A/N: The famous brain in TSoT could not leave my own brain. What was supposed to be a fun, silly little drabble turned into this strange little piece. I hope you'll still enjoy it somehow. x

The Worst That Could Happen

They should not have been texting each other, but they were. Molly had a boyfriend, no, a fiancé. And Sherlock, well, he was never the sort to text outside of cases. There seemed to be a quiet, insatiable need to always be in touch. They would take turns to hold out, to be the one who did not give in. Neither of them succeeded.

Thus, they should not have been texting each other, but they were.

So, did you find the lesions? — SH

No. Her Wernicke's area is spotless. — M

Molly looked down at the brain in the steel dish before her and sighed. She was going to have to try again. She was so tempted to get Sherlock to give it a once-over, but no, she was going to be good about this.

What do you think caused her aphasia? — SH

I don't know. I wish I could ask her. — M

Well, you can. Her brain is in a bowl in front of you. Just ask her. "Ms Helen Louise, what are you thinking about?" - SH

I might as well get you to ask her what she saw then. You've got her eyeballs…both of them. — M

Don't make jokes, Molly. — SH

You started it. — M

They both smiled. Sherlock in his flat, blowtorch in hand, mobile phone in the other, and Molly at the pathology lab, a brain in front of her, mobile phone in hand. For a good thirty-seven minutes, nobody texted. Sherlock focused on searing the eyeballs that belonged to the brain Molly was now carefully re-examining once over.

Want me to take a look? — SH

Not really a good idea. — M

Why not? I'm just coming to look at a brain. No harm in that. — SH

Her fingers hovered over her mobile phone, unsure of how to answer him. What was wrong with him coming over to take a look at a brain? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Molly nodded to herself as she typed her reply out.

Fine. Pathology lab A-II. The one on the fifth floor. - M

15 minutes. — SH

Immediately, Molly knew she had made a mistake. There was something wrong, terribly wrong with him coming over. The way her heart begin to slowly beat, thumping harder and faster in her chest as the minutes counted down. When he finally appeared next to her by her lab bench, she could barely hear anything. Her pulse had deafened her.

He was so quiet and, as promised, studied the brain carefully. He asked her a few cursory questions here and there. She explained the cause of death, the little blood clots that had resulted in the final, fatal stroke. The moment she said that, he smirked and saw immediately what she had missed.

"There is no lesion," he said. "She'd had multiple mini-strokes before. They were slowly affecting her speech from the basal ganglia already."
"Oh, of course…" she breathed, looking carefully at where he was pointing with a scalpel.

When Sherlock had cleaned up his scalpel and removed his rubber gloves, he walked back to Molly who was diligently filling in her case notes.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said, without looking up, "I can go home early now because of—"

She was interrupted by a gentle kiss on her cheek. It was only then that Molly realised the lab had slowly emptied of people while the two of them had worked, studying the brain. She turned to look at the one who had kissed her and it was as though her own brain could not connect the kiss to the face of Sherlock Holmes.

"Dinner?" he asked softly.
"I told you this wasn't a good idea…" she murmured, before he leaned in to kiss her once more on the other cheek.
"There's no harm in that," he said, his soft voice lingering right at her ear.
"No harm in…what?" she asked, shutting her eyes to block out the slow pleasure that climbed through her veins.
"Dinner…" he whispered, "This…"

He moved to kiss her on the lips, moving slowly, almost pulling back as he brought himself towards her. Any resistance to kiss her stemmed from the inexplicable pull he felt that caused his lips to meet hers.

"Sherlock…" Molly said, her hands placed firmly on his chest as she gently pushed him away.
"Why?" he asked.
"Why?" Molly repeated with a laugh. "I have a fiancé now. You can't just go around…kissing someone who's engaged."
"You don't love him," he said, with a shrug.
"That's not for you to decide." she answered sharply.
"Maybe." he remarked, looking up at the ceiling, "But it isn't hard to deduce."

Molly shook her head. He was being a prick right now and she was not going to dignify such behaviour anymore. She focused on packing her things, carefully and quietly filing her papers. Perhaps if she ignored him long enough, he would leave. Sherlock never hung around when he was bored and so Molly was going to do just that - bore him. She remained mum, clearing her bench, placing her file on a colleague's table and returning some reference files to a metal cabinet.

