St. Bartholomew's Hospital

@Sherlock Holmes "Wait, Sherlock." She didn't want him to leave. She was being....emotional. And an idiot. 'No need to dwell, Molly's. "Did you....did you still want to go to dinner?" She asked, allowing herself one last look at the body before beginning the process of putting him away. "I don't think....I don't think it's wise to continue working right now." She said finally, pushing him back into his metal drawer and stripping off her gloves with practiced ease. Suddenly the morgue felt like a prison. "Um...so do you still want to...?" She trailed off, grabbing her coat and the dreaded sign in sheet, which she handed pointedly to Sherlock. Even if he no longer wanted to eat with her, he still had to sign the Damon sheet.

@Molly Hooper Sherlock looked up at Molly, deductions still flooding his head. As he watched her, she took another glance over the body, her eyes pausing on the man's tattoo. As she read he noticed her becoming more and more distraught. Trying to comfort her, he said, "Molly, Alyssa is the man's deceased daughter. And recently, too. You can tell by how fresh the tattoo is and the fading tear stains on his cheeks. This actually might assist us in discovering his identity, if we were to search the databases for recently deceased Alyssas"

Worried he'd said the wrong thing, Sherlock withdrew and went back to looking at the body. When no new clues came to him, he sighed and said, "I suppose it would be disrespectful to dissect the body… anyways I'd best be getting home."

Awkwardly, Sherlock turned and walked towards the door.

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Molly shook her head. "Honestly, I was surprised not to get anything back either on the picture." Not necessarily because he looked well off, though he did, but because he had a tattoo on his left shoulder. Papa loves you, Alyssa. He had a family. She would have thought they'd have declared him missing.

"He might have been recently missing, within the last twenty four hours. Then they wouldn't be able to make a report."
she guessed. Molly felt horrible. Alyssa was probably staring out her window, waiting for a Daddy who would never come home.

She shook it off. Now most definitely wasn't the time. There were also possibilities she wasn't considering since she was being emotional.

"I don't know. I might try to run it again. Unless he has a surgical implant. That would be a of luck."

@Molly Hooper As Sherlock examined the body, clues pointing to the identity of the man burst into his head in the form of words in the air ready for him to pluck them up. While he did not know the exact identity of the man, what he deducted was very concerning.

"Are you sure there was no match on his identity?", he asked Molly. "From his large build and the impeccable trim of his beard and hair, it is obvious that he was very well-to-do. I would think that the databases should have something on him. Did have any possessions on him, articles of clothing maybe?"

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She sighed, but she figured she'd get Sherlock to sign in before they left. It was' t as if ten til six was a hard time to remember.

She walked over with Sherlock and peered at the body. "He's a John Doe." She said. "Found dead in an ally with...well, this, on his cheats." A series of random dots dotted his cheast. "Tox screen car back clean, so it looks like it's some form of quick acting drug. They've only surface wounds, as far as I can tell." Maybe she was missing something, because she simply couldn't figure out cause of death. Maybe Sherlock would have some insight.

@Molly Hooper Sherlock relaxed visually. The offer to help with lab work would give him time to dodge the question on where to eat. Both of Molly's suggestions held bad memories of John, both from the same day. The day Sherlock had revealed the fact that he was alive and saw the… the mustache. Sherlock shuddered at the mere thought of it. Deliberately ignoring Molly's question, he grabbed the gloves and walked over to the lab counter.

"So… what are we looking at here?"

He wasn't skilled with women. Yes. Molly had figured out that one quite a while ago. Or people in general, really. Part of what made him Sherlock. It was also rather aggravating, at times.

Did that mean this was a date? No. Not in a billion years.

She shrugged. "It depends on what you feel like. To be honest, I am rather hungry." She looked up at the clock. "I have about....ten minutes? I'd like to finish my notes on this one quickly before I head out for the day. Would you like to help?" She gestured to the gloves and sign in sheet. Yes, she was Sherlock, but they had new management and that meant Sherlock did have to sign in for administrative purposes if he wanted to "help", though that was likely the wrong word, as well as follow protocol. To be honest, even Molly hated the sign in sheet. She every so often forgot to run it up or remind a visitor to sign in, and then her boss wasn't very pleased.

Then again, her boss hadn't been especially pleased at finding out Molly's involvement in Sherlock's death, but Molly didn't actually like her boss much. She'd often called him an administrative pansy.

