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I don't do this sort of thing

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Greg didn’t approach the girls, usually. If he was honest, he didn’t really have to, but even still. It was one thing for a younger woman to come bat her eyes at him, it was quite another for him to walk over to one at the bar and start chatting her up, looking old as her Dad.

Still, there was something about this one that had peaked his interest. She was here with a Hen party, sipping her drinks slower than her girls friends, and looking longing out at the packed dance floor while staying rooted to her chair. He caught her eyes once, she must have been watching him out on floor, and he watched her cheeks go so gorgeously scarlet. The next break in a song, he got bold and went over near them to snag a pint, making sure to catch her eyes again.

This went on for another round, out to the floor and back for a water this time, and she was still only chatting with friends or watching drinks as they were whisked away to the floor with some guy or another. When she was sitting all alone among empty glasses, he finished his bottle and walked over, leaning against the wall near their booth.

“It’s pretty packed tonight.” Greg called over the music, and she seemed to squeak when she realized her was talking to her.

“I...I’ve never been. I don’t usually...I work nights.” She stumbled over her words, nervous, and not making eye contact with him, It should be annoying, but it seemed so endearing.

“It’s nicer on a Tuesday. If you’re ever off. Less of this erratic dance music.”

“I don’t really dance, either. I...I can’t.”

“Oh, come on. Anyone can dance to this.”

“No, I really can’t.” She looked up at him, biting her bottom lip.

“I bet you could, doll.” She blushed so pretty, he wanted to see it over and over again.

“Molly.” She offered, and Greg gave her a big smile.

“I’ll make you a bet. If I can get you dancing, I’ll pay your tab.”

“And if I step all over your feet and fall on my face?”

“Then I’ll let you pay mine.” Greg chuckled, holding a hand out to her. Despite her hesitation, and a look at her half full drink, she took his hand and followed him out to the very edge of the dance floor.

“Greg.” He murmured in against her ear, so she could hear him over the music. She jumped again when he reached his hand out to lay on her waist, but she scooted closer. It was promising.

“Don’t let me fall over.” She almost shouted into his ear. “I didn’t bring my bank card.”

“I won’t, promise.” Greg wrapped both arms around her then, and started to move along with the pumping bass, helping her catch the beat. Molly giggled when their chests brushed, and started to blush again as his thigh rubbed along the inside of one of hers.

“See? Look at you dancing.” Greg teased when she finally caught the rhythm, and got a little bolder, draping her arms around his neck.

“This isn’t dancing.” She giggled, rubbing her cheek along his as she tried to speak just into his ear again. “This is foreplay.”

“This is whatever you want it to be.” Greg promised, running his hands up and down her back as she seemed to melt into him.

“I don’t do this sort of thing. I’m not…” She started to tense, and he kissed her cheek.

“Not my usual either, love. I just come to dance.”

That seemed to calm her, and for a few more songs she was content to move with him, her skirt hiking up as she ground down against his thigh and her hands all over him. Once he got past that shy shell, or maybe once the beer went to her head, she was quite friendly indeed.

“Come home with me.” Molly cooed in his ear, kissing his neck, while her hands ran up under his shirt.

“How much have you had to drink, Molly?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She giggled, fumbling with his jeans button.

“Yeah it does, sweetheart. Shots? More than that beer you were sipping on?”

“Enough to want to take you home.”

“Make you a deal. I’ll give you my number, and if you still want to hook up with an old man, give me call.”

“I’m gonna call you.” Molly pouted a little, but she held out her arm for him to jot the number in pen on her inner arm, leaving a kiss on her wrist as well.

Perfectly timed, one of her Hen night friends was draping herself over Molly’s back and yelling in her ear about strippers. Greg shook his head and let her go, disappearing into the crowd as the all went towards the door. He didn’t think he’d hear from her, but it was nice to imagine that he might. He didn’t take another offer to dance, it was starting to get on the late side and he was on call starting at noon.

When a week passed and she didn’t call, Greg was a little disappointed, but not surprised. She was a fit young thing, probably had a guy at home who had teased her for being so well and trashed when she got in, and got her safely to bed. At least that’s what he told himself as he got ready for a call in, and dealing with Sherlock. It didn’t do to be distracted when dealing with him, he’d deduce something. Pulling up to police parking at Barts, He could see Sherlock already disappearing into the building and hurried to catch up. He’d already scared off one Autopsy tech this month, and he didn’t want him getting ahold of the new one before he could warn them.

He was in luck, at least, Sherlock stopped to snatch the case file from him as they made their way down in the lifts and through the halls. It wasn’t quite up to Sherlock’s usual standard, but he seemed badly in need of a distraction today, and was fully absorbed in the file as they stepped into the morgue.

“Hello, Inspector Lestrade, this is…” He trailed off as she looked up, her jaw dropping open.

“Greg.”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock distractedly murmured, going right for the body on the table and ripping back the sheet to look at the feet.

“Molly.” Greg nodded, trying to keep it professional. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about Sherlock.”

“Oh he’s...oh.” Molly said quietly, picking up a file to join them. After the matter at hand was done, Sherlock darting out shouting about needing to see the apartment, Greg lingered a moment.

“I tried to…” Molly said, her head hanging down. “But I got a woman. On the phone. I thought maybe…”

“You got a...hold on.” Greg looked at her, confused.

“Was that a four or a nine at the end?” Molly looked up at him, as if she was in a great deal of trouble. It took a second for it all to click.

“A seven.” Greg sighed, giving her a gentle smile.

“A...oh. Well, I slept on my arm, and it smudged up, and…” She turned back around to her desk, as if searching for something to fidget with.

“You know...I’m not on call tuesday next week.”

“I’m not either. Working, I mean.” Molly turned to him, a hopeful light in her eyes that made him more certain of his next words.

“Maybe we could go dancing?”

“I don’t think that was /dancing/.” She teased gently, a little of the braver girl he’d seen coming out of her shell.

“Whatever you like, then.” Greg dared a little kiss to her cheek before he left, and that smiled beamed back at him, making his whole damn night. Whatever Sherlock had to dish out, he could take it, knowing that tuesday was only a few days away.