A/N: Thank you to those who review! Yes, I have taken some inspiration from some obvious sources (You've got mail/Shop around the corner or Perfect Man). I have watched too many romantic comedies in my life, sue me. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Four days had gone since she had heard the slightest word from the dark haired man with blue eyes. He was as if vanished from the world - she felt tempted to phone him – asking why he'd given up entirely, but she sort of knew why. Her opening her mouth was inevitable. Ben Smith was without a doubt a finished chapter to her annoyance. Instead a new man was texting her, first phoning her repeatedly, and then texting when she gave him no answer.
Her ex Peter was an idiot who thought that phoning her pissed was a brilliant idea of winning her back, "But – but – it was that She-rr-lock blokes fault – you know – right – Mol – right?" she heard, trying to utter some syllables into his slurred meanings, coaxing and dissuading him, but to no avail, "Bloody Holmes-s-s fault innit?"
Causing her to promptly hang up on him, while still under her covers, her phone going off from texts from Peter or Sherlock who was one of the main issues in their relationship to begin with.
Sherlock Holmes had not been texting her then – now - however - he was, except he hadn't in the last three days. She suspected that whatever had persuaded him to do so would probably without a doubt disappear. Not that she knew what that reason was, yet she found herself unwillingly wondering what he meant, especially when Mary had said, "You know – if I didn't know it better I'd think he was flirting."
"No, - no - I just think he's trying to be - err - nice-," said Molly uneasily jabbing a spoon into the bucket of ice cream they shared.
Mary looked at her in general disbelief, "Yes, because Sherlock just decides to be nice. There is most certainly an agenda to it. At least that's what John says."
"I thought you liked Ben – now – you don't like Ben?"
"Ben's not texting you-," said Mary pointedly.
"Peter is texting me-," Molly retorted.
Mary gave a shrill laugh, "Yes, Peter is texting you, but I am definitively not saying Peter," she said rather knowingly.
Molly just crammed a spoon of ice cream into her mouth chewing thoughtfully.
In the end, despite herself, and all she knew she found herself being more watchful of her mobile – not knowing if she was in fact expecting a text from Ben or Sherlock. The lines between the two men were certainly blurred, and her heart caught in her throat every time she received a text.
'What?" she said startled as Mary eyed her in the cafeteria, her fork barely touching her fruit salad.
"You're looking at your phone," Mary said.
Molly dropped the phone into her pocket.
"John says they're busy with the case," added Mary drinking her coffee.
"Mary – I am definitively not waiting for Sherlock to text me," said Molly rather forcibly.
"Right," said Mary.
John had noticed it; the phone had been entirely forgotten, excepting the rushed phone calls or searches done to acquire more information for their case. Molly Hooper seemed to be the last thing in Sherlock's mind, as it was now so deliciously occupied with a murder that was. It was when they were taking a breather at a restaurant, that in the midst of his noodles he asked "So – have you texted her then?"
"Who?" said Sherlock who was currently on his phone texting Lestrade some details.
"Molly," said John with raised brows.
Sherlock gave to roll his eyes, still texting.
"Is that it then – that's the end of that?" asked John in his silence.
Sherlock breathed deeply at this, before pocketing his phone, leaning himself calmly back in his chair. "John – we are in the middle of a case – a rather good one at that - and you want a tête-à-tête in the midst of it?" he exclaimed self-righteously.
John grinned, "Yes, I'd like to - actually – since this has been going on for a while, you know, and now – suddenly you've forgotten her. Not that I'm surprised really," said John who then proceeded to eat quietly.
"Why is that?" asked Sherlock with narrowed eyes.
"Well – I didn't expect it to last - to be honest."
Sherlock just raised a brow at this, "Come along John," he said standing up. John, who was in mid-chew made a disgruntled noise, as Sherlock soon disappeared off – John soon threw money on the table, before leaping after his friend.
Molly slipped off her gloves, she'd been spending time hunched over the microscope too long now, and it was tiring on her eyes. She stifled a yawn picking up her paperwork and jotting down some few last words, before calling it quits, when her phone gave a sound, irritated she picked it up expecting to see another attempt by Peter – Let's have lunch. Talk it out. You and Me, but was surprised to find -
Coffee? – SH
"Coffee?" she said giving another yawn, as the doors to the lab were slammed open, and the sender in question appeared brandishing two cups of coffee.
