AN: This story goes under the assumption that Molly was NOT in on Sherlock faking his death. Assume that the "You look sad when you think he can't see you" conversation took place. Do not assume that the "What do you need?" took place. All errors are my own.
Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock nor "Nicest Things." I just borrow them and play with them for a bit before they have to return to reality.
Basically, I wish that you loved me
I wish that you needed me
I wish that you knew when I said two sugars
Actually I meant three
"Nicest Thing" by Kate Nash
When Mike comes into the morgue to tell her that Sherlock Holmes just jumped off the building and is dead, Molly feels the earth drop from beneath her heart. She doesn't mean to let out the loud sob, but she no longer has control over her body. All she could do was to all of these sounds and tears to flow out from her. It isn't as if she has any right to mourn him like this. She isn't his wife or his girlfriend; she isn't even sure the he'd consider her a friend. But despite all of this, she loves him. Loved him, she corrects herself. This brings about a fresh round of tears.
She's given the rest of the week off. Given that she couldn't stop crying at work, it's clear there's no logic in keeping her there. She starts to head towards her flat, but ends up at 221B. She honestly didn't mean to, but here she is. She knocks, and Mrs. Hudson opens the door. She hasn't spent much time with the older woman, but that doesn't stop her from pulling Molly into a tight embrace. Molly takes comfort from the hug; it's the first one she's had since finding out. There is so much comfort that Molly begins to cry again. After a moment, she releases the younger girl and sends her up to John.
He's in his chair and it looks as though he hasn't moved. There is a cut on his head and it's bleeding freely onto his shirt. Molly rushes forward and begins to examine his head. "Where's your medical kit?" she asks.
"Leave it," John says quietly. She knows that she has to get his head bandaged. It's not too deep, but it's enough to be concerned about. Molly moves in front of him and kneels down. Taking his hand in hers, she looks into his eyes. They are tired. No, they are exhausted. The age lines that seem to disappear in the madness of rushing around London with Sherlock have become prominent and taken over his countenance, making him seem years older than he really is. His posture is stiff. In the absence of knowing what to do and where to go, the military training has taken over and demanded that he sit up straight with shoulders back and head high. His eyes, usually dark blue, seem pale and grey in the fading light from the window.
"John, I have to fix your head. You know I do. Please, tell me where your med kit is. Please," she begs softly. John takes a shaky breath and finally looks at her.
"In the bathroom, under the sink," he replies. She squeezes his hands and goes to fetch it. Molly wets a towel and begins cleaning his wound from where he fell on the street. She gets the blood off of his face as well. She's so thankful for something to focus on. Too quickly, she has it cleaned and a bandage on it. She makes tea from something to do. Soon, Mrs. Hudson brings up soup and sandwiches. They get John to eat half a bowl, which is enough. Molly finds a valium in the med kit and makes him take it with a glass of water and sends him to bed.
Knowing sleep wouldn't come and not wanting to be alone, Molly begins cleaning the kitchen. She throws out the rotten food. She finds bleach and goes through every surface and cabinet. She isn't ready to stop. She dusts every surface in the living area, being sure to oil the wood. The books are placed back on their shelves, and it doesn't take her long to figure out Sherlock's system. Still unsatisfied, she moves to the bathroom and scrubs it from top to bottom. By the time she's done, she realizes how dirty she is and how exhausted she is. She grabs a robe from the back of Sherlock's door, which she has steadfastly avoided up till now, and brings it to the bathroom with her. She strips and takes one of the hottest showers ever. She scrubs the filth from her skin, both from the cleaning and from the harrowing day.
By the time she's done, her skin is red and warm from the shower. She combs out her hair (thank goodness Sherlock uses conditioner. Used.) She dons his robe and goes to lie down on the couch, but instead winds up in his room. She turns on the light and gets into his bed. She pulls the rob and covers around her tightly. She wants to be held by the man whose bed she's in, but he isn't here and she is desperately alone. As she turns to switch off the light, the smell of Sherlock hits her. It isn't a particular scent, but it's just him. She had caught bits of it sometimes in the lab, and every time the smell hit her, she was floored with how good it smelt. To Molly, no one smelt better than Sherlock.
But right now, lying in his bed, wearing his robe, smelling his scent, she can't handle it. She throws off the covers and runs to the other man upstairs, who she is rather certain will hold her. Molly eases open the door and sees John asleep in his bed. The valium is still in effect, so she lifts up the covers and slips in next to him. As soon as she does this, she feels him shift to put his arms around her and to pull her close. She sighs as she relaxes into his embrace. Even though the man they love is dead, at least they have this.