The rain was coming down in sheets as Dr. Molly Hooper made her way to her office in the basement morgue at St. Bart's Hospital through the streets of London. She braced herself against the wind and headed for the door, only to feel a hand on the small of her back as she arrived at her destination. Another large hand then reached for the door, holding it open, and she was guided through, a deep voice saying, "Please allow me, Dr. Hooper!"

Molly couldn't figure out how the same conditions which made her resemble a drowned rat, more than her usual mouse, could manage to make Sherlock Holmes even more adorable. The collar of his Belstaff was raised, as usual, against the elements. Hell, it was raised even when there were no "elements" to speak of! Droplets of rain glistened off his windswept curls, and the slight redness caused by the driving wind and rain made his face ruggedly handsome. How come his nose wasn't dripping like her's was? Of course! Sherlock Holmes would never allow his nose to produce something as inconvenient as snot! She should have known.

Sherlock accompanied Molly through the short hallway to her basement domain, once again politely opening the door and allowing her to enter first. Perhaps bad weather improves his manners, she thought, as he once again quietly said, "Allow me, Molly!" and helped her remove her coat, taking it to hang by the door. The detective had been raised to have excellent manners, Mummy Holmes insisting on lessons in etiquette for both her boys, but her younger son was often to distracted by his own sense of importance to regard the feelings of those around him.

"Thank you, again, Sherlock," Molly murmured in his direction as she made her way to her desk.

Molly busied herself at the laptop on her desk, leaving Sherlock Holmes to his own devices. Usually he was underfoot, constantly demanding body parts, or lab equipment, but today he was content to busy himself at his microscope, bothering her not at all. Well, this wasn't completely true. He always bothered Molly, if only by his presence. His presence was always a distraction, but one which Molly couldn't seem to live without.

An hour or so later, Molly realized that she would have to retrieve a slide from the rather large storage unit on the far side of the path lab. The unit extended almost to the ceiling, and she had hoped that the slide in question was located on one of the lower shelves, one that her petite frame could easily reach. But this was not to be. She was about go in search of the step stool, which never seems to be where it should be, when she again heard the deep voice saying, once again, "Allow me, Dr. Hooper." Sherlock then reached around her, grabbing the items from the high shelf, and, with a slight bow, handed it to Molly. "Thank you, Sherlock," she said with a small smile.

"Not a problem, Molly," he replied before returning to his seat.

Molly Hooper was beginning to become suspicious. Not because Sherlock was by nature a mean man, because he certainly wasn't. He just wasn't usually overly attentive to the needs of others, herself certainly included. The last time he had noticed her this much, she had had to kill him. Figuratively, of course, as opposed to literally. Although, she must admit, the second alternative had occurred to her from time to time. But his current behavior was becoming disconcerting. She had learned to deal with Sherlock Holmes, the world's only insulting detective, was some modicum of success, assuring herself that his insults were, for the most part, unintentional, and his many criticisms were meant to be constructive rather than destructive. But his newly discovered good manners were throwing her off balance. And if Sherlock Holmes wanted her off balance, this meant he was up to something!

His behavior, which, being displayed by virtually any other man of her acquaintance would have been construed as simple politeness, but in Sherlock Holmes amounted to nothing less than a complete personality change, continued for the rest of the day. Most of their exchanges consisted of a series of "Please allow me, Molly" 's and "Thank you, Sherlock" 's, with the appropriate "You welcome" 's and "It was nothing" 's thrown in. He helped her carry heavy items. He assisted her in cleaning up. He drove her crazy.

That afternoon Molly was elbow deep in a cadaver, gloved hands covered in blood and other detritus, trying to keep an errant lock of her hair from falling into her eyes. Sherlock had noticed her attempts at blowing the offending lock out of the way, standing across the autopsy table with an amused smile on his face. He had become more and more amused by the strange shapes her lips would take on as she tried to aim the next puff of air at the strand of breakaway hair. By the time she had performed this obviously unsuccessful attempt a least a half a dozen time, he reached over the corpse, took the lock in his fingers, and, saying with a slight smirk, "Allow me, Dr. Hooper," placed it gently out of the way behind her ear, his fingers lingering just the slightest bit on the sensitive area behind her ear.

"Th...thank you, Sherlock," she said for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. And, damn it, she was stammering. It had taken her ages to get rid of that stammer, and here it was suddenly back again, caused by a single day of what anyone else would consider normally polite behavior. As she looked over at the detective, she could tell from the slightly knowing smile on his face that he was definitely well aware of the effect he had on her. He always had been, she knew, but for a long time now had refused to take advantage of the fact. She only hoped that this day was not signalling the end of this truce.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Molly didn't really believe that Sherlock had enough to do to keep him in her lab for the entire day, but he showed no inclination to leave. He had assisted her with two additional autopsies, studying her techniques, asking questions, and showing a great interest in her results. Sherlock spent a good portion of the remainder of the day working on Molly's laptop as she performed various path tests. He was pouring over her latest research paper, something he often did for her as his English and grammar was a bit more polished than hers, and she always seemed to appreciate his input.

By quitting time the tension had built in the pathologist to the breaking point. They were standing by the door, both putting on their coats, with Sherlock, of course, helping her. It was when he reached to open the door that Molly spun on her heels to confront him.

"Sherlock Holmes, what the bloody hell is going on?" Molly's eyes bored into his, and for once she did not flinch in the face of his amused glare.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Molly, I…"

"You're being... being overly polite, you git. I know... know you're up to...to something, Just tell me! You've got me stammering again, for god's sake!" Molly's fists were now balled up at her sides. She didn't know whether she was angrier at him, for behaving so unlike himself,or herself, for allowing his behavior to reduce her to this. And his smile told her that he knew exactly what he was doing!

She made eye contact once again, this time returning to her old habit of biting her lower lip, as she had ages ago when he used to intimidate and arouse her all at the same time. Sherlock's eyes seemed to shine as they focused on that lip and he placed a hand under her chin to lift her face to him.

"Please allow me, Molly," he said rather seductively as he moved closer to place a nibbling kiss on her lower lip. A kiss which rapidly caused Molly Hooper to lose her stammer, her doubts, and her inhibitions.

As he slowly pulled his lips away from hers, Molly noticed that his arms had deployed themselves around her waist. Good thing, too, as her balance had been severely affected. She was still a bit stunned as she looked up at him once again and quietly said, "Thank you?"

Sherlock snickered a bit as he answered, "My pleasure, Molly!"

The snicker seemed to bring her out of reverie and provoke a response of her own. "Not just yours, you prat!" And an un-stammering, uninhibited Molly Hooper reached her arms around his neck and pulled him down for round two.