"Hello, what can I get you?" Molly asked cheerfully. The man at the table hadn't looked up from his phone, still rapidly typing.

"Coffee; black, two sugars," he replied in a tone that conveyed boredom.

"Um, alright," she smiled, but the man still didn't look up at her. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen with those onyx curls, cerulean eyes and inviting lips. Oh, and those cheekbones...she fought the urge to trace them with her fingertips.

When she brought his coffee to him, he finally looked up into her deep brown eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He took in her chestnut tresses tied back in a messy bun, her petite stature and sweet demeanor. She was so beautiful.

"Um, thank you," he told her, managing a small smile. Molly held onto that small exchange throughout the day, the smile on his face forever etched into her mind.

A week later, he came in again, sitting at the same table. Molly smiled from behind the counter and went to fix his drink. She only hoped he was a man of habit.

"Black, two sugars, just the way you like it," she told him, setting the cup down. It amused her to no end when he looked at her in confusion, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"You remembered?" he asked.

"I, uh, well, yeah," she managed. He lifted his head in acknowledgement, taking in the new information. "Will that be all?" Just then his mobile rang and he held up his index finger as he answered the call.

"Graham," he greeted, "anything good?" A pause, then, "Hmmm, sounds promising. I'll be right there." He hung up and looked back at her. "That's all for me, I'm afraid. I have a crime scene to get to."

"Oh, so you're with Scotland Yard?" she asked.

"Nope," he replied, popping the 'p.' "I'm a consulting detective; I assist the NSY with cases when they're out of their depth…which is almost always." Molly giggled at this and he flashed her a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. She didn't think it possible for him to look more beautiful, but then that smile took her off guard, just as her melodious laugh made his heart beat faster.

"Well, good luck," she called out.

"I don't need it, but thank you," he told her with a wink before leaving.

He returned four days later, same table and sweet smile meant just for her. She brought him his coffee and the gingernut biscuits he had asked for.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name," she told him.

"Well, that should be remedied, Molly," he smiled.

"How did you know my name?" she asked.

"Nametag," he pointed out.

"Oh," she realized, feeling stupid. "Right, sorry." He chuckled at that and dear God, it reverberated through her.

"Sherlock Holmes," he told her, offering his hand. They shook hands, albeit awkwardly.

"Nice to officially meet you, Mister Holmes," she smiled.

"Sherlock, please," he replied. "And the pleasure is mine." Molly felt her cheeks heat up.

"Molly, stop flirting and help me work this new coffee maker," Meena complained, her tone a bit playful.

"Sorry, she's uh, technologically challenged," Molly laughed nervously before going over to help Meena.

Sherlock looked on in amusement. His mind kept screaming at him in a voice that suspiciously sounded like his brother, Mycroft. Caring is not an advantage; all lives end, all hearts are broken. Sherlock's own voice reminded him that, 'sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.' He couldn't fight the spell that Molly had him under, finding that he didn't want to push her away like he does with most people. He felt an overwhelming sense of trust in her, though they had spoken on only three separate occasions. She was a mystery that he very much wanted to solve.