Do you believe in love at first sight? There's this man and I love him. At least, I think I do. I can't stop thinking about him. And he's so cool but not really. And he's fit. Oh, he is really fit. And I can't stop thinking about him.

Molly stopped typing for a moment and read her words. This was only her second entry into her blog and already she was sounding like a stupid school girl. Still, it was nice to have somewhere to share her feelings. It wasn't like he was ever going to read it. She decided to continue.

I'm a sensible girl, I always have been. I've worked hard to get the job I have and I've got plans but he just rides all over everything. It's like I'm Molly Hooper, in control. 'Little Miss Perfect' as my mates call me. Until he walks into the room and then suddenly I'm this little mouse. He turns me into a mouse.

She reread the entire post again, especially the last bit. She thought about how she'd felt last week when she'd stitched his head. She had been in control for the most part, until the end. It was possible to stand up to Sherlock Holmes. After all, he took it upon himself to make arrangements with Stamford because she wasn't going to keep putting her job in jeopardy anymore. On some level, Molly saw it as a show of respect.

The flirting, however, was another issue.

He was too deliberate about it, each comment timed perfectly to get her to do what he wanted. Yet, there was a chemistry between them that couldn't be faked because she felt it. Pretending to be his girlfriend the other day should've been awkward but strangely it wasn't. She enjoyed working undercover with him and wanted to again.

Molly made a decision.

"Molls, why are you smiling?"

She looked up and over at Jane, who was standing in the doorway of the lab. Molly quickly saved her post, then shut off her laptop.

"I've decided to ask him out for coffee," she announced.

"Who? The detective?" Jane asked and Molly nodded. "Thank God. I was beginning to think you were going to wind up a spinster with thirty cats."

"I don't even have one cat," Molly reminded her, even though she was thinking about adopting one. She thought it best not to show Jane her blog with its cat theme.

"Well, with any luck, you'll be too busy shagging away to think about anything else," her friend said happily. Jane gestured grandly. "To celebrate, dinner is on me - the best Bart's canteen has to offer. Sky's the limit, Molls!"

"He hasn't said yes," she reminded her, not wanting to celebrate just yet. Molly wasn't sure what he would say actually. She wanted to an opportunity to talk outside of work to sort a few things out. After all, they'd known each other for a few months now. His brother had called it a "working relationship" but it was a relationship nonetheless and one worth exploring.

"Of course he'll say yes," Jane reassured her, motioning for her to get up. "Now, come on before they run out of the meatloaf."


Molly winced as she watched Sherlock violently whip the body of her former co-worker with the riding crop. He hadn't seemed particularily angry or upset about anything when he'd come in but the way he was ... well, enjoying himself made her wonder. Maybe Sergeant Donovan was right after all about him being a sociopath.

Molly dismissed the idea for the moment, not wanted to get distracted from the task at hand. She was going to ask him out for coffee. Today. No matter what.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her lipstick to reapply it. She took a deep breath, dropped it back into her pocket and headed back into the mortuary. She waited until he finished the thrashing before asking.

"So, bad day was it?" she asked with a nervous laugh.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes," he said, not bothering to look up he took out a small notebook. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Do it, Molly. Just do it, she told herself.

"Listen, I was wondering ... maybe later when you're finished ..."

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before," he interrupted, looking at her suspiciously. He stopped writing and just stared at her, waiting for her explanation.

"I ... uh ... I refreshed it a bit," she said, smiling widely. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, then continued writing in the notebook.

"Sorry, you were saying?" he asked. Molly was thankful his attention was focused on something else other than her. It gave her the much needed confidence to continue.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she asked, the words coming out easier than expected.

"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs," he said quickly, snapping the notebook shut.

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Molly standing there alone.

It took her a couple seconds to realized what had just happened. He thought she wanted to get him coffee, not go out for coffee. Her heart sank as she stared at the empty space where he just was.

"Okay," she said out loud, unsure of what to do next. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't taken it as a rejection but this was Sherlock. He was obtuse about such things. It was more logical she would ask if he wanted coffee. She decided she would have to try again and be more obvious about it.

Molly took a deep breath, gathered up what was left of her pride and went to fetch the coffee. Along the way, she took out a tissue from her pocket and wiped off the lipstick. As she did, she started to second guess herself. Maybe he knew exactly what she was asking and he simply wasn't interested.

She pushed that thought away as she entered the break room.

"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs," she mimicked softly as she prepared a cup of just that. Molly sighed heavily as she stared down at it. Maybe she should just ask again in the lab. There was absolutely nothing to lose at this point. If he wasn't interested, he would just flat out tell her. This was Sherlock, after all. He wouldn't care if he hurt her feelings. He wouldn't even understand it if he did.

Determined, Molly picked up the coffee and headed up to the lab.


Molly was surprised to find Sherlock wasn't alone.

He was with Mike Stamford ... and someone else.

"Ah Molly, coffee," he said, eagerly taking it from her. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly was taken aback for a second by that comment.

"It wasn't working for me," she said timidly.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement," he said, turning his back to her and walking away. "Mouth's too small now."

"Okay," Molly said, deciding it was best to leave before he said anything even more embarassing.

She decided to head back to the mortuary and check on the the bruising. It had only been about seven minutes but she needed to focus on something other than how badly she messed everything up with Sherlock. She got within two feet of the body when she noticed something on the edge of the table.

The riding crop.

Molly stared at it for a moment, surprised he'd forgotten it. She carefully picked it up, wondering if she should take it up to the lab. Before she could make a decision, the door opened behind her. Sherlock looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

"You forgot this," she said, holding it out to him.

"I know," he said, stepping toward her to retrieve it. Molly expected him to snatch it out of her hand and retreat again but he didn't. Instead, he reached for one end and slowly drew it out of her grasp. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Molly said, wondering why he was still here. He always had somewhere to go, somewhere to be. She thought of the only logical explanation there was. "Do you want to check the bruising?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Hasn't been twenty minutes."

Molly thought he was going to say something else but he didn't. Instead, he stared at her for a moment before finally turning to go.

"That man in the lab with Stamford, who was he?" she asked, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. He immediately turned back around.

"Potential flatmate," he said, matter-of-factly. There was a long pause before he added, "I don't always get paid for my services."

Molly thought back to the things Donovan had said, the things she warned her about.

"So why do you do it then?" she asked, wanting to hear his explanation.

"I have to keep my mind occupied," he stated, his keen eyes searching hers. "But you know that already, Molly. My brother told you a couple months ago. Don't look so surprised. Mycroft can't keep himself out of my professional, or personal life."

"I'm sorry," Molly said, lowering her head and averting her eyes from his. "I should've told you. I just didn't want you to stop ..."

She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, as if it was a ridiculous assumption. Molly looked up and over at him again. "You're very useful to me."

At first, Molly thought he was just flirting with her again but he wasn't. He was being serious and it gave her hope maybe she meant something to him after all. She smiled at that thought and at him, which only made everything awkward again.

"I'd better get back to work," she said, gesturing to the body. "I'll text you about the bruises."

"Good," he said, taking a couple steps back. "And Molly?"

"Yes?"

"Were you asking me out for coffee?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. Molly was so taken aback, all she could do was nod. Sherlock gave her a curious look as if it were a foreign concept to him. "Ah. Perhaps tomorrow then."

"Okay," she said as calmly as she could. Molly waited until he was well out the door before letting out a happy shriek.