Books were strewn all about the flat, piles of encyclopedias built into untidy columns and essays that had long ago lost any and all binding scattered unevenly along the rest of the floor. The tea kettle whistled, though completely forgotten as an oblivious Sherlock typed furiously on his laptop, crouched over as he sat on the floor. It had been twelve hours since he'd last slept, and though he had to admit it was refreshing, he was infuriated with himself for giving into the idea of it. All of this could have been solved by now; he very well could have missed his chance by now.
Molly entered the living room, sought after the kettle, which Mrs. Hudson had already complained about twice while they spoke on the stairs. Her eyes widened as she saw the mess that practically enveloped the man in front of her. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed, hurrying to take the kettle off of the stove, though Sherlock remained completely fixated on his screen.
"You've gone and turned this place into a health hazard!" Molly scolded, leaning under a leaning tower of books to crouch down in front of him. "What's all this even for? It doesn't seem like an encyclopedia on Mesopotamian agriculture is going to be too helpful."
"It was in the way," he mumbled. Well, at least it was a sentence, rather than the low grunt she had been expecting.
Molly sighed and sat down the rest of the way. "This isn't exactly good for your mental health, is it?" she asked gently, deciding to take a different approach.
This time, a snort was her response. More typing.
She breathed out slowly through her nose. "Right, then," she uttered, standing up. Suppose she'd have to come back here for lunch, then. "Take care of yourself. As much as you can. I'll be back in a few hours."
Grunting, and then more typing.
Sherlock scowled, sharply turning away from the map hanging on the wall and nearly knocking over a heap of books. He needed to focus.
His brain, however, didn't wish to focus.
Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely the truth.
Yes, his mind did want to focus. But it wanted to focus on Molly. How warm she was and how soft she had turned out to be. Were most humans that soft? He supposed he hadn't touched very many of them, not that he desired to. Originally, having her that close while he slept was only plausible. If he had to sleep, then he needed her with him. It was all for the sake of safety and sanity for the both of them. There wasn't a way for Moriarty to take one without alerting the other if they had that proximity.
However, he could only think of how badly he had found himself wanting to brush his lips over her head when he woke up and found her face nestled against his neck.
This was not at all what he had intended. He intended her safety, not a romantic attachment.
No, this was absolutely not a romantic attachment.
This was the result of delirium from not completing the task he had at hand.
Which was Moriarty.
Which he only cared about because of the harm he could potentially cause Molly.
Hell.
A clatter could be heard from downstairs, followed by a sharp hushing noise. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock exhaled slowly and ventured to the door. "I do not know why my landlady let you in, but I'm not taking any clients toda-"
He was met with Peter and Amy's glinting eyes and small smirks, both equipped with pistols, their front sights pointed without obstacle at his head.
Are you hungry? Have you consumed anything in the past eight hours? Mx
Right, you're probably typing. Please tell me you've looked away from the screen at least once. Mx
Bad for your eyes, you know. Deducing won't be as nice. Mx
I know you don't always respond to things, that's your nature. But I'm worried, please answer. Mx
One word. One symbol. Doesn't actually matter. Something? Mx
Molly groaned in frustration, stuffing her mobile into her bag and shoving it back into her work locker. If the bastards in toxicology had just done their work, she'd be at Baker Street by now and catering for the man who was ripping himself to shreds all for the sake of her safety.
It was endearing, she had to admit. And in a way, she felt rather guilty for what he was doing to himself trying to keep her safe.
It was also, however, completely unnecessary. If Jim was going to do anything, he would have done it by now, wouldn't he? For all they knew, he could be dead.
Sherlock was a 38 year old man. He'd been a misfit, a junkie, a detective who practically threw himself at danger, a prisoner, and a very infuriating man who could take care of himself.
Unfortunately, Sherlock was simultaneously a lost, frightened, overworked, and stressed man-child.
She needed to get home. Not just to take care of him, she supposed, that part was always very annoying, considering the man hardly ever accepted anything that she could give him without potentially risking losing her job.
No, she needed to get home so that she knew he wasn't completely out of his mind. She didn't want to see that happen, nor did she want him to work to the point of triggering a breakdown.
It was an odd thing, how if she expressed that concern to John, he would only chuckle and assure her that Sherlock didn't have breakdowns. He's Sherlock. Many other people would say the same. But that didn't make any sense. The man wasn't a machine. Lately, he wasn't even good at acting like he was a machine. At least, not in her opinion.
But to everyone else, he hadn't changed. Clearly that wasn't the case. He had a much bigger heart, and with that, he looked sad much more of the time.
Part of her wanted to shake him by the shoulders and part of her wanted to hug him.
As she slammed the locker shut, she huffed. That was Sherlock for her.
The most infuriatingly lovely man on the planet.
Just as she had clicked the lock back into place, she heard the buzz from her mobile reverberate through the metal walls. She swore under her breath, though she couldn't help but smile as she opened it back up. So then, he wasn't unconscious or hurt, at least. Annoyed or annoying, possibly, but she could handle that. She could always handle that.
As she unlocked the screen, however, her smile vanished.
Come to Baker Street, pet. We're waiting. xxx -JM
I will do everything in my power to update very soon, I promise :) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a fantastic morning/afternoon/night.