As soon as Molly walked through the front door of the flat she could feel his eyes on her. She shivered, mostly because of the temperature change from the wintery outside air into the warmth of the building, but also because she could feel herself being analyzed from head to toe. He was always watching her; always watching everybody. She purposely ignored him, refusing to meet his gaze she was sure was still upon her. She was angry with him, not only because of his slip back into drugs, but because of his callous behavior towards her the weeks following the incident. He was absent for quite some time after she'd slapped some sense into him, literally, but no more than a week later he waltzed back into her morgue, barking orders at her and being as dismissive towards her as he was years ago. He didn't speak of Moriarty and she didn't ask.
It was nearing the end of January and Molly had been invited by John to 221B for Mrs. Hudson's surprise birthday party. Molly always enjoyed the time she spent with Mrs. Hudson and was happy to attend the celebration. However, she was less than pleased that Sherlock would be in attendance. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror located to her left she frowned looking at the deep berry lipstick upon her lips. She suddenly had a flashback of the Christmas party long ago, when Sherlock had humiliated her in front of everyone. She lifted her hand to smear it away but thought twice and triumphantly put her hand down; she loved this lipstick and she would wear what she pleases.
"Molly!" the chipper voice of John Watson greeted her, "glad you could make it. Bit cold out there."
She smiled, "Oh yeah, that wind is vicious."
"I was almost too afraid to get Mary out in this but she insisted on being here; weather be damned. Stubborn as a bull, that one."
Molly shook her head at him, "As if you'd have it any other way."
"Quite right," he agreed, "want me to take your coat? It's miserable out there but you must be boiling in that thing in here."
She didn't realize how hot she felt under her large, puffy jacket until he'd said something. She gratefully obliged and shed the thick layer but suddenly felt naked as John walked away with it, his burnt orange jumper and head disappearing into Sherlock's bedroom.
"Molly, looking lovely as ever!" yelled Lestrade. She pivoted to face the silver haired detective inspector.
"Thank you, Greg. Wife couldn't make it?"
"Nah, we're having a bit of a row at the moment. She didn't think it decent to come out and fight in public so she told me to bugger off for a few hours while she cools down."
She frowned in concern, "That's the third row you guys have had this week."
"Eh," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, "this is an improvement. We'll be fine."
She didn't believe him but she chose not to comment on the matter. "So, when is Mrs. Hudson going to be here?"
He looked down at his watch, "Should be any moment now, I suspect." Looking back up at her and over her shoulder Molly saw that his attention fell to the curly haired Sherlock Holmes, sitting on his couch by himself, staring out the window at the snow falling outside.
"Does he seem off to you?" he asked her, "Well, more off than normal?" he clarified.
She swallowed thickly as she continued to glance over her shoulder to look at his sullen face; his cheekbones deep in the shadow of the room. She knew he knew they were staring at him but she assumed he didn't much care.
Suddenly Lestrade's phone began to ring before Molly could answer him. She could see his wife's name appear on the screen before he hit the answer option. "If you'll excuse me, Molly. I need to take this."
She nodded, "Of course."
She found herself standing alone now. John was busy in the kitchen giving some of the food a finishing touch. Mary was downstairs, acting as a lookout for Mrs. Hudson, and now Greg had left her to the mercies of the handful of elderly ladies Mrs. Hudson played cards with from time to time. The only person left in the room that she knew was the stone faced detective, sitting by himself in the corner. She chewed at the inside of her cheek momentarily, contemplating her next move. Finally, giving up, she walked across the room to stand beside Sherlock.
"Mind if I sit with you?" she asked.
He said nothing but motioned his hand in a manner that seemed to say, 'do what you want.'
She frowned but sat down beside of him anyway. Finding that he wasn't going to be much company she pulled out her phone to play a game to pass the time. When she reached the level in which she always lost she cursed under her breath as her character, yet again, died in the same spot as last time.
