A/N: Thanks so much for the kind reviews, lovely readers! I've been focusing on Sherlolly because I love writing about them and you all seem to enjoy my little one-shots too! So this is another one…I meant to make it a bit fluffier, but then my usual dark side took over. :D Because of the nature of the ending, I may make it a two-shot. Let me know if you'd like that or if you'd like it to stay the way it is!

P.S. Zora Arian—I promise that I will do something fluffy soon! ;)

Every time it was the same. Her heartbeat quickened with the footsteps. She fixed her hair, straightened her lab-coat, tried to look professional and put-together.

He wouldn't notice, though, unless it would help get what he wanted.

"You're wearing lipstick."

"You changed your hair!"

Only he could make her heart flutter even as it fell.

Today, he came into the lab almost…quietly—without his usual stentorian requests and quick stride. That was surprising, as she could have been sure that he was coming down to harangue over a posse of DNA samples that she wouldn't let him have but which he wanted particularly. Yet he was moving more deliberately this morning, and he was carrying—

Two cups of coffee.

Her eyes widened. "Good morning, Sherlock…is that…?"

"Coffee?" The corners of his firm lips tugged upwards in the smallest hint of a smile. "Remarkable display of your observational skills, Molly. Yes it is."

"Um, is it for an experiment? Because…um…I can't have you pouring it on the corpses or anything."

He set the cups with an aggrieved expression. "Why would you suppose that I would do such a thing?"

Remember. He's a sociopath, just like everyone says. It doesn't matter that his eyes are the bluest in the world or that his features s are very…attractive…oh, those cheekbones…

He doesn't mean it when he looks at you like that. He just wants something.

"Of course you wouldn't," she murmured in reply. "But what's the coffee for?"

His voice dropped lower, making even the simplest of words send thrills all through her. "For you."

Every warning, wary thought flew out of her mind immediately. "For me? You brought me coffee?"

He nodded, and the hint of a smile had grown, so that there was a real, shy, sweet smile on his face.

Oh gosh…it's too much to be true! What if—oh. Of course.

"Is it drugged?" She'd heard…things…from John.

His arched brows drew together slightly, signaling his confusion—a most unusual state of mind for the great Sherlock Holmes. "What? No."

Embarrassment flooded over her. "Sorry." She made an expression half-way between a smile and a grimace. Shut up, Molly. Shut up. "It's just…I don't know…I wasn't thinking. Thanks for this."

"You're welcome." He handed her one of the cups and his fingers brushed against hers for a second. They were cool to the touch, but she felt hot all over.

"Thanks," she said, to hide her confusion and then realized that she'd said it already. Oops. "Why—why did you bring it? I mean, it's very nice of you, it's positively sweet, it's…"

His expression was amused, although, as usual, she couldn't read the expression in his brilliant blue eyes. "You're always the one who brings me coffee," he explained. "I thought I'd reciprocate." Was it just her own silliness, or…was there a layer of warmth between the detached tone of his voice.

She allowed herself a shy smile. "I appreciate it," she said, infusing the words with a thousand times more meaning than their apparent simplicity could convey. After all, she'd been using the flattest, most ordinary words to tell him that she loved him ever since they had first met.

They stood and sipped their coffee. He leaned gracefully against one of the morgue tables, still far taller than her even when he wasn't standing up straight.

Molly basked in the moment, noticing how chiseled his cheekbones were over the rim of the coffee cup; observing—there, she was observing…wouldn't he be proud?—how the rich blue of his scarf (expertly knotted) brought out the even clearer blue of his eyes; noting how his slender, elegant fingers were scarred with the faint remains of many experiences.

Oh, to be closer to him…

If she closed her eyes for a moment, she could imagine that he was next to her, draping his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close to him…

Only in your dreams, Molly. Her eyes snapped open.

Sherlock had moved away from the morgue table and was peering at various items—the DNA samples (better not touch them, Sherlock!), notepads, evidence bags, that were arranged neatly on the steel countertop.

"You looking for something?"

He turned and smiled brightly at her. "Nope. Is the coffee right? You take it black, two sugars, right?"

She nodded. "Just like you—I mean, um. Yes. It's perfect."

"Wonderful." He drained his mug and took hers gently. "Glad that you enjoyed it."

"I did. Maybe we can do it again—"

He didn't seem to have heard. "I've got to run—but this was nice. Thank you."

Oh God. He just said it was nice.

She savored the thought as his footsteps died away down the long corridor. "Glad you enjoyed it…this was nice…I wanted to reciprocate…"

Had he finally noticed?

Had something changed?

Biting her lip to hide the huge grin that was spreading over her face, she turned to go back to work.

And something had changed.

Half the DNA samples were missing.