There was a welcoming back party for Sherlock later that week, where John and Mary announced their engagement and Molly formally introduced Jane. It was a strange experience, but Molly was glad to be back with her friends. She wished that Jim could have been by her side, as she felt completely alone and rather vulnerable, but she knew that was irrational and impossible.
Jim, for his part, had managed to go the entire week without descending from the sky in a cloud of black smoke and announcing his return. Molly could tell that he was ever so slightly jealous of Sherlock, but he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect time. Which lead Molly to wonder when, exactly, he thought the perfect time was, and hoped desperately that it wasn't going to be at John and Mary's wedding. Sherlock seemed to be worrying about the event more than even the special couple. According to John, he had been Youtubing how to make serviettes. Molly wasn't even entirely sure what a serviette was. She was a little bit glad that she would likely never get married.
Moriarty had been spending an awful lot of time chatting and texting on his phone, much more than before Sherlock's return, and had also been disappearing for hours a day, which made Molly very anxious, especially because he was taking Jane with him if Molly wasn't home from work. She knew that he had a boss, but no one knew who or where he was. On the rare occasion that he did see someone in person, according to Jim, he was merely a deep voice behind a black curtain, or on the other side of a perforated divider in a confession booth. Jim did not seem to like him very much; Molly suspected it was because he liked to be in control of everything and having this man around could hinder him. He was such a control freak. She thought it was cute.
It was becoming harder and harder to keep her flatmate a secret however, as the old gang slowly came back together. Lestrade had stopped by three times already to have a cup of tea and play with Jane, and Mrs. Hudson had been over even more. If Moriarty was home he would just stay upstairs and be very quiet until they left. If he was gone, Molly had to spend the entire visit glancing anxiously at the door praying that he would not return. He hadn't yet, but she just knew that one day he would come waltzing in and she would be thrown under the tower of London.
After Mrs. Hudson's most recent visit, during which she had mentioned no less than ten times that Molly and Jane could use a man around the house and that Molly was not getting any younger, Molly put her daughter to bed early and poured herself an extra large glass of wine. She had read somewhere that wine helped to prevent heart attacks. And with a two-year-old, Molly certainly didn't want to die of a heart attack any time soon.
Three large glasses later, just as the world started to get fuzzy, there was a telltale jingling of keys in the lock, and Jim strolled through the door, whistling a tune. He whipped off his black sunglasses, and tossed them and his housekeys into the bowl on the table next to the couch. "It is 8:30 at night, in London, Jim." Molly said, her eyes narrowing.
Jim looked slightly alarmed, but the smile remained on his face. "Yes, yes it is. And?" He chirped.
"Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses when it is dark and raining?" Molly questioned, tilting her head. She could see the practicality of clear glasses, to keep the rain out of one's eyes. But dark sunglasses just seemed like overkill, even to her inebriated mind.
Jim chuckled. "All the better to confuse you with, my dear." He responded cryptically, as he sat down on the end of the couch. Molly, who did have her feet propped up on the cushion that the criminal mastermind/personal chef was now occupying, plopped them back down into his lap. He began to massage her heels. "Long day?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
She made a huffing sound, and took an excessive sip of wine. "Everyone keeps telling me that I should find a man and settle down. That Janie needs a father figure, that we need a man around the house, that I should be a stay-at-home mum instead of working all the time. Well, you know what, she had a father figure, and look what happened there." She gestured her glass vaguely, spilling a drop of the alcohol.
"And you know what, I can work and take care of my daughter. I am not going to become some domestic concubine... Housewife just here for the pleasure of some man. Maybe some women don't want to settle down. Maybe some women don't need a man. Has anyone ever thought that? Especially that awful Mary. Who would wed John? Who? I mean it's pretty clear that he and Sherlock are living domestic bliss. Well, they were, before Sherlock decided to not die, anyways. But still, that would be the most boring job, being his receptionist-cum-wife. Can you imagine spending all day with the same person?" Molly rambled on, taking gulps of wine in the middle of sentences. After a couple of minutes, Jim gently pried the glass from her hand, and Molly rested her head on the back of the sofa. "But enough about my day. How was yours?" She asked, her eyes drooping and her voice soft.
Jim smiled. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old." He said vaguely. Molly could tell there was something dark in that answer, but she was far too tired and her mind was far too gone to inquire about it. Besides, she probably didn't want to know. Jim's arranged killings today weren't her business for at least two days, up to five if he was nifty about hiding the body.
Another half hour later and Molly was out cold. Jim smiled, enjoying the peaceful look on her face. Free from worry or stress and completely at ease, the woman was strikingly beautiful. He stood, sliding her feet from his lap, picked her up, and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. He laid next to her and slid the covers up to her neck, and smiled as he closed his eyes. "I love you." He breathed, slipping into a dreamless sleep.