Sherlock and Molly

Chapter 3

Well, we see Molly's thoughts here. It's pretty short because I don't want Molly to mope. So, enjoy!

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story.

Meanwhile, Molly was in her living room, sitting down on a comfortable couch with a quilt over her lap as she sipped on some sherry. Her thoughts kept moving back to Sherlock and ... everything about Sherlock. She could remember so vividly how they had first met. She had been assigned to do a post-mortem examination on a corpse which Sherlock had insisted rather stubbornly on examining it as well – all because he wanted to solve the murder mystery.

Sherlock thought her biggest weakness was flattery. So the moment he had just leaned in a little and remarked how she still managed to look so vibrant and charming while in a morgue, she had caved in. Ever since then, well, Sherlock always knew how to get his way with her.

But flattery was not Molly's weakness. Even if any stranger had said something nice, her reaction would not have been the same. Her weakness was Sherlock. Everything about Sherlock. From the moment he appeared in front of her, she knew he had stolen her heart.

Now, what interested Molly most was Sherlock's behavior earlier. He seemed a little, if not quite, protective. Was it just a passing thing? Was he really concerned about Molly's safety? He usually didn't say such things to her. She knew Sherlock was just using her but yet she couldn't figure out why he said that. And what about that remark he made about her? Sherlock described her as womanly.

Did that mean he saw her as a woman?

Realization hit Molly and she accidentally slopped a bit of sherry down her blouse. A sense of thrill ran through her as that question repeated in her head. If that was the case, she would actually have a chance at –

No. She couldn't bring herself to create illusions and imaginary situations. Sherlock probably said that to appease her because she had waited some time for him. Other than that, he had made no other advances or at least shown some genuine interest in her.

Molly rose from the couch and headed to the sink. She washed her glass slowly and placed it on the counter. She headed to her bedroom and pondered on the possibility on meeting Sherlock the next day. In the morgue, of course.

She still had a little bit of hope.