It always had to be strong. Dark and bold. That's what got her through those long nights when she was alone. When there was nothing but the buzz of the florescent lights overhead to fill the silence between the sharp clang of steel on steel, or steel on flesh, or steel on bone, and her voice echoing into the recorder.

So when he said "Black, two sugars." Molly thought nothing of it as she poured Sherlock a cup of her strong, dark, bold coffee and tipped in two packets of sugar.

She had known he'd notice the lipstick. He always noticed those types of things. She knew he'd notice the no-lipstick, too, when she handed him a mug of strong, dark, bold coffee, Molly's special blend that helped keep her awake during those long, quiet shifts in the middle of the night.

And Molly knew he wouldn't like it because she knew Sherlock liked a smooth medium blend. She only wished she'd gotten to see his face when he tasted it.


A/N: This is just my fix-it for how I feel the writers try to make Molly out to be some meek little mouse that Sherlock can steamroll anytime he wants something. Reviews would be lovely.