Pensive fingers to her lips, Molly padded toward the soothing comfort of fresh coffee. Toby wound his way around her ankles as she dug through her purse for pain medicine. Swallowing down the pills with hot coffee, the clean bin liner seized her attention and she nearly choked. Instead she gripped her mug in stubborn fortitude, and opened every window shade, flooding the rooms with sunlight.
With a heavy sigh, she abandoned the mug for a glass of water and sank into her favorite chair, but the smell of spilled alcohol did nothing to assuage her nausea. Frowning, she changed awkwardly to the sofa. Toby followed, demanding a face rub. Absently appeasing the cat, Molly scrutinized her surroundings. An insistent buzz from her phone broke the circumspective mood, commanding her attention. As she tapped out her reply, Molly forcefully held her composure against the startling sound of the locked front door opening.
"Good morning, Molly." Sherlock dropped food on the table and carried his bag to the spare room.
"They know you're here. Everyone."
"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?" He asked, examining the flat.
"Mycroft's men removed them."
"They are not always thorough."
Once satisfied, he picked up the grease stained sack and sat down in her chair. She smirked at his pinched expression as he quickly moved to the sofa next to her.
"Molly, I…"
"You don't have to explain. I ... I really don't want you to explain."
They sat in silence. The chips were cold, but she ate them anyway. "Is this what it's like for you? Feeling so many things so strongly all at once that you just don't feel anything at all?"
Sherlock cleared his throat, and slowly answered, "Sometimes, yes."
"Are you okay? I mean, I know you're not...But I just... you don't seem yourself. Should I be worried? Are you alright?"
"Mycroft told you?"
"Greg."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Not here, I mean he wasn't in my flat." Molly stuttered. "I was upset and I... I'm sorry," She rose to grab a jacket and her handbag, "I should probably go help Mrs. Hudson with Rosie." She looked toward the spare room, staring at his bag in the doorway, "You can stay of course, my sheets are clean. I mean I did lie down on them earlier but… not for too long. There isn't much in the frig but I suppose that doesn't matter." She rambled as she searched for her keys.
Sherlock stood, "Molly, you smell."
Her face flushed red in humiliation.
"Why don't we get out for a walk instead?" he suggested.
"You don't have to take care of me, Sherlock. I'll just go for a run. I've heard that helps."
"Are you avoiding me?" he asked, matching her volume.
"No! I just thought you might like the time alone to... I just don't know that I can help you."
She reluctantly calmed as his hands captured hers. "It's just a walk, Molly. Please."
Molly's shoulders fell in defeat. He took the jacket and held it open. She stood still for a moment before sliding her arms through and pulling the garment tight around herself.
Abruptly self-conscious as they stepped to the pavement she asked, "Do I look alright? You can see it; can't you?"
His eyes ran over her sunlit face lingering on the swollen purple shadow that disappeared into her hairline, "No, not really."
Molly pulled her ponytail free so that it fell like a veil, camouflaging the bruise. The cruelty was disquieting as he watched her retreat into safe obscurity.
"You don't trust me." He made no effort to hide the grief.
She slid her arm through his and kept walking.
"Sherlock, how did I hurt my face?"
"You fell."
"Into the toilet." She finished
At her words, he ducked his face to hide his smile, "Yes"
She closed her eyes in embarrassment, "So, this morning was real."
"I didn't want to leave you alone." He stuttered.
Molly willed her feet to keep moving. "How is the renovation?"
"Fine."
As they continued in silence, she looked for any opportunity for distraction.
"Would you like to eat a proper meal?" Sherlock asked looking at a menu posted outside a restaurant door.
Molly stopped. He turned to question.
"I'm sorry. I'm going to go back. I still don't feel well."
"Yes, umm, okay," He resigned. "Let me get you a cab."
Molly was asleep in the spare room when he returned. Sherlock watched her for a moment, picked up his bag and went to her bedroom.
After changing, he collapsed on the bed to stare at the ceiling. He closed his eyes. The sheets were clean, too clean. She didn't sleep here anymore. He rolled to his side and buried his face in the smell of a memory.
He woke to a fresh cup of tea and padded out to the kitchen in his pajamas to find a note indicating a plate of food in the microwave and a pot of coffee on the warmer. The chair was gone. The consulting detective spent most of the morning staring at the empty floor but couldn't quite work it out.
Late that night Molly returned smelling like the morgue. She discarded her purse and keys on the table and went immediately for the shower. Comfy and clean, she made tea and by rote walked to the empty spot where her chair had been. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa still in his pajamas, thinking. Molly considered going to her room, but he sat up and began rubbing his temples. "Hello Molly."
"Hello." She looked him over and asked, "Should I make you a sandwich?"
"Please, and some tea if you don't mind," he drew a hand over his face. Sherlock turned to make a request but she was standing at the counter top slicing a tomato. His jaw froze. He looked away, as he grappled with the inconvenient reality of John's warning.
"How did she know?" Molly's voice quietly shattered his valiant attempt at normalcy.
"She didn't. She got lucky." He argued over his shoulder before deciding to close the distance and join her in the kitchen.
Molly refused to be intimidated, "I don't think so." She passed him the sandwich.
He contemplated her response while nearly swallowing the sandwich whole before carrying the tea back to the sofa.
She chewed her lip, and finally asked, "Were you convincing?"
Sherlock's brow tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Do they believe you lied to me?"
"Molly," he began with a sigh but hesitated as she approached him and sat down. "No. I don't believe I was."
Her features crinkled in anger but quickly cooled to concern. "That must've been awful for you."
Sherlock shifted his hands around the tea cup to hide the quickly healing injury. His eyes didn't leave the carpet. His voice barely rose above a whisper, "Depends on how you look at it, I suppose."
Molly gently pulled the empty cup from his grasp. "But that's never going to work is it?" the hollow truth in her voice rung final.
Sherlock pulled his feet up onto the cushion and rested his head in her lap, "So far, so good."