She had first met him about three months ago.

Really, who wouldn't take stock of a person who brusquely opens her bookshop door ten minutes before the closing time, strides in as if he owns the place, makes a hurried beeline in the medical books section, zigzags through rows and columns of titles in such an impossible speed as if he has super super speed reading capability, violently snatches a book while exclaiming loudly, proceeds to the counter while she remains dumb struck, snatches the scanner, scans the book himself, slams a wad of money in the counter and then runs out as if the bookshop's about to blow up.

He's lucky she's generous enough to consider the extra 50 quid -'Who the hell is rich enough nowadays to leave without waiting for that big of a change?' - as reparation for his rude and very alarming behaviour.

Though, after stewing in righteous anger for a bit, it then came to her that he might have been in such a dire and time-constricted situation for him to behave like that. This lead her to wonder what his story was?

Is he a graduate student who had just realized that he has an exam tomorrow, but who hasn't studied yet, causing him to run out of his dorm in the middle of the night in a last minute effort to buy the book that he needs?

Is he that type of spaced-out professor who's in a brink of discovery but realized that he had lost a reference and he just had to run out of his office and find it before his light bulb goes out?

Or is he a doctor facing his toughest medical mystery but whose patient is already at his deathbed? Perhaps he's a real-life House with an explosive temperament but have a strong desire to save lives at the cost of coming out late in the night to act so rudely in her bookshop?

'Or maybe, you're just shocked, tired and clearly night dreaming too much, Molly Hooper!'

The next time she saw him, it was a month after his ghastly interruption in her life.

It went pretty much the same as the first time.

His buzzer beater timing brought him to her bookshop six minutes before closing time. Her door hinges still suffered under his explosive entrance. He still ran his way in between the shelves, though this time around, it was in the True Crimes section. He still skimmed through the tomes in break record speed, and he still made his way into the counter with an obvious intent to repeat his behaviour last time.

However, she's having none of it.

She snatched the scanner before he could. This interruption had put a stop in his manic behaviour and for the first time in the 5 minutes that he had been inside the shop, it seemed to her as if he finally realized that other people existed.

His eyes widened as they met hers. Molly Hooper's existence finally registered in his world.

He's clearly a man who is used to getting his way, and her intervention had short-circuited his self-entitled thought processes.

To her, it looked as if the shock momentarily halted his ability to think. This allowed her to take control of the situation. She snatched the book from his hand, scanned it herself and held out her hand for his payment.

All done without taking her eyes off his discombobulated face. 'Handsome discombobulated face'

It was only after he gently placed a wad of still too much money, that she broke off from the staring contest to turn to the cash register for his change.

Change, that she wasn't able to give again because the door was already swinging close before she even realized that she's alone in the store.

The third time was a charm.

A real charm compared to the other two. Because even if he still appeared 5 minutes before closing time, even if he still opened the doors like an actor making a grand stage entrance, this time he was walking leisurely.

Sure it looked like a duke gracing his people with his magnificent presence, but he was walking nonetheless. Less noise, more poise.

His destination was the Chemistry section. It took him a mere five seconds to find what he needed but it took a minute to go up to her counter.

His gaze was somber, if not a bit challenging, as if daring her to overturn his world like she did the last time.

Unfortunately for him, Molly Hooper has a lot in her arsenal. Instead of taking the book from his hand, she took one from the counter underneath and presented it to him.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the title.

"I noticed last time that you took The Royal Society's Compendium of Poisons. Then you came back for Murderers of the 19th Century. Now you're here with Jacob and Holt's 13th edition of Advanced Organic Chemistry. I figured you might want this."

She held out a copy of The Laudanum Dissections: A report on the anatomization of the Halligan Murderers by Dr. Hallifax Umbridge.

"Dr. Umbridge was a pioneer in the detection of poisons during the 1800s. He wrote magnificent and detailed compilations of all his poisoning autopsies. He divided them into volumes. This Laudanum Dissections is the third in his series after th-"

"The Arsenic, The Cyanide and before The Strychnine Dissections. Yes."