"Oh," she said mildly confused. "Coffee."
Sherlock just looked at her appraisingly; "Done for the day?" he said walking towards her slowly holding one out for her.
"I – I - yes," she said taking hold of one coffee, "You –err - finished with that case of yours then?"
"Yes," he replied.
She gave a brief nod taking a sip off her coffee, peering at him from the side, "Sherlock – what is this?"
"It's certainly not from the canteen," he said.
She looked at him bewildered, "I can taste that – err – no – I just mean, what - well –what do you want?"
"Just a pleasant conversation and – coffee," he said lifting up his Styrofoam cup with a quick smile. She bit her lip and kept on drinking from her cup. "You haven't heard from Ben then?"
She looked at him surprised, "No – not exactly no, haven't heard from him for days, but I'm not expecting anything really."
"Why not?"
"You've probably scared him off," said Molly self-consciously.
Sherlock looked at her in surprise, "I'm sorry?"
Molly chuckled, "Oh, you know – I told him that we snogged – I think I properly scared him off. Well, I do scare most men off with my post-mortems. Not something you can bring up over chicken tikka exactly, though Peter never bothered, but he is a doctor."
"Yes – Peter," said Sherlock looking if not rather offended. Molly blinked at him taking to drink more from her coffee. "John informed me of your relationship. I'm at a loss as to why you didn't bring him in."
"So you could have told me what was wrong with him too?" asked Molly smiling. Sherlock made a face. "I'd rather not have that, as it were, and well – Ben – you can tell me his dirty secrets now really. I am quite ready."
"No – I think I'll spare them for later – what are your plans for this evening?" he asked with an harmless expression.
"Why – are you asking?" she said giggling.
"Yes," he replied.
She stopped laughing, "Oh – oh – right – wait – what?"
"I just wondered if you were - hungry?" he asked raising a brow.
"Well, I suppose I am – I've just eaten some crisps – not really any proper food," she said blinking furiously at this, trying to remember her diet.
"I am usually starving after a case myself," he said with a small smile, "I know of a good Indian place - if you want?"
Molly looked at him oddly for a moment, taking a breath, "Right – I'll just fetch my things, then?" She soon wandered out clinging to her papers, hearing steps behind her, turning her head, and spotting Sherlock who was indeed trailing behind her. "Are you following me?"
"Isn't it common courtesy?" he said with a grimace.
Molly just looked at him sceptically continuing to walk, her eyes darting behind her, as she muttered, "Ben must certainly be something."
Sherlock raised his brows, "Why do you say?"
Molly took to stop in the hallway, "You're being awfully kind - Sherlock – it's just – well – obviously there's something very wrong with him." He didn't reply; "This isn't the point where you tell me he's actually a bad bloke, or something? Since I'm sort of sick of men who try to off my friends," she said looking up at his blue eyes expectantly – he looked at her in turn with his very knowing you're being an idiot-face, "Or – you're just being nice, then?"
"Obviously," he quipped pleasantly back.
"Oh – right," she said with a strained smile.
He looked at her in the taxi – properly. Here she was without her mobile, without words to hide behind, and he could see her as she fully was. Yes, he had given the case his full attention, but in the moment it was solved his attention wandered. He contemplated that the case wasn't big enough for his concentration, that if he were to go abroad for a longer time - maybe this peculiar feeling would subside – this fascination would ebb. His phone went off, he picked it up disgruntled, before hiding it away again.
How is it going? - JW
Sherlock proceeded to almost glare at her; she had her hands folded in her lap, eyes looking out of the window, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He did not suspect the faintest hint of a blush, despite the fact that she retrieved her phone, and he caught sight of it being from the dreaded ex, but she soon hid it away again.
Her hair was ordinary, her complexion fine and her form slender – he'd give her that, for she was not unattractive. He knew that most of her unsuccessful attempts with men had to be with the way she spoke; yet James had been rather frightened by her rather upfront manner. He knew she was blunt, for she spoke quite direct, but he had not properly encountered that side of her – they had barely spoken, except on text. Sherlock made a derisive snort, when his phone made another sound.
