Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Sherlock, John or anyone you recognise.

Authors note: Hello again :) Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting - i'm surprised you're not all bored yet. This is the fourth chapter, and it's pretty obvious what's going to happen. Hope you like it :)

Sherlock and John sat on the narrow sofa in their untidy living room. Both were deep in thought. Sherlock was thinking about the case. They had required a hefty amount of information. He entered his mind palace, sorting it all out. John was thinking about Naomi. He remembered their meeting from earlier, and couldn't help but smile.

The detective stood and left the room. A minute later he returned with a large whiteboard of which he'd stolen from Scotland Yard. He wrote 'TOBY HARVARD' in the middle and created a spider diagram, speaking as he wrote.

"So Toby Harvard was dating and living with Kathy Davids...He had a circle of friends, who all made an enemy of Aaron Jones."

John spoke up, "Do we know how he managed to poison him?"

"Probably put a few drops into his drink whilst his back was turned," Sherlock answered, still staring out the whiteboard.

"So what is he going to do tomorrow night? Add some arsenic into the punch bowl when nobody is looking?" John said sarcastically.

"Maybe. We'll have to see, won't we?"

The detective sat down on the sofa and put his head in his hands.

"Who am I going to take to this event John? We need to be in couples to enter, and we need to blend in."

"You could ask anyone. You don't need to actually like them," replied John.

Sherlock's eyes brightened with an idea.

"Why don't we pretend to be couple? That would cause a lot less hassle-"

"No!" John interrupted quickly, "People already think we're more than friends."

Sherlock tried to protest, but his attempts were rendered unsuccessful.

"What about Donovan?" John suggested.

"Sally Donovan?"

"Yes."

Sherlock scoffed. He had better taste than Sally Donovan at least.

"It's just for the case," John stated.

"I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than even pretend to go on a date with that sorry excuse of a human being,"

John rolled his eyes. Fortunately Sherlock hadn't noticed.

The detective closed his eyes and prayed that John wouldn't suggest the name he was thinking of himself.

"What about Molly? His flatmate asked.

Sherlock inwardly groaned. He usually wouldn't mind taking Molly, but the fact that she'd made Sherlock feel guilty and sympathetic earlier made him uncomfortable around her.

"Come on Sherlock, what's wrong with Molly?" John inquired, "She kind, considerate, and a good laugh. She's quite attractive too, if I'm going to be honest."

The confused man beside him turned on the sofa.

"You think Molly's attractive?"

"Doesn't everyone?" John queried.

Sherlock leaned back on the sofa. He thought back to when he last saw Molly with other people. He remembered the way others looked at her, and realised John was right. Lestrade always gave her puppy eyes, and Anderson was constantly flirting with her (though she mostly never noticed). The detective breathed heavily and looked over at his friend, who had started speaking.

"I know you think yourself as some sort of sociopath, but I thought even you had wondered how Molly is 31 and still single,"

Sherlock grunted.

"So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Don't play dumb Sherlock; invite Molly," John urged.

The now obviously defeated detective sighed and muttered one word.

"Fine."

He stood and walked to the door, putting on his favoured coat and scarf. A minute later, John sat alone in the flat, and smile playing around his lips.

Molly couldn't help but feel depressed as she walked through the deserted corridors of the morgue. She'd had a bad day. A child had been brought in after being found dead in a garage. Turned out he had been severely beaten. Then at lunch, an acquaintance had asked about Jim.

Jim, Molly thought. She missed him. She didn't miss Moriarty, the heartless, psychopathic murderer, but Jim, the sweet and shy –and homosexual- man from IT, who had messaged her on her blog and asked her out for coffee. They were the same man, but yet not the same. Molly struggled to wrap her head around the whole situation.

Even if she had fancied Jim/ Moriarty for a short space of time, it didn't change the fact that she was still head over heels in love with the most arrogant man on the planet. Molly inwardly scolded herself.

Billions of men on Earth Molly, and you fall for Sherlock Holmes? The man you had spent ages finding a present for, and still managed to humiliate you at bloody Christmas time?

