Chapter 1
Molly came out of her bedroom and threw on her coat and scarf. She wanted to look extra nice today, with false hope she would make an impression on him. She had been more dolled up than usual for work since he had been at her flat, but it was only because she didn't want Sherlock to see her otherwise on her way out the door.
Before a word could escape her lips, Sherlock spoke without removing his eyes from the telly. "You were awake much earlier than usual and you're wearing more makeup." He was clearly bored. He hadn't said a word about the way she looked when she was leaving for work since he'd been there.
"I-Did I wake you up? I've been trying to be extra quiet so you could get some rest, I'm sorry," she said, getting anxious.
"Haven't slept. Your footsteps are heavier than John's anyway, it would've woken me."
She was going to ask if he missed John, but she knew she wouldn't get the truth. He missed John; John was the first person to actually want to live with him, and he felt as though John was his only friend. But now, his only friend thought he was dead.
"Well, anyway,…" she said, looking down at the floor, blushing from the insult, "I'll be home from work around 5:30," she was still newly uncomfortable with this living situation.
It was going to take a lot for her to get used to Sherlock Holmes living in her flat for the time being. She certainly was starting to understand how John felt living with him, but she knew he didn't have anywhere else to go. She didn't mind him being there, but it was strange to her and she didn't know how to interact with him without her usual awkward, uncomfortable mannerisms getting in her way of conversation. Though how much conversation could anyone have with Sherlock Holmes before they had enough. Lately, she had just felt safer staying in her room due to her lack of social skills, especially the nerves she had when attempting to converse with him.
"I know your schedule," he stated, still staring at the telly, "I've been stuck in your boring flat for almost two weeks; of course I'd know it by now."
She wasn't sure whether to be happy he was paying attention, or to feel bad he was stuck and bored. "Is there anything you wanted me to get you before I come home? Did you want take-away?"
"I don't want anything."
"Sherlock, you have to eat something. You've barely had anything."
"I needed a place to stay, I didn't ask you to mother me," he said, childishly curling up in the fetal position, facing the back of the couch he had already claimed as his own. He'd barely moved from it since the beginning of his stay.
"Sorry," she said, a frown now occupying her face; she only felt comfortable showing it because his back was turned. He had been ruder to her than usual. It wasn't that she expected a thank you, but he could at least be somewhat appreciative.
"You're late," he chimed.
"What-Oh!," she squeaked. "Try and have a good day…," she said without confidence as she shut the door behind her.
She jumped in the cab silently; she didn't even need to give the cabby the address since he had brought her to work so many times. She stared out the window and tried to put this all together; it was stressing her out. She was tired of feeling stuck in her room at night, but how could she get used to someone else being in her flat if she avoided them.
Before she knew it, she was at St. Bart's, and would just have to leave her thoughts until later.