"Tuesdays with Molly" - a Sherlock fanfic (2/4)
Where Molly has some heart to heat with some unexpected guests.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Molly shivered as another gust of cool air entered the room. She adjusted her lab coat, mentally cursing at her poor choice of clothing today: a simple pink blouse and pencil skirt combination that did nothing to keep her warm. She checked off her tasks on her clipboard and, after making sure everything was in the right place, she turned off the lights and left the room, locking the door behind her. She walked back to her desk absentmindedly and began to hum a song she had heard on the radio that afternoon during her lunch break.
The upstairs offices were completely dark. Molly sighed; Mike must have forgotten that she was working overtime today. The darkness made navigating around the desks more difficult; she carefully felt her way around, careful not to run into a corner of a desk. When she reached her workplace, however, she was completely surprised when she heard a smooth, low voice call her name.
Molly squeaked in fright like a little mouse, jumping at the sound. The voice chuckled in light amusement, “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
“No, it's fine,” she reassured, catching her breath. When she was calm enough, she turned on her desk light and saw that the dark figure before her was Sherlock Holmes. “Oh,” she exclaimed, shyly, “Sherlock! I wasn't-...did you need anything? 'Cause I just locked up the morgue, so you'll have to get it tomorrow. A-although, I guess I could go back downstairs and unlock it for you if it's urgent. I know you have many important experiments to run and-.”
“It's alright, Molly,” Sherlock replied, “I don't have any experiments currently that need new material.”
“Oh, then what brings you here?” asked Molly.
He hesitated, “I have some matters to discuss.”
“Matters?”
“A problem, actually.”
Molly smirked, “And does this problem occasionally wear oatmeal-coloured jumpers and follows you around at crime scenes?”
Sherlock matched her smile, “Yes, he does wear that god-awful jumper frequently.”
“I think it's rather nice, but that's beside the point.” She smoothed her skirt, “I'll be right back; I'm just going to make us some tea.”
“Take your time,” he replied, allowing himself to sit on her desk, completely ignoring the perfectly fine chair beside it.
Molly quickly hurried to the break room and brewed two fresh mugs of tea. She reveled in the giant coincidence of Sherlock meeting her after work just as John did a week ago on this very day. Perhaps they were taking turns, she thought to herself, giggling at the thought. She quickly finished making the tea, and headed back to her workplace. When she returned, she found Sherlock looking through some files that she left on her desk. Molly handed Sherlock the mug and snatched the file out of his hand. “So,” she said, sitting down in her chair, “what was it you wanted to discuss?”
Sherlock sipped his tea. Then, he set down the mug on the desk space beside him and pulled his legs up to his chest, completely ignoring the fact that he was stepping on some important forms Molly was going to file in the morning, and began explaining his predicament, “Lately, John's been more...well, he's been giving me lectures on leaving my room more often and eating more frequently, which never seemed to bother him before. I had told him that I was prone to being 'antisocial' for long periods of time. But in the last couple of weeks, he seemed more irritable about it. A couple of days ago, when I had arrived downstairs for breakfast, he had said, sarcastically, 'Oh, look who decided to grace me with his presence today and actually move his bloody arse outside of his room!'
“I've been observing him to see what possible triggers could have caused his irritableness. But as I am trying to observe him, I find that he is also looking at me with the strangest look in his eyes. He looks like he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking, which is impossible but unsettling nonetheless.”
Sherlock took a break from his rant, watching Molly as she took a sip from her tea. He continued, “I've also discovered that John is acting colder at crime scenes. He stands stiffer, his limp is worse, and he doesn't talk much. When I ask him a question or to point something out, he answers in short, curt responses. And normally, he chats with Lestrade while I'm investigating the crime scene, even though I keep telling them to be quiet, but lately, he just stands beside Lestrade and watches me with the same strange expression. I just can't seem to fathom why he's acting like this.”
