10,000 hits! I should have a party (meaning I'll stay home and read a book).
Molly was too distracted to concentrate on her paperwork. First of all, Tom was on her mind. She still did not understand why he would suddenly want to make her a part of his life again, not when he had been so adamant before about their breaking off of the engagement.
Second (alright, Molly had to admit, this probably was first on her list), she was thinking about Sherlock. So far, she had well kept up the facade that she was done caring about him. She was almost sure that she had managed to convince him, but she was absolutely positive that she had not convinced herself. So, at the same time, she had done both a magnificent job, and an atrocious one. She hoped inwardly that it would start to become easier to forget about Mr. Holmes.
Some part of her, deep down, thought that it was possible for Sherlock to love her, though. This vague sense of hope was the only thing keeping her from giving him over entirely. He seemed less capable of love than a rock, but she had seen the way he looked at John (which, frankly, made her feel as though her chance with him was significantly lessened, given her naturallly endowed sex).
Was it actually so far fetched to think he could love her, in reality? He had shown some signs of an inclination. In a way. If she stretched the truth a bit. And disregarded ever rude thing he had ever said about her lips, and breasts, and conversation skills, and...Oh, what was the point? Sherlock Holmes was entirely incapable of love, and if Molly hoped of anything from him, then she was deluding herself. How long had she been trying to convince herself of this? About six years, now.
But what about all the things that had happened in her flat? What about the way he had kissed her, and what about falling asleep in his arms?
It was an experiment, to him, she thought, totally scientific.
But what about the way he smiled when he had kissed her? Surely that had meant something?
Just thinking about him gives me a headache...
Molly decided it would be best to think about Tom for now. Actually, she decided that it would be best to think about her paperwork, but it did not seem that that was likely to happen at any point in the near future.
She had already mulled over every plausible theory as to why Tom had reemerged in her life. She still wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. It was simultaneously frightening and relieving. One thing was absolutely sure, and that was...that she was no longer sure about anything in her life. She suspected she could not have been too unpleased about it, or she would not have been doodling his name all over her paperwork.
She had been right in the midst of one of these doodles (it was quite lovely calligraphy, if she did say so herself) when she heard the door open behind her. She swiveled around in her chair and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway.
"Oh, Molly," he said, "Stamford said I would find you in here," her heart slowed just a little bit when she saw his square lips curl into a smile.
Molly swallowed, a bit disconcerted by his sudden appearance (and, yes, the smile), "Yes, I'm here. Is there something you need?" She thought briefly about adding "Mr. Holmes" to the end of her sentence, but her nerves got the best of her.
"Yes, actually," he replied, putting his hands in his pockets.
And standing there.
Not saying anything.
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, "Well? What is it?"
Instead of replying immediately, he moved across the room to station himself by her side, "Yes, well...you see, I was wondering if you-"
He stopped his sentence short when he looked down at her paperwork. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and Molly briefly wondered what he was gaping at when she remembered exactly what she had been doing on her papers.
The doodles.
Oh, no...She thought.
Oh, wait, she thought again, Is this bad? I thought I wanted to forget about him?
She looked up and down from her papers to his face, realizing that he almost looked...hurt? Could she flatter herself by saying Sherlock Holmes looked hurt by her interest in another male?
No, probably not. She covered the top paper with another sheet, anyway.
"Well, Sherlock? What did you want?" She asked again.
Instead of telling her just why he had come, he blurted out, "You've just had coffee with Tom."
"Yes," she said, looking down at the coffee stain on her pastel blouse, "I have," she did not want to say anymore, in case he really was hurt, but something inside of her secretly wanted him to be hurt by her trying to move on.
So instead of keeping quiet, she opened her mouth, "We had quite a lovely time. Reconnecting, and all that."
The instant she said the words, she regretted it. They were so innocent, as if Molly Hooper could say anything hurtful to anything. She even apologized when she had bumped into her desk, earlier. She apologized to a bloody desk. Molly Hooper was just not the type to try and provoke others. And yet...here she was...toying(?) once again, could she flatter herself enough to think she could do such a thing to Sherlock?) with him.
But she was. She could tell by the look on his face. It didn't last long after she had said the words, though.
He really gave a valiant effort to conceal his...feelings? DId he actually have those?
"Erm, Miss Hooper," the words had a distinct edge to them, "I apologize for interrupting your paperwork. Please get back to it," he started to leave the room.
He was already out the door when Molly said, "Wait, Sherlock!"
Either he did not hear her, or he chose to ignore her. Favor the latter.