It hurt.

Her head…she rolled onto her back and looked at the clock. Six. Molly put her palm on her forehead and wished she was someone else.

Wine, beer, and whiskey. What was she thinking?

…she was thinking she was getting drunk with Sherlock, that's what.

And she thought about what happened just outside that door some seven hours previous.

He had kissed her…she touched her bottom lip. Why had he kissed her?

Molly swallowed and rubbed her forehead. She wouldn't think about it. It wasn't worth getting herself in a state over it. Likely didn't mean anything. He was drunk, too…

She sat up and felt her stomach…oh no…Molly covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom…

And after a few minutes, she felt much better, save her head. She went to her handbag and took out some ibuprofen…

And decided to shower.

She wondered, as she washed, if he remembered kissing her, and if it would make things uncomfortable between them…just when she wasn't quite so angry.

Because she wasn't.

She was still upset with him, but anger…not so much. She was just hurt now, and that was something she was rather used to when it came to her relationship with him. Or friendship.

Whatever the hell it was.

Molly finished up and got out. Their interactions over the years had yielded a lot of hurt for her. But, if she was honest, other things, too. She dried her hair and got some clothes out…her head was feeling a bit better.

He was funny. They laughed a lot together. He shared things about himself with her, some of which he told her he hadn't spoken with John about. There was a trust there which he himself had admitted to…

She was dressed…she pulled her hair back and sat on the edge of the bed. It was six forty five…

Molly looked at her hands…they had felt so small when he was holding her hand. And she wondered if he had ever held her hand before…she couldn't recall.

Stop it, Molly.

She stood and got a sweater. She didn't know where she was going, but it was Monday and she thought that there was probably a bakery open or something.

So she walked out into the morning…there was dew on the grass, and the sun was quickly rising.

Molly breathed in deeply…she wanted a coffee…and a nice walk.

She meandered through the place, just beginning to bustle a bit, and she found a cafe. She went in and ordered a latte and a scone, sat at the window and ate. She was feeling almost herself.

She sat back and watched the morning form before her, and thought about why she was there to begin with.

…to gain some perspective. To make sense of her feelings for him. To try and forget him…

She played with her cup. Well, she couldn't do those things if he was here with her. But she wasn't sorry he was.

What a mess.

Molly would never be able to forget him, she knew that. It was an exercise in futility to think otherwise. She wanted to because he had made it clear that he could never return her feelings.

She looked up again. She would need to confront him about the phone call. It was why he was here, after all. She couldn't keep hiding from it.

Tomorrow, she resolved. Tomorrow, she would bring it up. Today she would read and stay close to town. Maybe have lunch with him.

Molly threw away her refuse and walked back to the Old Lock Up.

She went directly to her room and laid on the bed. She took her phone out and checked messages and emails, not something she had done since she arrived on Saturday.

Nothing of consequence.

She rolled onto her side and noticed it was eight thirty. Molly's head felt better and she took her book out to read…

It was lunchtime by the time she was done, and she readied herself quickly and went downstairs.

She half expected Sherlock to be in that same spot.

But he wasn't.

Molly swallowed. What if he left? He left, because he had kissed her and he regretted it so much that he couldn't face her again…

…he wouldn't talk to her. Never come to the morgue or the lab…she was suddenly scared…she didn't want it to be done like that, but she didn't want to be beholden to someone who would bolt when something potentially embarrassing happened…

"Molly?"

She turned, and he was standing behind her, holding a paper bag. "Sherlock!" she smiled, and swallowed. "What have you got there?"

He smiled crookedly. "Highly recommended fish and chips from the place down the street. Greasy food is always a good opiate for hangovers. I got you some, if you like. We can sit in the library by the peat fire…" he turned and motioned for her to go ahead of him.

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. "Oh," and she nodded, walking to the place she had sat yesterday.

Sherlock set the bag down and took his coat off, then fixed the fire.

Molly sat there watching him.

"Go ahead and start. I'll get some water for us and put in a tea order for later…" and he left.

She shook herself out of it and opened the bag. It smelled rather good…

"Here," he handed her some water.

"You really like fish and chips, huh?" she took the glass.

"I like really good fish and chips," he sat in the chair next to her.

