Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter 7

The sun had almost set by the time Molly finished bringing some semblance of order to Sherlock's notes. Yawning, she stretched her stiff muscles, wincing at the pain in her injured wrist. It hadn't been her writing hand, as Sherlock had been so worried about. Shaking her head, she went downstairs in search of dinner.

Sherlock was sitting at one of the tables, and motioned for her to sit down without looking up from his laptop. She walked over and sank into the chair.

Keeping his eyes fixed on his laptop, he said, "Before you ask, it was the length of your stride and the sound of footsteps that gave you away. Child's play, really, any person of average intelligence should have been able to deduce that, if they'd bothered to pay attention. None of them ever do, of course."

Maggie came over and took Molly's order for dinner. As she watched Maggie retreat into the kitchen, Molly realized something.

"Sherlock, I still don't have any clothes."

"So?"

"So I don't have anything to sleep in tonight and I'll be wearing this outfit for the third day in a row tomorrow –"

"What did you wear to bed last night?"

"I feel asleep in the clothes I had on, I was so exhausted."

"Why can't you do the same tonight?"

Molly sighed. "Because, Sherlock, I'm grubby and tired and I just want clean clothes."

Sherlock closed his eyes in irritation. "If I lend you a pair of pajamas, will you cease this incessant nagging? I really must work."

"…um, sure. I…uh…thank you."

"Please don't thank me, it is so dreadfully common. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

Maggie came out with the food, and Molly ate her meal in silence, watching Sherlock the whole while. He never looked up from the laptop, never gave any sign that she was even present. His dark curls were as disheveled as ever, and his piercing eyes flicked about, ever processing, ever calculating. Molly groaned inwardly. Why him, she asked herself, why this gorgeous, impersonal creature who didn't even know she was there? She finished her meal, got up, and said goodbye to Sherlock. He didn't acknowledge her.

But as she walked away, he slowly looked up, following her with his eyes until she had disappeared up the stairs.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The longest, hottest bath of her life was in order for Molly after the last two days, and she gratefully sank into the bubbles, letting the heat of the water ease her aches and pains. After a thorough soak, she climbed out and wrapped herself in a towel. Humming to herself, she walked back into the main room. The humming ceased as she noticed what was on her bed.

A very neatly folded pair of men's pajamas.

She went over and gently unfolded them, and noticed a scrap of paper tucked between folds of cloth.

"Do try not to ruin them –SH"

Rolling her eyes, Molly pulled the pajamas on. They were, of course, too big, and she rolled back the sleeves so they weren't completely covering her hands. She raised the collar to her nose and inhaled.

It smells like Sherlock, like winter and fire.

She blinked. Where had that thought come from? Sherlock was making her poetic again.

With a yawn, she climbed into bed and took one of the sleeping pills her doctor had prescribed her after the incident with Moriarty. Because she was going to bed so early, she knew she would wake up without some sort of sleeping aid.

She was soon fast asleep, slumbering so deeply that she didn't hear Sherlock calling for her from the other room. After saying her name four or five times, he walked over to her room and knocked impatiently on the door.

Two raps. Then four. Then six, a little more urgently. Finally, he opened the door.

"Molly! I knocked this time! What are you doing that's so important at nine o'clock…"

Sherlock trailed off as he saw Molly, asleep. Her hair tumbled over the pillow and her lips were curved in a half smile. One of her hands was curled into a fist near her face, and the sleeve of a man's pajama shirt was clearly visible.

Sherlock slowly backed out of the room, closing the door with a gentle click. As he turned to walk back to his room, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.