A/N: So so so sorry, took me ages this did - finally coming out with something I'm personally pleased with. I am my worst critique, which is why I take ages really. I didn't intend it to be this long however, I can blame it on my choice of literature on the side properly confusing me. I hope you enjoy this chapter, if you do - you know what to do. I'll try to be quick about the next one. Luckily words won't fail me as much really.
It had been one of those better nights, without any interruption, not a dinner for once, not at her mothers, or with a colleague present – and which also didn't end with him being texted by Sherlock - causing him to half-run out of the door. Things were shaping up nicely too, a bag of crisps on the table, a rubbish action movie on the telly, and Mary snuggling up to him. He was on sparkling form more or less; horribly satisfied with the situation he was placed in, until Mary's phone went off. In her field of work it wasn't unusual actually, pretty common, and she grabbed for it in wonder. She soon stood up, the name "Molly," being uttered heartily from her lips, an excitement in her tone, as she grabbed for a crisp sprinting off to the next room. John looked after her content, when he suddenly froze in his seat – who had he sent off on his own to fend for himself at Bart's? Maybe Sherlock hadn't done anything reckless – he'd give him a warning at least – wouldn't he?
Mary's voice being audible through the door was reply enough, despite already knowing the answer. John immediately shut off the telly, as his girlfriend soon returned with a crease between her brows and a general look of disbelief in her face. Here he was, eyes flickering disconcerted around in the living room of his girlfriend – nowhere to hide and especially no Sherlock to blame.
Unsurprisingly he found himself in a less than pleased demeanour walking up the steps in Baker Street after what had been a fairly one-sided argument. He agreed with her, he'd been a complete arse, in more ways than one, and trying to suggest that Sherlock had feelings for Molly made things worse. In the end Mary concluded that he'd have to keep the consulting idiot from ever entering Bart's "Or so help me I will have you both for lunch." He didn't want to quarrel with her, and was now pursing his lips at the sight of his friend seated apparently deep in thought.
Sherlock was sitting with his hands pressed together, a pensive furrow in his brows, not taking to look up as John grudgingly dragged off his jacket in a rather furious manner than intended.
"Warning? Possibly, that would have been good – oh – John, just so you know I've told Molly that you were involved – it's not much – a text would do. I know how handy you are with those – that and real thrashing deliveries – Mary really used the word nuisance - a lot," said John, but his short rant served him no reaction from his friend. He quietly sat down, trying to remain calm, "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" started his friend looking up at him bewildered. "Oh – John – of course – yes, I told Mary," he said, before disappearing into wherever his mind was.
"Right," said John with a sigh, taking to rub his face, as he leaned back into his chair. "So - when I thought you'd reveal to Molly that you were Ben – you could probably have done it without the speech. Maybe even added a bit of humanity to it - since none of what Mary said sounded any good."
Sherlock didn't answer, merrily kept silent, before he looked up, "Timing John – timing – this was not the opportune moment."
When John had gotten to the flat, he hadn't visualized a man who'd be ready to go the next step, to admit that he was indeed pursuing Molly Hooper, but here Sherlock was inclined in his chair confidently – instead of skulking in his robe playing sad melodies long into the dawn, "The opportune moment?" asked John nosily.
"Too early John – well – might not be early, as you're here – I suppose Mary threw you out, then?"
John grimaced as an answer.
"I would have thought Molly would keep this one to her chest. She didn't feel inclined to reveal that we had shared a kiss, it seems to be - a bit peculiar."
"That's strange? You've hurt her - of course she phoned Mary – most people like to talk about their feelings, you know," snorted John.
"Feelings perhaps, but Molly likes to keep things close to her chest. She might be blunt on her delivery, but she seems to keep various incidents out of circulation from the general public – until prodded properly."
John blinked at this, taking to shake his head, "OK, so – when's this opportune moment, then?"
"Tomorrow," said Sherlock, as if this was obvious.
"You're not even going to give her a week?"
"Prolonging it John – wouldn't make it an appropriate moment – that would just be thoughtless."
"No – you're waiting Sherlock - I promised Mary you wouldn't be stepping into Bart's – give it a week – your opportune moment will probably be present then too."
"Are you going to stop me?" scoffed Sherlock, clearly amused by this idea.
John gritted his teeth, thinking it properly over, "No, I'm coming with you this time," he said with a grim smile.
"I don't need a caretaker."
"Well, it seems that you might just need one, really – considering - how this evening turned out."
"Molly's obviously already healing."
"I'm going with you tomorrow – that's it – no discussion," said John without waiting for Sherlock's answer, he walked off upstairs to bed.
