Haha, inconsistency 101. Enjoy!
~
"Here you go, you two. Paul Denver, 32. GSW to the chest is the cause of death but he had been suffering with asthma and lung problems his whole life. Go ahead, do your thing."
Molly Hooper stepped back as Sherlock Holmes stepped forward, accompanied by John Watson. He leaned forward, letting his gaze rake across the body, his narrowed eyes flicking around.
"Are those cat scratches," John asked quietly from behind him, motioning to small scars on the dead man's body. Sherlock stood up.
"Yes. Though I'm not quite sure they'll have much to do with the murder," he replied, not taking his gaze off the body.
"No? He didn't have a cat, though, did he?"
Sherlock looked back at John, one eyebrow slightly raised, "and that's what we'll have to figure out, isn't it?" John nodded as the detective turned to Molly, bowing his head, "thank you Molly," he turned to John, "John, let's get going then. We have a murder to solve."
The man nodded as the two turned to leave. However, just as John was opening the door to leave the morgue, Sherlock paused. John looked back at the detective, an eyebrow raised.
"You go ahead, John, I have to see to one more thing about the body." Sherlock said, tilting his head in the direction of Molly as she diligently worked on the body, straightening sutures and adding last touches to the autopsy. The smaller man opened his mouth, looking like he was about to protest, but closed it and shrugged, eventually heading out and closing the door behind him.
Sherlock watched as the door closed, immediately turning on his heel and strolling over to the pathologist once it did. He paused, watching as Molly worked. She hadn't yet noticed his presence, but jumped a bit when she did.
"Sherlock! Goodness, I didn't see you there. Do you have a question about Denver?" Molly stripped off her gloves, watching Sherlock as he made his way around the metallic table to the pathologist.
"Just one, but it's not about Denver." He said lowly. Molly blinked at him, turning back to the body and running her gaze across it carefully.
"Oh, well there were a few things in his autopsy I do want to show you while you're here so- oh!" Molly let out a small yelp when she felt two hands slip around her waist and a low voice whisper in her ear.
"What time will you be coming over tonight? John is going to be off with Rosie." Molly's face turned red as she turned to face Sherlock, who had a smirk splayed across his face.
"I-I don't know if I should go tonight. What about Mrs. Huds-"
"Mrs. Hudson is retiring early tonight and, due to her nightly 'herbals' for 'her hip', I can safely assure you we will be perfectly uninterrupted." Sherlock said, running his thumb across her cheek. Molly cast a wide-eyed glance to the door to the morgue.
"I-I don't know..."
"It's alright, Molly," the detective soothed, turning the pathologists chin up towards him and smiling as his voice lowered to a whisper, "I'll make you dinner, and we can watch some Glee on Netflix, and we can maybe do other things while Glee is playing..."
Sherlock laughed as Molly once again turned bright red and turned her gaze to the floor. "If you insist, Sherlock."
The curly haired detective pressed Molly tightly to his chest, letting his chin rest atop her head, "I know you're worried about your job if we're in a relationship, but that's the exciting part about having a secret relationship isn't it? The sneaking around, the averted glances," Sherlock let hands trail from Molly's back down to her sides, "the hushed giggles, the knowing smirks," his fingers lightly skimmed down to her waist and Molly looked up, biting her lip, "the intensity of the kisses I do get to steal." Sherlock leaned down, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth as his lips brushed lightly against hers. Molly stood on her toes, her chin tilted up and gaze dragging across the detectives mouth as a tenseness rested over the two.
"Anybody could walk through that door right now, and we would be completely screwed," Molly whispered, though her lingering gaze didn't stray.
"That's the fun part," Sherlock whispered back, letting his eyes fall shut as he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. Molly reciprocated it quickly, wrapping her arms around his neck as Sherlock pressed her tightly against him. When they did pull apart, both were struggling for breath.
"You should go back," Molly whispered, her chest still rising and falling heavily.
"What, before we do anything we might regret?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.
"No," Molly replied, rolling her eyes, "before John gets impatient and comes down to see... this."
