#1: Molly Hooper
Sherlock nods faintly as she leaves the room, empty mugs clinking in her hands. John offered to help her carry them, but she didn't want to make a bigger deal about it than it already was; it's obvious Sherlock knew what she was doing. It's also obvious the type of affection she holds for him isn't returned in the slightest.
The fact stings a bit, but she knows there was only a slim chance of her attraction being mutual; how could a couple mugs of coffee change Sherlock's whole perspective of her? She hadn't even been considering John, either, which is probably a no-no if she ever wants a relationship with the detective.
Pushing open the office door, she sets the mugs in the sink, slinking over to the office desk in the back of the room. She supposes she really needs to clean a bit if she's to find anything; Sherlock had requested the autopsy of the man she promised him he could take a look at.
Sighing slightly as she grabs the file and folds it beneath her arm, she turns for the doorway. Sauntering down the hallway, she stops suddenly, hearing the doctor and detective's voices increase suddenly in volume, echoing throughout the corridor.
"You have to be more careful with this stuff!" She hears the faucet hastily being turned on, something underneath the pour of water.
A hiss in response. "The tray fell over; it wasn't my fault!"
"What were you even doing with the stuff?" Another snarl of pain.
"It isn't merely "stuff", John; it's hydrocloric acid. I was trying to see whether human fingers or human toes corrode faster." She hears a heavy sigh, from John, she presumes.
"You and your bloody experiments are getting out of hand. You're bound to get hurt much worse one of these days..." Molly notices the concerned undertone through the thick layer of exasperation.
"Nonsense, John." A confident tone.
"No, not nonsense, you git. You just don't have any common sense." The fondness sneaks through his sentence, now, despite the scolding.
"What's the use of retaining common sense when I have you to retain it for me?"
Molly finally makes her way to the door, glancing through the glass at the odd tenderness of Sherlock's voice. Through the glare of lights, she sees the slight flush of the tips of John's ears as he dampens Sherlock's hand with a paper towel.
"Yeah, but..." A long pause, almost too long. "I won't always be there to tell you what makes sense and what doesn't."
"Why not?" Molly sees Sherlock smirk as he chances a glance at the doctor's smiling face.
A fond sigh before he responds,"Now you're just acting like a child."
The pathologist stands awkwardly as a beat of silence passes, the only noise being the water still pouring from the sink and the gulp of her throat. She notices the change of distance between both of them, the way Sherlock is leaning in slightly and how John isn't backing away. She clears her throat uncomfortably, although she knows the sound won't permeate the room.
Molly opens the door suddenly, drawing Sherlock and the doctor out of whatever stupor they were previously in. The detective quickly glances to her, small smile wiped off of his face as John visibly tenses beside him.
"Uh...I have the autopsy here...for you...," she mumbles, glancing to the burn along the purlicue of Sherlock's left hand.
"Ah, thank you, Molly," he replies, taking the situation in his stride as he pulls out of John's grip and starts for the table. The soldier turns off the faucet as Sherlock shakes the water off of his hands, quickly grabbing the manilla folder from her outstretched hand.
"Yeah...welcome..." She breathes a little shallowly as she turns on her heel for the door. Her hand raises in a meek attempt at a wave as she hurriedly rushes a goodbye and scurries out of the room.
So much for any chance at anything above a one-sided friendship. She saw the way Sherlock kept looking down at John's lips, the way John's head was tilted up to meet his.
If she can't have Sherlock, at least she knows he'll be happy with John.