tomorrow I'll miss you
Title: Tomorrow, I'll Miss You
Rating: Child
A/N: My first Sherlock fic, starring Molly and Sherlock with a guest appearance by Graham Gavin Geoff Greg Lestrade. With love to Court for the beta.
"So you see when the sample turns that pale blue colour it indicates-"
"He doesn't understand," Sherlock singsongs from the workbench behind her. "Just give him the answer and he can go away."
"Now wait a minute, I do understand," Lestrade insists. "It means..." he looks sheepishly at Molly, "that..."
She smiles. "It's positive."
"Great! So the tosser was there at the scene."
"At least his clothes were."
"The clothes he was wearing when we picked him up."
"Guilty then?"
"CPS will try for a conviction based on this." He touches her arm and smiles broadly. "Thanks, Molly. You're always faster than our lab. Nicer too."
She shrugs. "It wasn't hard. It's just simple chemistry."
"Don't you have someone to charge, Lestrade?" Sherlock interrupts. "Or someone to arrest? You know, actual police work?"
"This is police work!"
"Standing around chatting with Molly isn't police work."
"You're right. As usual." Lestrade smiles again. "Although I shouldn't say that. Don't need a bigger ego, do you."
"Well-" Sherlock begins.
"Drinks again tonight, Molly?"
"Of course." She nods enthusiastically. "About seven?"
"Great!" He tips his head to her in a mock bow and she grins, then he raises his voice. "Bye, Sherlock."
"I thought you'd gone," Sherlock mutters, eyes pressed against a microscope.
"Apparently not," Lestrade shrugs. "Bye, Molly."
"Bye." She wriggles her fingers in parting then returns to her petri dish, poking the glass with a pipette.
The lab is silent for a few moments, just the sounds of gently whirring machines, then: "Do you drink every night?"
She looks up at Sherlock in surprise. "Sorry, what?"
"With him. Do you go out every night, drinking?"
"You make me sound like a lush," she laughs, then in response to his raised eyebrows, shakes her head. "Of course we don't. Just a few times a week."
"Spend a lot of time with him while I was dead?"
"Does it matter?"
"Nope. Why should it?" He clears his throat. "Do you have the control sample ready yet?"
"Yes." She leans across the bench to hand him a test tube and then focuses on her own experiment. She carefully adds acid to the dish one drop at a time, waiting for the colour to change-
"He likes you."
She looks up and frowns, confused. "What... who?"
"Lestrade."
"Of course he does, we're friends, Sherlock. Friends like-"
"No," he interrupts. "Not friends."
"Yes we are!" she insists, the frown deepening. "I am capable of having friends, you know."
"Well-"
"Human friends, not cats." She reaches for a new tube of acid and waves her spare hand dismissively at him. "Go back to your microscope."
"I didn't-"
"You were going to say it. We both know it." He's silent and she whips her head up again to glare at him. "What?"
"You like him too."
"Of course I do. He's nice, and kind, really funny, and he has never been dead."
"Unfair, Molly."
"Sorry, yes. Being dead has nothing to do with being nice does it?"
"You're in a bad mood," he states, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, you could tell."
"You're not that good at hiding emotions."
"Whereas you have no emo- sorry, that was unfair." She sighs. "You're really annoying, sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" He quirks a tiny smile.
She matches his smile with a much wider grin. "Mostly."
"But you do like him."
"Yes, I just told you that."
"No, Molly," Sherlock says with as much patience as he can muster. "You like him."
She stares at him and then rolls her eyes. "I do not."
"Let me count the ways."
She frowns again. "I'd really rather you didn't."
"Fine, then I'll tell you why he likes you. One, he always smiles when he talks to you. Two-"
"I'm not doing this with you."
"Two," Sherlock continues, "he always touches you, your arm, hand, shoulder."
"And that means he likes me?"
"Oh, it's a lot more than that. And you don't stop him."
"Just because you don't like being touched doesn't mean other people-"
"So you like it when he touches you."
"I didn't say that."
"Three, he's always asking you about your day, your cat, what you had for lunch, what you thought about whatever was on television last night which, mind you, is always rubbish."
"You certainly do pay a lot of attention to us," she observes, dryly. "Anyone would think you were jealous."
"Careful, Molly, your claws are out."
"I've had experience with horrible people."
"Stop it. It doesn't suit you."
She opens her mouth to reply then snaps it shut. "I don't want to talk about Greg."
"Greg?"
"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade."
"His name is Greg?" he sounds surprised and she rolls her eyes with irritation.
