Part 2: Habeas Corpus

"What are you thinking, pork or the pasta?" Molly`s neck prickles. He`s right behind her at the canteen serving hatch. Through the steaming and heavily fragrant dishes laid out before her, she can still, just, detect the smell of him – Tom Ford, Tobacco Vanille. She may, or may not have done some research, in Selfridges.

"Oh, it's you!" Confident. Strong. Casual Molly.

"I suppose it's never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it? I'd stick with the pasta. Wouldn't be doing roast pork. Not if you're slicing up cadavers."

Yum.

"What are you having?" You are eating in the Hospital canteen? In your Saville Row tailoring?

"Don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down." Seemingly, not.

"So you're working here tonight." Molly turns her head slightly and finds herself looking directly up into his pale blue/grey eyes. Darkened limbal ring. Apparently a dark one is more attractive to women. Go figure.

"I need to examine some bodies." She has dark brown eyes. Long, straight hair. Lipstick that comes and goes. Ginger cat. Right-handed. Dead mother…no, father.

"Some?"

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis." His eyes are now darting over her shoulder. She knows that`s where the clock is. He clearly wants something and has allotted a certain amount of time with her to get it. Brilliant. Was she going to take pity and cut to the chase for him?

Er – no.

"Hmm…I think they're on my list." She looks back at the food. She can almost feel his impatience boring into the back of her neck. It`s all about the ti -

"Could you wheel them out again for me?"

- ming.

Pause. Would she wait until he said please? Molly selects the pork and starts walking towards an empty table. Would he follow?

"Well... their paperwork's already gone through." She sets down the tray. His arms are mirroring hers on the opposite side of the table and he`s staring right into her face. God, she is a strong pathologist today. Baiting Sherlock Holmes was a true test of her internal struggle between lust and pride.

"You changed your hair." She can`t help it – her hand goes to touch it, even though she knows exactly what it looks like.

"What?"

"The style—it`s usually parted in the middle." Wow. Sherlock has really impressed himself with the use of that little observation. He had heard John Watson say it to that girl – Sally? Charlotte? Girls like it when you notice their appearance. Although Sherlock doesn't welcome the burden of anyone`s – passion –, he doesn`t mind using compliments to get what he wants. Molly had been pretty helpful in the past. It was a little tedious that she was taking a little longer to persuade this time.

"Yes, well..."

"No it's good. It suits you better this way." He looks pretty desperate by now and Molly does have an awkward residual element of guilt since the bisacodyl incident.

"I`ll see what I can do, Sherlock. Now, I`m going to eat my Michelin starred roast pork and try not to think too carefully about slicing up Mrs Ellison this afternoon."

Sherlock is turning away, target achieved, when he pauses. Her eyes are looking down towards her plate, fork scooping something greying and dubious – then she pauses. And looks up at him. And smiles.

As Sherlock Holmes walks out of the canteen, he finds he is smiling too.

xoxoxoxoxoxox