I supressed a yawn. It's been hours now that I've been sitting in the lab and had just finished reviewing the latest analysis reports. My back ached from being hunched over for so long and I rubbed the sore spot soothingly.
Furtively, I looked across the room to the other side where Sherlock studied something through the microscope. A few strands of hair hung in his face. It looked so sexy and cute at the same time. Although I would have liked to stay just to watch him for a while longer, my tired body won out. It was getting late. I got up and approached him, but Sherlock didn't look up when I stopped next to him. Instantly, my heart beat faster just from being near him. At some point, I would probably die of a heart attack. "Made some progress?" I cleared my throat awkwardly when my voice came out thinner than I had expected.
"Yes," Sherlock replied in that dark, velvety voice that gave me goosebumps every time, "I still don't know what it is, though."
As he spoke, I kept watching at him. Oh, he was so perfect. The pale blue eyes, frantically moving back and forth looking for a clue ... those cheekbones ... the perfectly manicured hands that held the microscope ... Suddenly, I noticed Sherlock looking back at me puzzled. Was I staring again? I blinked and smiled sheepishly. "Well, I'll be on my way home now. Are you gonna stay, or...?"
He tilted his head. "You're leaving already?"
I chuckled. "It's past midnight."
Prompted, he checked the time. "Oh … No, I want to conduct a few more tests. But I'll walk downstairs with you, I need something from the basement."
"Okay," I said, trying not to let that smile become too obvious on my face. I grabbed my jacket and Sherlock followed me into the hallway. When the doors of the elevator opened, Sherlock entered first and pressed the button for the basement. I waited a moment, assuming he would push the button to the ground floor for me as well, but he was busy working on his phone. So I leaned over and pushed the button myself.
The doors closed and the elevator descended smoothly while I glanced at Sherlock. I literally soaked these moments I was with him up like a sponge to keep them indelibly in my mind. Later, when I went to sleep at home, I would recall them all one by one and dream about them.
Suddenly the elevator jolted so violently that it almost knocked me off my feet. I was just able to hold on to Sherlock so I wouldn't fall. The lights went out.
"What happened?", I asked shakinly in the pitch black room. Then the emergency lights came on, bathing the room in a surreal red light.
"The elevator got stuck, obviously," Sherlock replied. "Probably a power failure- ..." His eyes widened in shock. "Oh no … oh no, damn it!" He slammed his palm against the metal wall of the elevator. "The computer data! A whole day's work - gone! ... No, wait a minute!" He put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes in concentration. "The data is in my head, I just have to memorize it."
I watched him and cleared my throat softly. "Uh ... shouldn't we get some help first?"
Sherlock didn't answer, nor reacted in any way that would indicate that he had heard me. He just remained in that pose and was obviously unresponsive right now.
Well, while he was thinking, I could just as well try to get someone's attention to our situation. I went to the emergency intercom and pressed the button. A few seconds later, I heard a male voice. "Emergency operator, please state your location and name."
"Uh, Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital. We're stuck in the elevator."
The intercom creaked with static. "Hello, please state your location and name."
"Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital," I repeated louder.
"Hello?"
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
"Yes, please state your location and name."
"Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital."
"Hello?!" Silence. "Some prats tampering with the emergency button again…," he muttered, seemingly to someone else with him, then he hung up.
"No, no! That won't work that way!," Sherlock groaned in frustration before he opened his eyes.
I looked at him, seeking help.
"Problem?" he asked.
"The emergency intercom isn't working."
Sherlock stepped toward me and pressed the button. He stood so close to me that I could smell his aftershave which made the pit of my stomach tingle.
"Emergency call center, please state your location and name."
"Sherlock Holmes. We're stuck in the elevator at St. Bart's. It's urgent, I have data on my computer that-"
Static. "Hello?", the voice creaked.
"Hello!" said Sherlock, annoyed. "This is Sherlock Holmes at St. Bart's!"
A pause. "Now you listen to me, the misuse of the emergency call is a criminal offense! Stop it!" And he hung up.
Sherlock stared at the intercom in irritation.
"Maybe we could try again in a few minutes," I said.
Sherlock nodded and looked around. He took his phone out of his pocket and checked the display. "I'm not getting any reception here." He held up the device and walked around the elevator, which looked pretty funny to me and I tried to hold back the giggle. I dug out my phone as well.
"I don't have any either."
Sherlock sighed. Impatiently, he turned his phone off and on several times. I noticed his discomfort and smiled encouragingly. "Maybe you can tell me what you found out about the poison you've been working on, perhaps it will be more memorable for you should the data on your computer really be lost."
"No," was all Sherlock said, and began pacing.
"Okay ...", I muttered, defeated.
