When all three were upstairs, John helped Molly to sit down in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock hung his coat on the peg and soon John joined him.
"How are her feet, John?" Sherlock asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.
"They are very sore from walking without shoes. Was it that bad, Sherlock?" John's eyes were questioningly. His friend didn't answer. "Anyway, Sherlock, why don't you ask her?"
Sherlock's eyes widened for a second, then he sighed and nodded. Awkwardly he walked towards Molly, who was studying her nails. "Are you alright, Molly?" he asked.
"Erm, yes. I'm fine," Molly answered fast. Too fast. Sherlock noticed but didn't say anything.
"Sherlock? Do you think Anderson is behind this?"
"I think so, yes. Do you mind?" Mmm… stupid question?
The look Molly gave him was answer enough. "Yes, I mind! We are in the bloody newspapers, pictured, together! Of course I mind!"
Sherlock opened his mouth to give her an answer, but Mrs Hudson's entrance interrupted them.
"Sherlock, dear. Do you mind if I use your kitchen?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Why?"
"Why? To make breakfast, young man. That's why. It's seven o'clock, I am sure the little lady over there could do with some, and you haven't had any in days."
Sherlock sighed and looked at John, but he was already busy helping the landlady. Molly also rised and asked with a thin voice if she could help too.
"Oh no, dear. No need. John is helping me, he is a great cook, isn't he, Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded absently, already busy studying his notes from back at the lab.
Molly shrugged and sat down again, taking the remote from the telly and turning it on. She groaned softly, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear it. His eyes flew towards the television. BBC Breakfast was on. With pictures of them. Again. Has Britain gone mad?
From his sofa he called John. "John, tell me: WHY do the press do this?"
"Since the Reichenbach Case, you're hot, mate," John said drily. "Get used to it."
Molly's shoulders had lowered, Sherlock noticed. Of course he noticed. "I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't know this was going to happen."
Her dark brown eyes turned on him. "It's okay. It's not as if I mind what happened.. it's the attention. How will we explain that we no long.." but she trailed off when Sherlock's eyes narrowed. They narrowed quite a lot, Molly suddenly noticed.
When Molly remained silent, he asked. "Explain what?"
"Well, erm.." Molly spoke clumsily. "Well, that we are not a couple.. You know."
"Is that what you want to tell them?" Sherlock's voice was harsh. He didn't mean to, it just happened.
Molly's eyes were asking for clarification, but Sherlock decided not to give it. Not yet. His own racing engine needed some rest. Wow, he had never thought he would ever think that.
"Breakfast's ready!" stated a proud Mrs Hudson. The smell of coffee and fresh baked bacon drifted through the room. Molly hobbled towards the table, followed by Sherlock.
Sherlock was studying Molly closely, and saw she piled up food on her plate like she hadn't eaten for days. Molly felt his gaze and smiled apologetically. "I missed breakfast this morning," she blushed.
A grin spread across Sherlock's face, and their eyes held each other for some more moments. Softened, scanningly.
John coughed softly, breaking the spell. Quickly, Sherlock took some toast and took a great bite. Suddenly he felt hungry too.
Breakfast passed quietly, now and then the rustle of John's newspaper broke the silence. Suddenly John sniggered loudly, Sherlock cast him a glance.
"What's so funny, John?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nothing, Sherlock. Just you in the papers, these are great pictures. Shall I read the article?"
But Molly quickly answered: "No, thank you John. Coffee, anyone?" she offered as a diversion.
When breakfast was over, Molly and John cleared the table. When Mrs Hudson came in, and exclaimed: "oh, dear! It's already 8 o'clock!", Molly jumped up with a startled look on her face. "I have to go to work! My shift starts at half past 7!"
She slid in her high heels, whilst Sherlock stood close, watching her. "I'll walk you there, Molly."
When John turned his eyes on him, and Sherlock detected the amusing laugh in them, he added: "just to make sure you won't be bothered by the press," and he cast John a warning glance.
"Oh, thank you Sherlock, that's very kind, yes please." Molly blushed again.
When Sherlock followed her towards the hall, John whispered in his friend's ear: "be careful, you could be followed by paparazzi, you know. The pictures are in the newspapers before you know it!"
Sherlock smiled and left the appartment, following Molly, who, when she came down, got a nice pullover from the landlady.
Once outside, Sherlock walked beside the pathologist. It was considerable busier in the streets. Suddenly the girl halted.
"I don't blame you, if you thought that," she spoke. "The rumour will have died out before the day is over."
Sherlock felt a pang of disappointment, but decided not to say anything. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He enjoyed having her around, and that meant a lot, he knew that. But John's warning had been a clear one: don't mess with her.
He had always thought Molly was a dull, boring lab-mouse, but when she entered the room last night, he saw her, the way she really was. The way she could be, if he wasn't around. The idea came to him clearly. He wasn't a man for relationships. Sentiment. It's not that he needed to be adored, somehow he liked having Molly around, he just couldn't show it. The fly in the equipment. From what he had seen happening with John, relationships needed effort, time. He couldn't offer that to this girl.
"What are you thinking about?" her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"What were you thinking about? You looked pensive, not really happy. Are you having trouble with a case?" her faithful eyes looked up at him.
A case. You could see it that way. He nodded.
If only she could help him. He looked really troubled. Without thinking twice she grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers, just as they had done some two hours ago. Again she was surprised to feel that his hands were not cold. He was warm, alive. And she walked here with him.
When they reached Bart's, the pack of photographers had gone. Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and turned to face him. "Sherlock, thank you. For saving me from the press, I mean. Oh, Mrs Hudson's sweater, would you mind giving it back to her?"
