summary: because subtlety doesn't work on a woman who's oblivious.

dedications: i heard that theemptyholmes was having a jackshit day, so this one's for you sweetheart and to whoever else may need it. you stay strong babydoll, because there are people out there who love you, even if you don't notice.

disclaimer: BBC Sherlock is the property of Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. No infringement of copyright is intended.

.

.

.

veteratorian lover

John watched from his solitary corner of the lab as Sherlock Holmes tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind Molly's ear. It had been the second time in half an hour that the detective had done this- whether she had been writing up a report or studying a blood sample under the microscope, within seconds of the lock hair falling onto her face, Sherlock had made sure to get it. The somewhat distracted pathologist flashed him a small but grateful smile before she returned her attention to her microscope. Sherlock simply nodded in return, but his eyes stayed on her for a few seconds longer.

Ten minutes later, John watched as Molly scrambled around the desk in search of pencil to write down her findings, only for Sherlock to pull out a stunning fountain pen from his suit jacket and offer it to her.

Another appreciative smile.

And another lingered gaze.

How very interesting.

Earlier that afternoon, Sherlock had abruptly announced that it was of utmost importance that they visit St Bartholomew's hospital right away, and had all but dragged John out of 221B and into a taxi. However, once they had arrived, Sherlock had merely given his normal greeting to Molly, seated himself at his usual microscope and began examining slides from one of his experiments.

An experiment, that John could've sworn, he had completed weeks ago.

John continued watching as Sherlock silently observed Molly's research, his own experiment having been completely disregarded a while ago. The detective's eyes were trained on Molly, who was unaware to everything around her as she was too immersed in the curious nature of the blood sample she was studying.

An hour passed and John had counted a grand total of fourteen more insignificant favours that his flat mate had done for the pathologist. From pulling out her chair, to reorganising her notes and clearing more space on the workbench for her. Sometimes Molly would smile at him or even mutter a quite thank you. Other times, she wouldn't even notice.

But every single time, Sherlock would stare at her, searching for some sign of approval from the pathologist, a faint glimmer of longing in his eyes. But he would not be reward any further.

The three remained in a comfortable silence until Molly announced that she was done for the night, but if Sherlock needed to use the lab, they were welcome to stay back longer.

The detective declined and promptly left the lab, his Belstaff coat swirling behind him. John muttered a quick goodnight to the slightly bewildered pathologist, before he hurried to catch up with his flatmate.

"So…" John drawled once he fell into step with Sherlock, "how did your...experiment, go?"

The muscles constricted in the detective's jaw, "The results were not entirely what I was hoping for."

John let out a huff of amusement. He really didn't know what Sherlock had been expecting with his little acts of kindness towards his pathologist, but he was going to have to pick up his game if he wanted Molly to clue into his feelings.

But what was most ironic was that the great consulting detective had failed to notice the shy glances Molly had given him throughout the night and the secret smiles she shared only with herself as she watched the man out of the corner of her eye.

The army doctor wondered how those two oblivious fools ever managed to solve half the crimes in London, when they couldn't plainly see what was right in front of them.

Talk about "seeing but not observing".