He should have understood that when he woke up, and Sherlock was in a wonderfully cheery mood it was something to worry about. John should have followed his instincts, but they ate breakfast – everything went fine, until they were leaving for Bart's of course.
Sherlock went ahead for the taxi, as John grabbed for his jacket reluctantly albeit. He didn't really want to be the guardian in this case, as it didn't really suit him to force himself to overhear a conversation, which could turn unpleasant for him (besides maybe amusing). The moment he went outside, with the taxi waiting, and Sherlock stood slowly pulling on his gloves - holding the door open while looking at him expectantly- it should have been the clue.
He however didn't really think much of it, climbing into the taxi, finding the door being shut by Sherlock – and then the taxi drove off without him. It took a moment before John properly collected himself, being slightly too groggy, as the driver soon spoke to him.
"I heard you had a row with your girlfriend – your mates pretty understanding, I've got to say – so I'm sorry – what plans you'd thought you had – we're going to your girl Mary's flat," he said chuckling, his white moustache flapping over his lip.
"I'll pay you twice as much," said John catching the driver's interest, "If you take me to Bart's."
"Have you got that kind of money?" said the driver curiously, as John with a cheeky grin tried to bring forward his wallet – only to find it missing from his pocket.
"Sorry mate – sorting everything out with your girlfriend would be a better idea anyway."
"She's at Bart's," said John pointedly.
The driver just shook his head, "Your mate said you'd say that – he's a bright one that Sherlock Holmes, really. No surprise, I do love that blog of yours."
"Thanks," said John quickly adding, "John Watson – well, you already know that – what's yours?"
He was there, finally in place, back straight leaning over the microscope, blue eyes flickering over to the door, as he waited patiently for her to enter. She'd gone for some coffee apparently, according to the general conversation topics he'd heard – eavesdropping was a simple manner of tactics, and easy to come across in places as such -
"Have you seen what's she's wearing? Dressing up for them corpses, wouldn't guess she was like that," said a blonde nurse wagging her brows at a furiously blushing nurse.
Sherlock just withdrew at that, for there were some things that puzzled him, for Molly had been what television would call hot and cold; a mind-numbingly senseless way of putting it, but very true to her behaviour the previous night. John would of course suggest her being confused due to her having lunch with her ex Peter, or the texts from Ben, and then him. Yes, but there was something else – a simple coffee stain proved that – the dress – and the makeup put on afterwards. They lingered in the back of his mind, but he was missing something – just right out of reach. It was then she walked in – her brows connecting at the sight of him.
"You're here?" she said sounding startled, but not looking as shocked as he would have thought. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as he half-expected her to leave, but she entered the lab taking to sip from her Styrofoam cup.
"Obviously," he said not giving to look up from the microscope, waiting for the moment she warmed up to him entirely.
She just frowned at his reply, "I wouldn't think you'd be here really, I thought you'd have the decency to give me a week at least."
"People keep saying that - but I wasn't here for you."
"Right – well – people usually keep away, anyway."
"I had experiments to be done."
"You also have a very capable microscope – at home – better than ours," she said eyeing the specimen, which in turn caused her to giggle, "And - you've – err – you've examined those before too." His mock-samples had been a bad idea, especially when she had always had a keen eye for his studies – asking when she had no reason to ask.
He pressed his mouth closed in surprise, taking to look down at the brown-eyed pathologist who clearly was entertained, but soon took on herself a much more serious expression silencing herself with her sweet-scented coffee. Sherlock had given his speech some thought, knew where to put the well-aimed pressure, soften his gaze, as he'd slowly unravel her in that lab, but the minute he opened his mouth - "I am willing to forgive you," she quipped, brown eyes sparkling now, as her mouth quirked up.
"Oh?" he said standing facing her now. She seemed a bit daunted by this, her flush creeping up her face, but she didn't waver.
"If-," she started – his mind raced, as he finished the sentence "If we are to be strictly professional – if we are friends – if I never see your face here again - the scenarios playing out fully in his mind, but she ended it with "-we have an arrangement."
"I'm sorry?"
He blinked furiously at this, his blue eyes searching her steady brown ones, "I know it's probably a bit forward – I think we've gotten past that though," she said slightly apologetically, shielding her face with her cup, soon setting the cup aside, as she licked her lips without proper thought. He just stared in turn; trying to understand the look she gave him.
"Are you suggesting-," he began after a few seconds.
"Yes," she finished not letting him complete the sentence, her eyes never leaving his, as she gently put a hand on his arm. He raised a brow at the gesture, mouth half-open in astonishment, but she hastily retrieved her hand.