Be nice - JW
Their conversation would certainly be stilted, not at all comparable to that which had been between them prior to this, and which would most likely end all thoughts in direction to this soft eyed brunette who soon turned to look round at him, "What's wrong?" she said with furrowed brows.
"Why do you assume something's wrong?"
"You're glaring at me," she said bluntly.
He was certainly caught off guard, "I am not glaring."
"OK – you're staring – is it my face – then? I've been stuck in the morgue for about three days – a bit peaky I know, but compared to you I am rather brown," she said cheekily.
"I am not-," he started, abruptly stopping, "Molly – why do you like Ben?"
"Oh – right - Ben," she said rather hesitantly. "Well, he's – err – well, I don't know. I just do - I suppose – it's fun – the texting bit that is."
"Wasn't meeting him as equally good?"
"He is handsome, yes, but – he just – he seemed so different, you know. One minute he was very dark, and the other he was very – cheerful," she said looking a bit lost.
"Which did you like best?" he enquired truly puzzled.
She took to look back out of the window at this, a small almost secret smile on her face, as she said, "When he was dark."
Sherlock released a breath he did not know he held, the taxi took to halt, and they both stepped out – he paid without a thought, as she soon tried to give him some notes. It seemed to be as if she truly thought this was friendly. He himself hadn't properly decided what his intent was when he fled Baker Street, but he knew that it involved pulling the plug on this escapade as it were. Revealing the truth would certainly end it all.
"Every single bloke I've ever been with who's been tremendously cheery, has been on the other hand frightfully boring, it's not that I'm against cheerful people, as I'm not – well – you know – sorry, I'm talking too much – bit tired," she said as they entered the restaurant.
"No, it's interesting," he said, "I'd always taken you for one to like happy men."
She chortled at this, he looked at her mystified, as they were soon seated and given menus.
"You probably think I want to get married and have kids, then?" she asked him leaning over her menu. He raised a brow, as she gave a beam, "Not really my area," she said.
"Oh," he said his eyes flickering for a second, as he caught sight of the black see-through lingerie revealed as she was leaning on the table. "That's why you have the cat to compensate," he said looking up.
"I wouldn't call it compen- you know about Toby?" she said surprised.
"I read your blog," he countered.
"I shouldn't really be surprised – you're always on top of these things, the occasional cat hair probably gave it away or something-," she said looking down her front.
"That too, and the blog entry about the cat. What was your original naming idea?" At this she blushed, soon leaning back into her chair, and hiding away what his eyes kept darting towards – the menu properly propped up on the table in front of her shielding her face.
"Fluffy-," she retorted biting her lip.
"Doubtful – I specifically read that there was a person you had thought about when conjuring names-," he said as if he didn't know.
"He's a very good friend of mine," she said mock-seriously now looking at him with those wide eyes of hers, "Been friends for years me and Fluffy that is."
"Avoid it all you want, then," he said snapping his menu shut, as the waiter came around.
"I shall," she quipped, and the waiter took their orders. Oddly enough their tastes were terribly similar, except Sherlock took his meal with water, and she with wine.
When the waiter finally left he took a breath, "So you liked him dark then?"
"Fluffy?" she said surprised.
"Ben," he said rather severely.
"Oh," she grinned.
"Molly – don't play with me," he said rather sternly.
She gaped, "I'm not Sherlock – why are we having dinner?"
"I was hungry," he remarked.
"So am I," she said wide-eyed.
He narrowed his eyes at her rather playful ones, "Fine, yes, I like my men serious. Happy? Peter was very serious."
"He was?"
"Yes – until it was over, and then everything else was wrong," she said looking weary.
"Why did that end?"
"Peter's ridiculous jealousy, he thought you texting me about corpses and what-not meant that you fancied me. He was clearly reading into things a bit hard," she said looking rather angry now.
Molly's phone blinked silently, "Still is in fact. I might as well text him who I'm having dinner with - you don't mind?" she said bringing up her phone properly.
"Go ahead," he said with a vague smile.
She grinned, intent on her texting, before dropping the phone into her bag without considering waiting for Peter's reply. The waiter returned with their drinks now, and Molly clung to her wine smiling at the glass that was poured to her.
