Molly Hooper let Sherlock, John, and Lestrade into her lab. Sherlock didn't even bother to give her a hello, just bustled past her to view what equipment she wasn't currently using. She gazed after Sherlock for a moment, before turning back to the other two men, blushing slightly. "Come on in," she said.
John gave her an apology smile, and walked in past her. Lestrade stayed in the doorway for a moment, before saying, "I'm guessing this is going to take awhile. I better be getting back to the Yard. Call me if anything comes up?"
When Sherlock didn't respond, John rolled his eyes and agreed the he would call if anything changed. Lestrade bid them farewell, turned on his heel and left. Sherlock said nothing as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began his examination.
"So who do you suppose it was?" John asked Sherlock, who had his eyes pressed against a microscope.
Sherlock blinked and responded with a "hmmm?"
"The woman on the phone...The crying woman?" John was pacing back and forth, running through every scenario of who it might possibly have been on the other end of the phone conversation.
"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there." Sherlock's tone was flat and bored. Sherlock didn't want to extrapolate on anything yet, most certainly not the most trivial point of the whole situation.
"Oh for God's sake...I wasn't thinking about leads." John screwed his eyes shut, trying not to get angry with Sherlock's apparent lack of concern for the life of another human being.
"That won't be of much use to her..." The computer next to Sherlock was running a program, trying to analyze the compound he'd found on the soles of the sneakers.
"Are they trying to trace the call?" John's voice quivered a bit at Sherlock's lack of emotional involvement. How can he not care that this woman's life is on the line? Someone called him out by name...This is for him...She might die for him... He banished that last train of thought because it made him sick to his stomach. He shook his head. I know Sherlock, he'll solve this...He'll save her.
"He's too smart for that," Sherlock answered John's question after a brief pause. He was slightly irritated with John's excessive questions. He was trying to focus on the object under the microscope. Not to mention his phone was buzzing with texts. "Pass me my phone," he said, a demand rather than a question.
John let out a huff. "Where is it?"
"Jacket."
John glanced around the room quickly. He pressing his eyes closed again and counting under his breath to ten when he realized Sherlock was wearing the jacket. Sometimes he just wanted to punch Sherlock in his smug face. Lazy bugger can't even be bothered to reach into his own pocket? But nevertheless, John crossed the room and fished in Sherlock's pocket for the mobile.
"Careful!" Sherlock bemoaned when John's hand scraped down the inner lining of the jacket, finding it's way into the pocket there.
John let out another sigh and moved his had slower. He hadn't realized that what made Sherlock jump was John's hand sliding down over his nipple. Even through the fabric of his dress shirt, he had felt the sensation. He knew he couldn't let his mind wander, he had a limited amount of time to sole this...puzzle. But god did John's hands feel good.
Glancing at the phone, John quickly read the notification on the screen. "It's a text. From your brother."
"Delete it."
"Delete it?"
"The plans are out of the country by now. There's nothing we can do about it."
"Obviously your brother thinks there is. He's texted you...8 times. Must be important..." John was reading through the messages from the elder Holmes.
Sherlock leaned his head back, one eyebrow raised, feeling a huge annoyance from John's very presence at the moment. "Then why," he began, "didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"
John looked confused, and Sherlock began to explain that Mycroft rarely text if he could talk. But he stopped mid explanation. Shaking his head and making a comment about his brother being dull and about someone else being "delightfully interesting."
John's anger bubbled up and he couldn't refrain from telling Sherlock, "Try to remember there is a dying woman at stake here."
"Why?" Sherlock shot back. He glared at John. "We're in a hospital full of dying people Doctor," he practically spat the last word from his mouth. "Why don't you go cry at their bedsides for all the good it will do them?"
John balled his hands into fists, thinking he really might punch Sherlock for this one. But before he had a chance, the computer dinged. The search was complete.
Molly returned as Sherlock was pouring over the search results. "Any luck?" She asked.
"Oh yes." Sherlock said with audible relief. Perhaps he was worried about the woman after all, thought John.
As Molly made it to Sherlock's side, the lab door opened and a skinny, short man in a tight grey shirt stepped in.
"Jim!" Molly exclaimed. He made to apologize for interrupting, but she waved it away. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." She waved her hand in the general direction of Sherlock, who only glanced up briefly at the man named Jim. But in those few seconds, Sherlock made at least 7 deductions about Jim. He glanced back down into the microscope. "And this is Doctor John Watson." Molly smiled at John and then back at Jim.
John looked Jim over, trying to use everything he'd learned from Sherlock to figure out who the man was in front of him. Jim was a very slim man, he wore a tight, v-necked, grey t-shirt and cargo pants, which hung low on his hips, John could see the hint of bright green boxers clinging to the tanned skin of his waist line. He noticed the long chain he wore round his neck that disappeared into his shirt, the outline of which could be seen on his mid-chest. He black hair was short cropped, and styled, and his eyebrows were impeccably tweezed. John also noticed the way Jim kept glancing at Sherlock and biting on his lower lip.
John bristled with jealousy. Jim didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to John, but rather began walking eagerly to where Sherlock was sitting. "Hello," Jim said, almost a little shy. "Wow, Molly's told me all about you. Working on one of your cases?"
