A/N: Silly is the word, very silly, probably very crack, and just for laughs on my part. Well, I never really do anything else. I thought I wouldn't post it, but I did. This won't be a long epic saga (thank god). Review if you like that's always encouraging.

The coffee had never been good, he admitted as much, but he drank it. He would drink the dredged porridge of a cup with a pleasant curve of the lip, until her bright brown eyes were directed into a different direction, and he could put the cup aside to be forgotten. He was used to her vigorous attempts, from stuttering suggestive statements about them involving themselves to having a cup of coffee, at which he hoped it would be brewed of someone more sufficient in the profession, but he brushed each attack off.

Each attempt was as dull as the rest, predictable to the core, and the very essence of answering any of her attempts with "yes" would ruin their already established relationship. He did not blink an eye when she got herself a beau, a proper one apparently from the looks of it, her cheeks would be aflame, eyes brighter, gait confident, and their working-relationship ran smoother than usual until the relationship took an end to. It was then she showed up, barely washed, barely human, and he more or less exclaimed, "You rather resemble Mrs Laraby - Molly, I suggest a good quick scrub, or else the corpse will be in a fitter state than you."

It was not received well, John looked positively livid, as Molly slowly opened her mouth wide for a moment, before rather quietly in the most venomous of sweetened voices said, "Get out."

He looked at her astonished, surprised at her conduct and her statement, which was a proper furious one at that, "I am sorry," he said hurriedly, hoping to bury it underground, like the rest of it, except she just pursed her lips at him "Get out, or I will call security."

He looks at her bemused, as John jerks his head to the exit hurriedly eyeing Sherlock, "We have a case," Sherlock said drily, looking at her curiously now.

"You can ask Lestrade for the paper-work, I'm not having you here anymore," she snapped, not looking up, covering up the body hurriedly, before holding the door open to the morgue, "Please leave, or I will force you out."

"We better-," started John shifting awkwardly, coughing soundly, before walking ahead of Sherlock who unwillingly followed him out of the morgue.

"She's heartbroken Sherlock. It'll be all right. Just give her time, you know," said John eyeing him from behind the paper uneasily in 221b Baker Street. "It's not easy, you know yourself." Sherlock scoffed offended.

"I have been entirely civilised," he said haughtily with his chin out, before taking a sip of his tea.

"Sherlock you said she resembled the corpse; a corpse with a missing head. That's not particularly helpful, is it?" said John folding the paper with a disgruntled expression.

Sherlock smiled, "I was just observing. She doesn't comb her hair, no attempt on keeping up appearances either, even if her choice of attire wasn't much to speak of. She barely sleeps, dark circles under her eyes, and her handwriting is too hard to decipher in the paper-work - before it was well-kept, even with small hearts and what-not," he said heatedly slamming his cup of tea on the table, "I cannot conduct my experiments when she's like this."

"Sherlock, give it a week or two, and she'll probably be fine. This is normal behaviour, even if you cannot grasp that idea - you could just do all of your work here," said John lazily, taking a swig of his tea.

Sherlock grimaced, standing up hurriedly picking up his violin, before dropping it to his side, "What are the chances of them getting back together?"

"Slim," said John not looking up from his tea. "Mary said he was a right git."

Sherlock frowned, "She should have let me meet him."

"I don't think you meeting him would have helped really," said John snorting.

"I could have deduced what kind of man he was. She has never been good at choosing men. One of them tries to blow us up, then tries to force me to take my life."

"Well, she can only get better from Moriarty," said John with a sigh, keeping on reading his paper, trying to ignore the voice behind him being Sherlock.

"Yes, yet she chooses a man who ends up casting her aside. She seems pretty enough, if she doesn't secure a man soon she will be alone," snarled Sherlock hands on his hips, as he'd given up the violin as a bad job.

John stared open mouthed at Sherlock in surprise, "I'm sorry, have you been watching too much telly, then? Is that it? She's 34 years old Sherlock - it's a far step from being a spinster, and she just broke up with her boyfriend. Let her be single, I'm sure she'll find someone."