"How about yourself?" she asked after she took a sip.
"Me?" he replied surprised.
"Yes, since you're asking an awful lot of questions about me – I'd like to actually hear some of your stories – if you – err – got any – or maybe not," she said seeing the look in his eye.
"I've never had – dinner," he said.
"Sorry?"
He smiled, "I've never had occasion to be on rendezvous Molly. I've been rather occupied with much more entertaining things."
"Oh, right – so – not even once, then?" she asked properly baffled.
"Should I count every time I've pretended to be on one?"
"Sure?" she asked shocked.
"Then I have been in several," he said amused.
"Not as yourself I suppose."
"No."
"Oh," she said nodding looking as if she understood.
"What?"
"Well, that explains a lot, you know, not that I – I'm not saying – it just – well you seem to manage to overlook-," she said rather tense.
"Overlook?"
"I asked you out on a coffee, and you ended up with replying "milk and two sugars"," she said sharply.
"No, I knew," he smirked.
"Oh – ok," she said awkwardly shifting a bit in her seat.
Molly ate tentatively on her dinner, putting the wine aside, taking to drink enormous gulps of water, hurriedly trying to make the wine go less quickly into her head, but despite it all – she was as if caught under the truth-spell. Here she was pouring out full sentences to the man who she could barely say any sentence in front of before, but they had indeed been texting.
"Have I offended you?" he asked her, blue eyes sparkling, as his dark tousled hair fell into his face.
Candlelight was the only source of light in what remained to be seen as a very dark restaurant. She just shook her head, not knowing entirely what to say, or why she was sitting across from him.
He just kept looking at her, she felt her every movement being examined, and wondered if John was studied as such when he ate. She wondered if he got anything done, as she felt her nerves springing up, "You've got to stop doing that."
"Sorry?"
"The staring," said Molly trying to keep a low voice.
"I do not stare," he said seeming almost insulted, there he sat, eating in such a way to give her the understanding that his background was certainly not poor. Every single movement was like an intricate dance on his plate, even when he seemed to be locking eyes with her.
"Yes – yes – you do. What are you trying to deduce exactly?"
She was gazing him barefaced in the eye, waiting expectantly for the reply he didn't know if he could give. He put his knife and fork aside, taking a small sip from his water, before saying, "You liked me."
Her mouth opened at this, shutting hurriedly, before she attentively tore some bread into her mouth, "Yes – yes – I did – well – more than liked you."
"I was never nice to you," he pointed out.
She looked like she agreed, yet she said, "You were on occasion."
"No, not properly."
"That's just how you are," Molly said with a shrug.
"You accept that?"
"Well – we are friends, aren't we? We're having dinner, and a conversation and it's quite lovely. You're also not flashing a smile at me now too, so that's fine," she said with a grin.
"I'm sorry-," he said frowning.
"Oh – god – no – don't apologise- that was me entirely. You're quite fit," and with that her hand covered her mouth, "Sorry – not that I'm apologising for saying you are fit – which you are – I just, you know -god," she said horrified.
Sherlock gave a good laugh at her outburst.
"You're laughing at me," she said narrowing her eyes at him, before chortling. "Is this how you're around John, then?"
"What?" he said stopping up.
"Well, you're – not less rude – though more relaxed I've got to say," she said drinking much more wine.
"I'm different around John?"
"Oh yes, Mary and I had a very long chat about this actually. You two are quite something really. Everyone thought that you were-," she said making an amused face.
"I know," he said with a wide smirk. "It was quite entertaining to watch John skirmish. Every time anyone would mention it he'd go on a long outburst about how we aren't. In the end when he gave it up – it wasn't until then I ever troubled with replying."
"Yes, with no comment," she said putting down her glass. "Mary's quite cross about that – people keep asking."
"People are stupid," he said rather indignantly.
She laughed, "Only you could say that so angrily."
"It is true."
"We're not all you."
"You're not an idiot-," he said looking bemused.
"Oh-," she said suddenly averting his eyes, until he continued.
"-entirely-," She shook her head at him, "- everyone is though. You're less than most."
"Thank you, I think - if that's a compliment from you."
"More than what John gets."
Molly seemed thoughtful all of a sudden, "So, what case brought you to the gay bar then?"
