AN: It's been about 8 years since I've found a fandom that has drawn me in enough to even consider re-entering the world of fanfiction and I have found a perfectly tempting fandom with Sherlock BBC. To mark my re-entry, I thought I would try something short, sweet, and simple. Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.

When something nudged her elbow, Molly slowly looked up from the blood samples she had been studying and over to the space of counter closest to her elbow. She was completely alone the last time she had checked and glass beakers certainly didn't have a way of growing legs and walking about, knocking into her and demanding her attention. When she looked over she found that it wasn't lab equipment at all that had brought her from her reverie but a tiny box wrapped in light pink paper and tied with a white ribbon. Her brown eyes widened and she leaned away from the microscope she had been peering in.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of dark material and movement and turned around to find Sherlock standing behind her. "Oh!" she let out a light noise of surprise, a gloved hand raising towards her heart in surprise, but stopping short. "Sorry, I didn't –"

"Hear me come in?" he cut her off. "No. You were busy; I didn't want to bother you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Since when did Sherlock ever care about bothering her? She could have paperwork piled up to the ceiling and it wouldn't matter – he wanted her help when he wanted it or not at all and she jumped at the chance to be of use to him. Not that he ever seemed to notice or care. It was ridiculous the way he made her, a grown woman who could usually hold her own in any situation especially pertaining to the medical field, jump and giggle and feel as unsure of herself as any schoolgirl.

"Oh. Thank you," she said slowly, her gloved hands still in the air awkwardly. She wasn't quite sure what to do with her limbs when he was around and was glad for the distraction of work and a cold body between them, Petri dishes in her hands so she could at least focus on something besides him and busy herself in the smooth, cool efficiency of work. He was studying her now in quite a different way than he usually did and it unnerved her. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to go about her business or straighten for inspection so she froze in place and did neither, waiting for him to speak.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked her, one elegant hand making a small gesture to the gift on the counter.

She glanced at it again and then back to him as it dawned on her – it was a gift. He had brought her a gift.

At the blank look on her face he went on. "It's your birthday, isn't it? I put it in my mobile as today."

"You . . .put my birthday in your phone?" she repeated slowly, still staring up at him, brow furrowed and lips parted in confusion tinged with a bit of suspiciousness. She knew that he manipulated her, but it had become such old hat by now that she wasn't sure when he wanted something and when he was just. . .well, being nice wasn't the accurate word for it.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" he waved off the question as if it was the most common thing in the world for him to remember someone other than himself. This was a man who didn't even notice when you'd left the room for two hours; he didn't know whether the sun orbited the earth or vice versa yet he had made it a point to put her birthday in his phone and bring her a gift?

He glanced pointedly at the present and she was finally goaded into action. She took the gloves off, quelling the urge to make a face at the feel of them as she folded them inside out and tossed them in the trash, hating how her hands felt so dusty and squeaky after pulling off gloves. She picked up the present noting that it was perfectly wrapped and the bow was perfectly tied and examined it for a moment before opening it. She thought it such a waste to ruin wrapping paper and was always very meticulous when unwrapping her presents. She set the paper and bow aside (maybe she could use them for something else later) and opened the box.

She looked up at Sherlock to find that he was watching her again, but there was something different about his gaze. There was a hint of nervousness in his lapidary blue-green eyes as he watched her, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet with his hands clasped behind her back. She looked back down at the contents of the box and let out the same surprised sound as before, a barely exhaled "Oh," of surprise as she smiled and pulled out the silver diamond cut chain.

"You don't usually wear jewelry here, lab policy, but I did notice you wear a necklace one day, silver, and when you wear earrings they are also silver," he explained. "When I have seen you wear gold it was only once and it was a ring that you weren't exactly wearing – it was on a silver chain around your neck. It was heavy, antique, made for a man – your father judging by the inscription and the initials around the stone. The ring was also on a silver chain, but while you were working I heard you swear from across the room and heard you put it into your pocket. Obviously the clasp had broken. You hadn't thought to have it fixed yet, but can't wear the ring any other way. Now you can." He nodded to the box in her hand.

Her smile widened in slight disbelief and without thinking she had moved forward and lifted herself up to kiss Sherlock's cheek. He froze and she pulled away, quickly stammering. "T-t-thank you!" as he also said "Thank you."

A soft pink colored each of his cheekbones as he cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, pulling at his leather gloves. "I mean, you're welcome." He looked up her again. "Happy birthday, Molly Hooper."