"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." God, why does she feel so ridiculously nervous…He`s not her dad…

"Ah!" A small, skinny, dark man – sparking with a kind of barely contained energy – has entered the lab. He is looking directly at Sherlock, who is looking directly into the lens of a microscope. Typically. Molly`s heart pounds. Treacherous heart.

"And uh... Sorry?" She blushes horribly, having totally forgotten the name of Sherlock`s friend. Awkward. Luckily he smiles and holds out a hand. Much better manners; more Mr Bingley than Mr Darcy, it would seem.

"John Watson, hi." Jim politely but swiftly dispenses with the proffered hand as he only has eyes for Sherlock. She had hoped Jim would have been a little cooler than this…

"Hi." Jim is so close to Sherlock, the latter is forced to acknowledge his presence with a slightly irritated glance. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?"

Molly, suddenly fearful Sherlock Holmes will say something inappropriate or rude (or both), starts to babble to fill the gap.

"Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." God, I hate myself.

"Gay." Sherlock seems to mumble a word which Molly feels she must have misheard…

"Sorry, what?" She steps forward towards him. In his beautiful, purple shirt. Focus!

"Nothing. Um, hey." Sherlock has the air of a man who has mistakenly spoken a thought out loud – a thought that was meant to stay un-said. In embarrassed confusion, Jim (from IT) steps back and clatters over a pan which has been simmering on the Bunsen burner. Sherlock frowns; knowing a new batch will take another twenty minutes to prepare. Molly`s new boyfriend seems irritating on every level.

"Sorry! Sorry! Well I better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?" He really can`t get out of the room fast enough.

"Yeah." Omigod – omigod! I KNEW this was a terrible idea – Sherlock and the outside world are not mix-y things!

"Bye. It was nice to meet you". Jim hurriedly waves farewell to John Watson. He seems unable to look at Sherlock – which is fine, since Sherlock isn't even turning around from his essential microscoping.

"You too." John bids farewell. For the both of them.

Almost before the heavy door had swung shut, Molly turns on Sherlock with a mixture of anger, embarrassment and … horror?

"What do you mean gay? We're together." She wishes (always wishes) she could formulate her sentences better around that – git! She feels like a linguistically challenged cart horse around that – tosser! See – resorting to swearing now….

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

Wha – a – a - t!?

"Two and a half." Way to go with the comeback, Hooper…that should convince him.

"Mm. Three." Told ya.

"Sherlock— " John clearly is seeing how upset (irate!) she is getting…maybe, because he is a human being!

"He's not gay! Why'd you have to spoil— ? He's not." Sherlock looks at her with his cool, aquatic eyes. Not a flicker of – empathy. He was a bloody – machine! Molly`s hands were shaking, so she dug her nails into her palms to quieten them. She`d done that since she was a little girl. Before she`d discovered whisky and ginger, through a straw.

"With that level of personal grooming?" Relentlessly continuing…

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" John Watson is interjecting – to support Molly. " I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No, no. Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here and I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain." Sherlock pulls out a small card; upon which is a number Molly Hooper recognises only too well.

Tears sting in her eyes; and it`s not all to do with defending the honour of Jim from IT. She couldn't let that – machine – see she was affected. Molly leaves abruptly, letting the door slam shut behind her. She runs down the corridor towards the fire exit at the end of the corridor. It leads out onto a fire escape, which is mercifully free of smokers.

Molly puts her hands on the railings and gulps in the cool, London air – smog, pollution et al. She is pretty humiliated. What had started out as showing off her new boyfriend to a man she had wanted to be her boyfriend, had ended up a big, hot mess. Bollocks. Bastard. Bloody hell. The three `B`s` - or unholy trinity, as her dad had called them.

"Gracious, Miss Hooper, would you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Shit? She`d said them out loud? No! And guess who had followed her out onto the fire escape…

Spinning round, the wind whipping her pony-tail across her face, Molly is inches away from Sherlock Holmes.

"If my vocabulary is lacking – finesse – it`s probably down to your extreme twat-ness back there, Sherlock. There really was no – "

And she stops abruptly because his face has changed into an expression she has never seen on him before.

Uncertainty.

"Miss Hooper – Molly…I need to ask you something. Something very important…"

Oh my actual God…wha - ?

"Is it true you have a Blog? A pink one, with kittens?"

Nope. That so wasn't what she was expecting. Sherlock Holmes`s cool eyes are cool no longer though. Their intent is focused – and hot.

"Er…yes. What can you want with my Blog, Sherlock?" You barely know I exist – please don`t tell me you`ve been reading my blog entries.

He steps closer, placing his hand on the rail next to hers. They do not touch, but it is the singularly most intimate thing she has ever experienced with any man. Ever.

"You`ve helped me so many times before Molly; I need you to help me again. It`s a very big deal, I`m afraid."

Less than a week later, a new message appears on Molly Hooper`s blog:

Jim, are you reading this? I'm sorry we argued and I don't mind if you're gay or not but where are you? Please, I miss you and I'm worried about you! Why aren't you answering your phone? And why aren't you at work? Your manager's going mental! Please! Just get in touch! Let me know you're okay!

xoxoxoxoxoxox