"There's a good little cafe around here. It serves mostly quiches and sandwiches and things, but it's fairly quiet. There's also an Italian place nearby. And if there's anywhere you know of, you could suggest that as well. What are you hungry for tonight? I could pretty much eat anything-- I haven't eaten since noon." It was currently ten til six.

@Molly Hooper Sherlock stopped and slowly turned around with a slight frown on his face. Quickly, he regained his composure, thankful that, once again, he had escaped embarisment.

"We'll… no, not really. It's just that… that last time we had "dinner" it was sandwiches in the morge. I thought it might be nice to actually go out for once. I didn't plan as far as where to go because my normal advisor on the subject, Mrs. Hudson, is out shopping today. You see, I'm not really skilled with women…"

She frowned, stopping in her tracks as she reached for the gloves. Tom was still a rough spot. They'd broken up a month ago, after a major fight involving Tom being jealous of all of her friends. She looked down to the finger where she expected her ring to be, only to find it empty. She'd thrown it at Tom in a fit of anger. The fights had actually started when Sherlock had returned, as she reminded herself that she had moved on.

Molly wasn't sure anymore if she had really moved on or not. But it didn't matter, because in the end, if Tom couldn't trust her, then they really weren't right for each other. "No." she said finally. "No, we broke it off." It didn't portray the fact that, in some way, she still cared for him, and in some way, the blow hit her nearly as hard as Sherlock leaving to fake his death. She laughed humorlessly. "I seem to have a talent for choosing horrible men. Last time I had one you didn't like, it turned out to be Moriarty." It was official. Sherlock was now her background check on any and all future dates.

Unless they were himself of course. 'Ahem. Moving on.'

She almost laughed at Sherlock's assessment of John and Mary's honeymoon. John would miss Sherlock terribly, and Mary had grown fond of him as well. But they had both confided in Molly that they were looking forward to spending some alone time together. It had nothing....alright, maybe it had something to do with Sherlock, but it was mostly due to the fact that they both had been working and stressed beyond belief since they got married.

She looked stunned. Did Sherlock....did Sherlock actually ask her to dinner? Her? 'Don't get your hopes up, Molly. He's probably asking as friends.' But she saw him going toward the door, and her hand stretched out slightly. "Wait, Sherlock." she said. "I would love to. When would you like to go? Is there someplace specifically you had in mind?" Sherlock could, at the very least, be better conversation than sitting in her newly found crappy apartment on her own. And he was her friend. Even though he had hurt her in the past, she did find him interesting. She didn't understand him entirely, and didn't think anyone ever could. But that was what made him great. He was different than other guys she had ever met before.

@Molly Hooper Sherlock paused, taking in the softness of her cheeks and the silkyness of her hair. When he looked at her, he instantly knew everything about her and what she was thinking. He had know what she felt about him for years, but could never muster the courage to go further in the relationship. Mrs. Hudson had been giving him eloquence lesson and, though not the most qualified on the subject, knew a surprising lot about how to treat the opposite gender.

"Well, with John gone and… wait. Are still hanging around with that Tom? I didn't like him. Gave me the creeps. Couldn't read him. Anyway, what I meant to say was, with John and Mary away on a much need break from me (Some people call it a "Honeymoon"), I had gotten bored and was wondering if you would like to… *cough*… go to dinner or something "exciting" like that."

He said the last part quickly and stumble over his words a little. Embarrassed, he turned around and started for the door.

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Molly looked up, startled, from her notes. Who could it be? She knew an evaluator was coming around this week, but she'd assumed that, like last year, she'd be last on the list.

It was rather amazing how disgusted one could get with her line of work. But surprisingly, the slightly vain Molly of her youth didn't mind.

"Sherlock." She said in surprise, seeing the chiseled cheekbones, dark curly hair and deep blue eyes. Sherlock and her were complicated. There was a time once, when she had simply had a crush on him, and though, if she was honest, she still did, but now fanaticism' t even begin to scratch the surface of her feelings for him. He had, sometimes alternately and more frequently all at the same time, been maddening, hopeless, arrogant, hurtful...and the sweetest thing on earth.

She didn't know at what point she began to think of him as one of her closest friends, despite all of that. She just did.

"Did you need something?" She asked, putting down the clipboard and going over to grab him a set of gloves. Sherlock Holmes did not make social calls.

*walks into lab where Molly is working and stands in the doorway for a long time watching her stare into a microscope. Noisily clears throat*