"Yes, another idiotic attempt that'll make her unhappy. Resulting me into being banished away from my studies, and now there was even a case. The case could have been hurriedly solved, had she not been so entirely unhelpful," he said scathingly.

"This isn't about you - we can't all work our schedules around you - even if - never mind. People like being in relationships - Sherlock. They like being with people - unlike some - it just takes time. She'll probably go online, or chat or text, I don't know - flirting helps, you know," said John exasperated.

Sherlock looked displeased at this, before a manic grin spread across his features, "Oh. Oh, that is brilliant," he said clapping his hands together. "To elate her spirits - you are excellent John - of course."

"What did I say then?" asked John with worried furrowed brows.

Sherlock picked up his nearby laptop hurriedly typing looking smug, at which John looked at him sheepishly, "What are you doing then?" Sherlock ignores him.

"I want to know what I've gotten you to do, so I can deny all blame when it comes up," said John with crossed arms.

Sherlock looks up at him, "What she needs is a recovery - I am going to be that recovery."

"You're going to flirt with Molly Hooper?" asked John confused, though a big grin showed up on his face nonetheless.

"No, not me - him," said Sherlock wheeling around the computer showing a photo of a handsome dark haired man with blue eyes. "I calculate that this is the sort of man she finds attractive."

John gave a cough at this, hiding the laughter that threatened to come, when Sherlock gave him a look. He put on a serious face, "Who is it then?"

"This is a image that cropped up," said Sherlock with a quick smile.

"You've just googled her a man, then? Right - wait - not getting it."

"I am going to create a false man, boost her self-esteem, that sort of thing one sees in those rubbish movies. She'll feel better, and I can get to do my work in silence," he said smugly.

"No – no - that's a stupid idea Sherlock," said John shaking his head.

"What?" said Sherlock aghast; "It's a magnificent idea for the both of us."

"How on earth are you going to contact her, then?"

"Via that blog of hers."

"The same way Moriarty contacted her? I think she's a bit vary of emails or what-not at the moment," said John with a frown, shaking his head, "I still don't think it's a good idea."

"I'll text her," said Sherlock.

"You'll text her?" said John startled.

"Yes," said Sherlock sounding bored.

"How on earth are you going to do that? If you text her she's going to think you're a pervert."

"I am not unfamiliar with the process of thinking in communication, especially through the means of technology John. I know my texting," Sherlock said with a pleased smirk.

"You know how to do this - well, I hope you're not going to use your phone then."

"Of course not, I'm using yours," said Sherlock with disbelief with his hands somehow on John's mobile phone.

"No, you're not - get your own bloody phone - anyway she could look that up, you've got to consider that," snapped John pulling his phone away from the man.

"Already have - getting an extra mobile phone of course."

"Why not just give her time-," moaned John exasperated.

"I'll text an appropriate text-," said Sherlock ignoring him.

"Sherlock, do you even know how to flirt?" said John who knew now that he could not convince his friend of doing anything differently.

"John, I have had my share of faked relationships. I am quite familiar with the term."

"The term - the term - right, right carry on then. I just hope you know what you're doing. If she finds out she will kill you."

"I doubt it, I'll go on a long escalated rant about how I wanted to make her feel better, and she'll start making me cups of coffee wondering if I myself sent her those texts with heartfelt intentions," said Sherlock in a sing-song voice, clearly pleased with his plan, and his back-up plan.

"That's quite a tactic, you know," said John with slight admiration.

"What?" said Sherlock typing furiously on the keyboard of the laptop.

"Sending her fake texts, just to make her feel better. You could just try to send her some texts from yourself though."

"Why would that help?" said Sherlock in surprise.

"Oh, never mind," said John settling down into the sofa discontented.

John had quite forgotten the entire idea, brushing it off as a ruse out of boredom for Sherlock who had been lacking of cases for the last week or two. Boredom was something he disliked heavily; John himself disliked Sherlock being bored. So, it was to his surprise when John found Sherlock bringing home a new phone. "That's not," he said aghast, peering at the mobile box.

"It is rather low-tech is it not? I didn't feel that Jeremy needed anything better, really. He doesn't strike me as that sort of man," said Sherlock putting a simcard into the phone.

