On the cab ride over, Sherlock was unnaturally fidgety. He didn't talk, but he did just about everything else. Crossed his legs, uncrossed his legs. Played with his mobile, put it back in his pocket. Untied his scarf, retied his scarf. By the time they reached St. Bart's, John was ready to strangle him with the damn thing.

"Sherlock-"

"My hair, John." The detective was now trying to get a glimpse of himself in the cab's rearview mirror.

"Excuse me?"

"My hair. How is it?" He asked, a slight note of panic at the edge of his tone. He desperately pulled at his curls, yanking them in all directions.

"Sherlock, stop it." John's voice was stern, in his typical 'no bullshit' fashion. "All we're doing is going to visit Molly in the morgue."

"Exactly," came the distracted response. "So, how is my hair?"

John sighed. "Your hair is fine. Can we get out now? The poor driver has already been waiting for fifteen minutes."

A reluctant grumble sounded before Sherlock agreed to get out of the waiting cab, leaving John to pay.

They walked into St. Bart's the opposite way they usually did - that is to say, like normal human beings. When they reached the morgue, instead of making his typical grand entrance, Sherlock pushed one door open gently and slipped inside, John close behind him.

Molly was working on a cadaver, an assorted array of various internal organs spread out on the table around her. She didn't notice the two men enter, but John realized this a moment too late.

Sherlock walked up right next to her, a liver in her hand. "Hello," he said quietly. She jumped, startled, letting out a gasp and sending the liver airborne. The detective quickly shot an arm out to catch it, gently setting it down in front of her before drifting to the sink. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he called over his shoulder, turning the water on. He glanced anxiously at John, whose face had gone pale. The doctor seated himself on a stool next to Molly, grinning weakly at his friend as he did so.

"Oh, it's fine, really," Molly let out a nervous laugh. "I suppose I was a little too involved with Mrs. Cavalier, anyway." She set her scalpel down and removed her gloves. "Hello, John," she said brightly.

"Hi, Molls," replied the doctor, smiling at her.

Sherlock sat on the other side of Molly, examining her latest project as he said, "Did you say you had three corpses? Why so many, if I may ask?"

Molly shrugged. "Just a busy day, I guess. One heart attack, one stroke, and one alcohol poisoning," she said, pointing to the body in front of her with her last remark. "Nobody needs them for anything, so I figured maybe you'd want to run some new experiments!" She beamed at him.

"Brilliant!" The detective's entire face lit up, and John took note. "Actually, I've been wanting to see the effects of a blood and stomach acid mixture on the large intestine - what say you, Molly Hooper?"

She laughed, getting up to open the other two black bags on the tables behind them. "I say, choose your corpse, Sherlock Holmes!" She tossed him a lab coat and goggles. "I know you don't usually wear them, but now the hospital says they're mandatory," she apologized.

John watched as Sherlock rolled his eyes, but slipped the equipment on. "Don't they know how very careful I am?" He mused, turning to Molly as she handed him his own scalpel.

She shrugged. "Maybe they're scarred by your radioactive spills and fires. You do tend to have a lot of those," she said, pulling on a pair of fresh gloves.

Sherlock grinned, and John instantly decided he no longer needed to chaperone the detective. He pulled out his mobile, a perfect excuse forming in his mind. "Oh, that's Mary," he said as he stood. "She insists I stop at Tesco right this minute to pick up some eggs."

Molly giggled. "Well, better get going then, John. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt over some eggs, now, would we?" She bent down to open a cabinet.

"No, I suppose we wouldn't," replied John, looking directly at Sherlock over her crouched form. He read a good amount of panic in the detective's eyes, and he mouthed, Keep calm and carry on, accompanied by a tiny salute. His flatmate nodded, and John held up his mobile, shaking it gently to remind him to text if things went south. The doctor snatched up his coat and headed for the doors, calling "Bye, Molls. See you later, Sherlock," before exiting the morgue.

ooooo

As the fourth hour rolled around, Molly was beginning to wonder if this qualified as a date. She was pleasantly shocked by Sherlock's manners; the detective asked permission before touching anything, offered to clean up on numerous occasions, and even ran full speed to the tiny cafeteria downstairs when Molly confessed that she hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. (He had returned with a coffee made just the way he knew she liked it, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a biscuit.)

Sherlock was trying his very best to impress the pathologist, even if he didn't realize he was doing it. When sent on a mission to collect beakers from the lab down the hall, he returned not only with more beakers than she had asked for, but also with flasks and a cup of tea for her from the machine in the break room. He could nearly always predict what tool she would ask him to pass her, and usually found her the next two or three she would need as well. But in his mind, his greatest achievement that day came when Molly tripped over a test tube that had fallen off of the table, unnoticed. He had watched from the other side of the slab as she fell, her arms outstretched. He had watched as she cried out, seemingly in slow motion. And suddenly, he was around the table, reaching out to catch her, and standing there in the middle of the morgue with a very stunned Molly in his arms, bride style.

"I'd rather you not scare me like that, Miss Hooper," he murmured.

"Okay," was all Molly could say, though it came out a good octave higher than it should have.

Sherlock unwillingly placed her back on the morgue floor with a sigh. "Your shift ends in thirty minutes. Shall we?" He gestured to the sizable (but not overwhelming, thanks to his constant efforts) mess around them.

She blinked before replying. "Yes, I think we shall."

Thirty minutes came and went, and the last test tube was hanging in the drying rack as Sherlock helped Molly out of her lab coat. "Are you headed home?" He asked, sounding hopeful, though Molly couldn't imagine why.

She glanced at her watch. "Definitely," she said with a yawn.

He extended an arm, smiling. "I'll cover the cab."

She took it without thinking, only slightly puzzled. What on Earth- but her train of thought was interrupted by a buzz coming from her purse. She dug out her mobile and swiped a finger across the tiny screen. "Just John," she said with a smile, answering Sherlock's concerned question before he even asked.

Is he behaving? He is still with you, right?

JW

Her reply was short and sweet, given her nosy escort.

Lovely, and yes.

MH

Sherlock attempted to feign indifference, but in truth, those three little words sent him over the moon. Well, just the first one, really. He felt a slight blush coming on, and he could only hope that Molly didn't notice.

She did.

Perfect gentleman. I'll tell you later.

MH

The least she could do was put in a kind word for him, she figured. He ought to receive the proper praise from John, and the doctor certainly wasn't taking any information from Sherlock himself.

Perfect gentleman, thought the detective to himself. I rather like the sound of that.

He made sure to smile up at the security camera above the doors before they left.

ooooo

A little morgue fluff, I just couldn't resist.

As always, thank you for your lovely reviews!

~London Belle