The Man of The Freaking Year

by MollyHooper

I'm bad at titles, and summaries, so well- this is my first story, so please let me know if I could be better somehow you can do that by READING AND REVIEWING! I will be posting more of this, but it's written down. Like on paper. : The pairing is Sherlock/Molly or Sherlolly or Mollylock or Molly/Sherlock or- AH! It one sided through most of the story. Rating may change, maybe.

2. Chapter 2

"Um, hello Molly..."

John said. Of course, John was the only person in the room to make eye contact and speak to the poor, mortified girl. Molly was hoping that she could make some mediocre, Molly-ish excuse. Like she was talking about her cat, Toby, but then she saw Sherlock and his name slipped in... or something of that matter. So she started the predictably awkward conversation with "How much of t-that phone c-call did y-you hear?"

Sadly, it was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective extraordinaire that looked up from her rainbow striped notebook (he probably got to it before John's) that the pathologist used to write down grocery lists. He simply replied with an off-handed tone, "We heard every thing that you said from the moment you dropped your bag at the doors of the hospital."

All of Molly's ideas suddenly went down the drain. That was a lot of talking on her part. "H-How," she stammered, "did you hea-hear all t-that?"

This time, thankfully, the sympathetic Dr. Watson spoke. He calmly spoke, as if trying to relax a petrified horse. "Molly," He started. "On Wednesday, yesterday, Sherlock asked - told, you to get a recording device, a little rubber leaf, that he put in a local cafe. He has a radio in his pocket, incase anything happens. It would seem, that when you dropped your bag, it turned itself on." The pathologist's eyes widened. This was around the time she started talking about Sherlock. She moved towards the door, hoping to escape from this nightmarish situation. As a matter of fact, she thinks she's had a nightmare similar to this one. But, again, Sherlock surprised her, stood up and walked towards her. He wouldn't look her in the eye as he gave her the notebook he was scribbling in. Oddly, he has terribly handwriting. She could, however, make out her conversation, or at least what she said.

-Yes Evie, he's a 'consulting' detective-

-No he isn't-

-HE ISN'T GAY!-

-Watson is just a flatmate!

-He never notices me-

-Uh huh-

-He always messes with my feelings!-

-Just to get stuff I would have given him anyway-

She winced. He wrote down every last word that she had said. He probably deduced it several times. She got her books from off the floor and placed them on a table. Repeatedly scolding herself for being stupid, she wiped up the water she spilled and recycled the bottle. She grabbed her phone from on top of the books, and put that in her pocket. Molly muttered a goodbye to the men and took her things, rushing out the door.