Three days later, Sherlock put his plan into play.
Molly had barely spoken to him since they received the phone call and it was driving him crazy. The logical portion of his mind (the annoying part that sounded like Mycroft) told him that it shouldn't matter if she was angry with him or not, that he should be focusing on finding Moriarty, or whoever, so life could go back to normal. While he DID puzzle over it, he also spent a good deal of his time scheming out ways to regain Molly's good favor.
He hated to admit it but he missed the way she used to blush and giggle self-consciously whenever he was near her. He even missed when she berated him for being thoughtless and rude. Now, she was just silent and it was killing him. So he formulated a plan to get on her good side.
If I take her out for coffee, she'll be thrilled and go back to adoring me. He shook his head. Not that I want her mooning over me like before (he lied to himself, since when did he need to do that?) but anything is preferable to the deadly quiet that radiates from her now.
He grinned to himself before going to his closet and choosing his clothes with care. She loves this shirt, he thought, picking up the deep purple one that made her breath hitch when she saw him in it. He finished dressing (black suit and shoes) and pulled out the Belstaff and his favorite blue scarf. She loves this too. He smirked, shrugging on the coat and tying the scarf around his long neck before taking the stairs to her room two at a time in his eagerness while slipping on his leather gloves. It was a cold day in February and he was thankful for it. His signature look wasn't all that comfortable in summer.
He rapped loudly on her door before opening it without waiting for a response. There was a shriek and Molly dove into the bed, burrowing under the blankets. Sherlock's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of bare bottom and he quickly dropped his eyes to the floor.
"Ummm," he cleared his throat. "Sorry Molly. Forgot to wait." He clasped his hands in front of him and looked back up at her, her head the only thing showing above the duvet, and put on his best contrite expression.
She lifted a brow, obviously not fooled, and huffed. "What could you possibly want, Sherlock? I already told you that I don't want to help you with any experiments."
He shook his head and responded, "We are out of coffee and since it is such a cold day, I would like a cup." She made to berate him for the supposed demand, but he cut her off with a hand held up. "I thought you might like to accompany me to the café."
Her face was the picture of surprise, her mouth falling open and eyes widening before narrowing again in suspicion, her mouth tightening into a flat line. "Is this for a case?"
Sherlock pursed his lips, shaking his head at her. "Molly, really. Can I not ask you out for coffee?"
"Well you never did before!"
"Well I am now!" he cried out in exasperation. "You are making this rather difficult!" They stared each other down for a moment and Sherlock was about to give up and stomp downstairs for a sulk when she sighed, resigned.
"Alright, alright. We'll go to the café. Why, I don't know."
"For coffee, Molly. Obviously." She shot him a distrustful glare but made to get up. He remained standing in the door and she glared at him.
"I need to get dressed."
"Mmm," he hummed his affirmation. "That might help."
"Sherlock, OUT."
"Oh, right, sorry."
A few minutes later, she appeared downstairs, dressed in a hideous strawberry print jumper that Sherlock had to bite his lip to keep from commenting on.
"Where is your coat?" he asked as she pulled on a pair of leather gloves, more delicate than his and a light beige color. She let out a long suffering sigh as she settled a silly looking Peruvian hat on her head.
"You tore it apart to experiment on the synthetic fibers inside last week, remember?"
Now that she mentioned it, he did vaguely remember that. He felt a pang of regret, it really was cold outside. For a moment, he considered calling it off but she brushed past him, heading down to the front door so he merely trailed along behind, keeping his mouth firmly shut.
They walked in silence down the block to the tiny café. It was less than two blocks, still, she was shivering by the time they arrived. He opened the door for her, eliciting another surprised look, and followed her inside. Molly left him to stand in line as she went to find an open table in the crowd. Sherlock ordered their coffee, glancing around him as he waited, his jaw tightening as his gaze fell on a tall gentleman, leaning over Molly and chatting with her.
