English isn't my first language so sorry in advance for grammar and misspelling. Anyhelp will be very wellcome ;)
Molly rests against the window of her small London flat as she listens to the monotonous patter of water on the glass. A teacup still burns in her hands as she watches the people walk. This is a rainy Sunday afternoon like many others, only today, without knowing why, an odd melancholy had assaulted her. It's been two years. Two long, quiet and boring years without knowing anything about him and she couldn't help but remember that it's her fault because she helped him to vanish.
Sometimes she misses him so badly that she has to bury her face on the pillow to not cry and pronounce his name. She pictures in her mind the women who are or have been with him and she dies of jealousy and sadness. Of course she has also met some guys, but none of them fill even half of the hollow she feels in her breast every day at work since he isn't there. She recalls when he noticed her changes of hairstyle or lipstick, the times she's helped him in the lab or when he had surprised her looking at him dazed and she had to turn her face to not blush. Sometimes she'd had to bite her nails for not picking up the phone to try to locate him and tell him something stupid. Others she had fantasized about combing his temples with the tip of her fingers, cooking for him or stand on tiptoe to kiss him - simple gestures, too ordinary, that a genius like him would never share with the discreet Molly.
She tries the tea that is still too hot; she blows softly the cup and combs her hair in her usual ponytail. She sighs and looks out of the window again. Life is much more boring without Sherlock Holmes around.
Bip – Bip!
The phone claims her attention. How strange, if anyone calls her on Sunday. She picks it and reads distractedly the text message:
"20:00 Victoria Station. I know of a place where tea is much better than that one"
A trail of butterflies flies over her stomach; it's him, he's come back! She just feels it; no need to know anything more. She knows deep inside her, she's been waiting for this moment for the last two years. Maybe after all this time she shouldn't be so nervous or she shouldn't hurry not to be late, but she doesn't really care. She puts on a pair of jeans, takes the coat and her long wool scarf and she runs downstairs.
The underground has never been as slow as this afternoon, why doesn't it go faster? After many stations, hers arrives. She gets off the train and tries to make her way through the people; she stumbles over the steps and feels awkward and nervous as a teenager on her first date. Once outside it's already dark and she doesn't see him. Maybe it's been a mistake and the text message is from someone else, maybe some old boyfriend. But when he finally goes up the underground stairs, looks at her and smiles, the time slows and the world around becomes blurred, and there is only the two of them in the middle of London – He smiles confident, and she just looks at him with a shy spellbound smile. He's wearing his usual coat and scarf and he looks so attractive she thinks he's going to meet someone else, any other beautiful woman standing behind her. Molly clenches her fists before doing a nonsense such as running toward him. But he gets closer and smiles again at her…
She doesn't know if kissing him in the mouth or in the cheek when Sherlock surrounds her waist firmly with his arm and pulls her closer as he leads her to a nearby café.
"I've missed you, Molly Hooper ", he whispers in her ear.
She hasn't even noticed she's been soaked in the rain because in the rush she has forgotten her umbrella. She doesn't care; in that moment Molly can't stop laughing.