"Jeremy?" said John perplexed.

"That's his name," quipped Sherlock.

"You've got to be kidding," said John hand rubbing his temples.

"Isn't it a good name?" asked Sherlock looking at John curiously.

"No, Sherlock - I'm saying you've got to be kidding, because I thought you'd given this entire thing up!"

"I never said I had given it up. So Jeremy is bad choice, then? You're probably right; one doesn't trust Jeremy's. Men beginning on the letter J do have a tendency to be friends or bastards."

"What?"

"Maybe, it should be something classic, more elegant. Beginning the name on A - would be too obvious - maybe B, do you know if she fancies a possible actor of some kind?"

John furrowed his brows.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Sherlock just stared in return.

John glared in turn, gave a sigh, before saying sheepishly -

"There's this actor with a funny sort of name. Mary mentioned that Molly thought him handsome at least, if that helps - funny last name, didn't quite catch it, but the first was Benedict."

"Benedict," said Sherlock with a disgruntled expression of distaste.

"Or you could just give it up entirely, you know. You're not actually going to use that photo of that bloke, then."

"No, I found a similar man, except I made certain he was dead. I don't want her to accidentally meet her long-distance infatuation. He's also long-gone so no accidental meet-ups in the morgue either. That would be fairly unpleasant I suppose - a surprise to find ones suitor in a body-bag."

"Long distance?"

"Yes, I thought he could live outside London. Makes it a bit more believable."

"Believable? Sherlock, you shouldn't be doing this. There will be consequences."

"Only if she finds out, there's no harm in trying to cheer her up."

"Yes, if this was entirely about her, yes, then of course smashing idea. Let's cheer up Molly - you go talk to her, have a chat, give her a cup of tea, possibly a shoulder to cry on-," said John almost pleadingly now, trying to dissuade him from the ridiculous idea.

"You could be that shoulder, John," said Sherlock with a wide grin.

John looked at him baffled, mouth clenched, before saying rather sternly, "My shoulder is confiscated at the moment."

"Yes, Mary," said Sherlock with distaste. "You are not making this any easier - really John. You could stand to be a bachelor a bit longer, couldn't you? You've had a string of them. Now you just had to be settled down, more or less with-,"

"Yes, Mary my girlfriend - Mary. At least you remember her name," interrupted John disgruntled, before Sherlock said something that John would regret.

"Well, she did give me a delicious case, did she not? Certainly picks up the interest level of knowing names. Her job isn't all too boring, either, same field as Molly - has she tried solving her problem? They are friends, are they not?"

"Sherlock, you've got to give her time," moaned John.

"Yes - too late," said Sherlock and without further ado he fumbled with the buttons of the new phone, before smugly sending off what he assumed was a fairly good tactic in securing the attention of any female.

John looked at him in disbelief, as he threw him the phone, "I'm allowed to look then?"

Sherlock just raised a brow, as John read on –

Are you OK? I know it's late, but I want to talk.

John looked at him in confusion, "Sorry what?"

"This is from - I haven't entirely decided on his name yet - our mystery charmer - he is a man who's recently gotten out of a relationship. This is his text - which should go to an ex, but unfortunately the ex gave him the wrong number," said Sherlock with a pleased smile pointing to the phone in John's hands.

John pursed his lips, blinking stupidly at Sherlock for a few seconds, before saying rather annoyed, "That might actually work."

"Yes, two broken hearted people meet via text. Molly gets a confidence boost, and I get my cup of coffee," said Sherlock holding out his palm for the mobile phone.

"You don't even like the cuppa. You're always complaining that she can't brew for her life," said John vexed returning the phone to him.

"There's a status quo that needs to be upheld John. I don't want St Bart's to be in tarnish because of a whimsical pathologist," said Sherlock closing his hands around the mobile phone.

"I really do wish this was for Molly's happiness, but you being the git you are – Jesus - Sherlock if this bites you in the arse - I am not helping you," said John raising his hands.

"John, believe me - only good will come out of this," said Sherlock reassuringly.

"Right," said John shaking his head.