She had a genuine grin on her face, one that he hadn't seen in a while, and a wave of annoyance surged up in him. He snatched the mugs of coffee from the barista and stalked over to the two happily conversing people. He plunked her mug down in front of her rather harshly and turned to stare down the man, preparing to rip him apart.
How dare he flirt with my pathologist? he thought, jealously. He opened his mouth and out of the corner of his eye, saw Molly bury her face in her hands, knowing exactly what was coming. Sherlock eyed the bloke and launched into his deductions, barely breathing between sentences.
"Married with a young child, probably daughter, judging from the slight remnants of pink sparkly lip gloss on the cheek. Girls wear that, not women. Ring mark on finger, indention still visible but fading, so going through a rough patch then, the ring has been off several weeks. Nail polish stain on the shirt sleeve, knocked it over when it was left open on the counter, grown women use that so they still live together. I suggest you don't pursue this one, Molly." Sherlock smirked in triumph looking to Molly who was stricken. His smile faded a bit as he took in the expression. The man glared at Sherlock icily, taking stock of his rival and then glanced down at Molly.
"Is this your boyfriend?" She shook her head vehemently and he seemed to believe her. "Of course not. No one could deal with such an arse." He turned back to Sherlock and gave him a cold smile. "You're wrong actually."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. He was sure of his deductions but before he could defend them, mystery man resumed. "Even the great detective can be wrong apparently. I do have a daughter, four years old, but my wife died in a car accident nearly two years ago. I have just recently taken off my ring because I wasn't comfortable without it until not too long ago. As for the woman in my house, that would be my younger sister. She's crashing at mine until she can find her own flat close to the university."
He turned back to Molly with a true smile. "Now, can I take you to dinner sometime?" She blushed and nodded, giving him her phone number before he strode out the door, leaving Sherlock and Molly in awkward silence.
He dropped to the seat in front of her and they drank their coffee, not making eye contact the entire time. Sherlock finished first, scalding his mouth a bit in the process, and sat fiddling with his cup, waiting for Molly.
Well, that plan failed miserably. It's all that idiot's fault. And Molly. How dare she flirt? At least Meat Dagger was obviously a copy of me. This guy looked nothing like me.
Sherlock mentally reviewed the man. Tall, dark hair. Those were the only similarities. Instead of bright blue, the stranger's eyes were a warm brown. He was broader than Sherlock too, and was quite fit. He didn't even dress like Sherlock, favoring a faded pair of jeans and long sleeve tee shirt, with a pea coat to keep out the cold. Sherlock sneered at the specter of the man in his mind.
Peeking at Molly, Sherlock tried to push down the overwhelming possessiveness he felt towards her. His anger at the bloke flirting with her had clouded his mind and his deductions had been wrong. So what she wanted to pursue someone? I don't want her. Not my area.
He fought the urge to put his head in his hands. It was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself he was not interested in the small woman across from him.
She finished her coffee and stood, and Sherlock trailed along behind. The second they stepped out the door onto the street, she shivered violently. She didn't say a word however, just started walking towards the flat. Sherlock paused a moment and shrugged off his coat before swiftly catching up to her and wrapping her in it. She looked up at him, startled and confused. Sherlock stared down at her for a second, gazing first at her lips then into her eyes. Molly's breath hitched and he was unsure if his did the same.
Abruptly, he pulled back and took off speedily down the street calling over his shoulder to her. "Go back to the flat. I have something to do first." Molly shook off her daze and made to chase after him, then seemed to think better of it and turned towards 221B.
Sherlock raced down the streets, his breath visible in the air before him. It was evening now and he was getting quite cold, but was persistent his search. Finally, he found the shop he was looking for and entered, browsing a while before selecting a beautiful, warm grey coat in Molly's size. After a moment's thought, he also picked up a scarf that was almost identical to his own. He purchased them and had the salesperson box them up. Sherlock balked when the young woman suggested a bow though.
He hurried back to the flat, discovering his own coat draped across his chair and heard the running of the bath upstairs. He slipped soundlessly up to Molly's room and left the box on her bed before retreating to his own room for the night.