Comfort Food
"It hurts."
Molly Hooper looked up suddenly from the groceries she was unpacking. The lanky detective was sprawled on her sofa, not moving a muscle. For a moment, she wondered if he had actually said something at all or if she had imagined it. "Is it your ribs again?" While the jump off the St. Bart's roof had been survivable, it definitely hadn't been the softest landing in the world. "I can get you some more ice… if you want it, that is. I mean-"
"No."
"Ok, then, no problem. I just thought-"
"No. It hurts." The detective sounded bewildered. "Why does it hurt? It shouldn't hurt."
Then she realized what hurt. "Oh," she breathed, relieved that there was nothing more seriously wrong with her friend. "D-do you mean seeing John? At your grave? Well, I mean, it's not actually your grave, obviously, but-"
"Yes. Why does it hurt, Molly?"
"W-well," she thought for a second, trying to figure out the best way to answer him, "John's your friend."
"Yes. Believe it or not, I've realized that fact. And…?"
Molly bit her lip. "And John's sad, because he thinks you're dead. It hurts… because you don't like to see him sad."
"That's illogical. I accomplished my goal; I saved his life. It shouldn't hurt."
"You jumped to save his life, but he's still suffering, which isn't what you wanted at all. And…" she paused, collecting her thoughts, "you want to talk to him, let him know that none of it is real. Take away the suffering. But you can't. And that's what hurts: wanting to help and knowing that you can't."
"It's rather useless, then, isn't it?"
"W-what's useless?"
"This… hurting. What's the point of it?"
"The point?" Why did he have to ask hard questions like that, anyway? "Does there have to be a point?"
"Yes."
"Maybe… maybe it shows you what's most important to you."
"I already know what's important to me! That's why I jumped in the first place! When does it stop hurting?"
The pathologist bit her lip again. "I-I don't know, Sherlock. I'm sorry." Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she searched through her grocery bags until she found what she wanted. "I brought you something that might make you feel better." Molly smiled brightly, holding up a container of ice cream.
Sherlock just looked at her as if she had just grown two heads. "How is frozen dairy supposed to help?"
The smile dimmed slightly. "W-well, it's comfort food."
"Comfort food?" His eyebrows went even higher.
"Yeah, you eat it when you feel sad. It… makes you feel better."
"How? Is there some special scientific property attributed to this 'comfort food?'"
"I don't know how. It just… does, I guess." She rummaged around the kitchen for bowls and spoons. "Here," she scooped some into a bowl and handed it to Sherlock, who just looked at it warily, spoon in hand. "Oh, just try it. Think of it as an experiment. To see if comfort food actually lives up to its name." Smiling, she spooned herself a bowl and sat on the carpet next to the sofa.
After several minutes of (slightly awkward) silence, Molly looked up from her ice cream. "I do know when it stops, Sherlock," she said, very quietly.
"When?" He looked at her with interest, and she blushed slightly under his gaze.
"When you take down all of Jim's network. When you get him back for all the awful things he did. When you can go back to John again."
"It will take a long time, Molly."
"I know," she smiled sadly. "But… you can do it. You will do it. If anyone can, you can." She put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but didn't say anything, letting her keep it there. Molly knew that her face must be as red as a tomato.
He turned to her again. "Thank you. Molly."
"Anytime. Just take him down, Sherlock. Piece by piece."
JWJWJW
Is Molly in character? Comments? Thoughts?