Note: This one is a bit longer than usual. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, alerted and/or favourited this. You are my writing fuel!
The rest of the day at 221B Baker Street was spent with Sherlock alternating between abusing his violin harshly and wandering about the flat, not caring for furniture or, indeed, people. Thus, John had to jump out of his way more than once when he stomped through the kitchen in deep thought whilst the blonde man was making tea or preparing himself an afternoon snack.
"You also want a sandwich?" the smaller man asked.
Sherlock turned round to face him and mumbled, "don't be ridiculous, John!" He was currently standing in the middle of the living room. He hadn't bothered getting fully dressed so he was just wearing his pyjamas bottoms and a plain white t-shirt he had nicked from John's dresser; it was absurdly short and turned into a kind of a belly top whenever he stretched too much – a fact Sherlock was completely oblivious to. To top off his 'style', a new dressing gown hang loosely around his shoulders, swinging dramatically whenever the detective moved abruptly, and his hair was clearly showing a need to be combed.
He made his way to the laptop resting on the coffee table to check his emails for the third time in half an hour. Even though the number of possible case scenarios had reduced from nine to seven by now, Sherlock needed more data to proceed.
"Lestrade would have gotten me the information on the new bodies by now," he said grimly.
"Thank you very much, Sherlock, for not only conveying your impatience via your words and your tone but also portraying it in your facial expressions and body language. You always try so hard to make deducing your emotions easier for the plebs." His fidgety roommate was testing John's nerves.
Sherlock did not dignify this with an answer and instead moved closer to the body lists on his wall. He knew the names by heart. Knew every feature to do with their deaths and most of their lives. Rather a lot of them had died of cancer. He had found that very early on. In general, a lot of people die of cancer, especially the ones who die in hospital. Still, this had been a big factor in his suspicions towards Piers Miller. But there were also the many accidental deaths and the deaths from other illnesses. How did they fit in? He just needed more data.
_.:0:._
Late in the afternoon of that same day, Sergeant Cooper finally called again. He let the two men know that the police had found an overall of 67 bodies to be missing in York. They were doing their best to come up with some stories to tell to the relatives as to why the funerals needed to be postponed.
"I doubt that the people will go along with the cemetery's staff suffering from abdominal influenza for very long, though," Cooper informed them.
"Yes, yes, of course. We don't want to cause you any inconvenience," Sherlock replied bittersweetly. "We're doing our best, as long as you get us the bloody information we require."
"It's on its way as we speak. I sent a package with the complete files on every corpse per express mail. I'll send a summary via email as soon as we'll hang up."
"Oh, in that case-," Sherlock hung up.
"John, I hope you don't have one of those dreary dates with Destiny, or whatever stripper's name she has again, within the next days. We'll be spending a lot of time going through these files."
The blonde doctor frowned and quietly mumbled, "her name's Cherry."
Before Sherlock could tell him that a) he didn't care, and b) this name was way worse than Destiny, his phone rang again. Pursing his lips at the thought of this Cooper man calling again, the dark haired detective looked at his screen. His expression changed when he read the name of the caller. It wasn't Cooper.
"Hello," he said cheerily and then listened to what the caller had to say. He nodded a few times and muttered some affirmatives. After about a minute, he frowned. John was watching his friend the whole time, an uneasy look on his face.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Sherlock spoke his first full sentence. And then, after listening a bit more, "no, but… yes, it's probably not dangerous but you…," the annoyance of obviously being cut off was easy to read for John.
"Fine, I see that I cannot convince you otherwise. You'll just have to do it then. But, you must be aware that I'll have to be there, too," the caller had something to say to this. "No, of course not - I will find a way. Good, then. Have a nice evening and," Sherlock paused, "thank you."
"Now if that wasn't the girl of your dreams," John said with a grin, "what's new?" His funny grin turned into a self-satisfied one when Sherlock's demeanour told him that he was right in assuming that the caller had been Molly.
"She's gathered more information on Piers Miller - his research, his partners, co-authors and so on. Miller's main field of research is the evolution of cancer cells as well as several drugs hoped to slow the growth of tumours. Molly seems to be way better connected with the medical elite in this country than I'd previously thought. Apparently, she has published with a lot of people, conveniently also in the field of cancer research."
"Huh. Well, I never knew… but you know what they say: Still waters…," he trailed off. No, Sherlock didn't know what they said. He wasn't listening to John either. He had already moved towards his laptop again to check his emails for the one Molly had announced just now.
"And what was it you - unsuccessfully – tried to convince her not to do?"