The now even more depressed pathologist arrived at her lab and opened the door. The lights were on, but Molly was too deeply drowned in her own thoughts to notice the tall, dark haired man sat at the counter.

He watched silently as she picked up some documents and began to cross the lab. She screamed at the sight of him, paper scattering everywhere. The now terrified pathologist leaned on the counter-top as she waited for her heart rate to go back to normal. Sherlock stood from his stool and picked up the documents, a smile growing on his lips.

"I apologise for startling you," He said softly.

Molly looked up at him and started mumbling.

"It's fine, don't worry. I should have been more aware."

"What were you thinking about?" The detective asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Molly, you were obviously deep in thought. What's troubling you?"

Molly smiled at his question. His eyes were watching her intently, a serious expression on his face. He looked as if he really did care, and wasn't asking to be polite. Sherlock couldn't help but notice her breath-taking smile.

Breath taking? Sherlock asked himself, what's wrong with you Sherlock? You've never looked at this girl twice, and now you're describing her as breath taking? This is John's fault.

"Nothing much, just thinking about…random stuff," Molly answered, interrupting Sherlock's silent panic attack. He nodded and handed her the documents.

"I came to ask you something,"

"Okay, what do you need?"

The detective paused. He noted that he should really stop asking Molly for so many favours.

"I need to attend a university dance to finish my newest case. I need to be accompanied to fit in, and I was hoping that you would…join me at the event."

Molly felt as if she was about to faint.

"You mean…as your date?"

"John says a date is when two people go out and have fun, so yes, sort of. Though we'd only to be there for case involved purposes only," Sherlock answered.

Of all the people he could have asked, and he invites me? The now ecstatic pathologist was almost giddy, though she managed to stay calm.

"So will you?" Sherlock urged.

Molly nodded and was almost certain she saw Sherlock grin slightly.

"I'll text you the details," He said as he turned to walk out the room. He took one more glance at Molly's surprised face before pushing open the door.

An hour later, Molly's phone beeped as she was zipping up a corpse.

Tomorrow night, I'll be at your flat at 8:00pm. Wear something formal -SH

She smiled with excitement. She hadn't been to a party in ages. The phone beeped again.

Wear lipstick -SH

Sherlock was brought out of deep thought when a fresh mug of tea was placed before him. He looked up to a pitying smile from his flatmate.

"You haven't spoken or moved in two and a half hours," John stated.

"Thank you, I'll sleep much better tonight with that information," Replied the detective sarcastically.

"Instead of being an arse, why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Sherlock…"

"Stop what?"

"Refusing to admit you have emotions, and right now you're in denial because of said emotions!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock stood from his favoured armchair and turned to his friend.

"You don't seem to understand that I'm a highly-"

"-functioning sociopath. Yes, you've mentioned," John interrupted. He went to leave the room, but stopped at the doorway.

"I really hope that one day, you'll realise that you haven't got a heart of stone. Believe it or not, you are a human being; and as a human being you feel emotions. Happiness, pain...love. You strut around London with your head held high, thinking that Sherlock Holmes has trained himself to never feel anything. Instead, you trained yourself to not recognise your feelings. You're a detective, and if you didn't feel or care you would be just like Moriarty. But you obviously care about people. You care about Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, hopefully me, and most importantly- Molly. We all see the way you look at her, Sherlock. We all see the way you look at others when they look at her. So you can sit here for hours, days, months in denial about the way you feel, or you could put on your tux, pick up Molly tomorrow night and take her to this damned party. Not just for the case, but because you want to go there. You want to spend time with her. If this was just about the case you would have invited Mrs Hudson."

As John walked out after his speech Sherlock stood stunned. He replayed his words in his head, and then replayed them again.

Molly? He thinks I'm falling for Molly Hooper?

Then Sherlock really thought about it. He remembered the sympathy he had felt for her. The aching feeling in his stomach when she looked at him. The constant image of her in his head, her name at the tip of his tongue. The copy of her work hours lying in his desk drawer.

The detective collapsed into his armchair, eyes bulging.

Am I falling for Molly Hooper?