"An arrangement?"
"Yes, of sorts."
"I – I-," he attempted bewildered.
"I'll let you consider it - of course," she said biting her lip, soon stepping off, as he stood perplexed in the lab. He disposed of his samples in the waste, as he leaned on the counter. Molly was suggesting, indeed - something he knew would pop up at some point, considering their textual history up to this point, but he had thought it would be in a secure situation of sorts.
"Oh – sorry – forgot my cup," she said reappearing and grabbing her cup giving him a bit of an awkward shrug. "I hope I haven't scared you off - it doesn't need to be more than a one-time thing of course – I understand if it isn't your sort of thing."
"Isn't - my - thing?" he said in rather clipped tones.
Molly's mirth was undeniable, "Oh, you know – right - I should go – you know – work-," she said, halting all of a sudden, taking to look at him appraisingly.
He felt suddenly quite nerved by that blazing look in her eyes, for she moved much closer now, but he returned it with quirking a brow in reply, "I think you need to educate me - Molly."
There it was, the red cheeks, the stunned eyes, as she took to gasp slightly at this. This was certainly not what she had practised for, "I'm – oh – really?" she said clearly taken aback.
"Yes," he replied smugly.
"That can wait - I think," she said much more stronger, than she for the moment looked. Her pupils and flesh were betraying her, and she stood as rooted to the spot.
"Can it though?" he said turning the tables managing to press her up against the counter, and her eyes lingered for a moment on his mouth, before they swiftly went to his piercing gaze. He had his arms on either side of her now, leaning upon the counter, hovering over her face, as her mouth was half-open – her breathing much more erratic. He had closed in on her entirely, making it by no means easy for her to leave, not that it seemed she was inclined to do so.
"I'm actually having dinner with Peter," she said now for the first time looking somewhat angry, but by no means trying to disentangle herself from him.
"No, I think not," he remarked leaning closer to her face now.
She laughed at this, a proper one; "I'm not having dinner with you."
"Good - I'm not hungry," he said causing her to blanch.
Molly gave him a bit of a cross confused look, her breath smelled of sweet coffee -
"Oh – oh – oh – right," said the voice of John who had barged in, causing Sherlock to pull back, and Molly to hurriedly escape his clutches. "Timing," muttered John under his breath uneasily, as Molly gave him a tiny uncomfortable wave before walking off.
Sherlock glared at John from where he stood, not taking to say a word, as he soon picked up his mobile phone, which he pressed upon his ear, "Hello – James – I'd like an explanation please."
The conversation with James had turned a fruitful one indeed, catching Sherlock entirely up to speed with Molly's behaviour, "Revenge, apparently," he said to John, as they were back in Baker Street, for Sherlock needed some few items.
John drank his tea mulling the situation properly over, "So you're saying that they both knew – before you had said anything?"
"Yes," answered Sherlock who was going through his closet in his bedroom, throwing things around. John didn't question his actions, but he assumed they had something to do with Molly having dinner with Peter tonight.
"But they thought I wasn't involved?"
"Clearly – your girlfriend thinks very highly of you – I suggest you keep this one, John," said Sherlock stopping up for a moment causing John to grin. That was the first proper compliment he'd ever gotten from the man in his choice of a girlfriend. "Despite her texting habits. You might want to tone those down."
John proceeded to ignore the last comment, as he'd seen Molly's share just to know where Mary and her were alike.
"Well, I must say well-played – trying to make me jealous – even confuse me with an arrangement," said Sherlock with a sort of mad grin on his face.
"When you mean arrangement – you mean – err-,"
"Yes, John – yes, indeed – quite the thrifty original idea, really. Throw me off entirely - of course there were too many clues."
"She did have you."
"A little."
"She did, though."
Sherlock just scowled, "Jealousy? Really? – With Peter – of all people – Peter the dull beige doctor - with not a tiny bit of dark in him. Entertaining notion perhaps, where I would in a fit of passion appear at her date – I suspect also the reason Mary was very forceful in not wanting me to go to Bart's – knowing fully well I would not follow that order – simple really, and how excruciatingly stupid that they'd think that would work."
"Yeah, you're right – you'd not do that at all - I see how she completely went wrong with trying to make you jealous," said John knowingly. "You don't need to be so mad about it though."
"Who said I was mad?" said Sherlock looking rather delighted, than anything else, "I'll be going then – don't wait up."
"Believe me – I won't," said John taking a swig of his tea, as Sherlock ran out of Baker Street feeling quite hungry.
A/N: Dinner, anyone?