Molly Hooper took a very deep, steadying breath as she lifted her arm to reach the knocker on 221B Baker Street. She hated doing this, hated seeing her face, but she must. She knocked.
Mrs. Hudson appeared in a moment.
"Molly, dear, I'm glad you're back. Come in, come in," she ushered her in.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Molly said as she placed a hand on the lady's arm. "How are you?"
Mrs. Hudson smiled wanly. "My hip isn't better, but I'm coping, dear."
"Have you heard from John recently?"
"Yes, he called in last Friday," Mrs. Hudson motioned her to a chair. "I'll make you a cup of tea."
Molly sat waiting.
"He calls regularly," Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen, "but insists that he can't bear to visit."
Molly sank a little in her seat as she brought the pot around and poured her a cup, knowing well by now how Molly liked hers.
"It's very, very hard," Molly muttered ruefully, "to live with something like that. I hate the thought of John suffering like this."
Mrs. Hudson took her seat and stared out a window. "We all have to deal with it, darling, but John… I don't know if he can ever be the same."
Molly flushed, and as she lowered her eyes to sip her tea, Mrs. Hudson thought she could see tears glimmer.
…
"Where are you?" Molly asked over the phone that night.
"It doesn't matter," he told her.
"I think I have the right to know, Sherlock," she hissed.
"Mmm, I like this… spunk," he crooned before his voice turned cold again. " Trust me, Molly Hooper, your right to ignorance concerning my whereabouts is far more valuable at the moment."
She sighed. "Fine."
His voice softened. "How are they?"
"Still the same. Sad," she said.
"Molly?"
"What?"
"Thank you for watching over them."
Molly didn't say anything.
"Goodnight, Ms. Hooper."
Molly sighed again, and closed her eyes, hoping that tonight will be the night she finally falls asleep