Sherlock was already scanning the contents of Molly's email when he looked up. "This weekend a conference on innovative new medication for cancer patients will take place in London. And, as a leading researcher, Piers Miller will attend. Molly has got herself on the participant's list."
"So, why don't you want her to go, then? That sounds like a very good opportunity to find out more about him. You love face-to-face deducing."
"Yes, but my going there does by no means depend on Molly's appearance. I could have gotten in anyway. I'll probably do the catering this time, haven't done that in a while – so much more convenient than the cleaner's job I once had to do... But, Molly - you have seen her in social situations, right? She's not the born charmer and in no way subtle. Piers Miller cannot find out we're on to him."
Well, I have also seen you in social situations, John thought to himself. He didn't say anything about it, though, and just told his friend that Molly would probably do just fine. After all, this was her area of expertise for once.
With a small forced nod, Sherlock settled to turn his attention completely to his laptop and thus ended the conversation abruptly. At least he had a lot to do now. Several emails from Cooper had been received as well. These and Molly's gave him a lot to think about, so he didn't worry too much about the knock on Molly's door he had clearly heard before their call had ended just now. He knew all too well who it must have been.
That new feeling crept into his stomach again. So far, he hadn't clearly identified it. It was a mixture of being hungry (he did have faint memories of 'being hungry' and at least suspected it to be similar to this sensation) and the feeling you have immediately after two consecutive rollercoaster rides (something he had only done once, for a case of course…). Not being clear about the exact nature and meaning of the feeling, he was explicitly aware that it was an unpleasant one. And, there was this nameless dislike of David again. He just wanted him to go away and let Molly's life continue the way it had been before he arrived and messed everything up. But then, Sherlock remembered John's warning words. It really was not right of him to interfere with Molly's sentiments this much. If he would drive the other man away cruelly, he would most definitely hurt her feelings. And I do not want to do that. Still, there could not be any harm in observing the matter further and keeping an eye on him.
Shaking the thoughts away, Sherlock pulled his legs closer to his body on the big armchair and resumed his study of the newly arrived data.
_.:0:._
Molly had been very tired. She had worked long shifts for the last two days and in her spare time she had done research for Sherlock's case. But, she was happy to help him. And proud that she obviously succeeded in doing so. She quite liked the 'thrill' of a case and could very well understand why John let himself be dragged to crime scenes by his roommate. The pathologist also liked the new ease with which she communicated with Sherlock. Also, he seemed to finally have understood what was appropriate to say to her and what wasn't. He really tried not to upset her – and, after all, not actively being unkind was his own way of being nice. At least, Molly liked to see it that way.
Just when she had delivered all of the news she'd gathered to the detective she had heard the knock. Sherlock had heard it as well, she could tell by the way he was wishing her a nice evening.
He was early. Molly hadn't done her hair yet. But, she thought as she went to open the door, if this turns out to be the man I'll spend the rest of my life with, he'll have to get used to my messy hair sooner or later. Happy with the realisation of her remarkable calmness, Molly opened the door and smiled at David.
Today, he had declared that he was about to prepare some food for them, after she had cooked the pasta the other day. She had asked what he'd planned but he hadn't told her; it was supposed to be a surprise. David came in and hugged her warmly. Before pulling away from her, he kissed her cheek soundly. It was a sweet gesture. Molly hadn't told him much about her previous 'dating life' – just that she was still in the process of getting over someone else and he had reacted completely amazing. Both of them knew that he suspected a specific individual of being that someone, but neither touched the subject. Molly did notice that he had read some papers and made up for the lack of his knowledge about Sherlock. Still, he didn't seem impressed even a bit by the detective genius.
David wasn't pushing anything and behaved a perfect gentleman whenever they met. There had, of course, been moments in which she noticed it must have been hard for him not to try something more. After nights of heavy flirting, she would always leave him standing at her front door after a brief hug. Only once, she allowed him to give her a small peck on the lips. But, he was patient.
When the tall blonde man entered her flat, she was admiring his strong arms once again before he could order her to stay away from the kitchen from now on and settle in the living room with some music or a book. Slightly frowning she turned and obeyed and when she started playing a CD with her favourite symphonies she heard the muffled sound of David unpacking some bags he'd brought.
When, after half an hour, she still didn't notice any actual cooking going on, she became suspicious. She didn't hear pans or pots rattling, noticed no steam or the familiar wheezing sound of her old range hood. "Erm, David," she called in the general direction of her kitchen.
"Yes, dear Molly?" came a quick reply.
"Is... is everything all right in there? Do you need some help?"