Molly thought for a brief moment, figuring how to word her response, “Actually, Sherlock, John came to talk to me last week.”
Sherlock's attention perked up, “What did you talk about?”
“You,” she replied honestly, sipping her tea. “You know, you really should talk to him.”
He laughed bitterly, “About what? My emotions? I've been reliably informed that I don't have any.”
“Sherlock, we both know that's not true,” commented Molly.
Sherlock smirked, glancing at Molly with a look of amusement. She felt her heart flutter and tried to hide her embarrassment by looking down, absentmindedly drawing circles around the rim of her mug. But from the widening smile on Sherlock's face, she knew that he could tell. She sighed, “Then, have you talked to him about it?”
“Obviously not,” he replied, slightly frustrated.
“Why not?” Molly asked.
Sherlock paused, picking up his mug and holding it in his hands as if to warm them. He looked down, then straight ahead at the wall across from him, obviously uncomfortable about this discussion. Finally, he replied, “I'm not sure. I don't usually talk about feelings and emotions. They take up too much space on my hard drive.”
“But it's not something you can just delete, Sherlock. You have to deal with them eventually, and that eventually is now.”
“Then how do I deal with them? Talk it out like those television shows John forces me to watch? How would that help?”
“Let's do an experiment and see,” she joked. Molly paused, waiting for him to say something. Finally, after a considerable amount of silence, she asked him, “Sherlock, what's going on between you and John? You've both been acting strangely around each other and frankly, I think you started it.”
“What do you mean I star-?”
“John came in here last week talking about how you were cooped up in your room, refusing to come out. He also said that you've been quieter at home, yet kinder at work. Which is strange, unless you factor in...well, never mind.”
“Factor in what?”
“The point is, your behavior is influencing John's, not the other way around. He's probably irritated because he's worried about you.”
“Worried? Why would he be worried about me? I'm perfectly healthy.”
“He's a doctor, Sherlock. He may not be able to see a person's life story, but he can see through human emotions and what he sees in you is worrying him. You ought to talk to him about it.”
She paused, watching his face. He looked pensive, almost embarrassed, like how a teenage boy would act when he realized that he...oh.
“Sherlock, do you like John?” asked Molly.
“He is a valuable friend,” replied Sherlock coolly. “I'm grateful for his company, if that's what you mean.”
She chuckled, “No, I mean, do you fancy him?”
He scoffed, “No, of course not. Besides, he doesn't even think of me that way.”
This time, Molly couldn't contain her laughter. She set down her mug and giggled, “Oh Sherlock. For such a brilliant man, you are an idiot sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you really that oblivious? Think about it, Sherlock. I'll wait until you get it.”
She sat back, sipping her tea, and watched as his face changed from clueless to realization as the truth came to light. She stifled a giggle and watched in pure amusement, wondering if it really took this long for the brilliant detective to figure this out. Perhaps, she thought, he never considered the possibility of someone actually liking him. But she did, and John definitely does. He just needed to realize that he's not as alone as he thinks he is.
After a while, Molly finally broke the silence, “Listen, Sherlock, I know you're uncomfortable with this. But, well, you're going to have to face it eventually. Maybe not tonight, but soon. John's worried about you. And, honestly, I am too.”
“Molly,” he replied suddenly, “I'm aware that you're trying to help me, but I'll deal with this myself.”
"Alright then,” responded Molly, “but if you need to talk, I'll be here.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said, then got off the desk to leave. Before he left, he turned around and added, “Molly, I'm going to do something dangerous and possibly stupid in the next few days. I cannot tell you or John what I'm planning to do, but could you please look after him for me?”
Molly smiled, “Of course. Best of luck then.”
He scoffed, “Luck doesn't exist. And if it did, I wouldn't need it.”
Sherlock left with a flourish of his coat and disappeared around the corner. Molly sat there in the chilly darkness, wondering what he had meant by “something dangerous and possibly stupid.” Whatever it was, she thought, she hoped that it worked out in his favor.
