A/N: Spoilers for The Abominable Bride and Series 3. I intended for this to be a one shot but I may turn it into a multi-chapter story if people are interested.
Molly nursed the mug of hot tea in her hands and lolled her aching neck back on to the fluffed sofa beneath her. It had been a very long shift at work and she had needed this. For once, she wished that she could classify her day as normal, but when you have connections to the world's only consulting detective you can hardly find normalcy. It'd been twenty four hours since Moriarty appeared on the television screen in the hospital and the sight of his face made her sick to her stomach. She never thought she would have to worry about "Jim from IT" again.
Pushing the thought to the back of her mind she placed her mug on the side table and closed her eyes. She felt every muscle in her body relax and she had almost fallen asleep when she heard a loud crash coming from her bedroom. Panic coursed through her entire body and she suddenly felt frozen in place. Moriarty couldn't be here, could he? She processed the thought quickly but decided that it was unlikely he would come directly to her flat after making his grand announcement.
Feeling brave, Molly tiptoed quickly to her kitchen and retrieved the biggest knife that she owned and drew it to her chest; ready to protect herself if need be. She slowly crept to her bedroom door and after a moment's hesitation turned the knob and pushed it open with a flap. She could see a figure outlined in the dark and suddenly she could feel her bravery diminish.
"Who are you?" she demanded, "What is it you want?" She quickly flipped the light switch on to reveal a very disheveled looking Sherlock Holmes. She felt the panic slowly leave her body; anger soon replaced it. She placed the knife on her dresser with a deliberate "thump" to prove her point. She took a few steps forward but did not meet him all the way.
"Sherlock," she said with an exasperated tone, "what in God's name do you think you're doing?"
He looked at her as if the answer was obvious.
"No, Sherlock," she answered, clearly annoyed, "it's not blatantly obvious. You're the only one who thinks that."
"I was in the neighborhood," he said dismissively, dragging a finger over her nightstand and checking for dust, "thought I'd pop in; check on you."
"So, you just thought, what? Breaking and entering through my window was the best way to go about it?"
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say the best way. Actually, I conducted seven possible scenarios in my head, this was scenario number-"
"You have a bloody key!"
He scoffed, "Keys, how boring."
She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, "As you can see, I'm clearly fine."
He closed the distance between them and looked down at her small frame, "Clearly."
Before she could retort he passed her and entered the living room and sat on the sofa. Toby came out from hiding under the table in the kitchen and jumped into the detective's lap with a soft meow. Sherlock pet the cat softly before turning his attention to a still quite cross Molly.
"Making yourself comfy then?"
"I always do, don't I? You never had a problem with me making myself at home before."
"That was before."
"Before what?" he cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Before I became cross with you!"
"Oh come on," he pulled a face, "you can't possibly still be cross with me about that."
She sat down in the arm chair adjacent to him, "I can and I am."
"Molly," he said in a stern voice.
"Don't Molly, me. Why are you here? Honestly?"
He studied Toby in his lap before answering her, "I told you. I wanted to check on you. I thought you might be quite shaken about recent events."
She chewed on her lip slightly, "I might be a little, but it's none of your concern. I'll be fine."
"If it puts your mind at ease, I'm not one hundred percent convinced that Moriarty has returned from the grave. The man blew his brains out right in front of me, Molly."
"Yeah, well you committed suicide by jumping off St. Bartholomew's roof and here you sit in my living room."
"You were in on that, you knew that it was all a ruse."
"Smoke and mirrors, Sherlock. You weren't the only clever one on that rooftop."
He said nothing and continued to stare at her. She hated when he did that. She looked at him in return and she noticed something not quite right about his face. Something in the eyes and the way his lip twitched nervously. The expression he was trying to hide was almost….guilty?
"Why do you look like that?" she asked him.
His face scrunched in confusion, "Look like what?"
"Guilty," she stated confidently, "you look guilty."
"Deducing me are you Dr. Hooper?"
She ignored the comment and continued to stare. He often liked to come and visit her when he had done something wrong. Mostly it was when he had said or did something to hurt John but this time the visit was not about John. She didn't doubt that he was concerned for her well-being but there was something more contributing to this visit. She thought and thought and then it suddenly hit her.
"You've been using again haven't you?"
He looked a bit shocked to be found out.
"Give me the list," she simply stated, extending her hand.
He hesitated but reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a sloppily written list of drugs that he had taken on the plane. Reading over it her eyes practically bulged out of her head. She glared at him and crumbled the list with her right hand and tossed it across the room.
"You are so stupid!" she shouted at him.
"What possessed me to even tell you about the lists?" he asked but didn't expect an answer.
"That could have killed you! You do realize that?" She held up a hand to him as he was about to answer her. "No, don't bother trying to be clever I know you were aware of that when you took them. Contrary to what you might believe, I may not be as smart as you but that doesn't make me unintelligent."
"I don't think you're unintelligent," he stated.
"Oh, that's a relief!" she spat sarcastically, "I'd have been up all night if I had thought the brilliant Sherlock Holmes thought less of me."
"Molly, I'm sorry to have disappointed you-"
"This isn't about my feelings on the subject, this is about you continuously risking your life for a quick fix. Whatever demons you're running from can only temporarily be put off by using drugs."
He looked down and sighed, "You're right."
"Hold on, let me go and get my diary to mark this momentous occasion down for future generations."
He smirked at her, "You don't keep a diary."
She fought the smile that wanted to spread on her face, "Know it all."
"I like to think so."
She huffed and sat back down in the armchair, "So, apart from drug use, what are you feeling guilty about?"
"What makes you so sure that there's more than that."
She raised her eyebrow as if to say, 'oh, please.'
"I think perhaps, that story is for another night. As it is quite late and you have work in," he looked up at the clock hanging from the wall in the kitchen facing him, "eight hours. You need to get some rest."
She sighed but decided not to push the matter, "I suppose you're right. I'll see you out?"
He gently removed Toby from his lap and the unhappy cat took off for his hiding place yet again. He walked to the door and waited for her to undo the chain. As he began to walk out she lightly grabbed his arm.
"You going to be alright?"
He nodded, "I'll be fine."
"Alright. Don't think that just because I'm dropping this now that I don't expect to pick it up later. I'm still quite cross with you."
"Of course not. I knew better than that."
Despite her annoyance with him she allowed him a small smile.
Before closing the door completely she heard Sherlock say, "Goodnight, Hooper."
Not completely understanding she called out, "Goodnight, Holmes?"
She locked the door and snuggled back in on the couch, petting Toby as he came to join her. She continued to pet him until she was almost asleep again. Before drifting off completely she cracked an eye open to look at her ginger cat, content and purring at her side.
"Hooper," she told him, "what an odd thing to say."