Tumblr Prompt: Don't want to sound like Oliver Twist but could we please have some more of Sherlock and Molly interacting with their grandchildren? 'Of Airport Terminals and Exaggerated Truths' was just pure unadulterated fluffiness and so sweet that it just made my day so much better!

Men flirted, wolf-whistled, cat-called, said all sorts of misogynistic things when they saw an attractive woman.

Sherlock was above that.

He didn't need to debase himself to the primitive desire to vocally acknowledge his appreciation of a female's form. Mostly because he had not yet found a female worthy of his vocal admiration. Oh, there had been many stunning women that had crossed his path; he wasn't a machine and acknowledged that they were culturally beautiful. But none had wiped his mind of all intelligent thought, reducing him to ape-like sounds and simperingly idiotic words of appreciation. He honestly didn't believe there was a woman on Earth who would be able to elicit that reaction from him.

Until now.

'Yowza!'

He had come down to St Bart's to meet Graham… George?... Geoff and burst into the room with his usual subtlety and promptly froze in his tracks. The door clicked shut behind him as he stared, dumbfounded, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop it.

The lab tech, no…pathologist looked up in surprise. 'Hi. Sorry, did you say something?'

All his massive vocabulary came up short in answer as he gaped at the petite brunette.

'Are you okay?'

Her brow furrowed in concern. But all Sherlock could see was her big, brown eyes behind a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her pert nose. Her plain, brown hair was piled high in a braided bun, several pieces falling out in tufts over her forehead. She clutched the large metal bowl tighter and took a step toward him, the contents swishing ominously. Her lab coat was untarnished, but the gloves on her hands were covered in blood and pieces of... whatever that was in the bowl. God, his mind wasn't even functioning on an average-human level.

By now, the woman had set down the bowl and was walking toward him, snapping off her gloves. Sherlock swallowed and took a defensive step back. Why, he didn't know. She posed no threat, physically, at least, not with her over-sized glasses and her concern and her doe-eyes... and... and… He opened his mouth to explain that he did not need her to examine him, since he was perfectly fine, but his mouth didn't get the message his brain was trying to send.

'Yowza!'

She froze and Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. He hadn't meant to repeat that damnable word! A slow grin grew on her face and she ducked her head, a blush on her cheeks as she slid her glasses up and scrunched her nose endearingly.

Endearingly?!

He didn't know what to do. His mouth was betraying him, his hands were shaking as he held them behind his back, and there was a sudden pounding in his chest that was wholly unfamiliar. And when she glanced up at him shyly, he felt a bead of sweat form on his temple. He swallowed thickly and shifted on his feet.

Thankfully, she had mercy on him and turned away. Sherlock breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and tried to rein in his scattered thoughts. He quickly deduced her from the back (recent hire, just out of Uni, graduated early, intelligent, only child, one cat, one parent deceased, size 10…). His mind was back in fine form as the information whirled about.

Suddenly, she was back in front of him and holding something. He blinked down at the cup she was offering to him.

'It's mine. Or it was, I'd just gotten it a little earlier, never had a sip. Black with two sugars, if you'd like it.'

He automatically took the mug from her and sniffed the coffee. He never drank the stuff, one vice at a time was enough and nicotine was his. Still, he didn't want to be rude, she might very well be a valuable asset in the future. He took an obligatory and faked a smile as the bitter liquid burned his tongue and throat.

But she seemed happy about his façade so he took another sip.

'I'm Molly Hooper, by the way,' she said and smiled in greeting. 'I'm going to guess you're Sherlock Holmes. Greg said you'd be coming down today. Here to see Mr Newberry?'

'Guessing is a fool's errand. Never lower yourself to that level,' he quipped, following her as she led him around to the bowl she had set down earlier. He inwardly cursed himself for letting hormones impede his thought processes. Inside was obviously a brain, the former Mr Newberry's, it would seem.

He took another sip of the coffee without thinking twice as Molly began rattling off the slight discrepancies she had found in the brain matter, indicating a subtle, but powerful poison that would have, in almost anyone else's case, gone completely unnoticed. As she chattered on excitedly about the find, he found himself staring down at her in admiration. He would never say it aloud, but Molly Hooper was already proving to be far more intelligent than he had ever imagined an average person could be.

She could be a very promising asset.

'I don't remember our first meeting going quite like that, my darling.'

Molly flushed at the interruption and turned to see her husband leaning against the doorjamb. She bit her lip guiltily at being caught. 'And how exactly do you remember it, my love?'

Sherlock waded through the audience of grandchildren and settled on the couch next to her. The little faces staring up at him were bright with smiles of anticipation. 'Well, I do remember there coffee being a part of it. But it was less of a meet-cute and more of a you-running-into-me-and-giving-me-burns-on-my-chest meet-ugly.'

Molly blushed as their audience laughed. 'I wouldn't have spilled it on you if you hadn't been standing right outside the door as I was going out. It really was your own fault.'

'I could never quite get the smell of coffee out of that shirt,' he lamented.

'I'm ever so sorry,' Molly quipped and rolled her eyes. 'Perhaps if you hadn't been gawking at me through the door, you would have come in sooner and we could have avoided the whole mess.'

Sherlock froze. 'I wasn't… I wasn't gawking!'

'Okay. Peeping, then.'

The children giggled when their grandfather crossed his arms and pouted, a normal occurrence in the Holmes' household.

'Admit that I at least got one thing right,' Molly whispered as the children began talking amongst themselves and staggering to their feet to go play. 'The first thing you ever did say about me was 'yowza'.'

'No,' he retorted. 'The first thing I ever said to you was, a rather pained, 'Son of a-!'

Molly's brief, wide-eyed frown was enough to kill the last part of his sentence. He pressed an appeasing kiss to the corner of her mouth and she relaxed, snuggling closer.

'No, the first thing you ever said about me was 'yowza'.' She looked up at him and grinned knowingly. 'The lab doors weren't soundproof, you know.'

Sherlock froze.

'Oh.'