Molly Hooper was finished with Sherlock. He had caused her so many problems in the past, and even though he had at one point expressed his feelings for her rather nicely, she chalked it up to being a fluke in his otherwise purely mechanical being.

Sociopaths could no longer be her type. She would've thought that with everything that happened with Tom, she would've finally understood that.

What she needed was someone like John. Yes, someone who would genuinely care about her as a person, and not feel shy about expressing it.

Maybe Molly could even get up the nerve to refuse to help Sherlock with any of his cases. She didn't have to, after all. Would she be capable of doing that? And how long could she last if he was staring at her with his big, blue, puppy-dog eyes? Not long, she suspected. She suspected that Sherlock knew that as well, hence his futile flirting earlier that day. That was absolutely the last time she would ever let him even try that despicable trick on her.

Molly had just begun to focus on her work (The heart of a sociopath, she suspected, given its size) when she was startled by a deep, sultry voice...

"Doctor Hooper?" She heard from outside the lab. A few seconds later the doors swung open, and Sherlock walked in. He was dressed sharply as always, but looked slightly disconcerted. "Doctor Hoo-Oh, there you are. Is John here?" He walked slowly over to the table at which she was sitting, and leaned down close to her.

"Wh-why would John be here?" she stammered. His hair had fallen in front of his face, and it took every ounce of her will to reach out and brush it back. She wanted to run her fingers through that thick, lovely, dark hair. But she couldn't. There was certainly no way she was going to let those thoughts have any effect on her.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought he might change his mind about going back to that mundane practice of his." Molly took a deep breath. If she was going to completely forget about Sherlock, then she needed to start being firm with both him, and herself.

"Well then, is there something you wanted...Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock's brow crinkled, and he brought his head back slightly, shocked by the formality.

"Yes, actually, I wanted y-" He began, before being interrupted by Molly.

"Nope. Sorry." She said curtly. It was hard to deny him anything when he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her hair.

"But I haven't even asked you for anything yet!" He stood up straight now and backed away from her.

"I'm sure that you are going to ask one of three things, Mr. Holmes. Care to deduce them for me?" He inhaled sharply and bit his lower lip. "Well?" He looked down at the floor, and began very quietly with his list.

"The first and most likely possibility would be to examine those bodies which you so staunchly refused to show me earlier. The second most likely possibility would be for you to supply me with some body part or another for one of my numerous experiments, and the last, albeit still a likely possibility, is that I would like to use this lab for my own purposes."

"Quite correct, Mr. Holmes, and I could get in trouble for any one of those. Wouldn't want me losing my job, now would you?" She returned to examining the heart.

"You haven't lost it yet. And given your boss's left thumb, I'd say that you are not going to."

Molly completely ignored his last comment. She did not even give him the satisfaction of looking at his rather hurt face. She knew those big, blue, puppy-dog eyes would be waiting for her. She knew exactly how they would make her feel.

"Molly?" He started.

"Hmm?" She grumbled without looking up.

"Why did you-I mean, was there a specific reason that..."

She lifted her head slightly, now interested by the fact that Sherlock had become tongue-tied.

"What are you trying to say?"

He remained silent for quite some time before answering, "Nothing. It is quite irrelevant."

She nodded slightly before returning to her work. What was Sherlock's trying to say to her? It didn't matter to her. In his own words, it was "quite irrelevant."

Sherlock waited around a few minutes longer before he decided that one, John was not going to show unless he texted him for the ninety-fourth time (and maybe not even then), and that, two, Molly Hooper was not speaking to him. Then, he turned around and exited out the door through which he came. Molly didn't even look up once.

Sherlock tried to deduce why that had just happened, whatever it was that had just happened; the great consulting detective was not quite sure. He tried using his mind palace, searching in every place that he could think of, but, since he had almost no experience with women outside of Molly (and, of course, The Woman), he knew he had to look elsewhere.

Sherlock reached the street and managed to flag down a cab within a few seconds. He instructed the driver to take him over to John's practice.

Why should Molly refuse to help him after all of these years? And why had she started referring to him as "Mr. Holmes?" The most important question that Sherlock had was this: Why did it mean so much to him, anyway? He hadn't even come to ask her any of the favors from her list of three. He had intended nothing of the sort, but, given the tone that she was using with him, he deduced that it would have been all but pointless to say so.

He was so lost in thought by the time he reached John's practice, that the cab driver had to shake him out of his reverie.

Sherlock was going to have to consult John for once.