A/N: This is based on something that I did recently (and highly recommend) and is just a little something to get me back into writing Sherlolly :) This is set before S3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Colour Me Happy
Molly had had enough.
She'd had to deal with several cases at the morgue involving children, the weather was foul and Sherlock was dead.
Well, technically he wasn't dead, but he certainly wasn't here.
Not that his presence would necessarily have made anything better, but it would have been one less burden that she had to bear. John was still in deep depression following his supposed suicide and the others weren't much better; it took every ounce of her self-control not to tell them the truth.
A task that was getting harder to do as the days went on and she was exhausted, both physically and mentally.
There was only one thing for it: she was going to give up.
Her decision made, Molly hummed to herself as she made the necessary arrangements. She even managed a half-smile for Toby as he watched her curiously from the arm of her favourite chair.
Molly felt as though a weight had dropped from her shoulders as she eyed her preparations. She gave a tired but satisfied sigh: everything was going to be all right now.
Much later that evening, Sherlock slipped noiselessly into her flat, carefully sidestepping Toby as he did so. He stopped short as he took in the state of Molly's flat.
For a brief moment he thought that she'd been burgled, but his fears were soon put to rest as he noticed the structure in the corner of the room. Carefully, Sherlock made his way over to what he belatedly recognised as a cubby and peeped inside.
Molly lay fast asleep on the couch cushions; surrounded by various chocolate wrappers, the cooling remains of a hot chocolate, coloured pencils and colouring-in pictures.
His small, affectionate smile was chased away by a concerned frown as he realised what this all meant. Molly was under more strain from keeping his secret than he had anticipated.
He straightened as he considered his next move, absurdly grateful that he had decided to take a moment to check on her.
A small smile once again graced his lips as a thought struck him; it was a small gesture, but perhaps it would be enough. He was gone in the next moment.
The next morning, Molly woke up to find that her coloured pencils had been packed away, her dishes had been washed, the chocolate wrappers had been cleaned up and that there was a large bunch of daisies in a vase on her kitchen table.
She blinked as she took it all in and crawled out of her cubby, still a little too drowsy to be overly concerned that someone had been in her flat.
A note next to the vase caught her eye as she came over to admire the daisies and, for the first time in what seemed like a long while, a small but genuine smile crossed her lips as she read it.
Despite the incongruity of the remark, you are correct: daisies are a happy flower. Be happy, Molly Hooper.
The note was unsigned, but that didn't matter. Molly knew perfectly well who it was from and that knowledge warmed her heart.
And almost made up for Sherlock catching her in the midst of her 'I Am Not An Adult' Day.
...
A/N: The line about daisies being a happy flower is from You've Got Mail