More Chapter 3: Pasta at the Morgue, a sherlock fanfic

Be there in 15 mins.

Molly blinked at her mobile. Sherlock had never informed her beforehand whenever he intended to visit the morgue. He usually just barged in. Biting her bottom lip, she hazarded a reply.

Why are you telling me this?

After a tense minute, Molly's phone beeped.

I'm bringing food.
Don't purchase anything.

Not knowing what to say to that, Molly merely shrugged, and went on sterilizing her tools. She'd just finished the last autopsy of her shift, and was hoping that there wouldn't be any more fresh cadavers sent her way for the remaining couple of hours. She was still puzzled by Sherlock's text-When am I not puzzled by that man? she thought - but decided that food was always welcome. She'd missed the graveyard shift equivalent of lunch that day, and was dreading the thought of takeaway.

Sure enough, Sherlock swept in to her morgue fifteen minutes later, a Tesco bag containing what appeared to be a soda bottle and plastic mugs in one hand, and a rather large black paper bag in the other.

When the morgue door flew open, Molly paused, taking a fortifying breath. You can do this, Molly Hooper. Act natural. She resisted the urge to laugh out loud. She'd probably never had a more ridiculous notion. She never could "act natural" around him. Turning around, she faced Sherlock, and smiled when she saw what he was holding. "When you said you were bringing food, I thought you meant crisps again."

Molly caught relief in Sherlock's features before his face dissolved into a genuine smile. "No. Not crisps. Pasta." he said, walking over to a clean counter top which faced the wall furthest from the slabs, clearing some paraphernalia, before setting down the bags he was holding and taking out the contents.

The pathologist walked over, curious. She reached out to help, only to have Sherlock brush her hands away and gesture for her to sit on the stool beside him. She watched, fascinated, as Sherlock uncovered two identical plastic containers filled with delicious looking pasta, unwrapped garlic bread with what looked to be homemade pesto, and laughed when she saw the designs on the plastic mugs Sherlock had brought. When he cocked an eyebrow up at her, she explained.

"They have Hello Kitty and Badbatz Maru on them!" she pointed out the red and black mugs respectively.

Sherlock took each one in hand and looked at them intently. "You mean the cat and this rather grumpy looking owl?" When she nodded, "I did not realize they have names. These were the only reusable ones available. Aren't these acceptable?" he asked.

She waved him off. "No, no. They're fine. Why did you want reusable ones?"

Sherlock put the mugs down and mumbled a reply, suddenly keen on opening the soda bottle.

"What? Sorry, I didn't hear that." Molly leaned towards him, trying to hear him better.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I said, 'For when I bring food over.'" He sat up, handed her a container, took out a couple of forks he brought with them, and handed one to her as well.

Not knowing what to say, Molly proceeded to eat. At the first forkful, she closed her eyes and tried but failed to stifle a small moan. Blushing, she avoided his gaze and said, "This is really good! What's it called? Where did you get it?"

Visibly pleased, Sherlock absently nudged his share of the food, "Fusilli rustica. I made it. I'm glad you like it."

"What, you did?" In spite of herself, Molly looked up, meeting his eyes. When he nodded, a tiny smile on his face, she felt herself blush harder. "I didn't know you cook." was all she came up with.

"I didn't." at her puzzled expression, he added, "This is the first time I've cooked...well, anything."

Impressed, Molly nodded, smiling at Sherlock before turning her attention back to her food. She remembered last night's conversation and Sherlock's parting shot to her in the car, and wondered if she dared bring it up first. As much as she wanted to, however, Sherlock had always been unpredictable when it came to...well, anything, really, Molly thought. Instead of saying anything, she took up another forkful and resolved to wait for him.

After they've finished eating Sherlock declined her offer of help with clearing the remnants of their meal. Molly realized that unlike the previous so-called "date", she'd been able to spend time with Sherlock with relative ease. They'd traded stories. Molly told of her day, and how she'd had to mind students today and had to deal with a fainter literally two minutes into the morgue. Sherlock had laughed at that, and offered an embarrassing story about John, how the army doctor had once had to deal with male strippers who had expressed interest in him during a case they'd taken on. Time had passed quickly, and before she knew it, her watch was telling her that it was time to go home.

Noticing her look at her watch, Sherlock grabbed her coat and walked over to her, ready to help her put it on. "Ready to leave?" he asked in his gentle baritone.

Tilting her head at him, she said nothing, taking her coat from him and shrugging it on. She grabbed her back and checked to see if her keys were inside before walking alongside Sherlock towards the doors. Once outside of Bart's, she turned to him, "Thanks for the food, Sherlock. It really was nice." She offered him a shy smile before waving and turning to walk away.

She'd taken about four steps before she heard him speak, his voice sounding a bit surprised. "I thought I'd walk you home."

Molly stopped in her tracks, unsure, before turning back to face him again. "What?"