Chapter Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Molly shivered as another gust of cool air entered the room. She adjusted her lab coat, mentally cursing at her poor choice of clothing today: a simple pink blouse and pencil skirt combination that did nothing to keep her warm. She checked off her tasks on her clipboard and, after making sure everything was in the right place, she turned off the lights and left the room, locking the door behind her. She walked back to her desk absentmindedly and began to hum a song she had heard on the radio that afternoon during her lunch break.
The upstairs offices were completely dark. Molly sighed; Mike must have forgotten that she was working overtime today. The darkness made navigating around the desks more difficult; she carefully felt her way around, careful not to run into a corner of a desk. When she reached her workplace, however, she was completely surprised when she heard a smooth, low voice call her name.
Molly squeaked in fright like a little mouse, jumping at the sound. The voice chuckled in light amusement, “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
“No, it's fine,” she reassured, catching her breath. When she was calm enough, she turned on her desk light and saw that the dark figure before her was Sherlock Holmes. “Oh,” she exclaimed, shyly, “Sherlock! I wasn't-...did you need anything? 'Cause I just locked up the morgue, so you'll have to get it tomorrow. A-although, I guess I could go back downstairs and unlock it for you if it's urgent. I know you have many important experiments to run and-.”
“It's alright, Molly,” Sherlock replied, “I don't have any experiments currently that need new material.”
“Oh, then what brings you here?” asked Molly.
He hesitated, “I have some matters to discuss.”
“Matters?”
“A problem, actually.”
Molly smirked, “And does this problem occasionally wear oatmeal-coloured jumpers and follows you around at crime scenes?”
Sherlock matched her smile, “Yes, he does wear that god-awful jumper frequently.”
“I think it's rather nice, but that's beside the point.” She smoothed her skirt, “I'll be right back; I'm just going to make us some tea.”
“Take your time,” he replied, allowing himself to sit on her desk, completely ignoring the perfectly fine chair beside it.
Molly quickly hurried to the break room and brewed two fresh mugs of tea. She reveled in the giant coincidence of Sherlock meeting her after work just as John did a week ago on this very day. Perhaps they were taking turns, she thought to herself, giggling at the thought. She quickly finished making the tea, and headed back to her workplace. When she returned, she found Sherlock looking through some files that she left on her desk. Molly handed Sherlock the mug and snatched the file out of his hand. “So,” she said, sitting down in her chair, “what was it you wanted to discuss?”
Sherlock sipped his tea. Then, he set down the mug on the desk space beside him and pulled his legs up to his chest, completely ignoring the fact that he was stepping on some important forms Molly was going to file in the morning, and began explaining his predicament, “Lately, John's been more...well, he's been giving me lectures on leaving my room more often and eating more frequently, which never seemed to bother him before. I had told him that I was prone to being 'antisocial' for long periods of time. But in the last couple of weeks, he seemed more irritable about it. A couple of days ago, when I had arrived downstairs for breakfast, he had said, sarcastically, 'Oh, look who decided to grace me with his presence today and actually move his bloody arse outside of his room!'
“I've been observing him to see what possible triggers could have caused his irritableness. But as I am trying to observe him, I find that he is also looking at me with the strangest look in his eyes. He looks like he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking, which is impossible but unsettling nonetheless.”
Sherlock took a break from his rant, watching Molly as she took a sip from her tea. He continued, “I've also discovered that John is acting colder at crime scenes. He stands stiffer, his limp is worse, and he doesn't talk much. When I ask him a question or to point something out, he answers in short, curt responses. And normally, he chats with Lestrade while I'm investigating the crime scene, even though I keep telling them to be quiet, but lately, he just stands beside Lestrade and watches me with the same strange expression. I just can't seem to fathom why he's acting like this.”
Molly thought for a brief moment, figuring how to word her response, “Actually, Sherlock, John came to talk to me last week.”
