Chapter 2

It had been 10 days since Sherlock's supposed death. ; 10 whole days in which the detective had been camping out in Molly's flat. Just her flat mind you. Not her bed. It seemed as if the intense moment in the morgue had never happened. The kiss had never happened. He had become silent, brooding, and kept his distance from her. She tip toed around him, confused and unsure of dealing with this brooding Sherlock. Watching john cry at his grave had affected him in a way Morriarty and his machinations never could. He spent hours simply lying there on the sofa, not doing anything. Molly would have guessed that he was working on a case, only that the detective was supposed to be dead, hence no cases. However he was working on a case. The case of the world's only consulting detective and his mousy pathologist.

Since that day Sherlock had made no advances toward her person, had not made any declarations. Molly had simply attributed it to fear and adrenaline coursing through his system that had caused him to act in such a manner, so completely out of character for him; emotions, tears, not to mention kissing. Oh but that kiss! She caught herself touching her lips at times as if to recapture the moment that he had deigned to kiss her. It had been more than she could ever hope to get from him. At times she would simply sit in her room and cry for all the impossible things that she wanted and could not have. She could not cry at home now, because Sherlock would deduce it. She cried at work and her colleagues left her alone, thinking that she was grieving for the fraudulent detective. Only one person talked to her about it. Mary Morstan. Molly cried to her about her heartache, told her everything except that Sherlock was still alive. She shared her fears that she might not be able to cope with the fact that her Sherlock was gone. And it was true. The Sherlock that she had fallen for that had been oblivious to her feelings was gone. Now he knew. Now he had kissed her. God only knew what he would do with this revelation. He might try to distance himself from her. He might leave. Every night when she reached home, she breathed a sigh of relief that he was still at home.

They had not really discussed the arrangements post Reichenbach, but for now he seemed content to spend his time on her sofa, eating very little, and sawing away at his violin. She had bought the violin for him knowing that it was one of his passions. The melodies at poured out at random intervals, the mood varying widely. One thing that was for sure was that in Sherlock's hands the violin seemed to come to life. Sometimes she would simply stop whatever she was doing to simply listen to his music. At times the music was so hauntingly beautiful that it made her breath catch and tears rush to her eyes. At others it was jaunty, energetic. The tunes seemed unfamiliar to her and she realized why when one day she walked in on him writing sheet music. As the days progressed she realized that one particular haunting melody was played most frequently.

They rarely spoke, instead choosing to live in a comfortable silence. Sherlock had gotten himself a ginger wig and a fake moustache. That way he was not cooped up inside her flat.

Little did molly know of the inner turmoil that the detective was facing. Though he appeared to show no outward emotional reaction, the kiss had turned his previously ordered world upside down. Irene Adler's effect on his psyche had been nothing compared to this! Because of the physical contact of his majora on hers, his brain's pleasure centres had been activated to such an extent that it had eclipsed his intellect. Mousy molly Hooper, pathologist, patient, red head, quiet, plain, shy, small breasts, small lips, loyal, sincere, trusting, self-sacrificing beautiful molly Hooper. He could go on for quite a bit. Living in her flat, being surrounded by her things, her scent, her essence; she seemed to have gotten under his skin and lodged herself securely in the general vicinity of his heart. Oh if only john could see his situation now; he would find it exceedingly amusing. In a month or so he could see john. No doubt he would find it pertinent to perform some kind of violence on him. Sherlock's mouth curved in a half smile thinking of the meeting.