Sherlock walked out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair. He had changed, donned a suit that didn't smell of bullets, tears, and Jim Moriarty's cologne.
Molly looked up when he entered the living room and gave him a weary smile. "You did it, you know. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade. They're all safe." She told him, handing him a cup of tea.
"Yes." He said, not returning her smile. He took a sip of the tea, frowned, and set it back in its saucer that so accurately matched Molly's cat-owning, horrid-sweater-wearing personality.
"Sorry." She muttered, and then turned back to her computer.
They sat like that, silent, while the night fell outside, until Sherlock stood up.
"I'm sorry." He told Molly, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. "For, you know..." The words tasted foreign in his mouth. "For, you know-" his sentences were still halting. He gestured vaguely. "All of this."
Molly looked up from her email. "Really, no, it's fine. I did say, you know, if you needed anything... That day at the lab-" She broke off, blushing at the memory of her awkward speech.
"If you need anything, I'll be happy to help. Just so long as it doesn't involve leaving the flat, as I can't at the moment."
"Thanks." Molly said, staring at her table. She nearly preferred Sherlock ignoring her existence to this new arrangement. Although it wasn't as if either of them had a choice. "Right, well." She stood up, slamming her computer shut. "I've got to be up for work tomorrow, so I'm off to bed. There are sheets in the closet if you want to make up the couch, or if you want my bed and I'll take the couch, or-" She stopped before she could make another stupid suggestion, like they share the bed. She didn't think she could deal with the humiliation at the moment.
"No, I'll sleep on the couch." Sherlock waved her away, and went off in search of sheets, and Molly retreated, still slightly red, to her bedroom.