A bit of Molly/Lestrade today. In my head, Lestrade totally has a motorbike. Thanks to Atlin Merrick for today's word.
Sherlock barged into the mortuary, John trailing behind him and mumbling apologies to anyone Sherlock had managed to irritate on the way in.
"Molly, excellent. I need your help." His voice boomed across the room, echoing off the metal and tile.
"I - uh, I'm heading out now. I've got... plans." Molly's cheeks nearly glowed with pride, and even John could see that she'd made an effort to dress up a little today, her shapeless clothing replaced with slightly more flattering cuts. "By the way, have you, um, seen Greg on your way in?"
Sherlock spun on his heels. "Greg?"
"Lestrade." John piped up, snickering. Sherlock's inability to remember the DI's name was a bit of a sore spot that always amused him.
As if on cue, Lestrade sauntered in, two helmets under his arm. He looked as though he was about to say something, but seeing John and Sherlock standing there, he cut himself off.
"Hello, boys. I hope you're not planning on monopolizing Molly for too much longer."
Molly couldn't contain her grin as she ground her toes nervously into the floor. John was reminded fondly of some of the girls he'd fancied in high school.
"Don't worry, Molly. You go have fun. I'll look after Sherlock."
"Oh, I will! He's taking me for a ride on his bike!"