threepipeproblem | OTA---Molly's here! :)

Molly Hooper is sitting on a swivel stool in the lab. A scale with someone's former liver atop it sits in front of her, a log book and pen at her side; however, she can't concentrate. Pensive, she rests her chin in her hand and stares blankly into space. WHY did he have to be so callous?, she wondered. She'd chosen that dress especially for the occasion...for him. Now all she felt was humiliation and heartbreak. And did he have to ruin the only other relationship she'd tried to persevere with Jim from the IT department? She had actually begun to fall for him; if anyone could have dragged her away from the flame, it would have been him. That said, any unhappiness and disappointment that would follow her, Sherlock was usually at the source of it. Molly had thought about actually leaving her cats at home this evening and attending a speed-dating event down the pub that she'd heard about from one of her colleagues, but now she felt totally awkward, and completely unattractive. Why bother? The situation seemed pointless as she prodded the dead liver with tongs and pulling a face.

[OOC: Molly's depressed; somebody go and cheer her up, would ya? Also, she doesn't necessarily need to only be attracted to Sherlock in this verse; I am actually a little interested in what would have happened had Sherlock not deduction-blocked 'Molliarty' in 'The Great Game'. So, any Jim-muns, get in touch. Lestrade and Watson are game, too. :) TAGGED FOR FUTURE POST-REICHENBACH FALL STORYLINES!! ]

Threaded | Flat

[ John comes into the morgue meaning just to drop some papers off from the Surgery up stairs, and when he sees Molly sitting there looking so morose, he feels anger, mostly at Sherlock because of how he treated the poor girl. ] What'd he do this time?

Jim sips his espresso, knowing full well he doesn’t need the caffeine boost, the adrenaline is still coursing through is veins after witnessing Sherlock Homes’ pitiful attempt at convincing the world he took a nose dive off the top of Bart’s rooftop a few days ago. Although the ordinary people never did disappoint, they bought every ramshackle moment of it. A corpse off the top of the roof? How un-couth! He concluded that his own faux death had been far more dignified…and sexy. Still, one aspect of the events of the last few days troubled him. Sherlock could not have accomplished such a feat alone, as sloppy as the whole ruse was. And Jim knew exactly who Sherlock had employed to assist him.

With a few lazy swipes of his iPhone, he brought up live CCTV footage of Barts Morgue. It had been one of Seb’s pet projects, but it had proved useful, not least for keeping tabs on dear old Mol. Today she was looking more down trodden than ever, her mousy hair scraped back from her birdlike features, a defeated look upon her face. He couldn’t blame her; she had clearly been concealing Sherlock in her tiny little London flat. The proximity alone would mean that Sherlock’s cabin fever would have well and truly have kicked in by now. He felt his lips twist into a satisfied smirk as he considered all of the scolding deductions and constant criticisms that would be coming Molly’s way as the days drew on. She was shaking, on the verge of crying over one of her,”clients” in the drafty mortuary.

Oh yes, he would let Sherlock do his leg work for him, wearing her down until she doesn’t care that he’s not really, ”Jim from IT”, as long as he was a shoulder to cry on. He’ll let her spill every last morsel of information to him between sobs, every last detail of Sherlock’s routine, his quirks, the idiosyncrasies that would pinpoint all of Sherlock's weak spots. She’d not even know she was giving him the bullets to fire at him, poor little lamb.

Then he would teach Sherlock Holmes to play with his toys.

Lazily he strolled down to Molly’s email address, dexterous fingers scrolled out the words;

Hello Pet

Did you miss me?

x

*send*

:D

Did you miss me?