It was the first time she heard his voice. His deep, velvety, almost sinful voice.

"Yes, um yeah...uh." She was tongue-tied.

'Oh god'

She meant to throw him off track by presenting a wonderful recommendation. She's quite gifted at giving book recommendations and she usually did it under good intentions. This, however, was meant to stun him. To show him that she may be tolerant of his rude behaviour but it's because she's an accommodating bookshop owner who pays attention to her customers no matter how boorish they were.

This was her kill-him-with-kindness act.

Not Oh-god-his-voice simpering act.

She was already about to hide the book and if possible herself, underneath the counter, when he snatched it from her.

"I'll take both."

She made a quick work of scanning the books partially out of the need to keep herself busy, but mostly because she could feel the intensity of his stare. She was able to hold out on his gaze before because she knew that she was on the right end of the stick and she was feeding off on his surprise. This time however, his stare felt like it's fully directed on her being. It's as if she's being analyzed like a specimen under the microscope.

Really, all she wanted was to get back at him.

She didn't mean to suddenly be the center of his universe. Not that she's the center of his universe. Not in that sense. She's just the center of his universe right then. At that moment. When she's waiting for his payment.

The roll of money appeared slowly. Far too slowly. It's as if he needed to command every single muscle of his arms just to carry out the act.

When he had finally laid the money in the counter, she wasted no time in taking it and opening the cash register. She didn't care if he leaves like he did before, she just needed to go through the whole motion as a sign that everything in the world is still in working order. That she's still in working order.

To her surprise, when she turned back, he was still standing there.

"Uh, here's your change. Thank you for coming in." She said with a smile.

Really that was just her being passive aggressive.

She's used to him coming and going in a flash, so why was it that at the moment when she did not want him to linger, he's standing on the other side of the counter like he's frozen in place.

Frozen in place and unyieldingly staring at her.

"Your change, sir." She tried again. Really couldn't he take a hint?

Finally, after a few more seconds, he turned away and walked out the door.

Without taking the change, again.

The cold wind is biting her cheeks but she's glad to be out and finally locking her bookshop. Her work week had been uneventful save that Monday night when she had that awkward encounter with that man. She had obsessed over her quick loss of attitude upon being subjected under the intense gaze of the handsome brute. She's supposed to be a defiant bookshop owner, able to overturn the situation by showing what had not been shown to her - respect and good-naturedness. Instead she acted like a flushed school girl.

All because of that rude, dramatic, over-the-top man!

Nevertheless, she's finding comfort in the knowledge that he won't likely come back for a few weeks. Or ever, if he finishes whatever he's researching.

A colder wind blows.

With the padlock in place, she moved to turn around only to be shocked by the sight of the tall man standing a few feet in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" She doesn't bother hiding her displeasure. He had already done enough damage in her ego a few days ago. Now he's standing there being quite creepy and brooding in the middle of the night.

He must have sensed her rising fear because his face immediately relaxed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just needed more information."

Her fear immediately turns into annoyance. It seems like he didn't make it on time for one of his buzzer-beater performances.

"I'm sorry but I've already closed the shop." Because really, no matter how intriguing he is, no matter how he looked like a Roman statue bathed in the pale rays of moonlight, he is not going to keep her from her date with Ben and Jerry.

"I'm not here to buy a book."

For the second time, he had taken her by surprise.

"What? Then why are you here?"

He takes a deep breathe and scruffs his soles against the pavement, before answering.

"You. I need you."

Her bewilderment increased ten folds.

"What?" They've only been talking for a few minutes but she had already said this word far too many times for her own liking.

"You're not just a bookshop owner. This is a passed down business from a parent. One who recently died. This is a first generation shop, born from the hard work of said parent. Also a place where you spent most of your childhood. Sentiment and your sense of responsibility caused you to take the mantle of keeping this shop open. But you have a previous profession. One that had caused you to be familiar with the works of Dr. Umbridge. Works that are admittedly obscure, except for a certain group of people. Said profession was also the reason for the state of your hands. Also, the stacks of Theoretical Crimi-"

"Yes. I am a pathologist. Well, was a pathologist."