"You're jumping too early," a deep voice perked up beside of her.
Surprised she'd stirred anything out of him, she looked up from her screen to find he had shifted closer to her, watching her play.
She sighed, "You think you could do better, then?"
He scoffed, "I know I could do better."
"Fine then," she snorted, shoving the phone in his hand, "do it. You beat this level, I owe you a tenner."
He bent down, concentrated on the task at hand. Moments later he handed the phone back to her.
"I believe you promised me a tenner. Also, I believe I should receive something extra, as I have finished the next two levels. I could have beaten the entire game but I thought better than embarrass you."
She gaped at him in disbelief, the nerve!
"Why are you being like this?"
His forehead crinkled, "Being like what? I'm simply pointing out that the game is quite simple, but I wish to spare your feelings.
"How thoughtful," she spat bitterly. This is how it all started a few weeks ago; small jabs that lead to deeper insults.
"I thought so," he answered genuinely.
"What did I do to you, huh?"
"Do to me?" he asked, confusion evident over his features.
"Oh come off it, you've been nothing but rude to me since Christmas. Barking coffee orders at me, making hurtful comments, ignoring me altogether!"
He said nothing as his eyes left hers and he began facing forward again.
"It feels like the old days, when you said jump and expected me to foolishly say how high" she admitted in a quiet voice, "I thought we were past that but it looks like I'm back to square one in your good graces yet again. I'd hoped you'd come to respect me more than that."
With that she got up and walked to the opposite side of the room, not daring to look back at him.
Mary burst through the front door, smile plastered on her face and her eyes bright. Her very pregnant belly was evident under a deep red jumper. Molly couldn't help but think of how cute she looked. Being pregnant suited Mary, she decided.
"Everyone! Shush, Mrs. Hudson is coming. Hide! Hide!"
Everyone followed Mary's orders, not daring to cross a pregnant woman and crouched behind various bits of furniture. Molly was shocked to see that even Sherlock complied and hid by the arm of the couch. Before she knew it Mrs. Hudson was coming through the door and all of the guests were yelling "Surprise!" in unison and blowing party favor whistles. The joy that appeared on Mrs. Hudson's face was well worth the wait and Molly excitedly pulled the older woman in for a hug. When the hug ended Mrs. Hudson latched onto Molly's hand.
"Oh, I just can't believe it!" she exclaimed, "Everyone I love is here! You all went to so much trouble."
Releasing Molly, Mrs. Hudson made her rounds around the room, hugging and thanking everyone individually. When she reached Sherlock she gave him a sound kiss on the cheek and embraced him warmly. He patted her back a few times.
"Sherlock, I can't believe you partook in this. I'm also shocked you kept it a secret." He rolled his eyes but couldn't help but grin at the woman.
"Sherlock," Lestrade's voice carried over the happy murmurs of the guests as he reentered the room, "I need you to come with me to the Yard, something's happened. You may need to bring John."
John, who had his hand on his pregnant wife's stomach nodded and began to go and fetch his coat.
Sherlock stopped him in his tracks, "Where would you rank this, Graham? Below a five or above a five."
An annoyed Lestrade glared at him, "It's Greg, and I would definitely say above a five."
"Then it will take some time," Sherlock muttered. "John, your wife is far too close to her due date for you to get involved with this. You stay here with Mary, Molly will accompany me."
All eyes in the room come to settle on Molly.
"I'm sorry, Molly will what?" she asked, dumbfounded.
"Retrieve your coat, Molly!" he called over his shoulder, already reaching for his signature scarf and Belstaff like a child excited over a Christmas gift, "The game is on, Dr. Hooper!"
She glanced around the room to see the worried face of Mrs. Hudson, the apologetic faces of John and Mary, and Lestrade rolling his eyes and following after the madman with the flapping coat.
Seeing that she obviously had no other choice, Molly quickly grabbed her jacket from Sherlock's bedroom and followed him down the stairs and out of the flat into the cold night air.