A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
The next time you saw Sherlock would be that coming Monday. Not on purpose, but you both always somehow found your way to each other.
"Hold on!" You call for the elevator, holding two drinks. "Thanks, I really didn't want to catch the next- oh, Sherlock," your eyes widen.
Just like his, starry eyes brighten the dim morning. He was simply on the way to collect a new case, hoping to see you later this afternoon, yet here you were.
"Y/n," he helps you with one drink, "Lestrade?"
"I lost a bet and now owe him coffee every Monday," you note, remembering the bet on John's date will go. "Only for a month,"
"Not too much of a dent to the bank account, now is if?" He chuckles.
"Yeah, but it still sucks because he would have owed me doughnuts for a month," you grumble, only to do a double take when Sherlock outstretched his hand to reveal a bag of doughnuts. "Was this for Greg?"
"He'll never know," he lifts a finger to his lips before gesturing for you to leave the elevator first. "Are you free today?"
~~~
"The maid could not have done it, Sherlock," You fold your arms as he opens the door to a St Bart's lab.
"I beg to differ," he turns on the lights, starting on the analysis of dirt found at the bottom of the victim's boots.
"I can't wait to prove you wrong, Holmes," you sit on a seat beside him, examining the available chemicals and equipment in the room.
"Can't you now?" He gives you a smug look before looking into the microscope, unaware of the fluttering feeling in your chest.
Taking some chemicals and placing them along the countertop, you lazily experimented with formulas while he did the actual work. There was never much you did in moments like this. While this was your first time in the lab, back at the flat, it would be during his composing or many silent hours while he explored his mind palace.
Just as you placed in the right amount to turn the solution pink, you were met with the doors pushing open to reveal a woman with a sleek ponytail and a lab coat.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had company," she awkwardly scratches her neck, "Y/n, right? I'm Molly,"
"Uhm, nice to meet you," you said, outstretching a hand for her to take.
"Sorry, I just assumed because Sherlock never stops talking about you," she laughs, making the detective jolt his head up. "Whoops," her face turns slightly red, "I think I've said too much,"
"Maybe not enough," you turn to Sherlock and smirk, "mind explaining-"
"There's nothing to explain," he scoffs, focusing in on the case again.
"Is there anything we can help you with, Molly?" You then ask the woman who stood there snickering.
"Oh, just here to give the victim's autopsy report," she hands it to you. "But I should get back to work,"
"It was nice meeting you, Molly!" You wave her goodbye, "she's lovely, I really hope you're nice to her,"
"I think so," he mumbles.
"See, but you thought you were being nice to that man in the shops, but you made him cry," you recall the incident, which had you feeling bad for the next week. All he does is roll his eyes, "regardless, I was actually thinking about the gala,"
"What about it?"
"We have a while, right?" you see him nod before getting back to your little experiment. "I need to get a dress and everything. God knows I have nothing remotely close to one fit for this event,"
"If you need money-"
"No, I don't need money, Sherlock; I was just wondering... would you mind if I asked Molly to help? God knows you're no help, and Mrs Hudson's taste is a little... too Mrs Hudson," you explain, "obviously I just met Molly, but she seems sweet,"
"And you ask me why?" He notes down what he sees in the petri dish.
"Because you seem to know her better, and I don't want it to be weird,"
"Molly could do with more friends. I think it's an alright idea," he dismisses, not too concerned about the conversation, more so focused on the bacteria within the dirt.
"Be polite, Sherlock," you click your tongue, making him mumble a quick 'sorry'. "Since I have the green light... I'll be right back!"
He wasn't too sure what had happened because, by the time he looked up to say another word, you were gone; the chair left spinning as you quickly exited the lab. From what you gathered from the short interaction, you assumed Molly would be in the morgue. The only problem was you didn't know where that could be.
~~~
After a few staircases and the help of a janitor here and there, you found the morgue. A hall of porcelain white, doors of a gentle grey, each one a fair possibility to hold Molly, but you were stuck to opening each door in hopes.
Eventually, one of the doors opens to reveal Molly leaving her usual lab and walking to lunch. "Molly!"
"Y/n?" She stops and looks up from her phone. "Is there something I can help you with? I know the hospital can be a bit of a maze,"
"It was a bit of a maze to find you," you laugh, "but actually, I was wondering if you wanted to come shopping with me this weekend?"
"Shopping?" Her eyes seemed to glitter at the idea. "With me? Really?"
"Well, duh, any friend of Sherlock is a friend of mine, but only if you'd like to," you reassure.
She adjusted her satchel with a bright smile. "Yes, please," she nods eagerly, "here, let me give you my number. I'm usually here every day, but Saturday is my free day,"
"Perfect," you note down the number in your phone, giving her a quick text. "I better get back to Sherlock before he throws a fit, but I'll see you around?"
She gives another quick nod before you hurry back the way you came. Molly stood there with a gleam, excited for the day to come. Looking back to her phone, she texts her boyfriend about meeting you, his reply encouraging her to go.
~~~
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