I threw my hands in the air, I said show me something
The week starts with a familiar routine – he's bored, she's busy.
She's showing a woman's body to be identified by her husband, when she notices Sherlock by the observation window. She shakes her head at him, hoping he gets the message. He's interrupted a viewing before.
"It would've been thirty years next month," the deceased's husband says, his face pale.
"I am very sorry, Mr. Turner," she tells him. She's never liked this part of her job and feels like her words of sympathy are trite in the face of loss. The police officer who had accompanied him offers the same sentiments.
The husband turns to her and it's a look she's all too familiar with, "Did she suffer?"
Even when the answer is yes, Molly is always careful in choosing her words to deliver the facts. She believes the truth is important but it doesn't have to be given harshly. She's grateful that in this instance it's very straightforward.
"She most likely lost consciousness very quickly and didn't feel a thing."
Mr. Turner nods, "Thank you, Doctor."
Sherlock comes in when Mr. Turner and the officer leave. He gives Mrs. Turner's body a cursory glance but Molly can tell from his impassive face that it holds no interest to him.
"You took my toes," he says to her when she's done putting the body away.
She replies tartly, "You weren't using them."
"But it's important."
"You said it was important five weeks ago, but you ignored them as soon as I delivered them to you."
He grins at her wolfishly, "You were wearing a new bra and I had to know if the knickers matched."
She raises her eyebrow, "So you're blaming me for distracting you?"
"You're always a distraction, Molly Hooper."
She knows it's meant to be flirty, but somehow it feels like a barb.
::
"John thinks it's a bad idea."
"What do you think?"
"I think you'll tell me when I get things wrong."
"Do you?"
"I trust you."
::
She asks him to leave the morgue when he hovers as she's performing an autopsy. She reminds him that she's not his lab assistant when he demands her to fetch various chemicals and paraphernalia. He commandeers her computer and loudly mocks people's emails to him as she's preparing for a lecture.
She's coming back from a staff meeting and is contemplating giving him the blasted toes, but he's gone. And, to her surprise, there's a message explaining his absence. "Case" a post-it note on her computer screen tells her.
It's certainly easier getting through her tasks without Sherlock hassling her every five minutes. She's used to it, yes, - and she enjoys his company most of the time - but there were days that she had enough to deal with on her own. While she hopes that his case doesn't put him in danger, she also hopes it's interesting enough to keep him occupied for a while.
An hour after she gets home on Friday, he shows up at her flat with a dress and a pair of high-heels.
"We need to leave by eight," he says, raising his eyebrows at her outfit.
She's showered and already in her cosiest pyjamas. She's been looking forward to having a lazy night-in and there were dvd boxsets to get through. Toby's already made himself comfortable on the couch.
Though she's tired, the intrigue of going undercover with Sherlock sways her and she agrees to help him. He's been hired by an insurance company to assist with a string of jewelry theft and he's narrowed it down to two suspects. He wants to gather more data at a private jewelry show tonight.
Of course the dress fits her perfectly and the shoes make her legs look longer. She takes care with her hair and make-up, making sure not to overdo them. Sherlock comes into her room just as she's deciding on which earrings to wear.
"Forgot these," he tells her, as he hands her a jewelry box.
It contains a pair of diamond drop earrings and a matching tennis bracelet.
"Are these real?" she asks, her hands hovering over the beautiful items, afraid to touch them.
"They're on loan for tonight."
"I can't wear these," she protests, but Sherlock takes the box and puts the bracelet around her wrist.
"We have to look the part," he tells her as he's about to put the earrings on for her, too.
She stops him and does it herself, "And you're sure the ringleader is one of the guests?"
"Positive," he says, giving her the once over.
He doesn't say anything, just leaves her room. As she follows him, she feels silly for expecting him to comment on how she looks. He's on a case, she reminds herself.
::
"Please stop humming."
"Excuse me?"
"You're humming, it's distracting. Cease."
"…excuse me?"
"And the cleaning. Please stop the cleaning. I need to access my mind palace."
"How about you access your mind palace at your own flat?"
"I'm comfortable here. As long as you keep quiet."
::
"I'm William Vernet and you're Margaret Davis, we've been together for two years. I come from old money, we both work in the pharmaceutical industry, we both met through work," he explains their cover story briefly in the car to the event.
She doesn't mention her surprise that her cover name is her middle name and her mother's maiden name, but instead asks, "Are there any specific things you need me to look out for?"
"Just chat with them, I'll do most of the work."
Although she's assisted him many times out in the field with cases, they've never assumed different identities before. It seems exciting and surely attending a posh party is an improvement over her initial plans. Three hours later, she almost regrets coming.
He'd played the solicitous partner to perfection. Charming, attentive, calling her 'Darling' as if he did it everyday. Had she not known that it was all an act, she would have fallen for 'William Vernet'.
He's confident that he's solved the case when they leave the event. He's full of buoyant energy, while she's feeling even more tired than before. She looks at him from her side of the dim car and feels resentment settling in.
Of course she prefers Sherlock's honesty to the false compliments he's used on her in the beginning. She's flattered that he appreciates her intelligence and expertise. She knows he trusts her and she values that immensely. She's thrilled that he's sexually attracted to her.
She'd not been blind when she'd agreed to embark on a relationship with Sherlock. He's certainly never pretended to be the perfect boyfriend and she's never expected him to be. She doesn't doubt that he cares for her and that he's doing his best.
But why does she feel like she needs more?