A/N: Once again all my humble thanks goes out to the lovely people who support my stories. Every follow, favourite and gentle word make me smile!

Being a PA myself, I cannot help but sympathize with Janine. Oddly enough not so much for what Sherlock did to her, but for still being at Magnussen's office at this ungodly hour.

Rear Window

"She's gonna save me,
Call me 'baby'
Run her hands through my hair
She'll know me crazy,
Soothe me daily
Better yet she wouldn't care
We'll steal a Lexus,
Be detectives,
Ride 'round picking up clues."
– Hozier, Jackie and Wilson

At precisely 6 p. m. Molly got into the car waiting in front of her building. The second she closed the door, the car set into motion. Molly was not surprised by the lack of greetings, she was rather used to it. So while the busy streets of London flashed by the window, Molly looked around the interior of the car and then stated with a slightly sarcastic undertone, "A Lexus, seriously?"

Although Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the street in front of him, he asked, "What's wrong with a Lexus?"

Molly shrugged, "I don't know, I guess I just expected, I don't know… something more James-Bond-like…"

"A Jaguar, maybe?" he asked drily, but Molly could see the teasing twinkle in his eyes.

She contemplated that for a moment and then said, "Hmm... I can picture you in a Jaguar commercial."

Now since they were waiting at a red light, Sherlock took the opportunity and looked at his co-driver. "I'll keep that in mind for my retirement: Jaguar testimonial or beekeeper."

He was only peripherally aware of Molly's smile, because the traffic light turned green and he focused on the street again.

The pathologist was just about to lean back into her seat, when Sherlock spoke up again, "What's in that bag?" He pointed towards Molly's lap.

"Coffee and scones," she responded, although she was pretty sure Sherlock had already deduced it.

The consulting detective raised his eyebrows and berated her, "It's a stakeout, not a date, Molly."

His statement shocked her into numbed silence. A thousand thoughts flew through her head, but she was not able to grasp a single one and make it into words. So after a moment or two of opening and closing her mouth a few times, she settled for a defensive, "I know." She failed in her attempt to keep her voice even. She clutched the bag in her lap a bit tighter and turned to look out her window.

His harshness was not lost on Sherlock. He knew he was supposed to feel something, but he did not know what. He knew he should say something to make her feel comfortable around him again, he knew she had only meant to be kind when she had packed coffee and scones. Because that was the kind of person Molly Hooper was, warm and friendly, taking care of him.

And what kind of person was he? Someone who belittled her caring nature because he did not know how to deal with it. It was hard for him to understand that there were people who had no ulterior motive, but were really justfriendly and selfless. He had hardly known that concept until Molly Hooper and John Watson had stepped into his life. Sure, his parents were selfless in loving him, but they were his parents, it was their biological defect to love him. But Molly Hooper, what reason had she to... like... him? What reason had he to...

He shook his head before he could finish this line of thinking, and said instead as he took a right turn into the street they were supposed to go, "This is where Theresa Wright works. She is the PA to the CEO." Sherlock pointed towards a tall office building out of glass and steel.

Molly turned her head and looked where he was pointing at. "I know that, Sherlock. Remember, I was friends with her."

The consulting detective ignored her and parked the car across the street from where Theresa Wright was working and explained his plan, "We will follow her when she leaves work and see where she is going. I am pretty sure she knows more about Tom's death than she told us at the Bass Rock."

Molly cleared her throat and sat up in her seat. "Alright."

45 minutes went by in total silence. Nothing happened. They sat in the car, the only lights coming from the street lamps. Sherlock had not moved since he had parked the car, his eyes focused on the entrance of the office building where their target was supposed to walk out of. He looked like a black and white portrait – half of his face lit, half shaded in dark.

Molly became impatient and felt restless. She could not hold in a sigh any longer and finally released it. It had the anticipated effect. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to look at her.

"Boring, isn't it? That's what real detective work is most of the time. John should write about that in his blog for once. Instead he has this fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise and thus has ruined what might have been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. He slurs over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."

For a second Molly only stared at her friend and then burst out laughing.

Sherlock looked at her offended. "Why are you laughing? This was not supposed to be funny."

Molly shook her head and took a few long breaths to calm down. She held up a hand in defence. "I know, I'm sorry, it's just..." She giggled again, and Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest, emphasising his state of annoyance.

Finally Molly was able to speak again. "Sorry, but if I didn't know better I would say this was you rambling."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "And why is that so funny?"

"Just because... you know... normally it is me rambling and you...," she made a vague gesture with her right hand and her voice trailed off.

He squinted at her in the synthetic light of the street lamps illuminating the interior of the car just enough to see each other's faces. He was studying her and Molly started to feel uneasy under his gaze. Still she tried not to look away although she had a hard time.