"No, no, thanks. All is fine. In fact, I'll be done in a few minutes. Get yourself ready. You could start by turning down this god-awful music a bit."
Molly was not too thrilled by his announcement. Firstly, she knew that her fondness for classical music wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but at least she wasn't playing one of her favourite Take That records (yes, she liked a weirdly wide range of music!). She was sure that David would have liked this even less. And, secondly, how the hell was he ready already without actually having cooked? In Molly's mind, images of sandwiches and crisps began spinning. Oh no – well it's not the end of the world if he's a horrible cook, I can teach him…
Her thoughts were interrupted by David entering the living room, striding over to the small dining table. He was carrying a plate but Molly couldn't quite see what was on it. She moved closer to him and immediately wondered why she had ever questioned David's abilities. Awaiting her on the table was a huge plate of perfectly prepared Sushi. David disappeared into the kitchen once again and carried two little bowls filled with soy sauce as well as two pairs of chopsticks to the table.
It tasted absolutely delicious. Apparently, David had taken several courses on the preparation of Sushi back in Australia. He told her amazing stories of going fishing in the ocean and then making fresh sushi out of the catch. During the meal, Molly realised that she was currently dating the manliest man living in Britain at the moment. The thought made her giggle and she dropped some fish for the third time this evening. Naturally, she wasn't really good at handling the chopsticks, but neither David nor Molly herself did seem to care about her clumsy behaviour.
Later, when they had settled on the couch together with their glasses of wine, Molly felt utterly content and comfortable being herself and being with David. She sighed quietly. Without a warning, she interrupted David's story about a baby kangaroo he once saved after a car had struck it. She just turned, pulled his head towards her and placed a kiss on his lips. He was startled but soon reciprocated. The kiss was sweet and soft. Molly noticed his rough lips. She didn't mind them, though. After a while, David gingerly grabbed the back of her head with both his hands and pulled her closer to him. She smiled against his lips and he took the opportunity to slowly push his tongue between her slightly parted lips. Molly stopped moving for a moment, which cause David to freeze as well. They stayed like this awkwardly for two seconds. David's tongue resting on the inside of her upper lip. Don't over think this!, Molly begged her brain. It gave in and she finally opened her mouth further and granted David's tongue access. It felt really nice. He was a gentle kisser, no hurried movements distracted her from the feeling of his tongue lightly massaging and caressing her own, he was clearly the active one now; he had, so to say, adapted nicely after she had initiated the kiss – something she was rarely comfortable with. And, most importantly, he was not a wet kisser. She absolutely hated wet kisses.
Whilst his hands were still in her hair at the back of her head, hers had moved from his shoulders and were now resting on his muscular chest. It felt great. Surprisingly similar to -
Abruptly, Molly removed her fondling hands from David and pulled her head back slightly. She was fairly sure that it was not appropriate to think about how Sherlock's chest had felt when he had hugged her while kissing another man. Her gaze fell upon the orchid now resting on her windowsill. Trying to block out the image of the nervously smiling dark haired man, Molly looked at David again. He appeared worried because she had so suddenly pulled away from him. So, she smiled at him warmly and just snuggled against his shoulder.
He didn't notice her small panic attack and burning cheeks as she leaned against him for a while. Then, she sat back up again and resumed sipping at her wine glass.
They didn't kiss again that evening but the atmosphere still was a romantic one. At least I haven't spoiled everything, Molly thought. When it was time to say goodbye (both of them had to work early the next day), she accompanied David to the door and he took her face in his hands again and stroked her cheek lightly, smiling warmly.
"Thanks for having me over!"
"Thanks for coming over. And for the Sushi. And for… everything!" He understood and nodded, still smiling. Then he turned around and grabbed his coat. "Till next time," he said, already half out the door.
"Yeah." Molly kept standing in her hallway for a while, touching her cheek and smiling like an imbecile. She almost felt like she didn't deserve such a nice guy.
_.:0:._
Long after John had said goodnight and vanished into his room, Sherlock was still awake. He hadn't moved for more than two hours and was staring at his screen with unchanged concentration. Suddenly he shrugged and scribbled several pages of notes that wouldn't make sense to anyone who happened to read them. Then, he stared again. At his screen. At his notes. Lastly, at the screen again.
Very calmly, he reached for his phone and dialled. After twelve rings he was greeted by a grumpy and tired voice.
"Do you know what time it is? I should never have given you my-," Sergeant Cooper barked. But the detective cut him off.
"Cambridge (probably some smaller towns around as well), Manchester, and…," he paused, swallowed hard, then continued, "… and London."