A small and meek tap came from behind the door, signature only to Molly.
"Molly! Did you bring what I asked you to?"
"Yes, everything's there Sherlock." She replied whilst sweeping wisps of hair that had sprung fee from the outside wind. "Was there anything else? because I really would like to get back home."
"Why? it's not as if anyone is waiting for you there, you've already fed Toby for the night so why the rush to get home?" Sherlock questioned unmoving from his focus on his experiment.
"I'm just tired." She said a little bit too defensively Sherlock noted.
His head popped up in a flash, his eyes scanning her body in what was seconds. She wasn't her cheery self tonight, she was distracted, wouldn't keep eye contact, hands fiddling together more than usual. Her weight was the same, clearly not overeating due to lack of sleep, her lips were not dry or cracked, and she had no dark circles around her eyes or puffiness "No you're not you've got no signs of fatigue so why are you lying to me?"
"I had a bad day Sherlock."
"What made this day worst than any other?"
Molly sat down in huff, she knew Sherlock wouldn't understand and yet he still question her on it. She didn't want to be criticised for being too emotional but some days she couldn't help it.
"There was a girl on my table today...she was eighteen...suicide."
Sherlock said nothing but simply stared at Molly, waiting.
"She had her whole life ahead of her Sherlock." She said looking down at her hands knotting together. "I know you don't really care that much, you didn't know her, neither did I but honestly when you think about how much sadness someone has to be in to do that to themselves." She raised her gaze and held it with him, her eyes tearing up. "For real, no turning back, no do overs, no knowing you'll be alright in the end. No certainty."
He could see she was distressed, clearly. He sat and listened to her. He had no certain knowledge of comforting anybody and felt that if he were to say something now like how suicide is just another common factor in human lives or In the United Kingdom alone 6,045 had killed themselves this year or even that she should be used to death by now, none of it would help.
Sherlock turned back to his experiment and tried to remain focused, maybe a little too focused. He estimated that he should quite easily give his attention to his experiment and provide an ear for Molly's ramblings, clearly he had underestimated how badly this had affected Molly. At some point Molly had gotten up and found a whiskey bottle hidden away for various occasions without Sherlock noticing. When he had finally looked up due to Molly's speech becoming more informal and slurred he was shocked to see her on his sofa, bottle in hand, with half of the alcohol missing.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" Sherlock asked gazing between Molly's petite figure and the small bottle of whiskey she was swigging from, it was the only thing Sherlock had in his flat although he didn't like to partake in it too much, dulled the senses.
"Unlike you Sherlock I know when I've" a hiccup erupted from her mouth before she continued "when I've had enough, thank you very much."
Sherlock didn't say anything, he was getting better at realising silence was sometimes best when it came to Molly. She wasn't as thick skinned as John or Lestrade, much more sensitive, he could easily say something that would upset her even if he was just stating obvious facts.
"You know we can't all be Sherlock Holmes The Great detective, daring adventures, puzzling mysteries and heroric…heroicness" It was clear that the drink had inhibited her mind quite quickly. "Some of us, you know, have to stay here and do the responsible work, it may not be the nicest of jobs but it needs to be done, not that I mind of course, I love my job, but sometimes, well sometimes, Sherlock, it gets too much. If I think about it for too long it can become quite intimidating. You look down and there's an eighteen year old who's offed herself and you think she had all her life ahead of her and now she's just here and then you start thinking that could be me one day. That could be me, Sherlock."
Sherlock homed in on her words and turned to face her his brows wound together in confusion. "You're not confessing your desire to commit suicide are you, Molly?"
"No no!" She clumsily waved her hand away at the thought. Sherlock turned his attention back on his experiment glad that he didn't have to deal with anything too emotionally strenuous tonight. "I just mean, I'm thirty-two now, I'm older than she was and anything could come by. I could get hit by a bus Sherlock, a bus!"
"I would never let that happen to you dear Molly" He said in a playful reassuring tone.
"Are you never scared, Sherlock? You never seem it. That's the one thing I really admire about you, you're so brave. You just do things, things that I would ever dream of doing, that I could never do and you. just. do them."
"I was scared once remember?" He said referencing back to when he had to fake his death in order to save the ones he loved. He stood from his seat crossed over to her. Molly gazed up at him, his eyes warmer than usual softer too, more forgiving. This was a Sherlock she rarely got to see. This was the Sherlock she loved. "You helped me Molly. I will never forget that."