Molly, Only Molly (Sherlolly)

Chapter Two

The first week goes by without any trouble. I spend most of my time filing 'cause of death' into the victim's file.

Sherlock Holmes has not made another appearance. It makes me glad, yet disappointed at the same time. Monday morning, August 24, I walk into the corpse room, as I like to call it, and find a new body lying on the table.

As I step closer, my eyes see the high cheekbones and defined lips. "Sherlock Holmes? What are you doing?" Now I'm talking to dead people. Great. The old Molly wouldn't have done this.

His eyes open, and he sits up. I blink rapidly. Am I seeing things? 

"Just resting," he says calmly, then swings his long legs over the side and stands up.

 I smile. "Of course you were. How are you?"

"Bored." He walks to the window at the far end and stares out of it.

 I watch him for a while. "Would you like to examine the bodies?" I ask. It's worth a try.

He turns to me, a smile lighting up his face. "God, yes." He strides back over and throws back the first sheet. "This one's easy. Gunshot. Even you could have figured that one out."

My smile feels plastered on my face. I suppose that wasn't meant to be insulting, but it sure sounded like it.

"Tell me more about her." I gesture to the body.

"Sixty or so. Married for at least thirty-five of them; the skin on her ring finger is lighter and more compressed than the rest." He picks at his fingernails. Does he do that when he's thinking about something?

"Was it a happy marriage?"

"I think so. She didn't take the ring off that often; probably only to clean it."

"Oh." I sit down on the floor and lean my head back against the wall. "Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?" But he only continues on with his deducing, as if I'm not even there.

I stand up and walk slowly back to the other room. "What are you doing, Molly? You're supposed to be focused on your job, on pleasing everybody you meet. You have no time for a relationship."

My phone buzzes with a text. Come for dinner tonight? Miss you xxx. It's from Mum. I will always have time for my parents.

 I'll be there! I turn off my phone and slip it back into the crisp pocket of my lab coat.

Loud, purposeful footsteps enter the room. I stand up and smooth my hair down. A man with greying hair and a determined look on his face walks right past me and enters the corpse room.

I sigh and bury my head in my hands. I thought my job would be at least somewhat normal. Was that too much to hope for? Loud voices come from inside the room. Sherlock and the man, I suppose.

The man walks back out and notices me leaning against the wall. "Hello. Were you here before?"

I nod. "Yes. I work here. Who are you?"

"Greg Lestrade." He holds out his hand, and I shake it. He has a firm grip.

"Have you become a consulting detective as well?" I attempt to make conversation. Please, let him be friendly.

"Me? Course not. The world barely has room enough for one as it is. Especially that one. I work down at Scotland Yard. I'm head of the police force."

"Sherlock said you came round a lot."

"Normally. I haven't had a lot of time this past week. What's your name?" He smiles at me, a warm smile that lights up his entire face. I decide that he is friendly. Thank goodness.

"Molly Hooper. The new Specialist Registrar." The title no longer feels quite so important anymore. I've introduced myself to what feels like hundreds of people at the offices and hospital.

"Good to meet you, Molly. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other, eh?" He laughs and walks out of the room. I let out a sigh of relief just as Sherlock comes in.

"So you've met Lestrade? Told you he was an idiot. Can barely solve his own crimes." He busies himself with tying his blue scarf around his neck.

"He seemed like a- nice man." Unlike you, I almost say.

"I always call 'nice' another meaning for stupid." And he leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He is the strangest person I have ever met! Not counting strangers on the tube.

I need a cup of coffee. And an Advil.