Note: Thank you very much for your kind reviews! It seems like you're keen on jealous Sherlock. Not much of that yet, though. But there are Chapters to come... Enjoy reading!
Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.
The next morning, Molly lay buried deep between the covers of her oversized bed. She had just woken up of her own accord and in a few minutes her alarm was to set off. She had thought about getting a smaller bed, since this one was taking up too much space in her tiny bedroom. And, it wasn't as if she needed such a large bed, no one ever stayed here anyway… But, a woman can hope!
She thought about the day before. Again. Well, still. For three weeks, she had been doing well. Everything seemed easy and she had been rather happy with her life. One encounter with Sherlock was all it took for her to get miserable. It was unfair! Wasn't love supposed to make you happy? Even unrequited love used to have some thrill and make her feel warm inside, in some way or the other. But, that could have been because she used to fall in love with nice people. People that, even though they not necessarily adored her, at least acknowledged her existence. Sherlock, on the other hand…
Sherlock was just brilliant. This astonishing mind! These absolutely breathtaking eyes! This lean body… Once again, she found herself imagining how it would feel to be embraced by his long, strong arms while inhaling his scent.
The look in his eyes, when he had turned to her before leaving the lab, forced its way back into her memory. There was something about this look. She had never seen it before. She couldn't pin it down to any emotion she knew from Sherlock (and there weren't a lot to begin with) and it made her extremely nervous. This has to stop! Don't begin to fantasise and start hoping for some impossible feelings Sherlock might harbour for you again…
Quickly, Molly pulled away the sheets covering her body (she was getting a bit hot underneath them anyway) and swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Rubbing her forehead, then shaking it heavily, she banned Sherlock's face from her mind. She stared into the dark nothingness in front of her and didn't move for a while. There was also the text from David. She hadn't answered yet. It was Wednesday and she had at least another few hours before she had to reply something. Her alarm beeped and a second later, her hand was on its button stopping the sound and she rose from her bed. As she made her way to the bathroom and into the shower, she hummed a bit of Wagner's 'ride of the valkyries'…
When she came out of the shower, drying her long hair with a towel, she felt better and two thoughts rushed trough her mind. I think I can handle this, Sherlock is not everything the world has to offer for me!, shortly followed by Bloody hell, I need to get my hair tips cut some time soon.
_.:0:._
Sherlock and John were sitting at the breakfast table together in silence. They rarely ate together, mainly because Sherlock rarely ate at all.
Sherlock looked grim, John noticed. He was not surprised. There had not been a proper case in quite a while. The consulting detective had even agreed to investigate something for his detested brother the day before. And that wasn't even a real case, but just, to quote Sherlock, "an amalgamation of over-sensible men in suits thinking that the British monarchy was about to go down because of the death of an overweight dog!" As it had turned out, of course, there was no poison to be found anywhere near the Royal Family. Sherlock was content about that, but what really pleased him was the busby now sitting on the skull on the mantelpiece.
Sherlock grabbed the paper and peered at the front page. Apparently, nothing had found his interest there so he quickly flicked through all the pages, mumbling things like "Boring… Hideously obvious… Football players should really try to stick with their own wives to prevent the papers from being polluted that much." He closed the paper again with a sigh, "Is there no one out there decent and intelligent enough to commit a series of puzzling murders?"
John was not sure if this question had been of a rhetorical nature or if he was actually supposed to give an answer to that. He forgot the thought as he noticed a weird and distant look in his friend's eyes. Sherlock suddenly was in deep thought. But about what? As he just said, there were no cases to twist one's mind about.
"What are you thinking, Sherlock?"
Only then, the taller man realised that his friend had been looking at him with raised eyebrows for a while. He looked a bit lost for a moment and then asked "What?"
"You look concerned. What are you thinking about?"
"For someone who is very keen on emphasising that the two of us are not romantically involved in any way you do behave like my significant other quite often."
"This does not answer my question." John said, unimpressed by the surly reply.
"Yes, I'm aware. It was, however, a nicer way to not let you know than merely saying 'That's none of your business', wasn't it?"
And with that, Sherlock's mobile phone rang and ended the conversation as if he had planned so. He answered and John was left to his thoughts, surprised at his friend's behaviour. It was nothing new that he was harsh; John could handle this very well by now. But, usually, he spoke his mind. The concept of hiding one's thoughts for any reason was not familiar to Sherlock. And, he had never been outright secretive about something that bothered him.
