Chapter 1

"Thank you, Molly," he muttered, never taking his eyes off the microscope in front of him. I ducked my head and ducked out of his presence; I knew when I'd been dismissed. It happened enough.

My cheeks burned as I rushed back to my office to grab my coat and purse. All the love songs, all my girlfriends, they all moaned about how rough it was to be in love with a guy and not able to work up the guts to tell him. I should be so lucky! The real definition of hell was to be in love with a guy you couldn't hide it from, no matter how badly you wanted to or how hard you tried. The lowest level of hell was to be in love with the man who knew everything, everybody's innermost thoughts and feelings. Yes, this must be hell. That's why my cheeks were always, always burning.

As I walked back to my flat I gave myself the usual pep talk, trying to convince myself to forget about Sherlock Holmes. Tons of other fish in the sea. Plenty of blokes noticed me, not even counting the one who turned out to be a criminal mastermind who was only using me to get to Sherlock. Yeah, besides him. I was cute, if not devastatingly gorgeous. I had a great job. I was smart…by normal standards at least. I was catch, damn it! And as I let myself in and pulled off my coat I decided that I wasn't gonna spend the rest of this night sitting at home, mooning over an emotionally-stunted narcissist like Sherlock Holmes.

I hurried into my bedroom to get dolled up, putting on the dress that Sherlock had ignored at that miserable Christmas party on Baker street. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and secured it with a sparkling rhinestone hair pin. I added blood red lipstick and five inch stilettos before rushing out the door and catching cab to one of the busiest clubs in London.

I wasn't sure if it was the music or my heart I felt pounding in my chest as I walked through the door and scanned the dark, writhing mass of people on the dance floor. I decided to make my way over to the bar for some liquid courage anyway. I'd only managed to take a few sips of my drink when I felt a presence next to me and turned to find myself staring into a pair of gorgeous, male eyes.

"Hi, I'm Jeff Ross," he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. "And I swear I had a really great pick up line in my head a few seconds ago, but when you just looked in my eyes, my mind went totally blank."

"Molly Hooper," I replied, returning his smile. It was a nice smile, warm but not predatory. Jeff had dirty blonde hair, short and carefully styled with gel. He was dressed casually in jeans and a v-neck, cable-knit sweater. I felt an almost irresistible urge to run my hand over his stubble covered cheek. Instead I turned on my stool and leaned in a little bit closer, hoping for a stronger sample of the cologne I'd had a whiff of a few seconds ago.

"So, Molly, what do you do?" Jeff asked. As he spoke my mind registered for the first time that he had an accent. American. How had I not noticed when he'd first spoken? So slow. No wonder Sherlock was always losing his patience with me.

"Uhm, I'm a pathologist over at St. Bart's hospital. I mostly do post-mortums," I half-mumbled, feeling self-conscious about a job that I felt didn't exactly scream "sexy".

"You mean, you see dead people?" he joked.

I laughed. "Yeah I guess I do. How bout you?"

"Uhm, no I do not see dead people."

I blushed and looked away. "N-no I meant.." I started, but Jeff cut me off as he placed a reassuring hand on my knee.

"I knew what you meant, Molly. I just couldn't resist." I looked up and found the most charmingly, apologetic smile on his face.

"I work in finance. Actually, I'm a day trader in New York, but I'm here working in the firm's London office for a few months," he smoothly answered my question. It was impossible not to compare Jeff's warmth and easy charm with…they couldn't have been more different. It was probably a little pathetic how much I appreciated basic human kindness. How nice it was to have a man focus all of his attention, 100%, on me. To be more than just the cardboard scenery in the background of someone else's play.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Jeff's laughter. "What?" he asked, and I realized I'd just been staring at him and grinning like a fool. I laughed too.

"Nothing. I just remembered a joke," I said, hoping he'd let it drop. He didn't disappoint, immediately asking me to dance. I agreed and we moved onto the dance floor.

I was hesitant, not used to this, and he seemed to sense that, not even touching me at first. But it wasn't long before his hands were on my hips and he was pulling me closer. As we moved to the music I started to relax, to forget. I shut my eyes and lost myself in the pounding beat and roaming hands.

I turned around and back up into the solid warmth behind me, grinding my hips into his. He bent his head and nuzzled my neck. His hands slid down the curve of my waist, cupped my hips and then moved to my belly, pulling me closer, holding me tighter. The song changed and I felt his hand on the rhinestone pin in my hair. I lightly nodded in response to his silent question and he pulled the pin out. I shook my head to free my hair and felt him immediately bury his face in it.

Then I heard his voice in my ear, "You're so beautiful."

My eyes snapped open when I realized that the voice in my ear didn't match the man in my head. Jeff. This was Jeff the American day trader. Not Sherlock…Sherlock! He was there….here…across the room by the door. I blinked several times, sure I must be imagining this, wishful thinking again. But he didn't go away. Not illusion or fantasy, he was real and he was staring at me. He was standing with John over by the entrance, wearing his typical "out investigating a case" coat and scarf. Tall, dark, and scowling. I told myself that it was merely his height that made him stand out to me so much in the crowd, even as I felt my heart miss a beat.

