A/N: Set during the "Six Thatchers" May contain spoilers. Please forgive any punctuation and grammatical mistakes.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
After Sherlock's 4-minute exile and the cover-up that followed, Molly could tell something had changed. Sure, he took cases, and was overall annoying git at times but It seemed as though, his emotions were slowly bleeding through. He was more sensitive, and covered it being more acerbic. He was more fearful and nervous, which he compensated with constant attention and handling with his phone. Though he acted as if nothing significance had happened, Molly could tell that something had changed.
He looks at her now, and I don't just mean in a deductive manner. More than once their eyes meet and it seems as if he is speaking to her in volumes. Deep secret things that his mouth could never find courage to say. Molly knows better than to draw attention to it, otherwise he would withdraw further into himself, whatever opening that was created, would be plastered closed by a sarcastic, hurtful comment.
It had been two weeks after his return. Sherlock dove back into his life with full force. He tore through case after case with gusto. He and John running around in their usual madcap adventures. But somehow, Molly had a feeling that something was off. She tugged on the sleeve of his Belstaff, just as he was leaving the lab one day, having just confirmed the identity of the culprit in a case for Lestrade.
"Are you ok?" She asked him lowly, hopefully out of John's earshot.
Sherlock seemed surprised for a second at the question. He then masked himself in a condescending smirk.
"You should know better than to ask such banal questions Molly." He said as he walked away.
The pathologist noticed he didn't answer her.