Sherlock stopped in front of the elevator door and regarded it with a stare as if he tried to open them with the mere force of his thoughts. His slender fingers gripped between the two doors and with all his strength he tried to push them apart. A strained groan escaped his throat. The door gave way a few inches, but not more than that. Gasping, Sherlock pulled his fingers out and the doors snapped shut with a clang.
Suddenly he swung around and stared at my handbag. "What do you have in there?"
"Uh ... nothing really, just some of my stuff-"
Sherlock held out his hand. "May I?"
Without thinking, I handed it to him. He rummaged around in it for a few seconds before he turned it over and let the contents clatter to the floor. My wallet tumbled out, flipping open as it did and remained lying on the floor that way. Behind one of the clear pockets was a photo: it showed me and Sherlock at last year's Christmas party, side by side. My smile was bright, Sherlock's was fake. The photo was folded over so that Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, who were in the image, too, were not visible.
My cheeks burned uncomfortably hot as Sherlock lifted his gaze from the picture and just looked at me. I picked up the wallet hastily. "This ... I, uh ..." What was I going to say now? "This is not what ... what ... it might look like ..." Embarrassing! I wanted the ground to swallow me. Of course Sherlock knew that it was exactly what it looked like.
To my relief, he didn't linger on that, but instead probed the contents of my bag. Keychain, umbrella, pocket mirror, lipstick, nail file, deodorant.
"Nothing useful," he muttered.
I began putting my things back in the bag and was glad the awkward moment was over. Afterwards, I slid down the wall until I felt the floor beneath me. Tiredness came over me. It had been a long exhausting day.
Sherlock still stood in front of the door, hands on hips, impatiently tapping his foot before he looked back at me. "Are you going to sleep now?"
"Is there anything else we can do? We'll have to wait until someone finds us or the power comes back on."
Sherlock huffed, displeased by that outlook and ran his hand over his mouth and chin. Once more he went to the emergency intercom and pressed the button. Static and crackling noise sounded, then a soft beep. Silence.
"Looks like it's completely broken, now," I commented.
"Are you going to try deduction now? Better don't," snapped Sherlock.
Well, thank you very much. I gave him a reproachful look. Sherlock paused and seemed to have taken the hint, because he walked over to the opposite side and lowered himself to the floor as well. Leaning his head back against the wall, he stared at the ceiling.
I beheld the long neck that ended in the loosely unbuttoned shirt collar. Oh God, what I would give to feel his closeness just once. As I regarded him, I wanted to say something, talk to him, but no matter what topic came to mind, I immediately discarded it, thinking I might bore him with it. On the other hand, this was a unique opportunity. Me, being alone with Sherlock.
"So, uh ... apart from the poison, how are you getting on with the case?", I asked.
"Not a good topic, Molly."
It wasn't going so well, it seemed. "I thought the last case was very impressive. How quickly you caught the guy. Who would have thught the embroidery on the handkerchief was the key!"
Slowly, Sherlock lowered his gaze from the ceiling. "Don't tell me you read John's blog?"
"Uh ... yes, of course I do. It's very interesting. I love it." I smiled at him.
Sherlock looked up at the ceiling again. His silence filled the room.
Nervously, I chewed on my lower lip. Somehow I felt that it was up to me to keep the conversation going. What could I say? My mind was a blank.
Just to do anything, I began rummaging around my bag as if I were looking for something specific and at the same time felt quite stupid about it. What could I possibly be looking for, there wasn't much in the bag anyways. Eventually, I pulled out a small pocket mirror, just to keep up the appearance that this was the item I've been looking for. I held it up and looked at myself.
"Why are you nervous, Molly?"
His voice almost made me flinch after the silence. I lowered the mirror and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry?"
"You're uncomfortable. You rummage in your bag, even though you know exactly what's in it. You 'check your makeup' even though you can't see anything in the dim light anyway, not to mention the fact, that you don't even waer makeup. You only have the pocket mirror with you because you feel a woman should have something like that in her handbag. Same with the lipstick, you take it always with you, it looks quite worn from the outside, but you never wear it."
I stared at him gobsmacked for a moment, then lowered my head in embarrassment. Once again he had looked right through me, bared my soul, and not shied away from confronting me with his deductions. Under other circumstances I would have stood there puzzled until he would have turned away from me lackadaisical and returned to his work. But now the situation was different. He couldn't just disappear and I couldn't distract myself with work.
After what seemed like an eternity, I found my voice again, "It's funny, really", I smiled humorlessly, shaking my head.
Sherlock raised his eyesbrows and just looked at me.
"You always make me feel like I'm a person of no interest. Unremarkable. Disappearing in plain sight. And yet you notice such small details."
The corners of his mouth quirked upwards for a second. "Just because I notice these things doesn't mean you're an interesting person."
