*** I do not own any of these characters. Except for Joaquin Norfleet. For being a sherlolly story, things seem a little tense between our main characters. That kiss was so promising but will it be enough to spark a romance? Reviews are appreciated. ***

4

I hesitate to leave the room. He did just kiss me. Well… on the cheek but it still counts. What does this mean? Was it just a thank you or-

"Molly quit thinking or leave the room. You're distracting me," he says, not looking up from the objects on the kitchen table. I flinched at his harsh tone before racing out of the kitchen and into the safety of my bedroom. So much for thinking it meant anything.

As I get ready for bed, my mind wanders to the words Joaquin had said to me earlier. Was I in an abusive relationship? Well if I was, I was certainly not receiving any of the positive benefits of the relationship. In fact, this abuse was absurd. I do not need to take this. He has to leave or act in a better manner towards me, my things, and my damn cat. I'm going to march out there and tell him right this second. I was about to turn the handle of the door and tell him what for when my confidence deserted me. Who was I kidding? I threw my hands up in the air and let out a sigh as I went to my bed and turned out the lights. I'm a spineless ridiculous doormat.

I woke up to my alarm and quickly took and shower and got dressed. To my relief, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. For the first time in weeks, Toby and I enjoyed a quiet breakfast together. A tiny part of me was disconcerted that he hadn't left a note. Why would he? I'm not his keeper. I gave toby a pat on the head before heading out the door and going to work.

My phone buzzed just as I entered the morgue. The few moments of joy I had from some alone time this morning were shattered when John texted me to remind me about our lunch engagement today. Lying to that poor man kills me even if I know it's for his own protection. I reply in the affirmative and get started on my work.

I force a smile when I see John step out of the cab. He looks worn. It's been four months since Sherlock faked his death but John looks to have aged years. He has a perpetual empty look in his eyes. Even when he smiles and laughs, his eyes break my heart. I hug him and really give him a strong reassuring squeeze. I may not think everything will turn out alright for myself, I just know things will be okay for him. He's a good strong man.

We walk to a café down the street as he asks me questions about work and I ask him about the new medical practice he's started up with. As soon as we are seated at an outside table, he looks at me directly and asks, "how are you holding up molly? Don't feel like you can't tell me because I know how you felt about him."

A lump forms in my throat and my face heats in shame.

"Oh John, things have changed so much and everyday I'm being beaten down more and more. I don't know how much more I can take," I say, telling him the truth but not revealing anything about Sherlock's state of un-dead. A small sob escapes me but I shut it down quickly and compose myself for John's sake.

Reaching across the table, he takes my hands between his.

"Not a day goes by where I don't think about him," whispers John as he barely restrains the tears that threaten to pour down his cheeks.

Lunch was dreadful. I devise a plan to distance myself from John until Sherlock can reveal himself back into the world. Lying and not being able to just shout the truth at him become more difficult every time I see his poor broken spirit. I also silently agree to not murder Sherlock for real until after John gets to see him again.

Around 7 I finish up and head out of the morgue when I hear my name being called from down the hallway.

"Joaquin?" I ask, surprised to see him as he races to catch up with me.

"I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to come visit you in the morgue today. I was so absurdly busy. How about we grab a pint?" he asked, searching my face for a reaction.

I shook my head but smiled a real genuine smile.

"Not tonight. I've had a rough day and can imagine nothing better than a good soak in the tub followed by going to bed early," I say happily, hoping to not hurt his feelings.

"What about this weekend? Saturday night?" He tries again.

I think about it. Sherlock certainly doesn't want me and why the hell should I stay single just because of a madman living in my flat?

"I would love to," I answer before giving him my cell phone number so that he can let me know where to meet him on Saturday.

"See you then," he says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before walking down the street.

I hailed and cab and smiled to myself. Tuesdays are maybe a little better than Mondays.

Sherlock is still not there when I return to my flat. I pour myself a rather large glass of wine and relax in the bath. Who needs Sherlock Holmes?