4 It was weeks before Molly saw Sherlock again. Her injuries had completely healed and she was back to doing her job day in and day out at the mortuary, cutting up bodies and hoping Sherlock would pop in to using his riding crop on them. But he never came.
She had received two phone calls from John and one text from Sherlock about two weeks after that morning on Baker Street. It said simply, "Lestrade caught your attacker, known serial rapist. Found dead this morning in Suffolk. - SH"
She hadn't bothered to reply.
Now it was six weeks later and she had had a trying morning at the lab. Looking forward to her blind lunch date, Molly was going to go home, slip on something a bit more becoming and head out to meet "Peter" - her best friend at the morgue had said he was a perfect match for her, not to mention a distraction from Sherlock Holmes.
Shrugging on her tan jacket and pulling up her striped bag on her shoulder the doors pushed open before her and Sherlock and John appeared.
"Molly!" Sherlock seemed genuinely pleased to find her and she sighed.
"Oh, hello," she gave a small tight smile, "I was just going out,"
Sherlock placed his hands on her arms and spun her round, beginning to march them forwards, "No you're not,"
"I've got a lunch date," she replied awkwardly, still being propelled forwards.
"Cancel it," he dropped his hand off her back and strode forward, "you're having lunch with me,"
Her stomach flipped, "What?"
He pulled two bags of crisps from his pockets and held them in the air for her to appraise, her stomach settled and he continued talking, "I need your help. One of your old boyfriends, I'm trying to track him down, he's been a bit naughty."
As Sherlock gripped the door handle in front of him John piped in, "It's Moriarty?"
"Of course it's Moriarty,"
"Um, Jim actually wasn't my boyfriend," she piped in, "we only went out three times," she saw the boredom on his face but continued to clarify, "I ended it..."
"Yes, and then he stole the crown jewels, broke into the bank of England and organized a prison break at Pentonville, for the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly" he raised a crisp bag out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows, pushing past the doors and into her lab.
Hesitating she looked after them, glanced back, and finally followed, resigning to help him however he needed.
Moments later she was fetching books he needed and records, not analysing data like a pathologist should. She pushed through the doors again with a pile of books.
"Oil, John," Sherlock was saying to Doctor Watson, "The oil in the kindnapper's footprint will lead us to Moriarty." Sherlock held up some vials and ran a few things through a scanner, "All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. Sole of the shoe is like a passport, if we're lucky we can see all that he's been up to,"
Molly pulled on some latex gloves and stepped forward to help. Sherlock pointed a finger over at the carousel of samples, "I need that analysis,"
She took it, and did as he instructed, making sure to account for everything she did in case he asked, "Alkaline," she noted.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock mumbled absent mindedly
"Molly," she corrected, rolling her eyes slightly
"Yes," he responded automatically.
Molly tended to her own analysis but listened as Sherlock made notes and tested and retested a few key pieces. Finally he murmured, "I.O.U... Glyceral molecule..." he sighed, clearly exasperated, "What are you?"
Not looking up from her own work Molly murmured, "What did you mean, I.O.U? You said... I.O.U? You were muttering it while you were working,"
"Nothing," he cut her off, "mental note,"
There was a pause and Molly looked up at his frowning features, "You're a bit like my dad. He's dead," she fumbled, "no, sorry,"
"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area,"
