Molly tugged anxiously on her Christmas jumper. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell, but again, stopped short.
"I should never have come," she told herself angrily. Why should I care about inconveniencing Sherlock? It's not like he's ever cared anyways.
Lost in thought, Molly didn't notice the door opening. She was surprised to see Mrs. Hudson's face peering out from behind it.
"Molly, dear, are you alright? Sherlock's busy with a case right now... something about spontaneous combustion and a rare plant." Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly at Molly.
"Oh..." Molly considered, leaning her head on the door frame. "Shall I come back later?"
"Oh, no, do come in and have a cup of tea!" Mrs. Hudson protested. She ushered Molly into the foyer. "I can't just send you away, can I?"
"I suppose not," Molly said absentmindedly. Inwardly, she was already panicking. Why hadn't she planned what to say to Sherlock? She was going to look like an absolute idiot, as usual.
"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson called out as they climbed the stairs. "Molly is here! Shall I fetch anyone a cup of tea?"
No response from within the flat. Molly slowed her steps and paused. She could hear faint voices at the end of the hallway. Furrowing her brow, she pushed past Mrs Hudson, and pulled the door to the flat wide open.
Sure enough, Sherlock and John were arguing loudly. Both paused to look at Molly, who stood awkwardly in the doorway to the flat.
John was the first to speak. "Molly," he smiled tightly. "What brings you here?"
"She's got something to tell us, John." Sherlock said, noting Molly's disheveled appearance. He sat down carefully on the sofa. "It looks serious. What is it, Molly?"
John glanced in surprise at Sherlock.
"Well, not as serious as you make it out to be, Sherlock," Molly backtracked. "It's just... something I've been thinking about for quite some time."
Molly fumbled nervously with her hands before continuing. "I've... decided to quit."
"Quit? What? Your job at St. Barts?" John asked in concern. Mrs. Hudson overheard from within the kitchen. She stepped anxiously into the doorway to watch the exchange.
"Well... no," Molly explained uneasily. "My second job, that is."
"Your second job?" John's concern turned into relief. "Whatever for? I never knew you had a second job."
There was a pause.
"John, we ARE her second job. That's what she is saying. She won't be seeing us anymore," Sherlock said quietly, staring at Molly's face.
Molly avoided his glance. The silence was unnerving. A year ago, Sherlock would have scoffed at her and shown her to the door. But now... something had changed.
"Hold on a minute. Molly?" John said, watching her. "I mean... we— I had no idea you felt this way. Is there any way we could change your mind?"
Coincidentally, Molly looked up and met Sherlock's gaze. For the first time, she didn't feel the need to look away.
"No," she said quietly. "I don't think so."
Molly paused for a moment. She turned around. The door to the flat remained closed. For a moment, she wished that Sherlock would come running after her. She convinced herself momentarily that he would. She imagined him bursting through the door, running breathlessly up to her. Saying that he had made a mistake— that he really did want her to stay. That she really did count.
Molly waited and waited. She waited in the cold, as she always had done.
But no Sherlock appeared. Finally, Molly sighed and took a last glance at the 221B door. She turned, and with an air of finality, continued down the street.