Sherlock walked towards her, stopping only a mere inches away, and bending so that his eyes met hers. "I thought I'd walk you home." he repeated, his eyes shining, a smile on his lips, but his brows meeting, as if he was unsure. "If that's all right with you, of course." he added.

"Oh, okay." Was all she could say in response.

They walked down the first block in silence, Sherlock with his hands clasped behind his back, Molly's clutching her bag, fidgeting with the straps.

After they'd turned the corner, both started to speak.

"About last night-"

"Molly, I-"

They both stopped walking then, having turned to face each other. Catching each other's eyes, they let out a little laugh. Molly gestured for him to go first.

Sherlock nodded and continued, his every breath apparent in the cold night air. "Molly, I meant what I said, last night. I understand that my...history is against me, but I assure you, I am being sincere."

When Molly said nothing, he resumed walking, urging her to do the same. "I am, of course, willing to prove my that my motives are honourable, and am willing to change whatever it is about me that displeases you." It was obvious to Molly that Sherlock had become if only a bit nervous; he'd already had to clear his throat unnecessarily twice. "I mean to court you, Molly, until..." at this Sherlock seemed momentarily at a loss for words, which frankly alarmed Molly. Sherlock Holmes was never without words. "...until you deem me worthy."

Mouth agape, Molly stopped in her tracks, staring at the consulting detective. "Sherlock?" He turned back to her, his considerable confidence apparently wavering.

"Yes?"

"Let me make something clear."

Sherlock seemed to brace himself for bad news. "Yes?" He asked again.

"You shouldn't have to change anything to please me." came the answer.

Sherlock quickly snapped to attention. "What?"

Molly giggled. "Idiot." she said, resuming her walk, more relaxed now. "If you really like someone, it's because they are the way they are. Not because you want to change them. If you change, it'll be because you wanted to be better for yourself, it shouldn't be on my demand." she continued, happily taking in the late London sights.

Unbeknownst to Molly, Sherlock's face broke into the widest grin it had ever gotten. Pulling his coat collar up, he swiftly made to follow her.

"So, how was it?" John asked in lieu of greeting when Sherlock had trudged up the stairs and into the flat.

Sherlock took off his coat and scarf, along with his jacket, and proceeded to the corner where his violin sat in it's case. "You've had too much coffee again. Been talking with Mary about me over the phone."

"Yes. Of course." John said, realizing he'd left the empty mug on the floor next to his seat, and that he was still clutching his mobile. He didn't bother asking how his flatmate deduced that it was his girlfriend. There were more pressing matters at hand. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Oh don't play dumb."

"Fine. It went fine."

It was John's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Just 'fine'?"

Exasperated, Sherlock plucked a string of the violin, waiting for the sound to fade before answering. "Yes. It was fine. In the best sense of the word."

John grinned. "Oh?" He could tell Sherlock was trying to hold back a smile. "She liked your cooking, then?"

Sherlock nodded, "I was thinking of cacciatore."

This confused John. "Sorry? Cacciatore?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "For tomorrow. I was thinking of making cacciatore for Molly."

"Whoa there, Sherlock." John said, thoroughly amused. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that." John shook his head for emphasis. "I'm not saying you shouldn't cook for her again, ever! But let her get her mind around tonight first."

Sherlock stood, forgetting his violin. "But I'm courting her! Surely it would be to my advantage if I repeated the things I did which pleased her. Besides, what would you know? You've never dated Molly. She isn't like the women you surround yourself with."

"What do you mean by that?" John had half a mind to be offended.

Sherlock paced. "Oh, you know what I mean. Molly isn't ordinary. So it follows that her preferences aren't either. You're experience cannot possibly presuppose that you're an authority on Molly's preferences."

"Ah, but you're forgetting, Sherlock. I've had experience with women. Far more extensive than yours, since you've had none."

"How sure are you?"

John smirked. "Please."

Sherlock harrumphed, walking around the room faster.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. This is going to be harder than I thought. "Sit down, Sherlock. I need to explain this relationship business to you."

John tells me I should give you some time to think.

Molly let out a breath. She'd been getting ready for bed when she heard her phone's text alert sound off. Reading Sherlock's name on the screen made her worry, thinking that something bad might have occurred. A minute later, another couple of messages came in, one immediately after the other.

I was not able to say it earlier:
I enjoyed tonight.
I hope you did as well.

Good night, Molly.
Morning, rather.

Smiling to herself, Molly sent off a reply before turning her bedside lamp off and curling into her pillows, the smile plastered on her face.

I did.
Good night, Sherlock.

x M

Several minutes away, in a flat on Baker Street, the world's only consulting detective wore an smile of his own.

Author's Note: My sincere thanks to those who've taken the time to leave reviews. You don't know how encouraging you all are. This is the last chapter I'll be uploading for tonight, and I hope to be able to upload a couple more before the week is over.

Thanks again, and keep those reviews coming!

Ta,

~Liberi Ad Somnia