Sherlock's attention perked up, “What did you talk about?”
“You,” she replied honestly, sipping her tea. “You know, you really should talk to him.”
He laughed bitterly, “About what? My emotions? I've been reliably informed that I don't have any.”
“Sherlock, we both know that's not true,” commented Molly.
Sherlock smirked, glancing at Molly with a look of amusement. She felt her heart flutter and tried to hide her embarrassment by looking down, absentmindedly drawing circles around the rim of her mug. But from the widening smile on Sherlock's face, she knew that he could tell. She sighed, “Then, have you talked to him about it?”
“Obviously not,” he replied, slightly frustrated.
“Why not?” Molly asked.
Sherlock paused, picking up his mug and holding it in his hands as if to warm them. He looked down, then straight ahead at the wall across from him, obviously uncomfortable about this discussion. Finally, he replied, “I'm not sure. I don't usually talk about feelings and emotions. They take up too much space on my hard drive.”
“But it's not something you can just delete, Sherlock. You have to deal with them eventually, and that eventually is now.”
“Then how do I deal with them? Talk it out like those television shows John forces me to watch? How would that help?”
“Let's do an experiment and see,” she joked. Molly paused, waiting for him to say something. Finally, after a considerable amount of silence, she asked him, “Sherlock, what's going on between you and John? You've both been acting strangely around each other and frankly, I think you started it.”
“What do you mean I star-?”
“John came in here last week talking about how you were cooped up in your room, refusing to come out. He also said that you've been quieter at home, yet kinder at work. Which is strange, unless you factor in...well, never mind.”
“Factor in what?”
“The point is, your behavior is influencing John's, not the other way around. He's probably irritated because he's worried about you.”
“Worried? Why would he be worried about me? I'm perfectly healthy.”
“He's a doctor, Sherlock. He may not be able to see a person's life story, but he can see through human emotions and what he sees in you is worrying him. You ought to talk to him about it.”
She paused, watching his face. He looked pensive, almost embarrassed, like how a teenage boy would act when he realized that he...oh.
“Sherlock, do you like John?” asked Molly.
“He is a valuable friend,” replied Sherlock coolly. “I'm grateful for his company, if that's what you mean.”
She chuckled, “No, I mean, do you fancy him?”
He scoffed, “No, of course not. Besides, he doesn't even think of me that way.”
This time, Molly couldn't contain her laughter. She set down her mug and giggled, “Oh Sherlock. For such a brilliant man, you are an idiot sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you really that oblivious? Think about it, Sherlock. I'll wait until you get it.”
She sat back, sipping her tea, and watched as his face changed from clueless to realization as the truth came to light. She stifled a giggle and watched in pure amusement, wondering if it really took this long for the brilliant detective to figure this out. Perhaps, she thought, he never considered the possibility of someone actually liking him. But she did, and John definitely does. He just needed to realize that he's not as alone as he thinks he is.
After a while, Molly finally broke the silence, “Listen, Sherlock, I know you're uncomfortable with this. But, well, you're going to have to face it eventually. Maybe not tonight, but soon. John's worried about you. And, honestly, I am too.”
“Molly,” he replied suddenly, “I'm aware that you're trying to help me, but I'll deal with this myself.”
"Alright then,” responded Molly, “but if you need to talk, I'll be here.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said, then got off the desk to leave. Before he left, he turned around and added, “Molly, I'm going to do something dangerous and possibly stupid in the next few days. I cannot tell you or John what I'm planning to do, but could you please look after him for me?”
Molly smiled, “Of course. Best of luck then.”
He scoffed, “Luck doesn't exist. And if it did, I wouldn't need it.”
Sherlock left with a flourish of his coat and disappeared around the corner. Molly sat there in the chilly darkness, wondering what he had meant by “something dangerous and possibly stupid.” Whatever it was, she thought, she hoped that it worked out in his favor.
Chapter Three