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“Oh, hi!” Molly said. She’d been crossing the ninth floor of the Yard towards Greg’s office when she ran straight into him, accompanied by Sherlock and John. All three of them looked a bit worse for wear. They greeted her with a chorus of hellos, sounding tired but clearly trying to muster up some energy for her.
She’d not seen Greg or John in a while, but Sherlock had stopped by Bart’s to test samples a handful of times in the past few weeks. He was friendlier now, but every time she’d cheekily asked after John he had just said that John was fine, and given her a look implying that she should shut up immediately.
“I have your lab results,” she told Greg, pointing to her bag.
“Great, thanks,” he said.
“I can head out, if there’s a case,” she said. “Don’t want to interrupt.”
“Case’s over, we’ve just finished our statements,” John said.
“Oh?” she asked. “What was it?”
“Serial poisonings disguised as heart attacks,” Sherlock said.
John beamed. “He was brilliant, he spotted these strange seed thingamabobs at all the crime scenes.”
“Yes, I believe that’s the technical term for them,” Sherlock deadpanned, but with a bit of a smile.
John nudged him. “Come off it, I’m trying to compliment you.”
Sherlock flushed faintly, and Molly grinned at him and raised her eyebrows. He frowned sternly at her.
“You alright, John?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you at Bart’s.”
John shook his head. “It’s been chaos at the surgery.”
“Sherlock said you were in Cornwall.” She could see Sherlock glaring at her out of the corner of her eye. “That must have been nice.”
John laughed, but didn’t sound at all amused. “It was a bit shit, actually.”
“Oh no!”
“Yeah, well. I went with this girl, and we broke up in the middle of the trip.”
“I didn’t know,” Molly said sympathetically. She glanced at Sherlock, who was suddenly fascinated with a corner of the ceiling. “That’s too bad.”
Greg laughed. “I’m impressed you got her to go with you in the first place, based on your track record.”
“Ta, Greg.”
“It’s true, more than thirty percent of your dates are called off early,” Sherlock added.
“And whose fault is that?” John asked.
“Yours, I’d imagine. Those women are only…” Sherlock cut himself off with a huge yawn.
John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Okay, off to bed.”
“It’s only noon,” Sherlock protested.
“And we’ve been up for two days.”
“Hardly a personal best.”
“Don’t push it.” John turned to look at Greg and Molly. “We’re off, I think.”
“Thanks for the help,” Greg said.
“Didn’t really have a choice, did we?” Sherlock asked. “Can’t have London relying on you lot.”
“Piss off.” Sherlock smiled at this, and John rolled his eyes.
“Molly,” John said, nodding at her as he walked past. Sherlock ducked to the side and kissed her cheek, then followed John.
On instinct, Molly’s hand came up to touch the spot. John turned and gaped at Sherlock like he’d grown a second head. Sherlock looked smug when he saw John’s reaction, and Molly wondered if he’d planned this. She didn’t mind, as long as it got the two of them to talk.
When they had gone, she turned back to Greg, who looked supremely amused.
“Do you two get on now?” he asked her.
“Yes. It’s nice. We’re friends, sort of. We’re not together,” she clarified.
“No, I didn’t think you were.”
“It was never going to work between us, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Slowly, she said, “I’m not really what he’s looking for.”
Greg grinned. “Thank god you’ve worked that out. I was about ready to pull you aside some time.”
“I knew, but. Just me being silly. Wishful thinking. Friends is good though. He’s finally stopped calling me John.”
“At least that’s one problem sorted.” Greg said suggestively.
Molly looked at the Yarders milling about, most of whom Sherlock had royally ticked off at some point. “I’m going to get some water,” she said, and Greg followed her to the water cooler in the corner. They each poured themselves a cup.
Molly clutched her little paper cup. “You saw that as well?” she asked in a low voice.
“Yeah.”
“Poor Sherlock. I tried to talk with him, but you know what he’s like.”
“Hold on, you spoke to him about this?”
“Yes. Bit awkward, but I tried.”
Greg gaped at her. “Bloody hell, what did he say?”
“We didn’t really get anywhere, but he acknowledged it. Sort of.”
Greg shook his head. “You’re a braver man than I am, Molly Hooper.”
“You and John have never talked about it?”
“Christ, no.”
“He’s never said anything?”
“Well, there’s been a couple of times. But only during the rugby, when he’s completely pissed.”
“That still counts.”
“Maybe. But you can’t bring it up once he’s sober.”
“Have you tried?”
“Ha, there’s no way that’s happening.”
Molly frowned. “Why not?”
“Are you trying to get me killed? John still carries tha-” he broke off with a loud cough. He drank the rest of his water and poured himself another. “You’ll have to do it, if you care so much. You’re cute, he’ll spare you.”
“I would, but he and I don’t always get on.”
Greg snorted. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Please? They’re our friends.”
“Are they? Proper arseholes, the pair of them.”
“They mean well.” Greg raised his eyebrows. “Okay, not really,” she said. “But if they manage to work things out, it’ll make your life a lot easier.”
Greg considered this. “I’ll ask John once,” he said, holding up a finger, “and if he shuts me down I’m not trying it again.”
“Okay.”
“And it’s your fault if I end up on that slab of yours.”
Molly smiled. “I’ll be careful with you.”
Greg shook his head. “God, I must be sleep deprived.” He peered into his cup of water, then tipped his head back and downed the entire thing like a shot.