Work Text:
“Stupid…machine…” Sherlock Holmes whipped around in time to see Molly Hooper storming towards the bench in an obviously steaming rage, swiping at the front of her blouse with a dozen napkins. She quickly adjusted her lab coat and breathed heavily, pulling on her gloves, “sorry, Sherlock, you were saying?”
“The case is taking longer than I anticipated and I need an extra pair of hands,” he offered his sweetest smile as a method of persuasion but Molly had long since become immune, only blinking at him in reply. He rolled his eyes, “I need to see Mrs. Shephard-“
“Can’t do it. Paperwork…”
His eyes narrowed, “yes, but-“
“I thought you said you’d have this finished in a couple of days,” she folded her arms smugly, raising an eyebrow at her now uncomfortable friend. She couldn’t resist teasing him, “it’s almost taken a week.”
“Molly Hooper, you’re being extremely difficult,” he uttered through gritted teeth, an annoyingly sexy frown on his stupid face. Damn him…
“Oh, if only there was something I could do,” Molly sighed, tapping her cheek with her finger pointedly; the consulting detective, who’d been about to put on the biggest pout of his life, gave to sighing and stepping forwards to kiss her softly on the cheek. Molly smiled, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She turned and strolled over to her fridges, finding Mrs. Shephard in a matter of minutes; she withdrew the slab and threw off the cover concealing the corpse.
“Her liver was quite fascinating to examine. Severely damaged by alcohol; it’s over there if you wanted to poke around,” she offered, glancing quickly over her shoulder. The detective instantly lifted his head, quickly appearing at her sides with a slight redness to his cheeks.
“Sorry?” He blinked, smiling innocently; Molly, however, rolled her eyes and shook his head dismissively.
“Never mind.”
Come over. Mollyx
Busy. SH
I didn’t ask. Mollyx
Sherlock didn’t know what it was - her new found self-confidence, the way she’d been walking in her new skirt or the patting down of her coffee stained chest - but he was on his feet and in a cab bound for her flat within minutes. John would say he was whipped. He had needed to view the body but her presence beside him was suffocating and he’d made a hasty exit – damn his inability (and unwillingness) to work with anyone besides her; he ruffled his hair, wondering just what is was he was getting himself into.
Within no time, Sherlock was waiting outside the door to her flat – thoughts and ideas swirled around his mind leading to conclusions and deductions. He dismissed them and gently knocked once on her door, preparing to turn and walk away-
“It’s open.”
He frowned; she’d sounded…quite different. Almost strained? Perhaps she was in pain. The horrifying thought alone propelled his legs forward and over her threshold-
“Close the door! You’re letting in a draft.”
Sherlock, who’d been staring at her in wide-eyed wonder, blindly kicked the door closed and blinked rapidly – well, there she was, bending and stretching on a yoga mat, wearing a pair of tight workout leggings, a short t-shirt and her hair up. He looked around to keep from staring, wondering what on earth she needed him for. He thought it best to ask.
“What are you doing?” To me, he finished in his head. She just laughed.
“What does it look like?”
He said nothing and simply watched her for a moment; when it became apparent she wasn’t about to offer and explanation to why he had been summoned, Molly threw him a glance over her shoulder.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” she said boldly, finally putting him out of his misery by standing up; she smiled, “what do you need?”
Her heart positively fluttered at his answering smirk.
“You.”