A/N: Please excuse any grammar or punctuation errors as it is not beta read.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Just like John and Sherlock, Molly sees them too.
Dead people.
She is too polite to call them hallucinations. Nor does she want to consider why she does.
It's probably due to loneliness.
John is lonely without Mary.
Sherlock has turned loneliness into an artform.
And Molly…
Molly sees her father.
She doesn't see him all the time, just on special occasions like his and her birthday, Father's Day, or the anniversary of his death.
Like when he was alive, she treasures the time she spends with him. They always have dinner together, Molly always sets out an extra plate for him.
They talk about everything, work, her life, the past, Sherlock.
Molly does realize that it is her own brain trying to tell her what she should do. Still, there is something comforting about getting advice from her dad, rather than working it out on her own. It's nice to have someone on your side, cheering you on, or able to give you the kick in the trousers to get motivated.
Molly most certainly needed one when it came to Sherlock.
When she forced him to say the words "I love you," even when it wasn't real, it provided her with no comfort and satisfaction from hearing it.
"You deserve better. You deserve more." She could hear her father's disapproval.
It was the push Molly needed. Maybe now, she can finally put to rest the fantasy of Sherlock Holmes.
He would always be the brilliant yet quirky detective, but she couldn't survive as the woman with an unrequited love for him. She wanted to be loved as well. She was worth it, her father said so.
"Molly, I need you in the lab tonight." The detective ordered.
It was Father's Day.
"Sorry Sherlock. I have plans tonight." The pathologist responded.
"Plans?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. It was plainly obvious he was deducing her. "Cancel them. I need you here."
"No." Molly was firm.
"Sherlock..." John warned him just as the detective was opening his mouth. "Let her go."
"Work is the best antidote for grief." He argued with Watson. "Is it not…kinder…to keep her busy?"
"We all are not like you. We all deal things in different ways." His best friend explained.
"She shouldn't be alone." Even he realizes this in his own sherlockian way.
"She's not alone. You heard her. She has a date." John stated.
Even with that fact, the great consulting detective is far from satisfied.
He breaks into Molly's flat. The lock placed on the door is still far from satisfactory, even after Mycroft's people swept the place for cameras and explosives.
The living room is dark, but he can see the light coming from the kitchen. He knows she is home because he can hear her voice talking and laughing. He pushes the kitchen door open, ready to deduce the hell out of Molly Hooper's date, when his eyes widen in surprise.
There she sits, alone, with an empty place setting across from her.
"Sherlock!" Molly exclaims.
"Molly. What are you doing?"
"Having dinner." She lifts her fork, half way to accentuate that point.
His brow furrows.
"Why do you have an extra place setting?"
"That's Dad's." She says matter-of-factly.
"And you…see him?" He says carefully.
"Yes." Molly says, her voice slightly laced with irritation.
Of all people to understand this, she would have expected that he would. Instead he moves inside the kitchen and sits at her father's place.
"How long have you seen him?" His soft tone aggravates her further.
"I always have." Molly sets down her fork and crosses her arms over her chest.
It seems unfathomable to consider that Molly Hooper is broken the same as John and Sherlock. For the detective, there is only one other possibility.
"What? Don't look at me like that." She is cagey and defensive.
"Like what?"
She shrugs diffidently, scratching a spot on the table with her fingernail, "Like I'm weird."
"Molly…" Sherlock uses his "don't be stupid" tone.
He suddenly reaches out and grabs her hand, tugging on it to make her stand up. "I think we need to get your head scanned."
The idea of the possibility of losing Molly Hooper is something the detective is not willing to consider.
The pathologist scoffs. "I don't have cancer, Sherlock."
"Still…you should get one for your own peace of mind." And mine. He starts typing into one-handedly into his phone. "I can have Mycroft get you one quickly." He adds.
"I'm a doctor, Sherlock. I know the signs." She is beyond offended.
He doesn't understand. He never understands when it comes to her.
Sherlock's gaze is worried. He seems almost frightened.
"Don't be stubborn, Molly, At least let's go talk to John." His eyes are practically begging.
Something in his visage compels her to confess, "I did it for you too."
He seems a bit taken aback.
"After "The Fall," when you were off fighting Moriarty's network." She explained. "You were dead too."
Sherlock is silent.
Molly lifts her plate of uneaten food into the trash and places it in the sink. She doesn't have the appetite to eat anymore.
Just as she moves to turn on the water, Sherlock pulls her to his chest.
"I'm sorry." His low baritone rumbles.
Despite being the woman who supposedly mattered the most to him, the one who gave herself up fully and completely to him, after all they had been through, she was still alone after all this time.
Molly's nose was buried against Sherlock's chest, as he was holding her head to him. She inhaled deeply his scent. A deep secret part of her was pleased.
"I promise. My place setting will never be empty anymore. You don't have to deal with things alone anymore."
"Are you hungry?" She asked him.
"Starved."
Molly moved to the fridge to take out some leftovers.
Instead of standing there and waiting, Sherlock busied himself by setting the table.
Surprisingly, when Molly turned around, there were three settings on the table.