It was not unusual for Molly to find her boyfriend Sherlock slumped over the kitchen table sound asleep, but just as she was about to go past him carrying a hamper full of their newly washed clothing, she heard him groan into the table. Being the doctor she was, albeit for the viability-challenged, she stopped to investigate. As if he already knew about her intentions for putting the basket down (of course he did), he held up a piece of paper the size of a post-it in two of his fingers instead of getting his head out from between his arms and talking to her. Molly made an unimpressed face at the CCTV camera she knew was in the biscuit tin lid, wordlessly telling the one who was watching, "This dork is the man I have chosen to love." before rolling her eyes, taking the paper from him and reading it.
The following was written in beautiful cursive calligraphy:
Stella McCartney spring/summer 2014 camisole top - ripped - £700
Burberry fall/winter 2013 coat - torn - £1,358
Alexander McQueen fall/winter 2014 sweater - ripped - £640
Molly put a gentle hand on Sherlock's head, which was by now shaking into his own arm as if he were trying to thwart a bad idea or memory from his mind. "You'll have to explain this to me, Sherlock. All I see are the names of some items, what happened to them, and how much they are worth."
That got Sherlock to right himself and look her straight in the eye. "Mycroft dropped this the last time he rolled in,"
Molly blinked at him.
Sherlock's eyes closed and Molly could hear him counting down from ten under his breath. Molly looked up at the biscuit tin again, one eyebrow raised. She turned to her boyfriend once more. "Sorry. Not everyone in this room has a 187 IQ?"
Her boyfriend's eyes opened and then narrowed. "It's 189. I am still upset that Mycroft's is 250."
Molly's heart melted and she hugged Sherlock to her bosom. "It's still way above my lousy 128. Now come on. Tell me what you're so upset about."
Sherlock buried his head between Molly's breasts and sobbed. "It's terrible, Molly! I'm scarred for life!"
Worried now, Molly carded her fingers through Sherlock's hair in soothing motions. "What is it, Sherlock? Is it some kind of code for another war he started?"
"No!" Sherlock sobbed. "This is Anthea's bill for clothes he'd torn off of her! I could have lived my entire life not knowing that about my brother!"
Molly made another face at the tin overhead before extricating herself from Sherlock's desperate grip. "I'm… gonna go hang out the washing."
o-o-o
Note: Molly was looking up at Anthea.