My head snapped up. Had he really just said that? A stab went through my heart. "Who's interesting to you, then? Crazed psychopaths who chop people up?" Bitterness toned my voice, but hardly carried weight due to my uncertainty.
Sherlock actually seemed to be thinking about my words, because his answer didn't come out immediately. "The unexpected is interesting, Molly. I can read you like a book, you are predictable. That's boring. What's exciting is when the expected is not fulfilled."
I listened, spellbound. His words reached my ears, but the loud pounding of my heart almost made it impossible for me to understand.
The unexpected. Do something unexpected. Surprise Sherlock Holmes!
The only question was: how. An idea popped up in my head, but I couldn't possibly do that. I would die doing that and how would he react? No, I couldn't.
For a while I stared at the floor, pondering. How could I surprise this incredible man? I, the average of the average. My thoughts wandered here and there for a while, but always came back to my initial idea. He would never expect that. Maybe this was my chance to do something that changed things between us after all? To the positive? My heart raced as I furtively looked over at him. He was still staring at the ceiling as if that was the most interesting thing in the whole world.
Do it, Molly! Go on, do it!
Slowly, I rose and approached him, settling down right next to him. My heart pounded violently hard, it felt like it was about to jump right out of my chest. Sherlock turned his head, staring at me in a little bit of astonishment.
Astonished - that was good, he really didn't expect that.
I looked at his fine features, the pale eyes, the curved mouth. Sucked in his scent that threatened to cloud my senses. Go on Molly ... have some guts. Slowly I leaned in to him, getting closer and closer to his face, anxiously watching his reaction before finally closing my eyes and letting my lips touch his.
I was glad I was already sitting, otherwise my wobbly legs might not have been able to support me. His lips were warm and soft and oh god, it was just magical! A warm feeling pooled in my stomach and a small adrenaline rush ran through my body, releasing happy hormones. The kiss lasted only a second, but for me the world had stopped.
When I pulled back from him he stared at me unchanged - expressionless. Suddenly, embarressment crashed over me like a wave and a blush colored my face. Had I gone too far? Did Sherlock find me repulsive? Oh God, what was I doing!
"I ... I ... I'm sorry ...", I stammered and back away.
Sherlock just kept looking at me, which made me feel even more unsettled. Why wasn't he responding? He should be yelling at me, rejecting me, whatever, just anything! I wanted to run away. This elevator suddenly felt like a prison.
"Don't do this, Molly." His voice sounded soft and even darker than ever.
"Don't do what?" I asked shakily.
"Trying to be someone you're not. You want approval and attention, and you're willing to give yourself up to get it."
A sobering feeling came over me. Why had I gotten my hopes up in the first place? No one could really be that naive.
"I, yes, ... I know." I moved away more from him, showing I myself was no longer convinced of what I had just done. I buried my face in my hands and wanted to just vanish. Horrified, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Oh no, you're not going to cry now! That's even more embarrassing! Hastily, I wiped my face and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, I heard something rustling. Sherlock had turned slightly toward me so that he could look at me properly. "Molly ..."
I lifted my head and looked at him hesitantly. Oh God, how would I ever be able to look him in the eye again outside of this elevator? Those beautiful eyes that never failed to captivate me and that I dreamed of every night.
"Molly," he said again, looking me firmly in the eyes. "I hold you in high esteem as a pathologist and a medical doctor, but these feelings you have for me, I can't reciprocate."
I nodded. How could I even think that such a brilliant man like Sherlock Holmes would put up with a woman like me. A gray mouse with no self-confidence and who stuttered when she was excited. "I understand you're not interested in me," I said quietly, but Sherlock shook his head and looked away for a moment.
"It's not you," he finally said softly, before gazing back again. "It's me."
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "But ..." My mind just went blank.
"I made up my own mind to put my work first in my life. My work is the most important thing to me, without it I am ... only half a person." A tiny smile appeared on his face, but it vanished again quickly. "Do you understand? I live the way I do because I choose to. Contrary to what many think, I am very capable of love. It's just that I've found that it's not beneficial to extend that love to a person."
My heart clenched at his words. What kind of experience had he gone through that he thought this was the way to live? I realized that Sherlock Holmes must be a person who had once been very hurt. I looked up at him, holding his gaze for a moment. "Perhaps", I said softly, "it is time to reassess the situation."
The small smile he flashed at my words made my heart leap, I even heard a deep, velvet laugh that gave me pleasant shivers as he leaned back against the wall again, tightening his legs and resting his arms on his knees. "I'll give it some thought," he said, looking up at the ceiling again.
I looked at him silently for a while longer, smiling. And now I was glad after all that I had mustered up the courage to do what I did.
Maybe this was the beginning of something new.
Something unexpected.