To say that Molly was unhappy was an understatement. She was beyond frustrated with the consulting detective who was currently in the pathology lab with her. Sherlock had been irritable and pushy, possibly because of the lack of cases at present.
Molly knew the way his mind worked. Whenever he didn't have anything to keep him active and busy, as he so eloquently put it, his brain rotted. She had originally been concerned that the stagnancy would cause him to default to drugs or smoking, but he hadn't done either and said he didn't need them.
Even if Sherlock wanted to smoke, no one would sell him anything. John had helped Molly see to that, actually.
Now, John Watson was a very lucky man because he had just gotten married. He had a wife - and what's more, a pregnant wife - which meant that he had to significantly dial back his time with Sherlock.
The interesting thing in all of this was Sherlock's reaction. He accepted that he wouldn't be seeing his best friend as much and was very understanding. Then, he'd begun asking Molly to assist him on his cases, which she agreed to every time.
In retrospect, it still had been a good idea because they'd gotten a bit closer as time passed. Molly's current problem with Sherlock was how he would get terribly antsy whenever he didn't have anything to work on. Unfortunately, that had been a pattern for the past three days.
In desperation, Sherlock came to Bart's an hour ago and requested a pair of eyeballs and a set of toes for one of his experiments. Molly had to get the paperwork signed and it was taking unusually long for the okay to go through. Unfortunately for her, Sherlock decided to stay around at the hospital and wait until he received permission.
It had been a bad idea, but for the past twenty minutes, Molly had tried to chat with Sherlock and distract him for the time being. So far, she'd done a miserable job. The only time he responded to her was when she offered to bring him coffee from the canteen - "Thank you, Molly" wasv the only thing he'd said while barely looking at her.
Did he think she was his flunky? Sometimes the man didn't have the slightest idea about tact or gratitude and Molly found her own disposition souring the longer Sherlock was at Bart's.
In a desperate bid to change the atmosphere between them, she started talking. "So we've gotten a new anaesthesiologist last week. Her name is Ruth and she's pretty nice. A big fan of yours, and she said that she's always on your website and John's blog. I suppose you're pleased that his blog has gotten quite a large following. I know I would be in your position."
Sherlock's fingers continued to move on the touch screen on his mobile and he rolled his eyes, replying in a disinterested voice, "Fascinating. How lucky for you to meet someone who shares the same interests as you, Molly. I'm sure you'd eagerly run my fan club for the staff at Bart's, but it's unnecessary since you're already a member of the I Heart Sherlock group online."
Molly paled. She knew what was coming next.
"The bracelet on your wrist is a couple of years old. I know because you don't wear jewellery often, yet, you consistently wear this bracelet, and so much in fact, that it's a bit worn and the colours are faded. If that wasn't telling enough, the tiny, homemade and definitely not store bought 221B symbol that's attached to the bracelet is proof that it comes from a place where the people make and distribute their own items. Anyway, you can't bear awkward silences, and since we both know you're terrible when it comes to small talk, please stop with the worthless drivel."
That was the final straw. Molly didn't care if she had feelings Sherlock or not. It was humiliating to be treated like this and the cold deduction he just made reminded her of that awful Christmas party. It had been a long time since she'd seen that careless side of Sherlock and it had just reared its ugly head again.
Her nose flared and she stepped towards him until they were separated by mere inches. "Well, I'd rather be awful at making small talk than tearing down people's spirits."
His fingers stilled and he looked down at her in surprise. "What?"
"You heard me. I'm sick and tired of you making fun of me. It's a miracle that I don't have a complex because of the verbal abuse I've been subjected to through that mouth of yours. And here, I thought we were making progress." She shook her head angrily. "You can find someone else to bring you body parts and help you with cases. I'm done!"
Molly hated how her eyes began to fill up with tears as she ran from the room. A dam had broken inside of her and she couldn't do anything to stop it.
Her feet took her out of the pathology lab and far away from Sherlock's calls. The pounding of Molly's heart echoed in her ears and when she reached her flat, she couldn't even remember how she got there. All she knew was that she couldn't work with Sherlock anymore. It hurt too much.