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Molly grimaced at the cadaver. She was annoyed with it for existing, for taking up her time when she would much rather sit at home with Toby, eating ice cream and grimacing at the telly.
Okay, so Molly Hooper didn't like Valentine's Day. For years, she'd been stupidly infatuated with a man who didn't even know she existed, and her last boyfriend was a megalomaniac that tried to destroy the one who was barely aware of her existence.
Of course, after all that, after he'd lived in her flat for a little while, she wasn't in love with Sherlock anymore. She still thought he was dead gorgeous, but she was okay with being friends with him. Somehow, it was more than enough.
The thing that was really getting her down today was that Greg wasn't able to see her. He was staying with his parents for the week since his mum had broken a leg. Molly had insisted that he go, and he'd given her a lovely kiss and a lovelier smile and promised to call her every night. So far, three days in, he'd done just that, and it was wonderful. It was just slightly less wonderful when her boyfriend of a month and a half wasn't going to be able to spend Valentine's Day with her.
God, she felt like a teenager again, all sorts of offended with the universe for coming up with the day.
She completed the autopsy and its attached paperwork and let out a deep sigh as she switched out her lab coat for an overcoat. She smiled dully at the people who said goodbye to her as she walked out to the street. It was nice that the bus pulled up just as she got to the stop, and that it was nearly empty.
She got home in record time. Toby chirruped and purred at her, rubbing against her legs. With a smile, she crouched down to scratch between his ears. At least she could count on Toby.
She had barely taken her coat off before her mobile beeped with a text. She frowned at the device, but her face softened when she saw that it was Mycroft.
If you'd like to go to dinner, a car will be in front of your building in half an hour. MH
She grinned at the screen. Like Toby, Mycroft was easy to count on. There was nothing romantic there, on either side, and he'd shown to be a great friend. She was surprised that he seemed to think the same of her. He'd cracked open so much during Sherlock's Hiatus, and the trust there was almost overwhelming, but definitely very good.
Leave it to Mucroft Holmes to just know that she was having a bad day. He knew that she and Greg were together (how could he not? She rarely talked about anything else nowadays), and that Greg was away. Here he was, offering a great distraction.
Sounds great, see you then.
She was glad that she'd dressed up, but she still felt underdressed. The women she saw while being led to the table were decked out in diamonds and silks, and she was pretty sure one woman was wearing a tiara. The luxury coming off the guests in waves was either understated or ostentatious, with no in-between to speak of.
Mycroft was sitting at the table in his own understated luxury, Anthea beside him. Both looked up and smiled at Molly, though Anthea's was little more than a sardonic quirk of the lips. She was glad that she could be there as well; they'd become friends, and while Molly was still intimidated by her, she was pleased to have her in her life.
"This place seems...nice."
The words were a mangled understatement. This was a place royalty probably ate at. On special occasions. This was a place without prices on the menu, with glasses of wine that likely cost as much as her rent, with a strict dress code that she'd probably only just passed. This was intimidating.
"Oh, it is," Anthea said, smile widening slightly.
"They have excellent food here, and I thought you might appreciate a little luxury today," Mycroft murmured. "Please, sit."
The maitre'd pulled out her chair for her and everything.
I'm certainly not in Kansas anymore.
It was dunny that she was so nervous, considering that she'd been given brief moments in creme-de-la-creme luxury before. The dress she'd worn for Christmas had been purchased in a shop where the girls offered champagne. It was fun every once in a while, but she couldn't imagine being part of this life and not being terrified.
After a while, after she and Anthea had drunk some wine and Mycroft had barely touched his own glass, she supposed that she was a bit closer to comfortable. She'd made the British Government laugh, really properly laugh at a story she told about an orderly and a dead body and a sandwich. Anthea had actually giggled. These incredible, more-than-human creatures had laughed with her and not at her.
She talked about Greg, quite a lot, and Mycroft looked pleased that she was so happy with the DI.
By the end of the night, stuffed with the best food and wine she'd ever even imagined, the three of them had enjoyed a nice evening of with friends. She was grateful to have the elder Holmes as her friend. He was thoughtful and meticulous and so much kinder than anyone ever knew.
To top off the perfect night, Greg called almost the second after she'd walked into her flat, and they talked for hours, just like teenagers.
She fell asleep that night, smiling contentedly at what amounted to the Best Valentine's Day Ever.