It was Sherlock who finally looked again at the building they were observing and asked annoyed, "What takes her so long?"

Molly felt herself relax again and leaned back into her seat and shrugged, "She's a PA – they usually work late. You should know that, your ex was a PA."

"Janine is not my ex," he said coldly.

"Fake-ex?" Molly prompted and lifted her eyebrows, not knowing why she was teasing him.

Sherlock glared at her. "I am a high functioning sociopath. I am not interested in girlfriends, neither real nor fake."

"You're not a sociopath. Sociopath's don't feel guilt or compassion," Molly stated looking at him, as if she was absolutely sure of it.

"I don't feel guilty for killing Magnussen," Sherlock said loftily as if to prove his point.

A sad, yet somehow warm smile formed on Molly's lips when she responded, "You felt guilty for what you did to John after the fall."

Sherlock could not deny that she had caught him off-guard. She was right. He had felt guilty, he had even shed a tear or two before he had jumped off the roof, because of what he was about to do to his best friend. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, not even to Molly Hooper. It was easier to keep things unsaid. Safer. Yet he was astonished by how she had managed to surprise him again.

He watched her face with the interest of an art aficionado studying a painting. Molly's breathing pattern changed slightly, and he detected a faint hitch as she inhaled.

Sherlock made a bold move and brushed her cheek with the tip of his fingers. Molly stared at him wide-eyes, not daring to speak or move, afraid she would break whatever spell had befallen him.

His hand came to rest close to her pulse point. And Molly was wondering if he could hear it, feel it, beating too fast?

Obviously he could, because his eyes fixed on her neck which was party covered by her scarf, when he stated, "Your heart is racing."

"Yeah?" Molly croaked and asked herself if that was indeed her voice. And that made her snap out of it. This was Sherlock Holmes and they were still on the case of Tom's death. It was not over yet. She could not afford being distracted by curly hair and a handsome face. She could not base her interpretation of his feelings on a circumstantial attraction, stirred by the intensity of the moment and gone the moment order was restored.

Sherlock saw the change in her stance and pulled his hand away. He did not know what had gotten into him. He did not know how this stakeout had become… whatever that was. He told himself that it was not different than if he were here with John. Well, he would not have studied John's face the way he had just done with Molly's and he would definitely not have touched John's cheek, but apart from that it was the same. Almost. Somehow.

He felt... uneasy... nervous? And as he had learned to get himself back under control when feeling something akin to nervousness, he started to recite the 243 types of tobacco ash in his head.

Molly watched Sherlock staring out the windshield again, but she was pretty sure he was not paying attention whether Theresa Wright was exiting the building or not.

"Sherlock...," she tried to get his attention, not really knowing what she was about to say, but not being able to stand the surreal silence.

Sherlock's head snapped into her direction, "So when will you finally offer me some coffee and scones, or are you planning on taking them back home again?" He smiled with his mouth, but not with his eyes. He was busy picturing number 141 of the tobacco ashes.

Molly was glad for the change of subject and reached into her bag to retrieve two scones, a thermos bottle and two plastic cups.

Sherlock kept a sarcastic comment to himself while Molly poured him a cup. The smell of hot coffee filled the car, and when Sherlock took the first bite of his scone, he could not help but admit that he could get used to that kind of caring treatment.

Molly chewed on her own scone and looked at the entrance of the office building, wondering how long they would be sitting here, waiting.

"I feel like Mulder and Scully," the pathologist suddenly blurted out.

Sherlock's eyebrows almost went into his hairline when he turned to look at her, not knowing where her statement had come from. "Why? You do not have red hair and I have no sister who has been abducted by aliens."

He cocked his head to the side as if thinking and then added, "Although I would offer Mycroft to the aliens."

"How come you know who Mulder and Scully are?!"

Sherlock shrugged and gazed back at the office building. "Apart from avoiding group therapy and watching recaps of The X-Files there was not much to do in rehab."

Molly only nodded and took another sip of the coffee.

"I'm sure you were one of those people who wanted them to be happily married in the end," Sherlock went on with the conversation.

"What's wrong with that?"

Sherlock shook his head, "You are a hopeless romantic."

"I am not!" she insisted.

When Sherlock only sighed and kept looking out of the window, Molly said, "If Mulder and Scully were to marry, she'd have to keep her name."

"Why?"

"Because Mulder not calling Scully Scully is just wrong. I mean, they say each other's names between ten and fifteen times per episode."

"Unthinkable," Sherlock agreed with mock indignation in his voice. He turned to look at her and his face broke into a genuine, actually pensive and secretly delighted smile. Molly could not help but mirror his expression.

And then a yawn escaped her. She covered her mouth.

"How can you be tired. You've just had coffee?"

Molly put the cup into the cup holder. "It's been a long day. Do you think she will be out soon?"

