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“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
Meena leaned back in her chair at the canteen, nodding. “Bloody hell, Molly. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who can see more than one color in the world? Why do you keep it to yourself?”
Molly was quiet for a moment. Through some trick of fate, she could see various shades of blue and green as well as some shades of purple, when they were more tinged with blue. When the old woman in the village where she grew up who had the Gift had found out she had told Molly that both she and her soul mate were Anomalies. How could that be, she had asked? Her eyes were a dishwater brown. But the woman had taken a good look at her eyes and said she could see flecks of honey and gold and chocolate and amber. Possibly even bits of green, in the right light, though she wasn’t sure.
Anomalies were rare. Hazel-eyed people, people with two different coloured eyes, people with heterochromia...all anomalies were bonded with like. And news like that always seemed to be devastating. It never seemed to end well. But Molly had decided long ago she didn’t need her soul mate. These were modern times. The wives tales of nine hundred generations past meant little to her. And she got to see such beautiful sights...what more was there to ask for?
But back to Meena’s question. “The pity, I suppose,” she said. “You know how the world looks on Anomalies.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Meena replied with a nod before she sipped her coffee. “Well, it’s a good thing you saw the blue stain on the corpse or His Highness would have popped his top.”
Molly giggled. “His Highness” was the nickname for the rather handsome man helping Scotland Yard on investigations. He was supposedly a consulting detective, whatever that was. He had a lab upstairs and the rule was to leave him alone. She hadn’t had any dealings with him yet but those who had said he was at worse a major arsehole and at best a prat. Frankly she hoped she didn’t have any dealings with him but as the specialist registrar who was most frequently at the lab since she could see so many colours she doubted her luck would hold out. “He might have nicer qualities,” she said, more out of wishful thinking than anything else.
“Doubtful,” Meena said with a smirk before glancing at her watch. “Whoops. Have to dash, love. Take care, alright?”
Molly nodded. “You too.” She watched as Meena stood and then exited the canteen just as “His Highness” entered. If she recalled correctly, his name was Sherlock Something-or-other. He made a beeline for her table and she decided to concentrate on her salad instead of him, to show she did not appreciate his rudeness. He sat down uninvited and she said nothing for a few moments until he began drumming his fingers on the table. “Yes?” she finally asked.
“Does your soulmate have some shade of blue eyes?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” she said, spearing a tomato and some lettuce, and then adding a chunk of chicken for good measure. “Apparently my soulmate has heterochromia. I see blue, green and some shades of violet.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I see,” he said slowly. “And do you, per chance, have hazel eyes?”
She pulled her focus away from her food and then looked up at him, and then suddenly she felt it, the pull between them that everyone said all soul mates felt, the irrevocable bond that said “You are mine and I am yours.” She dropped her fork in shock and stared at him for a long moment, trying to speak before the words came out. “You’re my--”
“Soul mate,” he finished quietly before he extended his hand towards her. “Sherlock Holmes.”
“Molly Hooper,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. She felt a tingle at his touch and then she gave him a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“As you have saved my skin from a severe chemical burn when I was going to ask to examine the body on my own, the pleasure is mine,” Sherlock said. “When I heard there was a specialist registrar who could see multiple colors who had hazel eyes, I had thought, perhaps, I should see if there was a chance that she might be the one I was destined to be with.” He paused. “If you have time, I have questions about your autopsy of Martin Jameson. Perhaps over coffee? And perhaps later, more personal questions over dinner?”
Molly nodded. “I have time for the coffee now, I suppose,” she said, giving him a wider smile. “And dinner sounds lovely as well. It’s a date.”
“It is,” he said, letting go of her hand with some reluctance. He stood, motioning to the doors of the canteen. She looked at the last of her salad. There wasn’t much left, and a pastry would fill her up just fine. She gathered the container it was in and stood to take it to the rubbish bin, feeling her heart flutter in excitement. She hadn’t expected this at all, but she was certainly pleased. She had the feeling this was going to be the beginning of something extraordinary, and she hoped she wasn’t wrong about that.