Chapter Seven

It turned out that Sherlock did remember several things outside of the blog, but nothing incredibly important; just small details. John would read through a sentence and start moving onto the next one, and Sherlock would interrupt ("Wait, I remember a yellow smiley face. Why?" "What about the boyfriend? Didn't Molly have a gay boyfriend on that case? Is that important?").

Another three days went by, though, and nothing more jogged itself loose. Although, Sherlock did seem content to occupy his time with the old cases. And it seemed to be having a positive effect on the detective.

"I've got it," said Sherlock as he walked into the kitchen with a case file in hand. "The tie was a dead giveaway."

"For?" asked Greg with a smile.

"The chauffeur," said Sherlock. "Obviously." He opened the file to look through it once more.

John looked over at Greg with a fond smile. "Obviously."

Sherlock dropped the file on the counter in front of Greg. "Do you have another?"

"Sorry, that was the last one," Greg told him.

"But I'm bored," Sherlock replied.

John's smile widened at the familiar situation. "Try some more books."

"Those aren't the same," Sherlock nearly whined. "The author only gives the clues he wants you to have so no one figures out the ending too soon. It's nothing at all like real crime-solving."

Greg shrugged. "Sorry."

Sherlock huffed. "You're useless." He turned and marched out of the kitchen.

John and Greg laughed as they watched their friend storm off toward the front door.

"Should we go after him?" Greg asked as Sherlock went outside.

"Molly's out there; he's fine," John told him.

Molly glanced up from her book as the front door opened and Sherlock emerged from the house. "Hey. Did you need something?"

"A case," pouted Sherlock as he marched over to the bench where she was sitting and plopped down next to her. "I'm bored."

Molly set her book aside and stood, holding her hand out. "Come on."

Sherlock frowned up at her.

"I'm offering you something to do," Molly told him. "Are you really going to turn it down?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached up with his left hand, grasping onto hers and standing. He followed along next to her as she led him around the back of the house. "I know that you all don't want to tell me too much so you know for sure if a memory comes back, but…how did we meet?"

Molly glanced up at him with a frown. "You really want to know that?"

Sherlock shrugged and looked away from her. "Well, I know how I met John from the blog, and Greg told me the other day about the case that we met each other on. I just…wondered…" He looked down at his feet awkwardly.

Molly smiled and looked out at the forest they were headed towards. "It was about five months before you met John. I had just been hired as a pathologist at Bart's. It was my second day, and you just came barging in, barking orders and demanding I assist you with your experiments."

"Experiments?" asked Sherlock.

"It's one of the ways you occupy your time. Sometimes, it's just an idea you had, but most of the time, it's to help you gather data for solving future cases. Like, erm…" Molly gave a soft huff of a laugh, "flogging a corpse with a riding crop to find out how long after death a body can bruise."

Sherlock smiled a little. "You have a different sense of humor than most people, don't you?"

Molly nodded. "A bit. The other children thought I was weird."

"So, the day we met," Sherlock nudged.

"You were barking orders and being quite rude," said Molly. "So, I told you off." She gave a nostalgic smile. "I think that was the first time someone did that to you. You had the most stunned look on your face."

Sherlock winced a little. "Sorry I was such an arse."

"Oh, you weren't being an arse. It was a test."

Sherlock frowned down at her as they reached the trees.

"You despise people that just go along with whatever you say," Molly explained. "You prefer someone with a spine, someone you can argue with and bounce ideas off of to help you get your deductions. So, you test people when you meet them. A lot of people don't pass. I did."

"Did I tell you all this?"

"Not until more recently," said Molly. "But at the time, after you immediately calmed down and went about your business, I had my suspicions." She spotted the hedge she was looking for. "We're here." She let go of his hand and moved towards the hedge, moving a tree branch out of the way. "There."

Sherlock leaned over and followed her gaze. "A bee hive?"

"Oh, yeah," said Molly. "You find them fascinating. And, I have to admit, they are interesting. The societal structure and hive mind of a colony is remarkable." She glanced over at Sherlock to see him staring at her in intrigue.

He instantly looked back at the hive, clearing his throat and frowning. Molly blushed and looked down at the hive with a smile.

John glanced up as the front door opened and then closed, and then Sherlock and Molly entered the sitting room.

"How in the world did you manage to keep him occupied for the last five hours?" John asked Molly.

Sherlock frowned. "We were out there for five hours?"

"Yeah," said John. "What were you doing?"

"Watching a bee hive, cataloguing animal tracks," said Molly. "Nothing big." She stifled a yawn. "But now, I'm exhausted. See you all tomorrow."

"Night, Molly," John called as she turned and headed up the stairs.

John glanced down at the newspaper he was reading before he looked up to see Sherlock watching Molly ascend the stairs. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't respond for several moments, and then he came into the sitting room, settling down across from him. "Were Molly and I dating?"

John frowned. "What?"

"Molly and I," Sherlock repeated. "Were we dating?"

John set his paper aside and leaned forward, his elbows on his legs. "Okay, walk me through this."

"I think I remember having feelings for her, or she had feelings for me, or something," said Sherlock.

John nodded, his frown easing. "Oh. Yeah, she had feelings for you, but you weren't dating. You're not interested in that sort of thing." He glanced over towards the fireplace. "How did you put it?" He looked back at his friend. "'Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side,' or something like that. You appalled romantic relationships."

Sherlock frowned, his eyes tracking away. "Are you sure? I could swear…"

"Trust me, you would never date," said John. "Anyone."

Sherlock looked back at him. "Did I mind that?"

"Not at all," John assured him. "You were perfectly happy the way things were. Although, if you ask me, you could maybe use a woman's touch."

Sherlock nodded before standing and heading towards the library.