The look of indignation from being cut off from his 'look, I'm brilliant' speech brings a small smile in her face.

"You're Sherlock Holmes. I thought you looked familiar, then I realized I've seen your face, albeit it was half-covered by that funny hat, in one of the new books. The one written by Dr. John Watson."

The man - Sherlock, let out a huff before beginning to pace back and forth.

"Yes, that blasted book. Apparently it's not enough to have that blog of his. He had to wreck havoc in the plant community by turning trees into pulp and etching them with his stories."

His impassioned speech widens her smile. "I quite liked it."

Her small declaration effectively brings a halt on his pacing. "You do?"

"Yes, it's very entertaining. Though I do wish he'd expound more on the process of how you figure out the cases. In The case of sleeping beauty, he practically skimmed over how you detected the botulinum toxin even if it's one of the hard ones to detect, in favor of detailing Sleeping Beauty's or rather Mrs. Howard's numerous affairs."

"Yes!" The exuberance in his voice immediately returns. "I have told him before that he should focus on the hows and not on the whys and wheres and definitely not on the whos. But did he listen? Nooo."

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped from her. It's quite entertaining to see this petulant child in a grown man's body. "Well, for the interest of his book, I do think he have to include the whys, wheres and definitely the whos. Otherwise he would just be writing a scientific paper."

"I suppose." He puffs. "Though I doubt he could write one. He's more of a field man."

"You on the other hand." His gaze returns to her. His voice softer and deeper. "You've written one."

Ever since she realized that he is 'The world's only consulting detective', she had wondered what it felt like to be on the other end of his deductions. Earlier on, it felt exhilarating seeing a glimpse of how his mind worked. It did pinch her heart when she was reminded of how she came into this situation. The loss of her father is still a raw and painful subject, even if it had been two years now. Likewise, the reminder of what she was, what she used to do, still aches.

"Yes, I did." She tucks her arms in to shield herself from the cold. "They were required. To see if your little brain is still in working or-"

"They're impressive." His eyes, his enigmatic eyes - she can't seem to look away from them, even as her mind pulls away in an effort to regroup from the shock that he had trice given her.

"You've read them?" This genius man, this celebrated mind, had read her papers? And he's impressed by them!

'What fresh hell is this?'

He starts stepping closer to her. "Yes. Yes I have. As well as some of your autopsy reports. You were the one who examined the Langmen homicide. Your report was the reason why the Reynolds case reopened after Scotland Yard incorrectly classified it as a suicide. Your analysis of the Astor family resulted in readjusting the time of death that was wrongfully identified by a clumsy earlier work. It allowed Lestrade to realign the events and figure out who was the real killer."

He stops a few feet away from her. She knew that he was taller than her, but tonight he's towering her. She should be alarmed. But she's frozen in place, staring at him, listening to him and wondering if that's admiration she's hearing.

"Really, it is such a shame that I wasn't here then. It would have been a pleasure to work with you, Doctor Molly Hooper."

He extends his arm for a handshake. She stares at it for what is probably longer than necessary or polite.

They may have started out in the wrong foot, but perhaps this is a new start.

"Yes, it would have been a pleasure, Sherlock Holmes." She takes his hand. His palm is warm and his fingers wrap almost all around her hand. There's a small smile in his face and she finds herself mirroring it.

'Definitely a new start.'

"Well, you're here now." The small smile in his face morphs into a huge grin. Suddenly all the fuzzy feelings evaporated as he turns around and starts walking briskly, with her hand still trapped in his, thus dragging her along in an awkward position. "Why don't we see how pleasurable it will be."

"What?" Again with this word!

Without breaking his stride, he turns to look at her with a cheeky grin.

"The game is on, Doctor Hooper!"

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"Besides, you owe me 240 quid.

"WHAT?!"

A/N: This was the result of not sleeping while waiting for the last episode (which airs at dawn for us). All the books are made up. Who knew that it is such a struggle to create fake titles?

Also, *happy dance for Sherlolly*.