It's an afterthought.


Method


Lipstick, again.

Sherlock was positive she was finished with this childlike crush. There have been several other relationships to distract her, possibly even cue her into positive qualities she could seek in other potential partners. Yet, here they are, a new shade of cheap lipstick and possibly a new lab coat. She redid her pony tail, too.

"Black, two sugars," she said as she placed the coffee down. He didn't even request a beverage as she entered and exited the room numerous times while he researched.

Mycroft reminded him that he was on surveillance and researching deadly poisons that pair well with scotch, particularly Aberfeldy, was a bad idea on his home network. So, with a few nice words and a step closer than usual, Molly let him use her work station in the lab to research a decent poison. Molly was smart enough to not ask questions.

Molly was not smart enough to leave him alone and every few moments he would look up from the computer and realize she was talking. She was smiling as she talked, playing with the ends of her pony tail. Sherlock realized she had a new necklace on and would absently move her hands to touch the chain. She must have a new sexual partner, someone who invested in jewelry. Sherlock looked back down at the computer until he could drown her out once more.

"Sherlock," she said lowly, drawing his attention from his important task. "You've moved on from the woman, how did you do that?"

The mental punch in the face shook Sherlock and he found himself blinking at Molly. Molly shown her regret by telling him to forget it and apologizing. When Molly made the move to escape, grabbing his cup and offering him more - did he really finish it? - Sherlock stopped her.

"I don't understand what my experience has to do with anything," he said. The concept of him discussing this with Molly, a woman he placed in her own box in her own compartment in his mind, far removed from physical attraction and the idea of romance, tore his mind apart like a barreling train.

"You knew her," Molly said, possibly indicating physical relations due to his ability to identify Irene Adler. "And I know you were sad, I could see you were sad, don't lie to me and tell me you weren't."

Sherlock continued to blink and stare at Molly, the visualization of her words clouding his vision. "I don't know what you want to hear from me."

"I am sorry, it was a stupid question." Molly took the cup with her as she walked.

"In the realm of stupid questions I've heard from you," Sherlock said quickly, "that wasn't one of them." Sherlock reflected on it and offered her a smile. "I suspect it is a hard thing to move past but I occupy myself with cases, I don't even notice at times."

"Liar."

Sherlock was slightly baffled. He thought he did a fairly good job in discussing it and here Molly is calling him a liar. "Excuse me?"

"I called you a liar because you're a liar. You do this thing, I can tell when you're sad. There's a difference between your concentrating stare and your sad stare, I see it all the time. ."

"Do you really stare at me when I work here?" he asked, honestly wondering at his decision to continue to use the lab.

"So, when you say you're not sad when you are, I am going to call you a liar."

Sherlock knew he did not want to discuss this. When John would attempt to discuss it, he would plainly walk away from the doctor. Irene would chime about their relationship through text message and Sherlock would ignore her, too, and go to simpler discussions like a case. Sherlock was making a conscious effort to change the subject. Instead, he found himself sitting there silent for several moments.

Giving up, he said in a deliberate manner, "she's not dead, but me and her will be will never resemble anything worth discussing. The man in your life has spent quite a bit of money on jewelry that you are uncomfortable in but still wear. Either let him in and get comfortable with it or move to another sexual partner." Sherlock turned away from Molly and looked back at the screen. "That doesn't mean I wish I had something otherwise with her, but it won't happen no matter how hard I wish on silly stars or coins in ponds. This man, whoever he is, is here right now. What are you waiting for?"

Molly opened her mouth but promptly closed it.

"Don't wait for me. I'm not worth it." Sherlock closed the window on the computer and thanked her for her computer and the coffee. "Next one's on me."

Sherlock pulled his coat from the hanger and walked away, letting his scarf drop in his haste. Molly watched it fall to the floor, shocked at their exchange and Sherlock's movements.

Later in the evening, as Sherlock replaced a string on his violin, he realized his mistake in leaving the scarf behind. His annoyance only grew as he peered at John's amused smirk. As he carefully tuned the new strings on the violin, he recalled how John warned him over breakfast that he was abusing his violin. While archaic, Sherlock wanted to launch items at John in an attempt to inflict pain.

With new strings installed on his violin, Sherlock looked at the fragments of worn string set aside. Inspecting it, he came to the notion that he would strangle Molly should he ever need to extinguish her, possibly with his scarf.

No. Not the scarf, he adored that scarf and would have to give it up forever. His distinct blue scarf would leave fibers that lead a trail to the detective. He could always use his hands. Molly dated psychopaths and hoped for a chance at someone as unsavory as Sherlock, no one would doubt the male hand marks around her neck. It wouldn't be hard to get that close to her, possibly even squeeze the life from her in her own bedroom. No one would believe Sherlock, of all people, was in her quarters. No one would doubt she picked some new unsavory individual from some dating website.

Sherlock looked at his phone. A simple text from Molly letting him know his scarf was at the lab whenever he wanted it back displayed across the screen. Sherlock swiped the message away and wrote a quick text to a new recipient.

Dinner? SH