Strays

Who's That Girl?

Molly smiled at her young guest who was wrapped in a quilt, sipping coffee and watching telly on her sofa. She'd sleep much better knowing the younger woman wasn't freezing in the horrible winter cold. As it was Charlotte, she actually preferred Charlie, with her face scrubbed clean and wearing a pair of Molly's flannels looked so young. Too young. Her dark hair was all clean now from the shower but didn't shine as it dried. How had a lovely girl like her ended up where she was – hooked on drugs and half-dead on the streets of London?

London chewed up people and spat them back out. They ended up in Molly's morgue by the day. Oh, she could just hear her mother going on and on about how stupid she was to take in some miscreant from the street and the danger she had possibly placed herself in. Her mother wouldn't understand. Here was an opportunity to help one of them, to maybe keep this girl out of her morgue. Besides, giving someone a warm place to sleep for the night wasn't that much of a sacrifice. Not when she lived alone.

The drug withdrawal wasn't as bad as Molly originally thought. Turns out the girl had been without a fix for a few days and her withdrawal symptoms weren't as bad as they could have been. She'd seen Sherlock in much worse shape. Molly couldn't get her to eat much but at least she'd be warm tonight. That was enough for now.

"So you're a doctor?" Charlie asked without looking away from the television.

Molly nodded, sitting down in the chair next to the sofa. "I'm a pathologist at St. Bart's."

The girl's gaze met Molly's. "You been working there long?"

"A few years," Molly explained.

"Do you like it? Working in the hospital?" Charlie took a sip of her coffee.

When a certain detective isn't driving me crazy. "For the most part, yes, I like working there very much."

"Do you have to wear all of that?" the girl asked, her gaze sweeping over Molly.

Molly glanced down at herself. Typical dress for her. The lab coat was in her office where it belonged. Slacks, blouse, jumper. Two pairs of socks but only because it was winter.

"It gets chilly in the morgue," Molly admitted. "I'm always cold, even in the summer. I always dress in layers."

Charlie nodded, turning her attention back to telly.

That was it? Why had she asked Molly was dressed? Curiosity got the better of her.

"Was there a reason you asked about... my attire?" Molly tried to sound casual but as usual missed it by a mile.

Molly thought the girl gave a single shoulder shrug under the heavy quilt. "I just asked because of the guy."

Guy? "What...guy?"

Moriarty? Molly's heart raced as the girl looked at her again.

"The one outside the hospital when you came to talk to me. The detective from the papers. He was watching you. "

Sherlock? Watching her?

Molly shook her head. "Sherlock, yes. He's a friend of mine. He'd just left the hospital when I came out to talk to you."

"He's handsome," Charlie said. "I like his curly hair."

"I suppose," Molly replied to that. Okay, he's gorgeous and the git knows it.

"If I were a fancy doctor and had a man what looked like him watching me like that..."

"Oh, no." Molly automatically made excuses for him. "He was probably waiting to see me get hit by a bus, Charlie. That's all."