Sherlock looked back onto the street. "I don't know. But you can close your eyes for a bit. I will wake you as soon as she exits the building."

"Okay."

Molly leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes. Sherlock gave into the privilege to let his eyes roam over her form when he was sure she had her eyes firmly closed.

Her voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, "Would you recite the 243 types of tobacco ash so I can fall asleep faster?" A wicked smile was playing on her lips, but she kept her eyes closed.

Sherlock however acted as if he did not find her teasing amusing but growled instead, "Just go to sleep, Molly Hooper."

20 minutes went by without any developments. Sherlock sat unmoving staring at the entrance while Molly lay still in her seat, her breathing even. Sherlock thought her to be asleep, when her voice interrupted his thoughts, "Do you never feel lonely, Sherlock? Ever?"

Her question made him freeze. He could see her staring at him out of the corners of his eyes. Somewhere between closing her eyes and opening them again she had pulled her pony tail loose and now her hair were falling around her shoulders, making her look even more innocent than usual. He could not understand how this woman kept him sane and drove him mad in so many ways.

Molly patiently remained silent. She was not even sure if she would get an answer at all. When Sherlock did nothing but keep staring out of the window and she was about to tell him to forget what she had asked, he said in a low voice, "It's not true."

"What is?" Molly asked, sitting up in her seat again.

"You said you didn't know anything about me or my past. You know more than most people."

Molly blinked confused when Sherlock turned to look at her. His gaze was on her, not oppressive, but soothing. It caressed her features softly, as if delivering a message to her.

But Molly had no idea what that message was. Why was he always so cryptic? The enigmatic Sherlock Holmes...

Just as she was about to ask him what he meant, his head snapped back towards the office building and Molly saw Theresa Wright stepping out onto the street and get into her car.

Without any further ado Sherlock started the engine and followed Theresa's car.

They stopped in front of a small church in Hyde Park Place and watched Theresa Wright get out of her car and enter the house next to the church. Molly's heart was beating fast. She watched Sherlock out of the corners of her eyes and followed his lead when he got out of the car and went over to the house Theresa had just entered.

Standing in front of it, he growled. "Seems like you have to take over from here."

Molly drew her brows together in confusion and Sherlock pointed to the sign next to the door and explained, "This is the Tyburn convent – women only. I am not allowed to go in there."

Molly felt a mixture of dread and relief. "So, you want me to follow her?"

"Of course," Sherlock said in his typical aloof way, pressed the door opener and almost shoved Molly inside.

"What if she sees me?" Molly squeaked while being pushed by the consulting detective.

"Just do not let it come to that." With that last bit of useless advice the door behind Molly closed and she was left standing alone in the hall wondering what she was about to do now.

Sherlock sat in the car, impatiently staring alternately through the rear window and the rear-view mirror. He wondered what was taking Molly so long and started to worry that maybe she had indeed encountered Theresa Wright. Molly was a terrible liar most of the time, especially when nervous.

He was just about to get out of the car and take things into his own hands, when he saw Molly Hooper's figure approaching though the rear window. She hurried towards the car and got in hastily. She closed the door and released a long breath.

When she did not say anything right away Sherlock's impatience got the better of him and he snapped, "So what happened?"

Molly was unimpressed by his harsh tone. "Start the car, she will be out in a moment."

Sherlock Holmes did not like to be told what to do by his assistant, neither by John Watson nor Molly Hooper, but he saw her point and so he started the car and drove in the direction of their respective homes.

"So..." he prompted when they were around the first corner.

Molly told him of her findings, "It is some kind of community centre that belongs to the convent."

Sherlock interrupted her, "I already know that from the sign on the door, so what did she do there?"

"She went to an AA-meeting, she's in a support group."

Sherlock looked taken aback. "She does not look like a recovering alcoholic. There were no signs. And why would she go to a pub regularly if she were a recovering alcoholic? That would be highly counterproductive."

"Seems like you have read her wrong."

Sherlock gave her a look that spoke volumes.

"You have been wrong before," Molly added in a low voice.

Anger blazed in Sherlock's eyes, his hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and he clenched his jaw when he asked, "So have you known her to be an alcoholic?"

There was a short pause before Molly answered. "No."

For a moment Sherlock averted his gaze from the street and Molly knew he was deducing her. She could not help but swallow visibly but otherwise remained still.

Sherlock looked back onto the street.

"So that was the great mystery of Ms. Theresa Wright. How boring," Sherlock spat. "This whole stakeout was nothing but a waste of time.

Molly nodded numbly, staring out the windshield, seeing nothing.

A/N: I re-watched some random X-Files episodes the other day and it amazed me that even after all this time Mulder and Scully mange to keep me on the edge of my seat, make me smile, laugh (oh, how I love the funny episodes!) and almost cry. They are still my favourite investigating couple.