One of the perks to working without Sherlock was working with Molly.

Of course, we were all glad to see him back, but it stalled things a bit at first. For example, he didn't like when Molly made me coffee. He would list his reasons for this being not 'cute' – the word was hard for him to find – until Molly would get embarrassed and go hide elsewhere.

Molly handed me my mug of coffee, and looked at her phone.

"Sherlock's coming in," she confirmed. I sighed, but nodded. We'd be finishing the coffee quickly, then. No chatting.

"About Mary?"

"Yeah… poor John."

"Yeah."

Sherlock had texted her, somewhat blatantly, about needing to see 'Mary' immediately. From there, we had to work backwards and find out that he meant John's wife, and that she was dead. Very kind of him to let us know.

Molly waited for me to finish my coffee before we left for the examination room. She started to say something, but caught herself.

Sherlock was there already, pacing around the empty table.

"Uhm, hey," said Molly. She coughed, and Sherlock looked up.

"Just need to confirm a few things," he began, not even facing her, "I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill her, but I need to be sure."

"How's John doing?" Molly asked.

"Left hospital a couple of hours ago. I sent Mrs Hudson over to check on him."

"That's good," I said, stepping forward. He turned, sharply.

"Lestrade, why are you here? You hardly ever look at the bodies."

"I dabble," I began. Several weeks ago, after a similar exchange, I made a remark about the living bodies in the room, but it didn't go over well; Molly left.

"Oh, I see," Sherlock continued, back still turned, "Carry on, Molly."

I rolled my eyes. Molly led us to Mary, and unrolled the sheet from over her. I wasn't interested in seeing her, so I decided not to watch Sherlock, as he considered his tools.

"She was nice," Molly told me. We retreated a few steps and looked at each other instead.

"Yeah," I said again, "Shame."

I couldn't think of anything to say, so we leaned in and listened to Sherlock. He muttered to himself, mostly, and rustled the sheet. He was quick with his work:

"Thank you," Sherlock announced, stepping toward us. He put away the tools as he walked.

"Natural causes," said Molly. Sherlock considered this an invitation.

"She may have been poisoned," Sherlock spoke quickly, "Although not intentionally. I'll need to speak to the doctors who performed the operation."

"They didn't do the stitches," Molly was quiet, "She was, um, still cut open when she got here. We just did those for the funeral."

Sherlock nodded. The silence became his opportunity to study us. I always felt nervous, watching his eyes flash about like that. He blinked as he spoke:

"You're about five years late," he said to me. I tossed my head to the side:

"Can we not talk about this now?"

"I didn't say what y—"

"Don't be like that; I know you know. Can you just –?"

Molly glanced between us, allowing us several seconds each.

"Coffee?" she offered. Sherlock did not stop, although today he seemed angry, rather than smug:

"I'm surprised she didn't take the news well – it benefits her more than you – unless you've finally managed to find someone else. She must've scraped your arms up pretty badly, since your sleeves are rolled all the way down. And buttoned! Good you decided to tell her this morning, rather than last night, as she did such a nice job ironing that shirt for you. Got some sleep, as well… three hours?" He titled his head and waited for my approval. I stared and was silent, "Enough to go to work on, since Donovan won't turn you in for it. I expected you to do much worse."

I rolled my eyes. Molly watched me.

"Good morning," he called, turning and leaving. The deduction seemed to calm him, slightly, as he walked away with both hands in his coat-pockets.

Molly led me back to the kitchen, where we refreshed our coffee cups.

"So you're…" she played with the spoon in the jar of sugar, "getting a divorce, then?"

I nodded, face mostly covered by the mug. I tried not to see her through the steam.

"That's good," she shook her head, "I didn't mean like that, but it's good for you to do what makes you happy, and if that's what makes you happy, you should definitely go and… I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I said, "Dunno why it took me so long, though. He was right about that."

"Yeah," she agreed, giggling slightly, "It has been awhile. Were you… gonna tell me, or—?"

"Why would I—oh. Yeah, 'course I would."

She nodded and set down the spoon, finally, before resetting the jar on the table.

"I promise I would've told you," I said again.

"I believe you."

My phone buzzed. I ignored it.

"Finally doing it," the words were mostly for my own reassurance, "Getting divorced and staying that way."

"Oh," said Molly, sadly, "Whatever makes you happy."

She stepped from the room, and I rested my head in my hands. Not what I meant at all. I decided to check my phone:

You DID find someone else.
SH


Author' Note: What do you think so far? This should turn out to be 20 chapters, but they'll all be about this length. Reviews = lovely artwork! Thanks for reading, I love you (yes, you!)