"Drugs," he said.
"Drugs? Not-," she said rather worried.
"No, just some illegal drugs being handled. You know - trivial work - to keep my mind agile," he said smoothly.
"Right – must have been lovely to deal with that case of the – Foster's, then?" she said with a slight shiver, as she'd read about the grotesque case in the papers.
"Oh yes, I suppose John updated his blog. He is rather quick about that these days," he said attending to his food again.
"He has to be - you're rather popular you know," said Molly taking to drink her wine now.
Sherlock looked at her with a grimace, "Yes, they do call me things in the papers, don't they?"
"I've saved several clippings actually," she said with a slight flush, becoming much more occupied with her hair.
"You have?"
"Yes, ridiculous ones - some of them for amusement sake really. They do call you a lot of things, with your sharp cheekbones," she said stopping her fidgeting entirely, as her eyes shined of delight.
He leaned back in his chair clearly amused, "Sharp cheekbones - really?"
"I did say it was ridiculous."
"You'll have to show me."
"I will."
"How about now?" he murmured.
She fidgeted with her keys, eyeing him as he stood with his hands behind his back looking at her innocently; it was a turn of events more or less. Here she was with Sherlock Holmes behind her, not in a huff for once, and not because she'd forgotten her keys. Opening up the door to her flat, she stepped aside, and he walked in judging the place, probably deducing every single bit and scrap of paper all over the place.
She flicked on the lights, and he soon slipped out of his coat. It was apparently a much longer stay than intended, she wondered idly, as she shut the doors. Not that she knew how interesting observing clippings of himself was fun this late. Then again she wasn't entirely surprised, he did like to talk about himself.
"So -," she started throwing her coat off, and wandering to her bookshelf pulling out a rather sizable book.
He eyed it curiously, "Isn't that Grey's anatomy?"
"Yes," she replied with a grin clutching the familiar book, which she hovered over many times in her youth.
"You've tucked gossip into the pages of Grey's anatomy?" he said looking at her in general disbelief.
She snorted, "Don't be upset."
"I'm not-," he said eyeing the worn book, looking if not rather smug.
She seated herself on the sofa, letting her hair fall loose from the ponytail, as she flipped through the pages "Buff boffin- there you are in a sheet – and here's the-," she said, stopping up, as he sat rather closely besides her.
She felt his breath on her neck, laughed, before looking up, and he was staring at her rather raptly, giving her the same once-over as the flat.
She quickly turned her attention to the pages, clearing her throat, and showing him some silly clippings. "Here's you and John when you returned. Quite a big event, more or less, as you can see the name- Zombie boffin. They really outdid themselves there-," she said grabbing after the piece, when his hand was clasped smoothly around her wrist.
Molly stared at this, breath held looking up at him in awe, "What – what are you doing?" He released her quickly, grasping for the article itself, a vague smile on his face, as he held it up, but proceeded to return it to the book.
"That's what I've got really, so-," she said standing up with the book in her arms, Sherlock stood up with her. She looked at him uneasily for a moment, still clutching the book firmly to her front, before she walked to the bookshelf returning the book to its spot. The moment she turned around, he was upon her, his arm on either side of her, leaning onto the bookcase, as she looked at him wide-eyed, and he returned a frustrated look.
"What's going on, Sherlock?" she said, in almost a whisper.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked, his mouth quirking upwards, his eyes boring into hers, as she stood pressing herself against the bookcase.
"We've just had dinner," she said bewildered.
He smirked, one hand grazing her cheek, she stood gaping at him, as he trailed his fingers gently over her flushed face; his thumb brushing over her lips, his eyes following the course of his fingers movement.
Blue eyes lingered on her lips, but with a sudden intake of breath he said, "I should go. You have work in the morning, and I have things to do." He gave a quick smile, as she still stood by the bookshelf, with him eyeing her appraisingly.
"Right – err – good-," she started, but before she even finished the sentence he was gone with a swirl of his coat. She left the bookshelf exhaling, seating herself on the sofa, as Toby jumped on it mewing – when her phone went off.
Goodnight Molly – SH
A/N: The story has certainly become much longer than I intended. Now I know precisely the turn of events, so it won't be too long (I hope).