Please note: This is my first fanfiction ever, English is not my mother tongue and this hasn't been beta'd so please ignore spelling errors or grammatical mistakes and if you don't like my writing style - well okay then, I'm trying to improve! :)
Molly lent back and took a deep breath. It had been a busy day in the morgue and now she felt exhausted as never before. Sherlock rushing through the lab and telling her what to do had had its effect on her as well. But even though her body ached and somehow begged for rest her mind kept on spinning. She'd already turned on the telly, snuggling into the cushions and with Toby, her red-haired cat, purring in her lap, but eventually she spent most of the time switching through the channels as opposed to really paying attention to it. On top of that she felt too weary to continue reading the new book she borrowed from her best friend. Maybe her mind just needed a much simpler distraction? She shooed the remonstrating Toby away from her lap and stood up to look around. Her flat was a mess, as always. While she's always been striving to keep everything in the lab clean and neat (which she did because whenever Sherlock came to experiment with something she'd anyhow have to rearrange everything again), her own home looked as if someone's been rummaging her belongings. Molly let out a heavy sigh.
She then made herself a cup of tea. Now that should help ,she told herself. Instead, the hot water burned her tongue and lips. A tirade of unpleasant swears followed. That's when she knew she wouldn't calm down that easily tonight. Usually, she could cut back on Sherlock's rudeness...however not today.
Molly sat down at the kitchen table, her head resting in her hands, the still steaming tea right next to her, staring into the air. Toby was softly rubbing his head on her shin bone, Molly's hand reached down to pet him but her mind was miles away.
After a while of daydreaming Molly came to the conclusion that sitting about was not a good way to spend her Friday evening either, so she began to tidy up the kitchen. When she was done with the dishes she returned to the living room. Arms akimbo, her eyes ran over the pile of dirty clothes next to the sofa, the empty pizzabox on the coffee table and all her other belongings scattered over the floor like the pieces of a puzzle. She blew away a strand of hair and whispered to herself: That mess will take me the whole bloody night. Then, as if objecting herself she muttered: Well it won't get better if I don't start at some point, right?And I don't have anything else to do at the moment...
Molly bit her lip. No she said, I got nothing to do every weekend, to be precise. She sighed quietly and immediatly felt turned down when thinking about her life. Nothing ever happened. When she first met Sherlock it seemed that now her life would alter, that she could finally prove herself worthy. She's never had much self esteem as a teenager and that didn't change for a long time – but with Sherlock she felt like she could climb mountains and go on the wildest adventures and...and... do something special. That was when her crush on him was still very recent though now it has only become routine and she recognised her life was just as dull as it has always been.
Oh stop that, Molly said, louder than intended. She's been sentimental very often over the last while. A deep sadness took over her, so she did what she was always doing in such situations: To seek refuge in activity.