(I hope my readers don't mind a short detour. Moffat & Gatiss' depiction of women in this TV series is the only thing about it that irritates me beyond belief. Molly is kind but weak enough to still crush on Sherlock despite his abuse. Sally is powerful but a bitch, Irene is powerful but sexualized.

This scene is my heart's desire for Molly.)

MOLLY HOOPER

She probably shouldn't have stayed to listen but she had, flinching at the loud demands of Sherlock, eyes widening at what sounded like a fist fight before it turned into something that sounded like moans of pleasure. She backed away, saw a *Caution: Slippery when wet* sign down the hall and quickly snatched it up, propping it against the door as quietly as possible before hurrying back to the morgue. Joan and Michael had done something similar last month when they were going at it in the exam rooms, and she assumed most of the hospital workers knew enough by now to steer clear.

Blindly she looked at the chart, and began preparing a Mrs. P for post-mortem. As she worked, she talked to the corpse. She usually assumed that since they had been alive not so long ago that they liked being spoken to, even if they were being cut open and prodded at with no clothes on.

"He's really quite mean, isn't he? I thought that he'd be nice if he fell in love, but he really isn't. I mean, he yelled at John, and then it turned into a fist fight. Is that what John's going to have to do every time… you know?"

She paused for Mrs. P to give her input. She seemed like she had been a fairly kind older woman, she she assumed her reply would be: Well, that's men for you dear. They can be a little rough.

"Well, yeah, but no. It's almost as if they had to be like that. John couldn't let Sherlock push him around and piss on him anymore, so he had to actually fight him, like Sherlock is some kind of battle."

The corpse seemed confused. Which one did you like before again?

"Sherlock. He is RATHER good looking, probably the most brilliant man in London, if not the world, and you should see him play the violin. It's almost romantic. That and he doesn't look disgusted when I let out my morgue humor. But he is quite mean. I thought being in love would soften him."

Mrs. P chuckled. Love doesn't change people dear. Not really.

"I'm not even really crying. I suppose I should be. I knew him longer than John. I keep saving him body parts for what I assume is experiments of some kind. I let him manipulate me. It's obvious really and he probably thinks I'm foolish. I'm not though, I only let him go against protocol because I know he's probably going to be saving people's lives."

The man you described before doesn't sound like a humanitarian. Are you talking about two different people?

"No, no, it's Sherlock. He's not good or kind, but he usually ends up doing what's right in the end. I suppose he's been even more right in the time he's known John. I heard John slapped him hard once on a crime scene because he covered up a body for a month so he could do some mad experiment on it."

You'd have to be mad to want a relationship like that. Both of those men sound a little mad, Molly.

"Well, I'm mad too. Look at me, I talk to corpses."

You're not mad, dear, just lonely.

She bit her lip and looked around the empty room. Sighing she walked away from Mrs. P and began to input data into the computer. When there was a knock on the door she jumped.

"No need to knock!" she called out, cheerfully, wiping her eyes.

John Watson came in and sheepishly set down a coffee with an assortment of sugars and creamers on the desk. He was sipping at his own cup and was a little rumpled and looked guilty, smelling strongly of Sherlock. "Thanks for propping that against the door," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. John Watson was not as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes, but Molly was sure he knew what the sign meant.

She giggled. "You're not REALLY gay, are you? You keep saying you're not."

He swung around and looked at her, at first with a sympathetic expression on his face, expecting her to be trying to split them up, which was impossible really. When he saw that she was genuinely laughing and not giggling defensively, however, he laughed back. "No, actually, you're right, I'm not gay. That's the first time we, uh did anything about it too, so I suppose I should be having an identity crisis."

"But you're not."

He shook his head. "No, it's just Sherlock."

There was silence as they sipped their coffee. Molly looked at Mrs. P on the table. "I don't mind, you know. I know I'm a bit obvious about the fact I like him a great deal. But I can't really help it. And it occurred to me…" she blushed. "I suppose I overhead a bit. But I'm glad you can tell him no. I wouldn't want to. The fact that you can, and you're there, is almost a relief to me."

John was blushing, but he smiled. "You know you're very pretty Molly. And that's coming from a not-gay man."

"Oh… okay. Th-thanks. I'll keep helping him too, especially if you're there, because I know you'll make sure he does good."

A small tension seemed to have been lifted from John's shoulders. "That's good. Thanks. He depends on you quite a lot really."

She laughed again. "Now that he has you, he'd hardly be able to MOVE without you."

"Probably not. Speaking of which I must dash. That mad wanker's probably finished deducing by now and we'll have to go chasing criminals around London."

She grinned. "Let him know I'll have some fingers for him tomorrow."

John snorted with laughter. "He keeps them in the kitchen fridge you know."

"Really? Oh God!" Her eyes widened in horror, but she straightened her back and gave a mock salute. "Go, John Watson, the safety of London depends on you."

"Ta Molly."

After he left, she looked up from her work on the computer at Mrs. P.

"That probably would not have gone so well if not for you. Thanks!"

Anytime dear. Maybe you should start looking for men who are more like John Watson?

She thought about it as she finished the typing in the data, then shook her head as she slid Mrs. P back into the refrigerated wall. "Now that is a breed of man that is even rarer than Sherlock Holmes."