Timing

Or the one where Molly Hooper blindly walks in on Sherlock Holmes and a house guest. Imagine everything awkward and cringe worthy. Humour.

Chapter 1

It wouldn't leave me.

Disclaimer: K.

Molly Hooper could possible have the worst timing.

Ever. Not that she lacked it but rather the universe hates her. Quite immensely at that.

But does it? Does it really?

Somehow, after seven years of knowing him; spending a better part of those years harboring his ghastly secret; and after countless false starts, she's managed finally become right and proper friends with the world's only consulting detective.

She likes him. Understatement of the year that but it doesn't matter. Because now that they've finally mellowed into some sort of friendship, she's happy.

She loves him but it doesn't always follows that boy has to feel the same way.

She's okay with it. She helped him faked his death. Really, there's not much she wouldn't do for the man.

But all that aside, she walks into something that could possibly upset their small growth.

Mrs. Hudson, bless her soul, was possibly the world's most patient woman ever. But really decaying flesh and baggies upon baggies of things she's not quite sure were legally acquired (in the fridge no less!) were really really far too much.

And so one afternoon she called (begged) Molly to please, please come and sort them out. She was a pathologist, surely she could help. And well she's sure Sherlock wouldn't mind. Seeing he somehow more than tolerates the pathologist with the ill-timed jokes and well-meant sentiments.

One could say he was fond of her.

That's good. Her boy could do with a lady's company. Now that John moved out.

Well, Mrs. Hudson, how superbly aggressive of you.

And so the afternoon after her shift, saw (poor, unaware) Molly on a taxi ride to 221B.

A quick hello to Mrs. H and a go right on ahead after, saw her knocking on Sherlock's door.

"Molly-" he looked somewhat surprised if not a little startled.

"Hullo, just a quick pick up," she said waving the cooler she brought with the bio-hazard baggies shuffling inside.

She made to step inside but Sherlock was unmoving.

Sighing she tried to compromise, "All right all right, I'll promise not to bin them but I'll have to move them to St. Bart's. Mrs. Hudson asked me to."

Sherlock didn't look quite right, Molly noticed...

He was hiding something. Subtly trying to conceal the flat so that she could only partly see John's empty armchair while his arm was strategically concealing the back of his leather chair.

And because this was Molly, and she was finely in tune to Sherlock, she picked up on his almost slight panic.

"Sherlock?" she asked a bit concerned and confused, "what's wro-"

"Mr. Holmes, what's taking you?" a woman's voice came from inside.

Husky if not a bit seductive and all around suggestive.

And for (bright, bright) Molly Hopper everything fell in place. Her skin prickled and her heartbeat escalated and well she felt a bit not good actually. Her small mouth formed an 'o' and all she could do was flounder in true Molly Hooper fashion.

What came out were a series of unattractive uhm's and r-right's but mostly oh's. And a few false starts.

After a moment Molly could see a beauty rise from Sherlock's chair. Though Sherlock did try to strategically move a tiny tiny bit to his right as to block her.

And the voice complemented the face well.

More than well, actually. A bit more like woah congrats on that face. And lips. And those hips. And really really good job on that skin. And god, was she wearing his blue dressing gown? Molly didn't need to be a doctor to see she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Erm, hullo," she gave a nervous wave to the woman.

Molly Hooper did have the worst timing. Ever.

She faced Sherlock.

"Uh, right," she's always been so eloquent.

They were friends now. Right and proper. She had no business feeling duped. Not in the slightest. If it were John or Greg in this situation, they wouldn't hesitate to take the mick out of him. Especially in such a beauty's company.

So, right. She wasn't going to be awkward for long.

They were friends now. Right and proper.

"Actually, I think I'll be leaving now," she tried her best to put a bit of humour to her voice and a comic face on but she's sure it didn't translate well. Ha. Molly Hooper, everyone.

It didn't helped that the way she turned was almost robotic and well mid-way down the stairs she turned back up. Sherlock was still at the door.

"Actually, could you maybe pack the things." she waved the cooler again, "and drop them off at Bart's? I only had time today,"

He opens his mouth but she was quick to say-

"Or don't if you don't want to! It's okay," nervous laughter here.

"You know what, I'll uh go ask John," she nodded to herself, already heading down the stairs.

"Yes, John," she says. She twists around but almost instantly turns away from him and with that she almost fumbles the way down.

They were friends now. Right and proper. Right? No need for this awkwardness at all.

More soon.

I've never really liked this chapter. I want to rewrite it but that would change the whole feel of the story.