Not having overheard the phone conversation, John was fairly surprised when Sherlock put his phone on the table and, with a huge smile on his face, announced "My dear friend, we are going on a trip to Leeds."
"Blimey, I think no one has ever been this happy about the prospect of going to Leeds", John remarked.
"The good thing about Leeds is that it is missing some corpses!"
"Could you explain the good thing about Leeds in a few more words for me, please."
"I certainly can", a grin flashed on his face. The concerned look was gone. The two of them were back to their excited and rushed exchange of information. There was a case! "You've probably guessed that it was Lestrade on the phone. Apparently, bodies have gone missing from several funeral homes in Leeds. The dead had seemingly nothing in common, were of both genders and a wide range of age; causes of death all natural or by accident. Plus, all disappeared in one night and in no case there was any sign of a break in. They were about to be buried the next day. No one would have noticed that the coffins were empty (except for some thrown in stones) if there hadn't been one relative wanting to see their deceased family member for a last time. However irrational this sort of behaviour is, it ensured us a nice little mystery to solve."
John decided, he would try and explain the concept of grief to Sherlock another time and went to get dressed and ready for their journey. "When do we leave?", he asked. "Train does not go until 2.34 this afternoon, but hurry nonetheless. We are going to St. Bart's before we leave for the station. I'm in a good mood and want to pick up some body parts from the morgue, the hand in the refrigerator is starting to smell". And with that, he stood up from the breakfast table and went (almost skipped) towards his bedroom. This man is weird, John thought to himself.
_.:0:._
The morgue was empty when the two men entered. It was almost noon and probably everyone was having lunch. Usually (and rather obviously), Sherlock preferred not to meet anyone when 'borrowing' body parts. But today, he would have liked to find Molly down there. He was excited about the mystery of the missing dead (Oh no, this will be a dull title of the blog entry!) and would have liked to share the news with her. Why would I want to inform Molly Hooper about my happiness concerning this case?, he asked himself, surprised at his own thoughts. Because of her professional interest in corpses, of course, his rational mind was quick to answer. Yes. That was the reason.
"John, I am looking forward to Leeds. I'm sure this will be interesting. What reasons could someone have to steal so many bodies?", Sherlock said, absentmindedly holding the severed foot of a middle aged woman and flinging it through the air as his arm waved in a gesture to support the question.
John quietly giggled at the sight. "Not every ghoul is as lucky as you are, having a friend like Molly who supplies them with fresh body parts whenever they feel like cutting open some flesh."
"I would not call Molly my friend", he felt found out after just having wished for her presence. "I do put up with her because, as you say, she ensures me access to the morgue and the lab, which is important for quick advancement in cases." The words came out a bit too defensive.
Right after Sherlock had finished his sentence, a loud crash sounded from the hallway outside the morgue. They could hear glass shattering. John quickly went to the door, wanting to find out where the noise came from and if someone got hurt. He opened it and revealed Molly Hooper, just starting to kneel on the floor to pick up the fragments of several petri dishes she had dropped a second before.
"Oh, hello Molly!", John exclaimed overly brightly. Oh God, I hope she has not heard that!
"Hi John, be careful not to step into the mess. Stupid me, I have probably stacked up too many dishes to be able to walk without hitting walls", she said, still kneeling and beginning to pick up the bigger bits of shattered glass. Maybe she hasn't heard, then. Good.
She stood up and crossed the room, towards where Sherlock was leaning against an autopsy table. He had silently overlooked the short dialogue between the two with an empty expression on his face. Without looking at him, Molly passed him and grabbed a broom out of a small storage room that adjoined the morgue.
"Don't worry, you won't have to put up with me any longer than necessary. I will quickly clear up the mess and be gone again. Don't forget your foot", she said coldly.
Or maybe she has. John shot Sherlock a very disapproving look. He did not react.
_.:0:._
After they had left, Molly sat in the lab alone. A silent teardrop ran down her cheek. She shook her head and wiped it away. Right, that's enough now.
Calmly, she reached into the pocket of her white lab coat and grabbed her phone. It felt like her heart was physically aching. She knew that was not possible.
Dinner sounds great. When do you pick me up? - Molly