Molly added two more cups to the tray she had prepared before Sherlock and John entered - well more specifically tried to break into her flat. She motioned to the table, where John and Nick Case, a long-time friend and, as of the previous night, lover where seated. While the army doctor seemed, the least to say, ill-at-ease, Nick was looking as if the whole situation was the funniest thing in the world. As she sat down and put the tray on the table, her lover decided to start the conversation:
"So, Dr. Watson, what is your specialty?"
"Well… Hmm, trauma surgeon but nowadays, I'm mostly a general practitioner." Replied John, trying to look as if the situation wasn't at all strange. Sitting there, in Molly's apartment, chatting with the man that had clearly spent the night with a friend and all that while his best friend was looking for a flash disk in the bedroom of said friend. To add to the surrealism of the scene, the man in front of him looked straight out of a soap opera, not at all the kind of man he would have imagined dating Molly, who while his friend, would be described by most as mousy.
"As it is, I find that general practice is where you have the most interesting cases." Said Nick "well, that and PMs, it seems" and he glanced at Molly who blushed a little.
John was still trying to reign in his curiosity. So, the man was also a doctor? Nick smiled even wider as he observed the surprise on Watson's face.
"Yes, sorry… Dr. Case as it is. I'm a diagnostician at Borough, a private hospital near Boston."
"We met when I was an exchange student at John Hopkins in my last year. We've been sending each other emails since then." Added Molly, she side glanced at the diagnostician and he draped his arm on the top of her chair.
Then, a loud thud sounded in the bedroom and they all turned their head to try and guess what happened. Sherlock exited the room and marched to the table and frowned:
"John, should I remind you we aren't here for a social call?"
"What is it Sherlock? What do you want me to do? It's not like I know where you put that damn flash disk?" passively-aggressively replied John
But the detective wasn't listening, instead he turned to the pathologist, registering the smile of the man who had his arm draped around her back. His eyes narrowed and against all his best judgement, he did something he had promised himself not to do again. It took him just a few second to deduce him: American, Jogger… no, not anymore, a slight injury to the left leg… trying to compensate with working out at the gym but not the same endorphin hit obviously… Arrogant… Doctor, most probably… Known Molly for a long time… Clear intimacy between the two and… He stopped there, suddenly reminded why he had decided a long time ago that deducing the pathologist's boyfriends was not a good idea. Nevertheless, he was irritated. He took the remaining mug on the tray, gulped down the tea and dismissively told the pathologist:
"Molly, I thought that I said to put the gun away… Or at least, put back on the security. A bullet-injury while serving tea would be a terrible story to tell at the hospital."
Suddenly, four pairs of eyes stared at the small .38 gun on the tray. Molly turned beet-root red and seized quickly the gun from the tray. In less than 15 seconds, she had reengaged the security on the gun as well as ejecting the bullet that was in the canon and removing the bullets case. Then she put the gun at the other end of the table. When she finished, she saw that the three men were looking at her. She blushed again and stuttered:
"M-m-my father t-t-taught me. Sorry."
She looked apologetically at John, who was looking at her as if she was spitting snakes and then at Nick. He smiled and told:
"Don't apologise to me. I'm American. I'm culturally biased towards women handling guns." He winked at her.
She blushed and grinned a timid smile. Sherlock choose that moment to interrupt:
"So Molly, before your brain cells are anymore lust-addled, could you tell me please where is the ridiculous clock you had on your night stand?" said the detective clearly annoyed that the man would find the right words to reassure Molly.
"W-w-what? My clock?"
"Yes, you know the one with the kitten. Speed up, I don't have all day." Said Sherlock. This was annoying, between his blogger, his arms crossed and looking as if he wasn't sure that this was real, a woman that shouldn't be on the rebound so soon after her failed nuptials, not to mention the other one, and finally, an item he had been so sure to leave in the one place that wouldn't be disturbed, everything seemed to prove him he'd been wrong. He hated when he was wrong.
"Well, it's in a case in the spare bedroom… with some stuff that were at Tom's…I didn't…"
"Clearly, Molly, I don't care." interrupted the detective before storming out of the room to go to the spare bedroom.
"Does he always do that?" asked Nick.
"It's in his habit yes." Answered John, somewhat getting back to Earth. "So, Molly, you know… guns."
"Oh, a little, my father was in the army you know… He taught me when I was 14. We used to go to the shooting range sometimes… It was… nice" she said, clearly remembering fond memories. "But… I never used it outside the range you know…" she looked horrified at the mere thought "It's just that with the things happening right now… I thought that… you know." She relented, clearly not wanting to discuss the return of Moriarty in front of her new boyfriend. Something that John could sympathize with.