"I happen to love this," Sherlock replied, though lightly kissed the pathologist once more and separated. He popped his collar, turning around and winking before leaving the morgue in which Molly stood, her breath still heavy and hair now a little bit of a mess before she quickly straightened herself up to return to her work.
~
"The closet, quick!"
"I'm not hiding in your closet!"
"It's either that or exposure via retired soldier-doctor, you choose."
...
"Damnit!"
Molly Hooper cursed under her breath as she dove into the closet and closed it quickly behind her, her eyes closed as she listened outside to John's footsteps climbing the stairs and Sherlock frantically trying to rid of any proof of Molly's presence in 221B. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard John finally open the door. There was silence for a moment before John finally spoke.
"Ah, are you expecting people?" Dread weighed in Molly's chest when she realized Sherlock hadn't had the time to dismantle the romantic, candlelight dinner table he'd had set up. She then heard movement from the couch, coming to the conclusion that that was where Sherlock lay.
"Oh, John," Sherlock said dryly, "you're here early."
"I forgot Rosie's nappies... did I hear voices up here?"
"I thought we'd already come to the conclusion I talk when you're not here. Are voices really a surprise to you?"
"Well no I just... nevermind. But what's with the candlelit dinner set?"
"It's an experiment, John. Don't you have a baby to take care of?"
"But I-"
"Child."
"Then how do you-"
"Small human.
"Is that a-"
"Here are your nappies. Now leave."
Molly pressed closer against the door as she listened to the sounds of what could have easily been Sherlock pushing John out of the door. She stifled a giggle as the door shut firmly and silence ensued.
Molly stayed hidden in the closet for a minute longer before she finally heard Sherlock's voice.
"His car pulled out, you can come out now." Molly stumbled out of the closet, straightening her clothes and brushing the dust from them.
"That was close," she said, almost a bit breathlessly.
"Too close," was the murmured reply. There was a small pause before Molly blinked and suddenly whirled on Sherlock.
"Did you seriously have me dive into a closet?!"
"You're the one who doesn't want our relationship to get out!"
"But a closet? Really?"
"I was improvising!"
Molly rolled her eyes, turning to the window with a small sigh. "Next time," she said, "you get closet duty."
"Next time? I'll be extra careful next time. No closet duty for this handsome detective."
A small smirk traced with way onto Molly's face as she walked back to Sherlock, running her hands through his inky curls.
"Come on," she murmured, "let's get back to dinner."
~
The morning came quickly for John Watson as he tiredly clambered up the steps of 221B. He paused before he opened the door, remembering the strange behaviors of Sherlock the previous night. He sighed and tiredly shook it off, turning the door knob and pushing open the- was that a skirt?
John blinked as he slowly observed the scene before him. The table was still out and two plates of cold food sat out, virtually untouched.
Newspapers were for some reason strewn upon the floor, as if they'd been carelessly knocked down and left there. There was what looked like a blouse hanging over the back of the couch and- good god- was that a...?
John froze as he stared at the scene. What kind of an experiment was this?
The door to Sherlock's bedroom suddenly opened and John whipped around, watching as a certain bedraggled consulting detective shuffled out, shirtless and mid-yawn.
"What did you do here, Sherlock?" John accused, making Sherlock freeze when he realized John had arrived. The curly haired detective stared at the shorter man, his eyes wide as he dared not make a move.
"I- I-"
"You made a mess here is what you did. What sort of experiment were you doing last night, tossing clothes about and making a mess?"
"Well- I- uh..."
"Well?"
Sherlock blinked, his eyes still wide as he cleared his throat, "experiment. Yes. That is exactly what was going on here."
John let out an annoyed huff, "how many times have I told you to pick up after your experiments. Each mess is getting weirder than the last and this time I-"
"Sherlock?" A feminine voice wafted out from the detectives bedroom, making both men freeze where they stood. "Are you up? I was thinking we should go get some breakfast before-"
The bedroom door had opened, and out had walked Molly Hooper, who froze the moment she saw John. He opened his mouth, but no words formed. She was dressed in what he suspected to be only Sherlock's purple dress shirt, her hair a complete mess as she froze mid-stretch.
Silence hung over the three as they all stared at each other, frozen and at a loss for words, until Molly broke the tension by uttering one word.
"Shit."