"Jim works in IT upstairs," Molly explained. "That's how we met. Office romance." She let out a nervous little giggle, and kept her eyes fixed on Sherlock, waiting for a reaction. John and Jim both joined in her laughter, and it John's intention at least to lighten the tension.
John was suddenly aware that everyone in the room was looking at Sherlock, who was paying none of them any attention. John almost burst into laughter at the thought that every one in the room was hugely affected by how gorgeous Sherlock is. He'd seen Molly's crush on Sherlock of course, but he felt almost sorry for her as he watched her boyfriend checking-out the detective. John couldn't help but let a smug grin settle on his face at the thought that Sherlock was his.
"Gay." Sherlock muttered. He couldn't help himself. Everyone in the room had heard it, but when Molly asked what he'd said anyway, he tried to play it off and said, "Nothing, umm hey."
A loud clatter made all of them jump. Jim had knocked a metal tray off the table Sherlock was sitting at. He hastily tried to pick it up. He replaced the tray and with an embarrassed expression said, "well I better be off." She walked over and put his hand on Molly's back. I'll see you tonight around 6ish?" Molly nodded and smiled up at him. "Bye," Jim said with a final longing look at Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you." Jim stood there for a moment waiting for Sherlock to respond.
When the silence got uncomfortable, John decided to free them all from the situation. "You too." Jim nodded at John and then left the lab.
When Jim was out of the room Molly asked Sherlock, "What did you mean gay? We're...we're together." Her voice shook, and her eyes widened when Sherlock sucked in a large breath. John knew where this was going, Sherlock always needed a lot of oxygen before going through a string of deductions.
"Domestic bliss must suit you Molly. You've put on 3 pounds since last I saw you."
"2 and a half." John saw Molly's eyes begin to glaze with a thick set of tears. She was fighting to hold them in.
"Well...3."
"Sherlock," John tried to stop Sherlock. He didn't like where this was going. Sure, even John had been able to pick up that Jim was gay, but did Sherlock have to be so harsh in telling Molly. And to point out weight gain, that's just rude.
"He's not gay!" Molly shouted. "Why do you have to spoil...He's not...He's not." Molly was trying hard to ignore what she'd observed herself. We're together, he can't be gay, she kept thinking over and over.
"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't facing John, but John felt he could hear the roll of Sherlock's eyes.
"Because he puts a little product in his hair? I put a little product in my hair." John was interjecting, trying to save Molly anymore embarrassment on Sherlock's behalf.
"My point," Sherlock mumbled, and John fixed him with a glare. Sherlock couldn't hold back his train of observations. But it was the last example he gave that really hit Molly like a ton of bricks. She could have denied everything else Sherlock had said, but when he told her, "He left me his number under this dish here," she pursed her lips. "I suggest you break it off now. Save yourself the pain."
Molly blinked rapidly trying, but failing to hide her tears. She turned sharply, her lab coat flapping behind her as she exited the lab, leaving John and Sherlock alone once again.
Sherlock watched after Molly, genuinely confused. What did I say? He had honestly been trying to be helpful. Wouldn't she rather know now that he's using her? He could hear John sigh behind him, and so knew a lecture was coming.
"Charming...Well done," John said, folding his arms across his chest.
"I was just trying to save her time." Sherlock was trying to keep his composure, but he was unsure of himself, he didn't like being unsure of himself. "Isn't that kinder?" The question didn't effectively mask his uncertainty, and John saw through Sherlock's attempts to fool him.
"No...no Sherlock. That wasn't kind." John had softened his voice, attempting to show Sherlock that he wasn't angry and that he was glad that Sherlock's intentions had been good.
Sherlock attempted to change the subject, nudging one of the shoes towards John, "Go on then."
John tried to deny the invitation, but Sherlock pressed him. He even went so far as to say that a second opinion was important to him. John had shaken his head at that, almost laughing out loud. "Really," Sherlock had said in response to John's disbelief.
John's heart skipped a beat when he looked into Sherlock's eyes and saw, what he believed was affection, looking back at him. He allowed himself to smile at Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow suggestively in return.
John did his best at imitating Sherlock's deduction strategies. In the end, Sherlock applauded him for his attempt, but pointed out everything that John had missed (which apparently had been everything that was important).
In the midst of explaining everything he had discovered about the shoes to John, Sherlock stopped mid word. Realization etched his face. "Oh," he said softly.
John couldn't help but look at him, confused once again. He waited for a moment, wondering if Sherlock was going to explain what was going on. Finally, John decided that the chance of Sherlock divulging his thoughts without being pressed was extremely low. "What?"
"Carl Powers." Sherlock's voice was still low, as if he was conveying a secret.
"Sorry?" John stepped closer to Sherlock in an attempt to hear him better.
"Carl Powers."
In the cab ride back to Baker Street, Sherlock explained to John the Carl Powers drowning. He had always believed that it hadn't been the "tragic accident" the newspapers had called it. John listened intently, but didn't ask any further questions, and when Sherlock fell silent, he left him to his own thoughts. He looked down at his phone and noted that they had just passed the 6 hour mark, 6 hours to go.