"You know very well it is and now you're being obnoxious."
"Thank you."
Molly grits her teeth. "It wasn't-"
"A compliment, yes, I did understand your intention there."
"Might I remind you I'm engaged."
"Means nothing." Sherlock waves a hand in the air. "Even being married means nothing."
"To you, maybe, not to me."
"I see." He stares pointedly at her. "Set a date yet?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
Her face flushes. "We've been... there's, um... because."
"Because. The answer of those without imagination to lie."
"Oh!" she huffs. "Oh, OH JUST-"
"Yes?"
"Shut UP!" she exclaims. "Or leave my lab and work in your kitchen at home."
"Don't be silly."
"Leave." She folds her arms and glares at him. "Now!"
He dips his head in deference to her rage. "I apologise. And I thank you for the space you choose to share with me."
"And now you're mocking me."
"No. I am truly thankful." He flashes a small, quick smile as she sighs.
"Fine. Let's return to work and no more will be said about Greg and me."
"Good. That conversation was tediously dreary."
"You started it!"
"I was just making an observation. That's what I do."
"Then do it in your head next time," she pleads. "Don't... don't interfere."
"I won't. Love whomever you want to love, Molly. Marry whomever you want. Whether it be whatshisname in the coat, or the good Inspector."
"It's not going to be Greg."
"If you say so."
"I do say so," she insists. "I don't like him that way."
"Mmm, right. Except you do."
"Why?" she snaps angrily, "why do you say I like him? You were gone for two years. You don't know me anymore! You think you do but you don't!"
"Bored now!"
"There has to be a reason!" she presses. "Unless you're being you, trying to make trouble, trying to-"
"Your eyes light up when he's in the room, Molly. You smile when he talks to you."
"That proves nothing," she scoffs. "I just like being with him. He's a good friend."
"And you want more."
"That's not true!" she exclaims.
"You want more. You're either lying to yourself or you haven't realised it yet."
"How do you know it then?"
He pauses and then says quietly, "Because you look at him the way you used to look at me."
"What?" Her voice is strangled.
He doesn't look at her as he pulls the slide from the microscope and locks a new one into place.
"Sherlock?"
He fiddles with the dial, and leans in to peer into the eyepieces. "You heard me."
"Sherlock!"
"You have your answer."
"But-"
"Bored now," he mutters.
Rating: Child
A/N: My first Sherlock fic, starring Molly and Sherlock with a guest appearance by Graham Gavin Geoff Greg Lestrade. With love to Court for the beta.
"So you see when the sample turns that pale blue colour it indicates-"
"He doesn't understand," Sherlock singsongs from the workbench behind her. "Just give him the answer and he can go away."
"Now wait a minute, I do understand," Lestrade insists. "It means..." he looks sheepishly at Molly, "that..."
She smiles. "It's positive."
"Great! So the tosser was there at the scene."
"At least his clothes were."
"The clothes he was wearing when we picked him up."
"Guilty then?"
"CPS will try for a conviction based on this." He touches her arm and smiles broadly. "Thanks, Molly. You're always faster than our lab. Nicer too."
She shrugs. "It wasn't hard. It's just simple chemistry."
"Don't you have someone to charge, Lestrade?" Sherlock interrupts. "Or someone to arrest? You know, actual police work?"
"This is police work!"
"Standing around chatting with Molly isn't police work."
"You're right. As usual." Lestrade smiles again. "Although I shouldn't say that. Don't need a bigger ego, do you."
"Well-" Sherlock begins.
"Drinks again tonight, Molly?"
"Of course." She nods enthusiastically. "About seven?"
"Great!" He tips his head to her in a mock bow and she grins, then he raises his voice. "Bye, Sherlock."
"I thought you'd gone," Sherlock mutters, eyes pressed against a microscope.
"Apparently not," Lestrade shrugs. "Bye, Molly."
"Bye." She wriggles her fingers in parting then returns to her petri dish, poking the glass with a pipette.
The lab is silent for a few moments, just the sounds of gently whirring machines, then: "Do you drink every night?"
She looks up at Sherlock in surprise. "Sorry, what?"
"With him. Do you go out every night, drinking?"
"You make me sound like a lush," she laughs, then in response to his raised eyebrows, shakes her head. "Of course we don't. Just a few times a week."
"Spend a lot of time with him while I was dead?"
"Does it matter?"
"Nope. Why should it?" He clears his throat. "Do you have the control sample ready yet?"
"Yes." She leans across the bench to hand him a test tube and then focuses on her own experiment. She carefully adds acid to the dish one drop at a time, waiting for the colour to change-
"He likes you."
