"Then you'll have to use a human analogue," Molly said as calmly as she could. "I could arrange for ..."

"It's not the same," he said matter of factly. He kept staring at her. "This is a teaching facility, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I can't just let you ... experiment," Molly said firmly. Sherlock's intense expression turned thoughtful as his gaze traveled slowly over her face.

"You have lovely symmetry," he said, his lips curling back in a smile. "Classic features, really."

Molly was at a loss for words. Did he just say she was lovely? No one had ever said that to her before. She reminded herself he was just flirting to get what he wanted and what he wanted was something she couldn't give him.

Or could she?

Before she could respond, his mobile rang. He reached into his pocket and snapped it up to his ear. He took a few steps back, putting some much needed distance between them.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Molly watched as his expression changed yet again as he listened for a couple minutes.

"On my way," he said, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He immediately headed toward the door as if Molly wasn't even there.

"Where are you going?" she asked before he reached it. With one hand on the door, he paused just long enough to look back at her.

"There's been a murder," he happily announced. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Molly could only manage a nod before he disappeared. She turned to the body and zipped up the bag.

"Guess you weren't that interesting," she said apologetically as she closed it over her face. Molly sighed heavily. "And neither am I."

"I must say, Molly, what you are proposing is very unusual," Dr. Mike Stamford said from behind his desk. She sat opposite him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. He gestured to his laptop. "Although, his website is fascinating. I was up all night reading it."

"He just needs somewhere to work," she said, giving him a pleading look. "Sometimes his cases require testing that he prefers to do himself. That Lithuanian drug smuggling case a few weeks ago? That was his."

"I remember that," Stafford said, nodding his head. "But if he needed access to a lab, he would already have it."

"It's not how he works," Molly said, offering the only explantion she would. "Once you meet him, you'll understand."

"I would like to," he agreed, smiling eagerly at her.

"He's here now," she offered, standing up and motioning toward the door. "He's with Sergeant Donovan examining a murder victim. Cooper is with them."

"If you don't think it will be an inconvenience," he said, pushing his chair back so he could stand up. He was a heavy set man and Molly hoped Sherlock would still be there by the time they made it to the mortuary.

"I'm sure it won't be," Molly assured him, although there was no predicting what would happen once they met. If Sherlock was going to continue working at Bart's, he needed some sort of authorization whether he liked it or not.

Molly hurried Stamford along the best she could, but they were a long way away. When they finally reached the mortuary, Sherlock and Donovan were already leaving. She rushed on ahead, reaching out to catch his arm. Donovan did not look happy at all.

"Sorry, it will just be a minute," she said to her, then gently pulled Sherlock away. By the time she did, Stamford had caught up and Molly let him go. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. Sherlock Holmes, this is Dr. Mike Stamford."

"A pleasure," Stamford said, offering him his hand. Sherlock took it in his gloved one. "Molly has told me all about you."

"Really? Molly's told me nothing about you," he said, narrowing his eyes as he quickly looked Stamford over. "You teach at Bart's, you suffer from diabetes and you've recently gotten back together with your ex-wife."

Molly held her breath as she glanced at Stamford, waiting for his reaction.

"What else?" he asked, obviously impressed.

Sherlock suddenly turned to Molly.

"You wanted me to meet him so you can finally have that authorization you're always on about," he said, sounding very disappointed. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "It was more fun the other way."

"Freak, we've got to go," Sergeant Donovan called out.

"We'll talk later, Mike," Sherlock said, then turned on his heel to join her.

"Fascinating man indeed," Stamford said as he watched him walk off.

"Yes, he is," Molly said quietly, wondering how disappointed he was.

"Oh my God. What happened to you?" Molly exclaimed as Sherlock rushed into the lab, covered in scrapes and holding a blood soaked hankerchief to the right side of his head.

"Attempted apprehension of suspect," he said, sounding very irritated as he paced about. "I need you to stitch this."

"There is an emergency ... "

"And it's full of people and I've already wasted enough time coming here," he said, cutting her off. "I'm wasting even more having to explain it."

Molly's heart tightened at what this meant. She hadn't heard from him in days and figured she wouldn't but here he was, still wanting her help.

"Take off your coat and sit down," she said, motioning to the stool. He sat and waited impatiently as she gathered up the necessary instruments and supplies.

"Please hurry. Lives depend on it."

Molly set everything down on the counter in front of him. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then reached up to his wrist. She slowly drew it down and took the hankerchief from him. For the first time since they'd met, she was in control of the situation. It made her feel confident and less of the mouse she normally was in his presence.

"You could've texted me," she said, giving him a look. Sherlock averted his gaze to across the room.

"It's more fun this way," he said, repeating his comment from the other day. His eyes flickered back to hers and Molly smiled.

She gently smoothed his hair back to reveal a gash at his hairline almost three centemeters long. It was a clean cut for the most part. There were small shards of glass on his clothes and she surmised a broken window was involved. Molly reached for the antiseptic and proceeded to clean it out. She studied the wound for a moment.

"I think I can close it with surgical adhesive. Have you have had a tetnus recently?" she asked, repositioning his head.

"Recent enough," he replied.

"You're lying," she said, opening the package of adhesive.

"And you smell like lavender," he said, inhaling deeply. "Yardley's gift box for Christmas. Probably from an aunt or distant cousin who doesn't know your preference is for vanilla."

"Quiet," Molly said, although he was right about the Yardley's. She held the edges of the wound together, squeezed the vial and gently brushed it over the seam. She waited required 30 seconds, then repeated the application.

"Is that it?" he asked, sensing she was finished. Molly inspected her work, then brushed his bangs back out of the way.

"Almost," she said, reaching for the antiseptic again. She started to clean out the other scrapes on his face.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, not wanting to wait.

"Yes and so is a tetnus," she reminded him, dabbing at one particular nasty cut on his cheek.

"I've worked out the lab with Stamford, he said after a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes met hers again. His hand reached up to catch her wrist and draw it away. "But I still need you for the mortuary."

"Okay," Molly agreed as he held onto her wrist. There was so much tension in the small space between them that it was hard to breathe. Had he been anyone else, she would've leaned forward and kissed him. She felt her body gravitate toward his, but then he let her go.

Without another word, he slid off the stool and gathered his things. It was only after he'd gone that Molly was finally able to move. She slipped onto the stool, her knees suddenly weak beneath her.

She took a few deep breaths, then smiled to herself.

He needed her.