In the dim light of her kitchen, Molly sat across the small table from Sherlock. He was quietly tapping into his cell phone and ignoring her as usual. He did, however, eat three biscuits along with his tea.

Normally, she was an absolute mouse in his presence. All he had to do was use his charms and she was powerless against them. He'd gotten her to do all sorts of things at Bart's but they weren't at Bart's now. They were in her flat in the middle of the night. Somehow, that equaled things out for Molly. She kept staring at him until finally he spoke.

"You can go back to bed," he said, not bothering to look up. His tone was dismissive, as if she were child being sent away. She wasn't going anywhere.

"I can't sleep if you're in here," she said, then decided to just ask. "What are you doing?"

"Working a case," he replied, his fingers still typing away.

"No, you're not," Molly said firmly.

That made him stop and look up.

"You ate three biscuits," she pointed out. "You don't eat when you're working. You said so yourself."

Sherlock looked impressed, but annoyed.

"Bravo, Molly," he said, finally setting his phone down. He folded his hands together and brought them to his lips in thought. "What else?"

"If this isn't about work, then it's personal," she said, watching for a reaction. "Since you aren't actually personal with anyone except John, I have to assume he's thrown you out for some reason."

"I'm personal," he said, taking offense to that word. "I'm personal with you."

To that, Molly let out a laugh.

Her experience with Jim had made her take a serious look at her relationship, or lack thereof, with Sherlock. He used her, plain and simple, just like Jim. She knew she was stupid for letting him but she had thought perhaps deep down he cared for her.

She was wrong.

He didn't even bother to check on her after the entire Jim incident was over or ask how she was. He merely showed back up at Bart's two weeks later as if nothing had happened.

"No, you flatter me to get what you want," she said, the late hour and lack of sleep making her blunt. He looked even more offended now. "You certainly don't mean any of it."

"I most certainly do. I'm merely stating facts," he said, sitting back in his chair. "Like right now, your lips are the perfect shade of pink for your complexion."

"I thought my mouth was too small," Molly countered. "And I'm not wearing any lipstick."

"You've also developed wrinkles on either side of your mouth," he said, motioning around his own. "It's a bit premature for 31, don't you think?"

Molly knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from the matter at hand. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore that last comment.

"So John threw you out," she said pointedly.

"John did not throw me out," he replied, making her sound stupid for saying so. He shrugged dismissively. "I left."

"Why?" Molly pressed, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"How is that relevent?" he asked and Molly wanted to scream. What was wrong with him?

"Because you're in my flat," she said, emphazing the last two words for him. "At one o'clock in the morning, I might add."

"All that matters is my work," he said, sliding his chair back and standing up. Sherlock paced about and scratched his fingers through his hair. "I make that perfectly clear to everyone. I can't be bothered with the mundane, the trivial or the emotional attachments of those around me."

That last bit made Molly stop and think.

It took her a few minutes but she finally figured it out.

He really was unbelievable.