"You could drop it by yourself, say this evening after your shift? I still owe you the violin," Sherlock said, suddenly feeling nervous. What if she didn't want to?
Her eyes lighted, much to his relief. "Yes, I'll do that."
And suddenly he just couldn't resist. Softly he pressed his lips to her rosy cheeks. He had just straightened his back, when Molly stood on her toes, got hold of the front of his coat and pulled him down. Their lips met, and the overhelming feeling he had felt yesterday settled on him again. He felt her hands disappear in his hair and he cupped her face with both his hands. Their lips moved synchronously against each other, fitting exactly.
How close could a girl get to Sherlock, Molly wondered as she grabbed a handfull of raven curls and felt his hands on her back.
He suddenly broke off, when he remembered the press.
"You are a true miracle, aren't you?" she asked. He wás a true miracle. When she was around he had no idea how to handle himself or her, but when they kissed that shyness dissappeared, making room for passion. She had always hoped the albaster skin and cold-blue eyes had only been a cover, meant to protect this loving heart. She knew it was not exactly that dramatic, but he was capable of loving. Loving her?
He smiled reassuringly down on Molly, and said softly: "I'll see you tonight then" and he walked off. Molly straightened her clothes and walked inside.
Thankfully Anderson and Donovan were not here today she thought, when she pushed open the doors to her morgue. She blinked when she saw three photographers in front of her, and a micrphone was pushed in her face.
"Where is Sherlock?", "Was is a one-off?", "How long have you had a crush on him?" and "What does doctor John Watson think of this development?" were the questions they fired at her. With wide-open eyes of shock, Molly stood dumb in the doorway, not knowing what she should say.
All of a sudden her sight was blocked by Lestrade, who tried to keep the press away from Molly so that she could get away.
"People, people, please, let's behave like grown-ups. You will get your information, but let Miss Hooper continue her work."
Irritated, Sherlock picked up his phone. "Lestrade, you know I prefer to text. What's so urgent?"
"Sherlock, it's about Molly."
Sherlock sat up straight immediately. "What about her?"
"She was harrassed by the press in the Morgue when she came here."
"I'm on my way." He clicked the DI away and looked at John. "John, do you want to come with me? The press was in the morgue when Molly arrived."
"Where is Anderson," Sherlock demanded to know as soon as he had arrived, John following on his heels.
Denise, who was the girl he was asking it to, shrugged.
"Oh, this is about yesterday, isn't it?" Sherlock turned around. "Doesn't matter, I'll find him anyway."
"Has the freak become protective of his little girlfriend?" The whining voice of the forensic made Sherlock spin and look at the man.
With firm strides Sherlock reached the forensic, and leveled his face with Anderson's. He hissed with withheld anger: "Anderson, allow me to warn you. Touch me and you will be fine. Touch Molly, I'll find you and you will definitely not be fine. It doesn't matter if she's my *girlfriend* or how you call it, she's my friend, and you stay away from her. And if the press knows where to find her again, you won't be smiling for much longer. This joke has lasted long enough."
The forensic put up a surprised face, and brought his hand to his heart. "Me? I didn't do anything, Sherlock. Promised. It wasn't me."
Sherlock grabbed the front of the man's coat and pushed him roughly against the wall. "I'm warning you, Anderson. Just some friendly advice." Then he pushed Anderson away and walked towards Lestrade's office.
John cast Anderson a look and walked after Sherlock.
The press gathered outside Bart's, waiting for Sherlock and John to appear. Molly sat in Lestrade's office, feeling very miserable. She couldn't even go to work because of her friendship with the Detective.
The door opened and he came in, softly the consulting detective closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry. I'll tell the press to piss off, hopefully they will leave you alone."
He knelt down before her, so that he could look her straight in the face. "It will be fine soon. It will be like nothing has happened."
Molly wanted to say she didn't want it to be like nothing had happened, but he read it in her eyes. With two fingers he stroked her face gently, reassuringly, and then he stood up. When he was at the door he turned. "I'll see you tonight."
The murmur stopped when Sherlock stepped outside. The microphones were pushed in his direction, all were trying to get as much information as they could.
John was at his side, as always, with his hands behind his back.
"Miss Hooper and I would both appreciate it if you could leave her alone. She's just trying to do her work, and so do I. If you pursue her again or wait on her at her work, I'll sue you. All of you. You know who I am, I always win. So I'll just repeat myself: leave us alone. Now if you will all excuse me, I have a case to solve."
He walked down the stairs, ignoring the press.
As soon as the doors of the cab had closed, he cursed. "The bloody press! What can be possibly interesting about me and Molly having an affair! How empty-minded." He inhaled deeply and looked at John. "That won't hold them off, will it?"
"Nope," John answered. "You'd better keep a low profile, I'm sure it will all calm down soon. How is the blood-indicator going on?"
"Oh, it's going well."
John sighed. "What about Molly? Do you know how to keep going on with this?"
Sherlock shrugged.
"Do you want to stop it then?"
"No, that's the whole problem. I'm not a man for relationships, but when she kisses me..."
John smiled understandingly.
"What?" Sherlock asked, not understanding his friend. Well, that was new too.
"She's the most unlikely girl for the job, but she has shown herself able of defrosting your heart."
"Is that supposed to be poetry? It doesn't make any sense. I've always been able to block these sentiments out."
"Molly's a clever girl, Sherlock. At last you appreciated her. As a woman."
Sherlock was silent for a full two minutes. "Do you think so?"
John nodded.
"She's coming over this evening, after her shift."
"Oh. Oh right! Do you want me to go out, then? Have the place for yourself?"
"No, I'd rather have you staying. I would bore her to death!"