She looks up and frowns, confused. "What... who?"
"Lestrade."
"Of course he does, we're friends, Sherlock. Friends like-"
"No," he interrupts. "Not friends."
"Yes we are!" she insists, the frown deepening. "I am capable of having friends, you know."
"Well-"
"Human friends, not cats." She reaches for a new tube of acid and waves her spare hand dismissively at him. "Go back to your microscope."
"I didn't-"
"You were going to say it. We both know it." He's silent and she whips her head up again to glare at him. "What?"
"You like him too."
"Of course I do. He's nice, and kind, really funny, and he has never been dead."
"Unfair, Molly."
"Sorry, yes. Being dead has nothing to do with being nice does it?"
"You're in a bad mood," he states, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, you could tell."
"You're not that good at hiding emotions."
"Whereas you have no emo- sorry, that was unfair." She sighs. "You're really annoying, sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" He quirks a tiny smile.
She matches his smile with a much wider grin. "Mostly."
"But you do like him."
"Yes, I just told you that."
"No, Molly," Sherlock says with as much patience as he can muster. "You like him."
She stares at him and then rolls her eyes. "I do not."
"Let me count the ways."
She frowns again. "I'd really rather you didn't."
"Fine, then I'll tell you why he likes you. One, he always smiles when he talks to you. Two-"
"I'm not doing this with you."
"Two," Sherlock continues, "he always touches you, your arm, hand, shoulder."
"And that means he likes me?"
"Oh, it's a lot more than that. And you don't stop him."
"Just because you don't like being touched doesn't mean other people-"
"So you like it when he touches you."
"I didn't say that."
"Three, he's always asking you about your day, your cat, what you had for lunch, what you thought about whatever was on television last night which, mind you, is always rubbish."
"You certainly do pay a lot of attention to us," she observes, dryly. "Anyone would think you were jealous."
"Careful, Molly, your claws are out."
"I've had experience with horrible people."
"Stop it. It doesn't suit you."
She opens her mouth to reply then snaps it shut. "I don't want to talk about Greg."
"Greg?"
"Lestrade. Greg Lestrade."
"His name is Greg?" he sounds surprised and she rolls her eyes with irritation.
"You know very well it is and now you're being obnoxious."
"Thank you."
Molly grits her teeth. "It wasn't-"
"A compliment, yes, I did understand your intention there."
"Might I remind you I'm engaged."
"Means nothing." Sherlock waves a hand in the air. "Even being married means nothing."
"To you, maybe, not to me."
"I see." He stares pointedly at her. "Set a date yet?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
Her face flushes. "We've been... there's, um... because."
"Because. The answer of those without imagination to lie."
"Oh!" she huffs. "Oh, OH JUST-"
"Yes?"
"Shut UP!" she exclaims. "Or leave my lab and work in your kitchen at home."
"Don't be silly."
"Leave." She folds her arms and glares at him. "Now!"
He dips his head in deference to her rage. "I apologise. And I thank you for the space you choose to share with me."
"And now you're mocking me."
"No. I am truly thankful." He flashes a small, quick smile as she sighs.
"Fine. Let's return to work and no more will be said about Greg and me."
"Good. That conversation was tediously dreary."
"You started it!"
"I was just making an observation. That's what I do."
"Then do it in your head next time," she pleads. "Don't... don't interfere."
"I won't. Love whomever you want to love, Molly. Marry whomever you want. Whether it be whatshisname in the coat, or the good Inspector."
"It's not going to be Greg."
"If you say so."
"I do say so," she insists. "I don't like him that way."
"Mmm, right. Except you do."
"Why?" she snaps angrily, "why do you say I like him? You were gone for two years. You don't know me anymore! You think you do but you don't!"
"Bored now!"
"There has to be a reason!" she presses. "Unless you're being you, trying to make trouble, trying to-"
"Your eyes light up when he's in the room, Molly. You smile when he talks to you."
"That proves nothing," she scoffs. "I just like being with him. He's a good friend."
"And you want more."
"That's not true!" she exclaims.
"You want more. You're either lying to yourself or you haven't realised it yet."
"How do you know it then?"
He pauses and then says quietly, "Because you look at him the way you used to look at me."
"What?" Her voice is strangled.
He doesn't look at her as he pulls the slide from the microscope and locks a new one into place.
"Sherlock?"
He fiddles with the dial, and leans in to peer into the eyepieces. "You heard me."
"Sherlock!"
"You have your answer."
"But-"
"Bored now," he mutters.