A/N: Thank you for the favorites and follows!

Chapter 2

The room was still spinning behind her closed eyes. The struggle to breathe became more and more intense with each passing second. The air felt heavier, consumed with his presence, as if he had stepped into the room and immediately commanded it to become his. She willed herself not to turn around – she wasn't positive she could even if she tried. For if she turned around, it all became very real.

Too real for Molly to handle.

He was dead. He was meant to be dead – she'd gone to his funeral, grieved with John, grieved for herself. She had laid flowers on his gravestone and helped Mrs Hudson tearfully clean the apartment; careful to not throw a single thing away that would keep him in their memories. His death had been national, international, news. It didn't make sense.

So why did Molly not find herself more surprised? That's because it wasn't surprising. Of anyone in the world to fake their own public death, of course it would be Sherlock Holmes. Of course he would be the only one capable of putting his closest friends through hell, probably not sparing a thought at all for their feelings. He could've told them – they would've played along loyally with his deception, not even needing to know the reason for the elaborate scheme. Her and John and Mrs Hudson would have followed him in a heartbeat, no matter the consequences. Two years ago, he could have sought their help. But that is wherein lied the problem with Molly. She was not the same woman from two years ago.

How dare he – how dare he deceive and lie to some of the only people on the planet who truly cared for him? How dare he waltz back into her life, into her lab on this Monday morning as if he'd never left? How dare he wipe all thoughts of Tom from her mind and make her heart skip that familiar beat? How could he have the audacity to do such a thing?

Her eyes flung as she spun around to look him in the eye, him standing there all innocently in the doorway. Her eyes drank him in. He looked tired and unsure, but still the exact same Sherlock from two years ago. His expression was blank to the casual observer, but even after all this time Molly knew him well enough to be able to tell that he was unsure about the social situation at hand. His lips wavered, his eyes darting to the sides.

She saved him the trouble of finding the words to say by walking to him with confidence in her strides, her mouth set in a grim line of determination. The anger, hurt and confusion welled in inside her and propelled the force of her hand as it made contact his cheek. She took an alarming amount of satisfaction in the way his head snapped to the side, eyes wide with shock, his hand rising to rub his now-red face.

"Well hello to you too, Molly Hooper."

It was the voice that did it. The rich timbre of his voice broke something inside of her that she had worked hard to conceal for a long, long time, and with a loud sob she fell into him.

Awkward and stiff arms wrapped around her, unsure of what to do with the crying woman in their clutches. Thankfully for him, a sniffling Molly pulled back after only a few seconds.

"Sorry about that," she sniffled.

"A slap and then a tear-filled hug? How uncharacteristically unpredictable of you, Molly." He smirked.

"Welcome back, Sherlock," she said sincerely, ignoring his comment. "I don't know the circumstances and right now I don't really care, you're just…alive, and that's all I need to know for now. I don't think my mind would be able to process much else at the moment."

He nodded uncomfortably, clearly grateful to be spared the explanation of his disappearance.

"Have you been to see…" she trailed off, not wanting to say his name, and knowing that Sherlock would know exactly who she was talking about.

He did.

"Ah, been to see…? No, no – not quite yet. You are, um, the first person I have found myself…reuniting with."

This came as a surprise to Molly, but at the same time she knew that he would put off seeing his best friend – former best friend? – to avoid the inevitable backlash and fight that would ensue.

But then again, she didn't matter, did she? She had never truly mattered to Sherlock, so why did he come to see her first?

She smiled at him. "Well I sincerely thank you for this great honour. Sit down, would you like a cuppa while you're here?"

This was absurd. The man she was in love with – formerly in love with, she forcefully told herself – and who she thought was dead had just strolled back into her life and she was here calmly offering a cup of coffee like nothing had happened. Count in the fact that he had come to see her before anyone else and she was about to lose it.

She didn't bother to wait for his answer, needing to keep herself busy. He took a seat at the black stool slowly, studying her intensely as if he was trying to solve a difficult equation.

"Black, two sugars. Just how you like it," she said, handing him the mug. He didn't take a sip.

"Something," he began. "Is unequivocally different about you, Molly Hooper."

"What…" she said self-consciously, smoothing her hair. "I-it's the hair. Obviously, Sherlock."

"No," he murmured thoughtfully. "It's deeper than that. Although physically…"

She squirmed under his gaze as he scrutinised her.

"Your body – its more toned. Yoga. That hair style actually suits you and complements your face shape, meaning you went to an effort to seek beauty advice. You also take the effort to curl it everyday, but not to impress anyone. You do it for yourself, how curious. You have plans tonight, a date – but not a potential lover, a partner. Of, seven – no! Eight months already – things are serious…he has a ring – "

"Stop!" She shrieked. "For the love of god, please stop."

His eye shot to hers.

"You play dead for two bloody years and then think you can stroll back into my life and start analysing it like you do to strangers? Who do you think you are? I'd appreciate it if you kept your thoughts to yourself, thank you very much."

"I'm –"

"And you're right," she interrupted. "There is something different about me. I'm happy, Sherlock. For the first time in a really, really long time I'm just happy. I'm completely content and confident in where my life is right now. I'm with a man who loves me and supports me and I'm not about to start pining after you like a schoolgirl. Those days are long over, so don't think you can start getting away with analysing and manipulating me like you used to. I wont take it anymore!"

He looked suitably surprised at her outburst: it was unlike the old Molly to yell at him so.

"Look," she said, this time more calmly. "Words cannot even begin to describe how I feel about you being alive…its too overwhelming, but in the best way possible. I think its best if I keep working and we… talk another time."

With a nod, she was left alone.

The passion in her voice. The intelligent, wise twinkle in her eyes. The curve of her neck, now so much more visible than before. The shapeliness of her hips.

Yes, Molly Hooper was different.

And Sherlock had taken notice.