The Child of Zeus

Maybe

      A crash, an apology, and the unmistakable sound of what could only be glass shattering on the lab floor stopped the consulting detective's thoughts rather abruptly. His strikingly blue eyes shifted from the microscope to the young pathologist standing across the table from him. Blushing, she continued to apologize for knocking over the petri dish who's dismembered body now lay across the floor and for disrupting the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes. "Molly, what did I tell you about the apologies?"

"Keep it to one." She immediately answered.

"Precisely." 

"I'll clean all this up."

"I'm sure you will. But please, first coffee. Bla-"

"Black, two sugars. I'll go get that for you now Sherlock."

"How did you-"

     But she had already fled, rushing to achieve the approval of the man who's coffee orders she'd memorized. Little did either know, the pathologist, Molly Hooper would be returning with a lot more than a cup of steaming coffee.          

"What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I - well there, um, there was a package addressed to you."

     He didn't respond, he didn't even look up from the microscope lens his hawk-like eyes were peering down into. He simply reached out his one arm expectantly. But Molly hadn't noticed, instead she was admiring the way the his strikingly blue irises glowed under the fluorescent lights of the laboratory. His black, luscious curls that fell over his face like water cascading down a cliff. She stopped her thoughts; maybe that was too poetic for a man, who although she sees often, knows very little about.  Then her mind went off on a completely different path, why does she know so little about the only consulting detective in the world. She should invite him to have coffee together. Well, by together, they've had coffee together more times then she can recall. But to have coffee, to talk, and since she was feeling rather adventurous, a date. 

"Molly?" 

"Oh sorry, I, uh, I must've zoned out, I was thin-"

 "Molly?"

 "Yes, oh yes of course."

     And with that she handed him the package. Carefully he began to examine it. She could almost see the gears working harmoniously inside his head. 

     "Sent by a woman. She used a black ballpoint pen - a black ballpoint pen running out of ink. An expensive envelope, so either she isn't low on funds or she wanted to make an impression. Probably the former over the latter because if she was trying to make an impression she would've used a different pen, a fountain pen for example. The item itself, it feels like a book - ah yes - it is. The Lord of the Lightning? Never heard of it. Although sounds dull. Why this book? Why now? What is she trying to tell me?"

"Maybe she just wanted you to read the book?"

"Molly, don't make jokes they really don't suit you."

 She had almost forgotten why she had wanted to go on a date with him earlier - almost

"Sherlock?" 

"Hm?"

"Would you like to, um, would you like to go, go on a, a date… with me?"

"A date?"

 "Yes, Sherlock." Suddenly gaining confidence, "A date. Where two people who are interested in each other go do something other than sit in this lab and talk and get to know each other."

"Molly, listen." 

"No, no." She could already feel herself blushing, quickly losing the burst of confidence she was drunk off less than a minute ago. "It was stupid to ask, so, so stupid. Why would a man as absolutely brilliant as you want to possibly have a woman who can't even look you in the eye. No, no I know the answer. Just forget it."  

     Sherlock watched as she ran out of the room. Face flushed red with embarrassment, tears beginning to well up in her usually sparkling auburn eyes. He continued what he was about to say to anyone willing to listen, which at that time happened to be no one, "Molly, listen, now is not the best time. This package, I can't make heads or tails of it. I need a clear mind. But after, maybe."  

     That maybe hung from his lips for a while before being released into the air. The maybe that could begin to explain Sherlock's stolen glances at his young pathologist as she works. She doesn't think she's clever. But it doesn't matter what she thinks. What matters is that the great Sherlock Holmes thinks maybe she is.