Molly Hooper stared in surprise at her phone - an unknown number had texted her. She usually never answered that sort of thing, but it didn't say who the owner was. With furrowed brows she decided to reply, just to divert the texting, if it were to continue, giving her the tiniest feeling of excitement, though she hardly wanted to admit that.

I'm sorry. I think you've gotten the wrong number. Who's this? - M

Oh gosh, I am so sorry. The name is Ben you don't by any chance know an Emily do you? - B

Only a Molly to be found here really… - M

Sorry to bother you. Thank you for answering. I'd probably have sent a thousand texts there - B

Oh no problem, I hope you get hold of her - M

"Oh, there, see she's not going to text anymore. You can't answer that," said John with a curt nod and a brief smile standing up properly, from having bent down nose forward hovering over Sherlock.

"I'm not going to need to," said Sherlock briefly mobile phone laying flat in his palm.

"You're not going-," started John right at the exact moment the phone went buzzing off again. "That's her? You've got to be kidding me."

"Women always reply to that sort of thing," said Sherlock waving his hand carelessly, as he picked up the phone with ease.

"They always Sherlock, they almost never do," said John irritated by his friend who conveyed none of this knowledge previously.

"Yes, if they know the man. I am a perfect stranger. A stranger she doesn't know the face to, except that I'm modest. Modest strangers are particular favourites of all lonely women John - what has literature told us," Sherlock reeled off self-righteously.

"You mean – Ben is - you're the least modest person I know of," said John with a grimace, before mumbling, "What does it say then?"

"I thought you didn't want to be involved," said Sherlock with a grin at his friend holding the mobile phone up rather teasingly.

"I'm not - just show me the bloody text - will you?" snapped John, as Sherlock let him hold the phone.

Not to pry or anything, but why do you need to get hold of her? - M

Emily is my ex-girlfriend actually - B

Oh, I'm so sorry. I've just been through a breakup myself - M

"She's not, you know," said Sherlock confidentially.

"The fact that you're a-," John stopped up abruptly, gave an awkward smile, before drinking of his coffee quietly.

"Yes, John - do tell," snapped Sherlock with furrows in his brows, while texting rapidly.

You don't need to apologize you didn't make her cheat - B

"You're really going to play off this aren't you?" said John peering over his shoulder looking thoughtfully at the screen.

"Are you going to comment everything I write? Since this will be more than one text," said Sherlock getting aggravated by the non-stop questions.

John snorted.

I'm so sorry. My ex did the same thing actually - M

Sherlock looked startled at John. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew," said John in surprise, "You usually see that sort of thing."

"Well, women tend to be angry when men cheat - not upset. That's quite the different reaction to what I am used to John."

"Do you have an archive in your mind for every reaction then? We're human beings Sherlock - you can't calculate every emotion - you can fake them, but you can't assume you know how people will act. We might surprise you once in a while," said John pointedly.

"No, you're dull. There must be more to it then. Interesting," said Sherlock clapping his hands together, phone set aside.

John shook his head, drank up his cup of coffee, "I'm going to Mary's. Have a - don't - you know what - I'm just going to go."

Yes, well then you know how it feels. I'm sorry, I won't bother you anymore - B

You're not bothering me. It's nice to know someone's having a not so good time. Well, I don't mean that I want you to suffer. I just - it's just nice to know - M

Sherlock snorted. Even in text Molly Hooper managed to convey the usual awkward behaviour, though he'd rather have her stare at him, when she thought he didn't see, than have her glare at him. An action he would never have guessed she had it in her in particular either.

Yeah, though I'd rather neither of us had any problem really. I'd rather go back to the start - B

Sherlock might have stolen that off a ridiculous song he'd heard on the radio, but he felt properly committed to making it believable. Some pop-cultural references were bound to happen, as he'd found himself constantly watching the television these days. The influences would help him manage to coerce all of the lines he was sure would sway the pathologist into his grazes. By the second another text popped up he knew her interest had peaked.

Maybe some things are just meant to happen - M

"Already quite optimistic about this one, are you? Fascinating," mumbled Sherlock to himself, before answering her.

A/N: What do you think then? Shall I proceed, or let this be entirely a dead project?