I don't own Sherlock. This was just something I quickly wrote for someone on tumblr, but seeing as how there never seems to be enough Sherlolly in the world, so I thought I'd share it here as well. Enjoy.
It was late inside the hospital. The day staff had left, and those who remained were either working a graveyard shift or, like Molly, overworking themselves. It was not that Molly did not want to go home or that she found too much of a morbid joy in her work, it just that her work distracted her. Without it, she was bored, and being bored was the second worst feeling in the world. The first worst feeling was being alone—but Molly was used to being alone, and after all corpses could not leave her.
Glancing up at the clock and looking towards her empty pot of coffee, she decided it was finally time to leave. Even she understood the importance of rest, and leaving did not bother her much. She would return to work in a short eight hours. Hardly enough time to become bored and very little time for her notice how alone her life had become. She placed things away, packing them into her overlarge bag. She promised herself she would work on filing at home, although she knew that was not the case. She would arrive home in time to make herself a cup of tea, only to fall promptly asleep on her couch, listening to reruns on the television.
That was her life. That was what had become of her in three years time. Molly Hooper, pathologist extraordinaire. The woman who could look at any corpse without wincing. Bitterly alone.
As she turned off the lights to her office, she heard a noise coming from the lab. Frowning slightly and setting down her heavy bag, she walked towards the source. No one should have been in there, and yet there was a faint glow of light from where someone was working. Sighing with mild annoyance, she pushed opened the doors, fully prepared to politely to tell a graduate student that they needed to leave, but she stopped short. He was sitting in his usual spot, leaning over a microscope as if no time had passed at all. She let out a small squeak of surprise at seeing him. The last time she had seen him was three years ago. At that time, she did not know when or even if she would see him again. Yet, there he was. The infamous Sherlock Holmes. Returned at last.
He looked up from his work as she stood in the doorway, mild shock crossing his eyes before he looked away. "Molly, I…" he began a bit unsure, "I didn't know you'd still be here."
Molly let out a nervous chuckle. She had missed his voice more than she thought. "Three years isn't too long. Besides, I've always been happy at Bart's."
He blinked once, nodding. "I meant here at this hour. It's late."
"Is that why you're here then?" She asked, suddenly hurt. "Because you thought I might not be here?"
"No, Molly, I—"
Suddenly she felt tears welling up inside of her and a strange since of valor that she had never before exhibited. "Because you've been gone for three years, Sherlock. You spent your last night as an alive man with me. Plotting your own death. You never said if you would come back or not. Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if you were actually dead?"
"Molly, I—" Sherlock attempted to answer, but was cut off once more.
"Because that's what people do in my life. They leave. Sometimes they leave because they find better things. Sometimes it's because they die. I don't mind it so much when they die. At least then I know that they didn't have much of a choice in the matter. I mind it when they choose to leave. When they decide that I'm no good for them anymore, that's when I care." Molly paused, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. "I know why you had to leave and that's all very well and good, but here you are in the middle of the night, acting as if you don't want to be caught and—"
"Molly!" Sherlock finally managed to interrupt her, raising his voice slightly. Not out of anger but out of concern. "Molly, that last night I spent with you, I told you something. Something important." Molly was silent as she looked away, well aware that Sherlock was now approaching her. "I told you that you were important. That you had always been important and that you always will be. Always, Molly."
"Yes, but—"
"Molly, the only reason I left was to protect—"
"To project John and the others, I know," Molly replied dully, looking up at him finally.
Sherlock frowned and shook his head slightly. "To protect you. Moriarty planned to take all I care about. I care about you, Molly."
Molly felt a smile pulling at the tips of her lips, much like a school girl when she spoke to her crush. "But I thought—"
Sherlock wrapped his arms around her then, pulling her close and kissing her lightly on the forehead. "I would never leave you, Molly. And I never will again."
Molly looked up at him, seeing him as a changed man. She did not questioned him where he had been those three years. In truth, she did not want to know. All that she wanted to know was that he was back and with her, and as she looked into his eyes, she could see that it was so. The two remained that way for some time before Molly finally pulled back. It was a relationship to pursue for another time.
"Coffee?" she asked, smiling slightly as memories of the past flooded to her mind.
Sherlock smiled, chuckling slightly under his breath. "Black. Two sugars, please."
They shared a brief smile. All was as it should be. And as the sun rose began to rise the next morning, both in the lab with several empty coffee mugs around them, they knew that the future would hold new adventures for them.