Molly stood awkwardly in line at the one working coffee machine, the other two had been broken for as long as she could remember. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, becoming frustrated. Sherlock didn't seem to realize she wasn't there to be his assistant, doing mindless tasks because he had "more important" things to be dealing with. But she couldn't stay mad, she loved him too much. The half smile he gave when he figured out a case, the look in his eye when he figured out a person's life story by the color of their shirt. He was just adorable, and even though most people were convinced he didn't have a heart, she spent a lot of time thinking about where she'd fit in his. If there's was even room. What had he said? Black, two sugars? Three? She really needed to focus. She guessed two, and started carrying it back to the lab, careful not to spill a drop. She successfully made it back without spilling any, pushing the door open with her foot. Her hand had begun to sting again, and she noticed there was and blood on his cup. She sighed, and hoped he wouldn't notice, but of course he would. He was Sherlock Holmes, and nothing seemed to get past him. Besides for what she wanted him to know more than anything. But if course that's how it worked.
"Took you long enough," said the genius, "put it right there, would you?"
"Please.." Molly said under her breath.
"Please what?"
"Nothing, never mind."
"Alright."
And with that, the eventful part of her day was over. The seconds stretched into minutes, minutes to hours, and before she knew it she was in a cab headed home. It was pretty dark out, dark clouds were rolling in and a steady drizzle had begun. It looked as if the sky was crying. Molly stared out the window, knowing Sherlock was not that far away from her. He was looking at this same rain, observing these same clouds. The lights of the city twinkled, the rain drops raced down the window, and she tuned everything out except the street drum of rain on the roof. Where had she gone wrong? She did all her work, was nice to everyone, has a steady job. She just couldn't figure out where things had taken a turn for the worse. The last thing she wanted to do was sort through her bad memories, but if she truly wanted to answer the questions she asked herself, it was the only way.
Molly was 12. Her grandma had brought her to the hospital, to see her father. He had cancer, and it looked like he was losing his battle. Although that's never what she talked about with him. She went inside, and her dad was hooked up to multiple tubes, and machines around the room kept beeping and pinging. Not that she understood that, then. She ran in to see her dad, who instantly smiled when he saw his little girl. They talked for what felt like hours, about school and her friends and anything they could think of, really. Soon enough dinner time was approaching, and her grandma said it was time to leave. Molly said her goodbyes, and they left. They were half way down the hall when Molly realized she had left her coat back in the room. She went to go get it, running back to the room, but pausing before entering. She just started at her dad. Was he...crying? Was it possible? The man that had fought away the monsters under her bed, who could do anything, wasn't perfect. And all it took was that tear for her 12 year old world to come tumbling down. Looking back on it, she saw how her innocence had been robbed away in a matter of seconds.
Sherlock Holmes was taking a cab back to the flat. John was out of town, visiting some family member or something, which left him a quiet flat. Just him and his skull. His mind was racing with results from the lab he had done today, he wasn't aware of his surroundings in the least. His thoughts held on Molly, for a moment. There had been something odd he'd noticed...oh! There had been blood on his coffee cup. He wondered if he'd cut herself on the glass. Had she told him? He didn't remember. He didn't have room in his head for such trivial things. Like the solar system, for example. His train of thought zoomed on, but no matter how hard he tried not to, he still felt a nagging sensation in the back of his head.