In the fourteenth months Sherlock had been at university, he had made just short of thirty-four enemies, and approximately one and a half friends. One being a kindly older lady who worked at the only decent café on campus, and the half being a stray cat that sometimes slunk its way into the dormitories.
'Hello, Princess,' he cooed, eliciting a happy purr as he gave her a gentle scratch under the chin.
Princess was a scrawny one-eyed tuxedo cat, retired from her mouse-catching days and surviving off scraps from her favourite humans, named solely by Sherlock after the small patch of white fur on her forehead vaguely resembling a tiara. The two sat contentedly by the windowsill of Sherlock's dormitory, watching as the last of the dried-up November leaves were raked away in preparation for the bitter wintery snow that would coat the ground in a few weeks' time.
'Coming to lunch, freak?' A phantom male voice called out from the hallway, a symphony of boisterous laughter starting up in response.
Sherlock had gained an unfavourable reputation as the lad who would cut off the lecturers to correct them on their syllabus and make loud deductions about people's sex lives in the dining hall. So far, he'd broken up two relationships and caused one professor to take a job at a different university, and he was well and truly hated for it.
Half the student population decided to pretend he didn't exist, knocking him hard in the shoulders every time they passed as if he simply wasn't there, and the other half had made it their life mission to antagonise him as much as humanly possible with a new slew of insults each day.
His gaze remained fixed out the window, now well-versed in the art of tuning out the voices of his peers. He would close the door, but the room had a lingering smell from years of university students making instant cup noodles and it was better to keep the air flowing through the hallway.
He remembered the day his parents had dropped him off and helped him unpack, telling him how proud they were that he had been accepted into the highly prestigious Oxford chemistry program, and how happy they were that he'd finally be around people of similar interests and intellect that he could connect with.
Unfortunately, people remained wildly disappointing.
'Who are they talking about?' He heard a girl whisper, a voice he could recognise even in the most crowded room – soft, kind, and a little unsure of herself.
Sherlock whipped around, suddenly disinterested in his cat and windowpane. The girl standing before him was not the girl he remembered, the grieving shell he had left behind without looking back. To call her a girl at all was no longer true, this Molly was a young woman, with a healthy pink flush in her fuller cheeks and a sparkle in her chocolate brown eyes that were now staring into his.
A chorus of giggles started up in the hall, judgemental murmurs of 'Sorry, do you know him?' coming from a group of Sherlock's classmates, flanked behind Molly as though she were the leader of the pack.
'Yes,' she responded breathlessly.
Simultaneously, Sherlock remembered his agreement, to grant her a life free of the baggage of being his companion as he gave a firm, 'No.'
'I'll catch up with you guys later.' Molly waved her friends away and stood awkwardly in Sherlock's doorway.
'What are you doing here?' they asked at the same time.
Sherlock gestured for her to speak first.
'I didn't get in the first time around, but this was always my preference,' she explained, 'so I went to Manchester for my first two semesters then I was able to transfer my credits over. Better program for pathology.'
Sherlock nodded, taking in the grand coincidence that led them to once again be in the same room together. He didn't know what to do with himself. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about Molly every day for the last fourteen months, questioning whether he made the right choice to cut off contact.
If he was a suspicious man, one who didn't believe that most human choices could be predicted by simply analysing their past patterns of behaviour, he might have believed it to be destiny.
Not that he would ever admit it aloud, but Molly had arrived just when he needed her most. At least at St Bart's he had John for protection and friendship, but he was off at King's College studying his Bachelor of Medicine and between his studies and nights at the pub with girls and his new classmates, he barely had time to check on his old friend.
He and Mary had made the mature decision, to split since they were studying on opposite sides of the country and reassess the relationship in a few years, and although it was mutual and amicable, Sherlock had since felt too awkward to reach out to her.
Without his family and friends, Sherlock Holmes was impossibly lonely.
His train of thought was broken as he looked up and saw that Molly had in fact been speaking at him the entire time.
'I didn't know that you go here though, I swear!' Molly insisted, becoming increasingly flustered as she realised how this might look.
'I mean it's not like you've got Facebook or anything that I could search your whereabouts…not that I've checked, I mean…I did check, but in a casual way, not a stalker way. And you're not on there anyway, so…', she exhaled the breath she'd been holding and pulled herself together.
'Point being, I promise I didn't know you'd be here.'
'I'm glad you're here,' Sherlock responded with comforting sincerity.
It was too easy to fall back into old patterns with each other, the muscle memory of beating hearts and flushed cheeks rushing back to their bodies just by being in each other's presence that was almost impossible to ignore.
'We should catch up,' she offered as casually as she could, her mouth moving faster than her brain could stop and ask whether getting reacquainted was even a good idea. 'I'm going out with friends tonight, just the local bar, you should come.'
'And those are your…friends you were with before?' he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he tried to imagine how Molly had managed to have these insufferable people wrapped around her finger so soon, while he was still trying to get them to use his name.
'Oh yeah, they've been lovely! Took me right under their wing when they found out I was a new midterm transfer.'
Sherlock only grunted in response, knowing anything he had to say about them would likely be considered bad-mannered.
'And who's this then? Friend of yours?' she asked, picking up Princess from Sherlock's lap and cradling her like a baby.
'What? Oh, yes. That's Princess. Careful. I'm not entirely sure she's not carrying any diseases.'
'I see,' said Molly, placing Princess down gently on the floor. 'Well, I'll pick you up at 8. Oh… and Sherlock?'
'Yes?'
The corners of Molly's mouth turned up into a cheeky smile, holding back her laughter.
'That cat's a boy.'