Expectation

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Molly couldn't justify what she had just done. The paper in her trembling hands had her doing a double take each time she gazed down at the numbers boldly printed against stark white.

"It's not that bad." Molly said to herself and her eyes trailed near to the side where the discarded department store bag had been left. She tried to reason with herself.

"Any amount is too much." she was mumbling and went back over the receipt in her hand and slowly grinned. The female cashier was right, the clothes she had gotten were mere pennies considering the brand and where she bought them... but still... spending money for herself seemed so... so selfish.

"Come on, Molly. It's alright to splurge just a little, right?" Oh, here came the guilt!

If Mrs. Hooper was here she'd probably be chastising her daughter for buying 'fancy' clothes. Why would you pay for clothes, regardless of sale or markdown, when you could use hand-me-downs or easily tailored do it yourself?

Oh! But this was the modern ages! It was about time for Molly to take a step for herself in the right direction. Just... how was she going to pull this off? It wasn't as if the clothes were beyond extravagant. They were just more fitting, nicely patterned and colored, plus also were very up-to-date.

Well, good thing Sherlock had left early today for that secret case of his. This means Molly would have to give Hamish the misfortune of seeing her dressed to... her age. He was a friend, right? He'd be able to help her and give her a man's thoughts on if her clothes fit her before she'd flaunt them to Sherlock.

Perhaps she was coming to terms with her femininity... or she was just crazy. Yep. She must have been crazy! An absolute loon! Buggering mad!

"I thought so..." Molly frowned when Hamish had stared at her with his solemn expression—seemed like someone had died. Grim and distasteful humor for two people who worked in a morgue.

"Does it make me look too old? Or is it just not right?" Molly flattened her palms over her abdomen and frowned down at the cream colored silk blouse.

Hamish frowned at the way his colleague acted and crossed his arms. "Has Sherlock seen this yet?" his voice was deeper than usual. Oh, he must have really hated her clothes!

Molly looked up sheepishly and shook her head 'no'. "I wanted your... opinion first... I trust you. Sherlock wouldn't notice or he'd shoot me down in an instant." She was unsure if she was strong enough to handle that. To see all her hard work burn right before her as Sherlock shrugged her off. He'd probably say rude things. More than likely tell her how 'fashion' did not suit the meek and mousy. Then again, Sherlock would probably give her one look and not care. Perhaps that would be the hardest thing for Molly to come to grips with than any verbal disagreement.

"Asking a man to voice his opinion and thoughts of another man's wife is... cruel, Molly." Hamish cleared his throat and stepped up closer to the female. His body easily towered over her as his hands roamed from her shoulders down to her wrists. There was something behind those blue eyes of his that had Molly not only blushing but intimidated as well. There was danger in the air between them.

Sherlock had to bite his tongue as he looked his wife over. Her clothes were not cheap. She had probably more than broke the bank with this quality piece of cloth. Dare he say it—or admit: Molly was... stunning.

Her clothes neither made her look too gaudy or too dressed up. Her clothes were casual and befitting of her personality. He liked it. The thought of 'liking' something had the disguised detective swallowing a sour taste from his mouth.

"You are exquisite." Hamish confessed and had to pull himself back when Molly gasped and giggled.

"Thank you!" Molly blushed and clasped her hands together. "I hope Sherlock likes it." she didn't know what possessed her to keep talking but she did. "I-I just wasn't sure, you see. I couldn't go home to Sherlock and find out he didn't approve."

Hamish had busied himself with papers; he couldn't look at Molly and not get a sort of reaction. He was both seething and... confused. He was seething at the fact his very own wife had come to a man she trusted and asked for his approval before she had gone to Sherlock himself. Her husband. That was down right betrayal in his book. Well, maybe not exactly to the severe extent. But still! How dare she?! How could she?!

The confusion bit... was from the jealousy, yet... the feeling stirring somewhere in the pit of his stomach had the detective anxious. It was disgusting. He had found interest in his wife... not just attraction but actual... affection. The feeling wasn't familiar nor did he know what kind of 'affection' he had for Molly.

What was all this? He was not only attracted to her but... had feelings. What were they? Marital feelings? A fine line brimming towards love? No, that couldn't be.

Oh! This was all too much! Emotions. Feelings. Love. Affection. Jealousy. What was going on? Why was this so much harder to understand and simplify? Why was everything so complicated and so... difficult! Everything was so bloody difficult when it came to his human aspect.

Sherlock pondered momentarily... was he even normal? Was he normal enough for society's standards? Well? Was he? Or was he just ill? Must be. Right?

"I don't think he knows that... I'm afraid." Hamish was veered from his thoughts and he gazed over at Molly; she had placed her lab coat over her clothes and pulled her hair to the side and away from her face. She looked unsure now.

"Afraid of what?" he asked softly.

"Of his approval. Of what he thinks of me. Of what might never be." she was talking far too serious now.

"Might never be?" he questioned her.

"You know? Love." Molly cleared her throat a little before continuing. "It's silly right? Wanting him to love me back. Even just a little."

"Why do you need love? Can't you just... live without it? It's bothersome and tedious and pointless." Sherlock was beginning to break through his disguise and he wasn't even noticing. He was treading on dangerous ground. He was so close to blowing his cover.

"You sound exactly like him," her tone of voice was not condescending in the least. It was nostalgic.

"Love is the greatest mystery known to man." How simple.

He began to dislike that smile she showed rather frequently, "Maybe it's Sherlock's greatest challenge as well."

Molly was brilliant without even knowing it.

Sherlock felt offended.

Was she challenging him?

Reviews, rants, thoughts, comments are most welcomed and encouraged :D Flaming marshmallows will be eaten and disregarded!

To me, Sherlock is very disassociated with the world and especially people. I don't think he's incapable of empathy and emotions and such. However, if he ever felt such things. They would be... strange. Weird.