How Worlds Collide ((A Pre-Series 1 SHERLOCK fic))

New Routines & Old Habits

Two weeks later, Molly wakes up with her alarm blaring in her ear and groans, rolling over and trying to smack the button to get it to stop. Once she successfully does so, she buries her face in her pillow once more before slowly getting up. Walking over to her shabby dresser, she pulls out a purple floral blouse and her khakis. Today is the day she begins working in Bart's morgue all on her own. Her nerves buzz with nervousness and excitement as she sheds her pajamas and steps into the lukewarm shower, letting the water run down her body, waking her up a bit more to face the day. Once finished, she pulls on her clothing and returns to her bedroom to slip on her shoes. She then brushes through her long brown hair and bites her lip; she's going to have to tame it better if she's going to be leaning over corpses, body parts, and blood. Walking to her mirror, she begins brushing through her hair, removing the tangles and then braiding, before twisting it into a braided bun. Biting her lip out of habit, she decides to put a little bit of mascara on. Afterall, she wants to look presentable to her higher ups if they come by to check up on her work.

While on the way to work, Molly passes by a little café. It has a glaring red and white sign that says "Speedy's". She has driven by this little place nearly every day for the past five or so years, and has never stopped in, despite being curious. Glancing at the clock in her small VW Beetle, Molly decides that she has just enough time to grab a coffee before she has to be in the morgue, and luckily there is a parking spot open.

Once parked, Molly makes small strides into the place, the warm, familiar atmosphere feeling cozy and welcoming, and the scent of warm pastries, muffins, and coffee swirls around her until it reaches her slightly upturned nose, making her smile. She walks up to the glass pastry case and the register and is greeted by a lively, but kind older woman in a bright purple skirt and long-sleeved blouse. There is a bit of flour on her sleeve cuffs.

"Good Morning to you, dear! What can I get you today?", the elderly woman chirps happily.

Molly grins and looks into the case, her mouth watering a bit, and she realizes she had forgotten to eat too. "I'll grab a medium coffee, cream and three sugars, please. Oh, and er...a blueberry muffin as well."

"Coming right up, love." The woman grabs a baggie and wraps up a muffin for her, then pours and prepares her coffee, placing a lid on it and handing it to her. Molly pays and thanks her.

"This is an amazing little bakery café you have got here Ms...", she trails off.

"Ms. Hudson. Thank you very much. It was always my passion, and I have many loyal customers. I do hope you enjoy your muffin and your coffee dear, and I hope to see you again soon."

"You're very welcome, Ms. Hudson. Thank you again. Good day." Molly nods politely o her and walks out, a bright smile across her face. Making a mental note to stop by the small business more often, Molly realizes that her life is changing for the better. In fact, this is the first day of the rest of her life. A half hour later, Molly pulls into the parking lot of Bart's Hospital and quickly eats her muffin in her car, then grabs her coffee and heads to the morgue. She hopes today will go well.

~~~~~~~

The hot May sun glares down on London, gifting it's people with cheerier moods and productive vibes. Richer families enjoy the day in the parks with their children, and middle and poorer class workers get busy at work for the day, and the elderly even go on slow walks, the sun warming their usually chilled bones. Everyone in London seems happy and light today. Well, everyone except one William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

Sherlock grunts in frustration as pain strikes his muscles and bones. He shifts his body a bit and opens his eyes a crack, harsh, uninviting (to him) sun immediately piercing his eyesight. Hissing, he groans and sits up, feeling the loud shuffle of newspapers and trash bags underneath him. The loudness of people walking and talking and yelling with disgusting glee finally reaches his ears and he attempts to unblur his bleary eyes, dazed and confused. Looking around, his vision is doubled for a few moments before clearing just enough to form one picture. That's when he notices that he is in an alleyway, on top of discarded recyclables, and there is a man standing over him. Oh, and he's yelling at him the way Mycroft does when he's in trouble with their parents.