I snapped upright and jerked out of Jeff's arms before I even realized what I was doing. Sherlock's gaze lingered in our direction for a few more beats before moving on to sweep the rest of the room. My mind was racing. What were they doing here? It seemed impossible that they could have found me here, but then again this was Sherlock we were talking about. He tracked down killers on a daily basis, finding stupid little me was probably a walk in the park. Did they need me for something back at the lab? Had I forgotten something he'd asked me to do? New occupant at the morgue he wanted to check out?

"Molly, are you ok?" I heard Jeff ask, but was too wrapped up in the silent war being waged inside of me to answer him immediately. My head was yelling "Who cares what that arrogant ass needs from you? If he's so brilliant, let him deal with it himself. Not. Your. Problem. It's not like he'll even say thank you." But my heart was screaming "But it's Sherlock! And he needs you! He needs you!" And just like that the battle was over and I felt the resistance slipping out of my body. Those three little words trumphed any argument that my head could possibly come up with.

"I'm fine, but, uhm, some people from work just came in and I have to go make sure there isn't an emergency or something," I half shouted, struggling to be heard over the loud music.

"Oh…alright," he answered, but as I turned to go I felt him grab my hand and follow after me. "I'll come with you then. If we separate I doubt I'll ever be able to find you again in this crowd."

"Uhm…ok."

I wished I could have come up with an excuse to leave Jeff behind because introducing Sherlock to anybody that I liked was never a good idea, but my mind seemed to have gone blank. My brain's typical reaction to Sherlock's presence.

"An emergency in a postmortem pathology lab?" Jeff asked as we made our way toward the front of the club.

"I…well…you know, it's actually kind of complicated," I muttered. With Sherlock around, everything was complicated.

The two familiar figures hadn't moved, Sherlock seemed to still be scanning the crowd, seemingly searching for someone or something. I edged up to them from the side, dropping Jeff's hand and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in the skirt of my dress. I felt my cheeks flush under a friendly smile from John and a sideways scowl from Sherlock.

"Uhm hi…did…did you need something from me?" I directed my question at the space between the back of Sherlock's head and John's face.

"What would we possibly need you for?"

"Hi Molly, you're looking very pretty tonight."

The two answers came at exactly the same time but in totally different tones of voice. I felt a little lump start to form in my throat as Sherlock's cold indifference registered. My eyes dropped to the floor.

"Oh…I-I don't know. I just thought since you were here, maybe something…at the hospital," I stuttered. John placed a reassuring hand on my arm.

"Of course you would think that," he added kindly, "But no, we're actually here quite coincidentally on a case." I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes as I gave him a grateful smile. I chanced a glance at Sherlock but he seemed to have gone back to scanning the crowd and ignoring us.

Jeff stepped up closer, forcing our little triangle into a square. I felt a warm hand come to rest on the small of my back, and begin to gently rub. He was clearly determined to be introduced.

"Uhm, Jeff, this Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, my…colleagues. Sherlock, John, this is Jeff Ross, he's…"

"He's your dancing partner," Sherlock finished for me, flashing one of his patented condescending smirks. After receiving a friendly shake from John, Jeff extended his hand to Sherlock who offered nothing more than a raised brow and sideways glance in return. Jeff chuckled as he returned his right hand to it's place at the small of my back.

"Right then, nice to meet you too," he said dryly. Sherlock ignored this too, turning back to the crowd again.

"Well? Come on, let's have it then," I snapped at Sherlock, immediately wishing I could take the words back.

"Have what?" he asked, not even bothering to turn back around.

"His life story. You'll have deduced it by now," I responded, throwing out the same deragotory emphasis that Sherlock had used a few minutes on the word "dancing."

"Let's have it then, tell us where he's from and what he does, all his dirty little secrets, whether he's ever cheated on a woman or if he sucked his thumb as a child," I continued. I had no idea where all this courage was coming from…I hadn't had THAT much to drink.

Sherlock turned very slowly to face me. I fought the urge to take a step back as he leveled me with a hundred yard stare, and yet I couldn't look away. My breath caught as I gazed into his indecipherable blue-green eyes.

"It's too easy." he finally said. "Recognizing an American accent and the quintessential wardrobe of an overpaid, but tasteless, idiotic frat-boy turned stock broker? That's not deduction; it's simply not being deaf and blind. I'll pass. However, if you're offering yourself up as a more interesting subject, I'd be more than happy to entertain your new friend with an analysis of the motivations behind both your attire and your activity choices for this evening. Or are we supposed to believe that you own only one dress, Molly?"

His beautiful voice was the rose on top of the wickedly sharp thorns of his words. The breath I'd been holding came out in a rush as my vision started to blur.

"Sherlock!" John barked and Sherlock glanced toward his friend for a moment. When his gaze returned to me it was less confident. I could only shake my head before turning to make a run for the exit as I felt the tears begin to fall.

"What? I haven't got time for this. I'm working," I heard him start to argue with John as I left.