Sebastian sighed as Molly droned on about this or that, occasionally saying “Oh yes,” and “That’s interesting,” as needed. Who would have thought that getting to Sherlock would be such a drag? Molly seemed to be finished talking for the time being, which at least gave Sebastian some peace. The sun had long since set and Sebastian was anxious to see Sherlock face-to-face.
“So, yeah, I was up in the Scottish highlands recently,” Sebastian said, trying to redirect the conversation into something more his style, “Beautiful place, really. Has some great views. Part of this whole thing to reinvent myself. Life is too short to sit around being bored all the time, you know? I mean, I’d like to make my crime hobby into a full-time thing, but I just wouldn’t know where to start.”
Molly nodded, taking a sip of her drink. ”That sounds lovely. I don’t really have the time to travel outside the city much. I’m preoccupied with lots of…things,” she replied, resisting the urge to say people. Well, only one person. Which it was quite obvious who. Of course, she wasn’t going to talk about Sherlock because not only would it compromise his safety, but it would be embarrassing to gush about him in front of a stranger. ”I guess you could try get a job at the police headquarters and start off small. I actually know a DI quite well - maybe you can come in with me sometime and I can introduce you?” Molly offered, giving him a small smile and a shrug. ”Who knows, maybe he’ll put you on a case?”
Harry sat at his laptop idly clicking through his Facebook news feed, bored. These were the worst days for him; the days that came between commissions where he had time to sit around to be idle. For a twenty six year old man Harry was extremely successful and he was aware of this, but did his best to not let it get to his head. Not long ago his last girlfriend had broken it off with him because he was too intimidating. He still didn’t really get what she meant by that, but none the less Harry was alone now seeing as she had cleared her things out in the last month.
He huffed and shut his laptop. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only eleven in the morning and he still had another eight hours to go before it was acceptable to ring a mate and ask them if they wanted to go out. Harry was, in truth, not much of a partier, but when the boredom was getting to him and he was left with little else to do, it was a vice he welcomed. He wouldn’t call himself an alcoholic. No he thought he was more of a causal, social, type drinker because he didn’t keep alcohol in his flat.
Getting to his feet Harry rolled his shoulder to pop his back and headed into the kitchen. On the way his eyes touched a particular painting he had hanging on his sitting room wall. It was one of his favourite works granted it wasn’t a master piece of anything, but still he found he liked it best. It was one of his earlier paintings from when he had just moved back in with his father after university. His father had criticized it and said he should be doing real work not doodles. It was a painting of his interpretation of Sherlock. In the painting Sherlock was walking away from the viewer glancing back over his shoulder with the deer stalker cap on. Just the mere thought of the image had brought a smirk to his lips as he was painting it because he knew –from reading John’s blog- that Sherlock hated the hat. There was a distinct downward turn to his pouty lips to communicate the feeling.
Harry didn’t like to admit it, but he might have had a rather frightful obsession with Sherlock Holmes before his untimely death –even to that day he refused to believe Sherlock was a fake. True he hadn’t known the man, but he had seen him out and was taken with the way he took the entire attention of a room and even though he was, admittedly, a smart arse he was brilliant. There was simply no denying that. A sigh passed his lips. Perhaps he’d text Molly?
Harry had met Molly through a mutual friend who had apprently gone to primary school with her and they had hit it off right away. He considered her a very good friend. Deciding that was what he would do Harry picked up his moible and typed out a quick message.
Dinner and drinks…on me? -HF
Molly was just leaving the hospital, heading out of the main lobby when she felt a vibration in her coat pocket. Pulling out her phone, she read the alert that she had received a text. Partially hoping and expecting it to be Sherlock wanting more information on a recent case he was working on, she pressed a button to view the message, her shoulders ever so slightly slouching down in disappointment. Molly always hoped it was a message from Sherlock, because when she helped him with anything at all, it was the only excuse she could get to have a chance to attempt to small-talk with him.
By the time she got to the end of the text, her mood did lift a bit seeing that it was Harry - one of her very few close friends. Molly’s mouth spread into a small smile and started to text back.
