Hello all, I'm posting this chapter quickly while it's not been thoroughly edited. Hope there is not too many mistakes. A warning, in this chapter Sherlock goes back to his usual self regarding Molly. It's quite a change from last chapter but Sherlock's starting to feel the strain of unresolved feelings being thrown constantly in his face, so I hope it explains a little his attitude.

I don't own anything but thanks to Moffat, Gatiss and ACD for those wonderful characters.

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If Molly knew one thing after so many years next to Sherlock, it was that when he was in one of those manic and dark moods, she'd better limit talking to him to a minimal. However, she'd been unsettled the last few days and she couldn't understand why. All was well, there had been no crisis with her friends, Sherlock was kind of nice, her work was interesting and not overwhelming and her affair with Nick was going great. Well, there was still that little pesky little thing with Moriarty that triggered nightmares at night, but she was lucky enough to spend her nights with Nick and strangely, having his warm body sleeping next to hers was all the reassurance she needed to get back to sleep. She wasn't sure that Nick would appreciate that one of the things that she liked the most about him was that he had the same function as a teddy bear, but it really was a nice plus. So, again, all in all, everything was great and she should be quite content. And she was not, as the G.P. was sharing more and more with her and now, came to her to use as a sounding board and included her in his diagnostics, she felt as if nearing the edge of a cliff, dread tainting some of her interactions with her lover. She needed to talk about it with someone.

"So, John, do you know if I could borrow Mary one day this week?" she asked, meeting John's eyes over the cut she made to separate the stomach from the intestine of the dead girl.

"Well, you know that she'd been required to rest and not move, which is actually easier for our surveillance details, so the best would be that the two of you convene of the date of your girl's night and I'm sure I'll be able to convince Greg to come and have a pint with me while you talk and do your women's stuff."' Replied warmly John at his friend.

Molly looked visibly relieved as she thanked him and John felt somehow a little ill-at-ease. He knew that Mary was one of Molly's best friends – the reverse was also true – but the fact was, he and the pathologist had been friend for longer. Surely, if there was anything worrying Molly, she should be able to come to him as well as to Mary. Or didn't she feel she could? John squirmed as he realised that since Sherlock had come back and he'd learnt the role Molly had played in his false death, there had been some distance between the two of them. And that distance had definitely been his doing. Moreover, once he'd finally been at peace with it, there had been too much things going on, his wedding, her break-up, Sherlock's engagement and then he'd been estranged from Mary and mad once again at the world. And Molly had become friends with Mary and while not explicitly choosing a side, had been much closer to his wife. So, remembering all of this, John suddenly felt guilty. Molly had been there for him after the fall. She'd texted him, reassuring him about the fact that Sherlock was not a fraud. She'd come get him from a pub once when he'd been drunk out of his mind and she'd took him back at his place, staying with him until morning. She'd told nothing about why he'd been so drunk, that had been the first anniversary of Sherlock's death but she'd come with him to the cemetery and not said anything. She'd been a true friend. He hadn't.

"You know, if there is anything wrong, you can talk to me too. Is there anything I can do?" he asked Molly, ignoring the furious looks from Sherlock who hovered behind the pathologist as she cut into the cadaver.

"No, no. That's OK. Don't worry, it's just girl things, you know…" stuttered slightly Molly. She blushed for good measure and smiled timidly. John replied to the smile and didn't meet the eyes of his best friend that were currently drilling into him in a way too reminiscent of when he was planning his brother's murder.

"Yeah, no problem. It's just, I'm your friend too." He finally stated and felt relieved as Molly beamed at him. Sherlock, still behind her rolled dramatically his eyes, which almost made chuckle John. The git was so obviously jealous that it was becoming entertaining.

"Now, that all this useless sentiment has been laid out, could we skip the group hug and just return to the autopsy?" asked drily the detective.

Molly stuttered again as she apologised and got back to her examination of the body. The dark haired man almost sighed heavily when he saw that her movements were stiff and jerky. But after a few moments, they took back that efficient, almost graceful-like fluidity that they had whenever she was focused on her job. The detective had to refrain himself from letting his eyes linger on what she was doing and made his own deductions as his pathologist carefully and methodically searched for evidence. His eyes then caught on something dark on the side of the victim head, just at the beginning of the hairline below her hear. He made a move to have a closer look. However, he had forgotten how close he'd stood to the woman that was cutting on the corpse and in his hurry, knocked her on the side and the scalpel, she normally so dexterously wielded, slipped and nicked into her stretched fingers. Molly yelped as the latex glove and her skin broke and Sherlock barely turned to the distressed noise and just kept going.

"Good Lord, Molly! Can't you try and not be in my way all the times!" bellowed the detective as he moved over the pathologist to the corpse.

As he finally obliged to look up, both John and Molly shot him a dirty look. And then, John was moving toward the young woman to take a look at Molly's hand. Sherlock, felt even more irritated at that. Since when did his two friends banded together against him? As the army doctor and his best friend entered a staring match, Molly discarded her glove. At the snap of latex, John broke the match and took her fingers in his palm to assess the damage. All the while, Sherlock went back to the interrupted autopsy, as if he was the one to do it anyway and focused on the dark spot he'd saw earlier. He muted out the whispers between both doctors and took a swab to the mysterious substance.

"Here, Molly. Once you're done with your need for coddling, you can process it. I'm almost sure this is what we need to break the case." Said Sherlock, back to his cold, case-absorbed self, handing a sealed evidence bag to Molly.

"Sherlock, do you know, that I'll have to run tests on myself to make sure I haven't been infected with STIs or any other infections this woman might have had? Also, my hands are my professional tools! If I had ripped into a nerve, it might have compromised my career! So please, tell me you're not serious when you say that I'm actually being coddled!" spat Molly, fear and anger merging together as she was standing up to Sherlock.

"Well, if you took more care about what you were doing, you wouldn't have injured yourself, and neither would you have contaminated evidence." The detective replied defensively, putting the evidence bag on the table next to the slab since Molly seemed bent ton ignoring it.

"What? Well, it would be easier if I hadn't a bloody detective shadowing me and then, pushing through me while I was doing my PM!" she answered back with a shriek.

"Never bothered you before."

At that, Molly's mouth closed with an audible click. It was true, she was usually quite capable to work around the man and never before had she had such an incident occur. She was still angry though. Because she shouldn't have to have to work around him. No, she should be able to do her job normally as any other pathologist could. Where she'd not have to deal with the dark haired man and his sudden changes of mood and movements that needed constant anticipation and awareness of. The detective had to have read what was going through her head as his eyes narrowed and he quickly added:

"Anyway, if whatever is on your mind is such a distraction that you would hurt yourself over it, you'd better chose another trade." Nastily finished Sherlock, making sure that his point had been nailed down.

Molly stayed petrified for a moment, her breath caught in her throat, her right hand spamming around her bleeding fingers. Never before had the detective attacked her professional skills. Suddenly, the emotions were too much for her to handle and she felt her eyes prick with beginning of tears. She quickly turned on herself and left. Yet, she felt proud of herself as she managed to utter:

"You know what? Maybe I should."