Contrary to what most people thought, Molly Hooper was not stupid; nor was she silly, clumsy, or insipid. She simply was reduced to these qualities around certain people. It was her particular desire to shed them, to start afresh. This is what she believed the Fall would afford her. A clean slate. A new beginning. A fresh outlook.
This is what she told herself. She said that there wouldn't be a Sherlock Holmes to push her around any longer. She said that those days were over. Done. Finished. He was gone, to be sure. That day at her flat, the one she played over numerous times in her mind, solidified that indisputable fact.
"Thank you, Molly. I think I'll be fine now."
"You're still bleeding." The Fall had caused some damage, but nothing some bandages & a few days of rest wouldn't see right.
"Yes, but it should stop with some pressure & ice. Easily done." His hand flicked up toward the gash on his forehead.
"Ok. But...you need to rest. You're welcome to stay here a day or two..." She blushed ever so slightly.
Sherlock saw this & smiled. "I've made arrangements with Mycroft. No need to worry."
He got up, touched her cheek, & left.
He was gone. Gone, perhaps forever. Well...so be it. She was determined. She would not allow her fancy for that man continue to cloud her mind.
And so it was. Molly Hooper, with unparalleled resolve, took to dating. She was never terribly popular with men, though it was not difficult for her to obtain a date. She was, admittedly a scathing flirt. Not something that would normally pop into mind when one thought about Molly, but undeniably the truth. A flirt, & quite a good one.
It was about six months since she had seen or heard from Sherlock. He had sent her one email a week after leaving her flat telling her he had left the country for a while. Rather cryptic, but it bothered her little. Her resolve hadn't waned, she had a date that very night.
When she got home reflecting on her date, recalling she had spent six months in such a fashion, she discovered John Watson at her door.
"Oh! Hello John! What's going on?"
"Hey Molly...sorry to just show up...I wanted to tell you...he's back."
At first, she didn't know what in earth he was referring to. Then she looked more closely. Ah, yes. He's back.
"Oh. Well, did you punch him?" She was opening her door, nonchalantly allowing him entry to her flat.
"I did, yeah. He asked me to pop by...he's still hiding out at Baker Street, not sure when he'll reemerge."
"But Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? You all know now, so you must be safe."
"Yeah, thing is, he's rather hurt. Got himself badly injured, shot."
Molly stopped & looked at John. Shit. "Is he...Ok? I mean, will he be Ok? Do you need help?"
"Not sure just yet. Maybe. If you're willing."
"Of course. Just let me know."
John left, leaving Molly alone to ponder what exactly it meant that Sherlock was shot & sending John to her flat. Nothing, probably. But she began playing with her ponytail all the same.