Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!
It's been six months, since Sherlock died. Well, when Molly says died, she means in the sense that most people believe. She knows Sherlock is very much alive, but during times like these, when she and John are sitting together in Bart's break room, it felt much too real.
They had started these get togethers to stay connected. Molly didn't want John to be alone in his suffering, and John likewise needed someone who wasn't his therapist to talk to about his problems. Nightmares, thinking he saw Sherlock around every corner even though that was impossible, and, even more regretfully to Molly, the return of his psychosomatic limp. It had returned in full force shortly after John's first meeting with his shrink after Sherlock's jump from St. Bart's, and no amount of therapy so far had been able to shake him of it.
Now, the cane was leaning on the side of his chair, and he rubbed his bad leg as though trying to ease a pain. Molly was sure it really did hurt. It was his body's way of coping, as cruel as it was for John to have to go through it.
Molly still had her own problems, but she was getting help, getting better. After a week straight of nightmares, she had taken Mrs. Holmes' advice, and contacted Mycroft. He had set her up with a private therapist with the utmost discretion. Thanks to that, she no longer jumped at sudden loud noises, and the nightmares had lowered to only once a week.
Molly sighed, pulled from her inner ramblings as John spoke, though she didn't catch his words. "Sorry, you'll have to repeat that. . . thinking." she explained sheepishly, taking a sip from her coffee. She smiled apologetically, but did didn't reach her eyes. Her smiles rarely did anymore.
"Nothing important. . . just remembering the deerstalker, again. He hated that hat." John replied, returning her smile. It actually accentuated the winkles around his eyes, so she knew it was genuine, even though it was a small smile.
"But it looked nice on him." She replied instantly, her cheeks lighting up instantly. She had begun to let such comments slip now, and each time, John just gave her a sad, knowing look.
"I can remember him complaining. He couldn't understand the point of the flaps. Kept wondering how you'd kill a deer with a cap."
Molly found herself giggling a bit at that. This is how they spent every Tuesday - sitting in the break room, sharing coffee during Molly's lunch as they reminisced. They needed this.
The door opened then, And Mary came in. She paused for a second in the entrance, casting a curious glance between the two, before she approached and settled into the third seat at the table. She had grown accustomed to Molly eating lunch with Sherlock's old associate, but had never joined them, until now. No one minded her sudden self-inclusion though.
"John, this is Mary. . . She's been my friend since I came to London. Mary, This is John." Molly took the time to introduce them, and the two shook hands, very polite, maybe a bit stiffly. Molly was kind of the bridge between them, since neither had really spoken to each other until today.
"So Mary, what part of the hospital to you work in? You don't work with Molly in the morgue, obviously" John asked, trying to keep the conversation going, and also veering away from the topic of Sherlock Holmes.
"Oh, I'm a Pediatric Nurse. I like working with the children, they're all so sweet, and don't complain nearly as much as their adult counterparts." She answered, smiling brightly. "And what do you do?" She asked, tucking a stray strand of her light blonde hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture Molly recognized immediately.
This was either wonderful timing, or dreadful timing. Molly couldn't decide which, so decided to do what she did best. She drifted into the background, as watched the two interact, which wasn't difficult since John and Mary both seemed interested in the other on varying degrees.
"Pediatrics. That seems like a decent job. I. . ." John's eyes darkened a bit, but he sighed and answered after a moment. "I work at the clinic. Don't specialize in anything anymore, but I used to be an army doctor. Captain." He looked down at his hand on his thigh, and continued to rub soothing motions into the pained appendage. "It's a bit quiet, to be honest, but I'm good at it."
"Ah, so you deal with the adult patients then." Mary said, wrinkling her nose in jest as she attempted to lighten the mood. She couldn't help the think John looked much better with a smile. Didn't everyone?
John did managed to crack a small grin as he raised his eyes back to hers. "I do. Some of them are right tossers. The youngest I get is around twenty-five. The kid came in with a broken leg - skateboarding accident, tried to jump a flight of stairs." He explained.
Mary giggled a bit, beaming once more. The two exchanged various medical stories, some humorous, others curious, and a few odd cases that the other hadn't seen before.
Molly simply watched, noting that with Mary's presence, a new light was brought to the group. She was glad to see John smiling so sincerely again. It was amazing, how quickly happiness could spread, even in such a previously gloomy environment.
In no time at all, the hour for their break had passed, and it was time for them all to return to their respective jobs. John stood first, leaning heavily on his cane. He winced as his weight settled, before he limped to the door, and held it open for the other two.
"Mary, you'll join us again next week, won't you?" Molly asked her friend, talking for the first time in a while.
Mary looked over at Molly, blushing slightly. "If that would be all right with you bother, I wouldn't mind." She replied, smiling soflty.
"You're more than welcome to, Mary. It was. . . nice talking with you." John said encouragingly.
"Then yes, I'd love to." She said, grinning for what seemed like the dozenth time since entering their company.
As they each went their separate ways, and Molly returned to the morgue, she couldn't help but keep the smile on her face. She certainly wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but hopefully she hadn't imagined the way John's limp had slightly improved from the time he entered, to the time he left. Maybe, just maybe, things could get better for her friend.
As she worked, she couldn't help but whistle her first happy tune in months, praying for this, a new beginning for her friends. Hopefully one day soon, Sherlock would be able to rejoin them. One day.
It was all she could wish for now.
Whelp, there's a peak at how Molly and John are getting on. This is set in the Fixing Reichenbach Universe, one of the one-shots I promised while working on the full-length sequel. You don't have to read Fixing Reichenbach to understand this one, but I'd much appreciate it!
Until the next one :*