Sounds fantastic. :) Where are we meeting? -Molly H.
She didn’t go out very much, which she was a bit surprised that someone had offered her to dinner and friendly company - which was happening more than usual lately…even if she was undoubtedly somewhat suspicious of Sebastian, it was still a bit of friendly company as far as she could see at the moment. Harry on the other hand, she knew was legitimate, so she didn’t feel the urge to hold a scalpel at his throat - not that she wanted to do that to Sebastian! Oh god, no. Molly frowned at her unsettling thoughts. She really needed to work on how her thoughts came out. Maybe this was why she didn’t have many mates.
Sherlock hummed a little bit, his blazer smoothed down and his scarf around his throat, despite the fact that it was coming on to seventeen degrees celcius. He was wearing his usual crisp, white shirt, this time folded up over the bottom of his blazer sleeves and rolled up neatly to the elbows, leaving them at ¾ sleeves. His phone was silent in his pocket and his footsteps light as he crept his way through the halls of St Barts. Everything was dark and he was lucky that he was so used to the building that he didn’t need to really see where he was going.
The literal light at the end of the tunnel—well the corridor—signalled that he had reached his destination and he made his way into the familiar room, prodding around the left over research equipment, the left over tests and he sat himself down, pulled his blazer off and slipped the nearest files that lay on the table towards himself and, naturally, they were the ones he needed to have a little look at. There was no autopsy report, which was certainly very good, the bodies wouldn’t be touched just yet.
Molly headed back downstairs with two mugs in hand, making tea for both her and Sherlock. Of course she didn’t know the exact minute he would be coming in to inspect the bodies himself, but she figured she might as well have an extra cup in hand. The process she went through to make Sherlock’s tea actually took longer than to make her own because she wanted to make sure she made it specifically in the way he liked it (based on the countless of times she used to make him a hot beverage). It was probably very silly, but it was what people did, right?
Backing into the morgue door and pushing down the handle with her elbow, she stepped backwards into the room, not aware that someone else was behind the door. ”Sherlock,” she breathed, startled from not anticipating her visitor at that moment. Molly walked over to where he was standing and set down the mugs. ”I made you some tea,” she added with a small smile before taking a sip from her cup. ”How was Scotland Yard?”
I’m terribly sorry that I haven’t been on as frequently this past week! I’ve been preoccupied by mounds of projects and prep for midterms. But I’m hoping that I can get two of my projects out of the way to get to para-ing with people again! If you wanted to para, feel free to message me with plotstuff, or just shoot me a starter! Sherlock: I promise to get to your starter first, since it’s been a while or two now.
Sebastian smiled. “That would be delightful.” Sebastian accepted the biscuits with a courteous smile. “So, Molly, what do you say to going out later? I haven’t been in the city in quite some time and I could use someone to help me look better out there.” Hoping that this latest move would lower Molly’s guard through shock and awe tactics, He sipped his tea and awaited an answer.
As Molly pulled out a tin of biscuits from an overhead cabinet, she couldn’t help but stiffen at his question. Had he actually asked her to go out, or was she going mad? ”W-what?” she stammered, her eyes wide with question and surprise. Molly cleared her throat, as she put down the tin on the counter between them, glancing quickly over at her laptop. She did have quite a bit of time before she planted herself in front of the computer waiting for Sherlock’s video call. Even though something about him made her feel a bit off, she guessed it wasn’t exactly an excuse. Anyone had the potential to make her feel off. Also, she didn’t want to be rude and decline the offer - and besides, when was the last time someone asked her to go out?
"I-" Molly blinked, attempting to gather her words. "Sure," she finally answered with a grateful smile.
Sebastian chuckled. “Me? Solve crimes?” he asked incredulously. “Seems like a lot of stress. So you work at a morgue. Practically solving crimes yourself then? Finding out all the neat little intricacies of what killed people and what not. I briefly studied pre-med, but I didn’t want to constantly be around sick people.” Sebastian sipped the last of his tea and sat the mug down, sighing to himself.
