Molly had hoped that over time, the rushing feel of comets streaking across her skin would fade, because Sherlock is not anything she had ever hoped for. He could be cruel with his words and actions, even if he didn't realize it all the time and she truly doubted that he could ignore the sensation of the hot jolts that ran across him. In fact, she knew that he couldn't. He would always run his hands down his arms repeatedly in her presence, as if to soothe the swirling forces that were tuned to their lives.

Of course she felt connections to other people, but never the strong burn and bind that she felt towards Sherlock. But she did try to at least make a life for herself outside of her hopeless romantic ideas and day-dreams. Over the years they develop a sort of odd working friendship, he'd rattle off whatever was going on his life and stayed completely silent if she mentioned hers. He'd flatter her, she'd give him body parts. It probably wasn't the healthiest of relationships, she conceded, but it was better than nothing. She was perfectly fine with his friendship, even if it was a tad one sided.

"I think I solved Sherlock's flatmate problem." Mike Stamford informed her cheerily one day in the lounge as they both drained the dregs from the bottom of their cups before heading in for a refill. Molly hummed her casual interest as she made a cup for herself, still a little put out by Sherlock's slight rejection of going out for coffee. At least she had prepared herself for that outcome.

"His name is John Watson. I might have had a black light on. You could see solar flares from across the room, they were so a tune with each other. It was amazing." Mike sounded completely in awe as he sat down and cleaned his glasses at one of the little tables. "And the way he responded."

Molly turned to him slowly, her heart sinking in her chest. "He responded so John's flares?" The dull thud sinking all the way into her stomach.

"Eagerly, like he was feeding off of it." Mike nodded, the far off look in his face as he recounted the interaction. Molly felt like she'd had received a cold splash of water and her stomach fell.

"Oh." Was all she said before she dumped out her coffee and headed back to the morgue to lock herself in her office. And if a few tears slid down her face, who would tell anyone anyway?

"Sherlock Holmes would." Molly laughed bitterly, resting her head on her desk and letting the rest of her tears fall.

"So you cried over it?" Meena asked through the phone that was wedged between her cheek and shoulder as Molly tried to paint her toe nails. She sighed and closed her eyes tightly, feeling her cheeks burn.

"Yeah, I did."

"Why? I mean you know what he's like." Meena insisted, sounding more than a little irritated. "For godsakes, Molly, what did you expect?"

"I dunno, some sympathy from my friend? Well you know what? Sometimes I get lonely, Meena. It's okay for me to cry over something, I'm not going to apologize for it, especially when I try my best to just not talk about it." Molly snapped, bolting right up to her feet.

"Molly that's not what I meant-"

"Sod it, I'll call you tomorrow." And with that, she hung up her phone and threw it on the couch, pacing around her living room as Toby opened a lazy eye to peer up at her. "Well, what are you looking at?"

Toby gave her a disdainful sniff before leaping to the floor gracefully and winding himself between her legs.

"You know what? I'm going to go out. I'm going to go out and have a great time." Molly assured herself as she strode into her bedroom and ripped open her closet doors. She shoved aside mountains of cardigans and jumpers as she pulled out a turquoise dress that she'd bought on a whim once. It flared from her hips and twirled a little, which made her happy. Molly hummed to herself as she rolled on her tights, smiling at the little black polka-dots on the sheer fabric, and slid into shoes that would undoubtedly make her feet hurt in the morning. She primped and polished her hair and makeup a bit before heading out the door with a final scratch on Toby's head. "Wish me luck, Toby!" Molly called with a laugh as she locked the door behind her.

The cab pulled up to the little retro club on the upside of town, with nary a black light in sight, and Molly skipped in after she paid her fee to the cabbie. The band up front was all trumpets and swing as people jived and swung around the floor and Molly couldn't hold in her bubble of laughter as she was immediately drawn into a Charleston. Other pairs danced with their partners across the bar, and Molly was happy to be twirled from one partner to another.

"Mind if I cut in?" A shorter man in a blue dress shirt asked, an Irish lilt coloring his words and mischief sparkled in his eyes as the band started up another round of jiving. "The name is Jim! I work in IT at St. Bart's, can I buy you a drink after this dance?" He gave her a winning smile, and though she didn't feel comets streaking across her skin, Molly felt herself blush and nod her head with a grin.

"Absolutely."