To her surprise, he had not moved an inch from her bench. He merely waited. There was an odd calmness to his face and it unnerved her somehow.

"We need to get out of here," she said, "I have to lock up. Come on."

Obediently, he followed behind her and watched as she flipped the light switches and locked up the lab. The corridor they stood in was eerily silent. The slightest sound would echo, reverberating evenly down the long, dark halls.

"So, dinner?" he asked, smirking at her.
"You are stubborn, you know that?" Molly remarked, unable to stop from smiling.
"I know," he said, "But so are you."
"How so?" she asked.
"You don't love him. Not in the least. And yet, you're going to marry him."
"What does it matter, if I love him or not?" Molly retorted indignantly.
"It matters when it concerns your happiness, Molly."
"I never knew it was a concern," she said with a smirk, "Certainly never yours."

He looked up and stared at her, puzzled. It had always been obvious to him, but why had it never been obvious to her? Thoughts raced through Sherlock's mind as he tried to make sense of Molly's understanding of his intentions. Had she not known that she mattered? And the degree to which she did?

"Fine. Let's do an experiment." he said, with a nod.

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, not saying a word.

"Convention dictates that a kiss is a sign of love, a sort of mutual affection or just, goodwill. It can be between family, friends, and lovers, of course." he began. "I have had to kiss my mother, so that's family. I've had to kiss Mary, wife of my best friend, whom I also consider a close friend."
"Delightful," Molly responded at last, "Where do I come in?"
"Well, considering you're about to be engaged, and you think I don't care about you…I'd say we were just friends."

Molly nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay, friends." she said. "Friends."
"So, the experiment then."
"Yes?"
"If I'm your friend, and you're my friend, I just do this, don't I?" he said, kissing her quickly on the cheek like it was a casual greeting.
"Yes, that was a very conventional…normal, friend-type greeting…" she said with a frown, unsure of what he was doing.
"Do it back to me, as friends…" he said.
"Okay…" Molly obliged, moving to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
"How did you feel?" he asked, looking closely at her.
"I…" Molly was a little lost for words, "I'm not telling…"

Sherlock smirked. He was getting somewhere.

"I'll tell you how I felt, shall I?" he said.
"If you must…"
"I felt…that the kiss was unsatisfactory. Terribly unsatisfactory," he said.
"There's no satisfaction to be sought when friends kiss," Molly remarked, amused at his words.
"That's the thing," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting, "We're not friends."

The same deafening pulse threaten to overwhelm Molly again. When she looked carefully at Sherlock, she could see that his jaw was tense, and his eyes were absolutely bright with emotion. How unusual, for his eyes not be dark and broody for once.

"If you're saying, what I think you're saying," Molly began, "Then you're lying. You must be."
"Perhaps." he said with a shrug, "Words can be twisted, after all. I could be lying about every word I've said…or not said."

He took a step closer to her, closing what was left of the small gap between them.

"Tell me if I'm lying now," he said quietly, as he moved in to kiss her. They did not kiss as friends, nor as close friends. When Molly returned his kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, she knew that Sherlock Holmes was not a friend. He never was.

"Oh god, what have I done," she whispered, when she finally broke apart from their kiss. They still clung on to each other, her arms refusing to unwrap themselves from his neck.
"Well, what's the worst that could happen?" Sherlock said with a cocky grin, before kissing her gently again.

Molly laughed and leaned her head against his chest. She felt his arms tighten around her, and the warmth they gave electrified her. Sighing, she closed her eyes and took in the scent of his shirt and listened to the sounds of his heartbeat. It was as deafening as her own.

"Helen Louise probably wondered the same," she whispered with a chuckle against his shirt.
"It'll be fine, Molly," he said, kissing the top of her head.
"You really are trouble, you know that?" she said, smiling against his shirt.
"I know," he said, smiling as well.

They stood like that for a while, their minds and bodies readjusting to a fact they had both known all along. It was a truth that was slowly resurrecting, and it was truth that was going to get complicated.

"What am I going to do?" she muttered, burying herself further into him.
"If it'll make things easier," he said with a smirk, "I'll break up with Tom for you."

END