"With all the consulting work I do, I just don’t have time to sit down like this and just talk to someone, you know?" Sebastian said, finally showing the five aces he had had stocked in his hand. "I just feel like I need a stable job so I can just sit down somewhere and have tea and a chat every once in a while."
"Well, you know…I was just suggesting it because you said you enjoyed solving them," Molly shrugged, nervously chuckling again. "And yeah, it is a bit cool, isn’t it?” she attempted to joke, as she glanced away uncomfortably at her own response. ”Though one of the other reasons why I chose to be a pathologist was because I was interested in the stories that hid behind those lives, as tragic as they may be sometimes. That, and I was always a bit of a science geek. But anyway,” she added quickly, hoping that she didn’t have to go too in-depth describing her younger years of being mocked for her interest in textbook knowledge. ”What’s wrong with sick people? Being sick is normal - everyone does once in a while,” Molly very lightly teased, not wanting to offend Sebastian. ”They’re still people.”
She watched him carefully, and maybe it was just in her head, but his story seemed to continuously alter the further they went in their conversation. Hadn’t he said that his true passion was crime? If anything, if someone was passionate about something, they wouldn’t be bothered about the stress if they find perusing their passion stressful at all. Another note: why did he want to study pre-med, if he was turned off by sick people? Surely, it was implied that he would have to some time. What was the point of wanting to study something to help cure others if you weren’t even willing to be near them? For a man who seemed to find genuine interest in others, he didn’t come off as very empathetic - if anyone knew empathy, it was her. It was her probably her most prominent strength, but also her most prominent weakness.
"With all the consulting work I do, I just don’t have time to sit down like this and just talk to someone, you know?" Sebastian said. "I just feel like I need a stable job so I can just sit down somewhere and have tea and a chat every once in a while."
Why was she analyzing this man so elaborately, anyway? He had just admitted to her that he never had time to have a relaxing casual conversation and a warm cup of tea. It had made her feel a bit guilty for questioning his intentions in the first place. But what on Earth was that uncomfortable itch she felt in he back of her mind? And why on Earth was Toby staring at her so intensely, flicking his tail like he did when he was irritated? Didn’t he usually nap during these hours? There were way too many thoughts processing in her head, and it was more than overwhelming. She was surprised she hadn’t collapsed in a faint yet.
"I’m glad I was able to offer that," Molly replied with a weak smile, gripping her cup tightly as she fought for her consciousness. She didn’t want to slip back into analyzing Sebastian in fear she would conclude something rather unpleasant. "Uhm - would you like some biscuits with your tea?" she added rather abruptly.
Sebastian noticed the rising tension in the room and took a sip from his mug. “No, just an enthusiast. Watching from the sidelines,” Sebastian said, as though she had hit a tender point. “I guess I just like all those detective shows and stories, but I just don’t think I’m cut out to solve crimes.” Sebastian tried to catch Molly’s eye again, though he could tell that she was being timid out of natural reaction. He simply decided he needed to take a new approach. Well, actually, just more lying, but a different kind of lying. “Yeah, tech consulting isn’t very interesting a lot of the time, so I read stories. I mostly do security systems for large firms, but I can’t say that’s any fun. What kind of work do you do?” Sebastian thought that if he allowed her to revert to talking about work, she’d be more at ease with him, so he took another sip of tea and prepared to listen.
"Oh," Molly replied, slightly furrowing her brow. "Well, maybe you should try it out anyway. You’ll never know," she added with a partial smile, her fingers playing with the paper teabag tag that hung from her mug. Molly was still weary about fully trusting this man, despite the fact that he didn’t seem to come off as dangerous. The same thing had happened with her and Jim, and look how that turned out. Sherlock accuses him of being gay, and comes out of the closet as a world-class criminal. Of course she didn’t know better then - Molly was vulnerable and thought Jim was a turnaround after all the rejections from Sherlock. Molly is still vulnerable now, and Sherlock would never be interested in her - but did she know better now?
She wasn’t completely sure, but all she wanted to do is protect Sherlock. This was the first time he had ever relied on her for anything, and Molly wanted to show him that she was strong enough to do that. ”I work in a…a morgue. It’s not exactly a great conversation topic…” she said with a nervous chuckle.