Molly took out a sandwich and some chips, balancing them on her lap, and handed him the bag. "How's your head?"

"Dreadful," he took a bite. "Yours?"

"Better. I have medicine, if you like."

"Afterwards, maybe," he chewed. "Not bad," he swallowed.

"I got up pretty early and took a walk. There's a nice cafe down the way a bit," she ate a chip. "Did you eat breakfast here?"

"I woke an hour ago," he sipped some water. "So…no."

"Wow…you must have gotten it pretty hard. I passed out, and woke at six."

"I couldn't fall asleep…I believe that I actually went to sleep around six," and he bit into the sandwich again.

"My god," she chewed and swallowed. "That's awful. Why couldn't you sleep? Does alcohol have that effect on you?"

"No," he replied slowly, then looked at her. "Kissing does," and he looked away and ate some chips.

Molly felt her insides fall. What did that mean? "Oh," was her reply. "Good thing that doesn't happen much, then…" she laughed a touch.

"Yes," but he didn't look at her. "I hope that wasn't terribly untoward," he said softly.

She felt her cheeks flush. "No," she whispered. "We were drunk…those things happen sometimes."

Now he looked up. "You think that happened because of the alcohol?"

Molly shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"We need to talk," he sat back.

Her eyes went wide. "Tomorrow."

"What?"

She looked at the fire. "I decided that we should talk about those…things…tomorrow. I'd rather just have a relaxing day today."

"All right, Molly. But we need to. Before we leave here."

She nodded and ate some more of the sandwich.

"What are your plans for the day?" he took another bite.

"No plans. Nothing fixed, anyway. What about you?" she looked at him.

"Well…thought I'd explore a bit…come back and have tea…" he shrugged. "You're welcome to join me."

"I…" she smiled and looked down. "Tea later sounds lovely."

He nodded, then wrapped up the paper. "Finished?"

"Ya, thanks," and handed him her rubbish. "Want that medicine?"

He stopped mid motion…then tossed the stuff in the bin. He turned toward her. "Ok," he smiled, and picked up his coat. "Let's go," he walked up the stairs to her room.

Molly followed and took her key out, she wasn't looking at him, and she suddenly felt very tense. She opened the door…"Just in my bag here…" and without looking at him, she went to the bag, hearing him close the door. She rummaged through and found the medicine. Molly turned. "Here," she smiled, handing it to him.

And he took it, her hand along with it, and tangentially slid his finger along her wrist. He smiled. "Can I use your sink?"

She cleared her throat. "'Course," and she turned away.

She heard him take the medicine, and come back into the room. "It's a lovely room, Molly."

"Yes," and she took the bottle back, placing it in her bag. "Quite big."

And the next thing she knew, he was sitting on her bed next to her bag. "The bed is very fine. And the decor is tasteful," he looked around.

Why was he sitting on her bed? She smiled and blushed a bit. "How's yours?"

"Not like this."

"No…"

He shook his head and looked at her. "I'm not complaining," he smiled.

"Sounds like you might be dangerously close to it," she returned his smile.

"Not that," and he stood. "Not dangerously close to that…" he was close. He was looking at her very deliberately.

…and she faltered under his gaze. "Well…" she cleared her throat.

"Molly…" he whispered.

"What?" she looked at him.

"I…" his eyes fell. "I'm sorry," and he turned and went to the door. "See you at tea in a couple of hours?"

She turned and looked at him. "Yes."

…and he left.

She closed her eyes. She refused to look to into it…he was Sherlock Holmes. A strange man. And unaccustomed to…

She opened her eyes…best to not think about it at all.

So she turned on the telly and laid down.

She woke at three thirty and got up…nearly tea time. She sighed and went to the loo.

She wondered what he had been up to since he left. And she made her way downstairs. He wasn't there.

So she sat at the table by the window and looked out into the garden. It was a lovely one, nicely kept. She thought that a turn around it was called for.

Molly turned and smiled at the server as he brought the tea and some cake.

"Ah…just in time," she heard Sherlock's voice.

She looked up. "Hi," she smiled.

He sat across from her. "How was your nap?" and he took a cake after the server poured out the tea.

"How did you know…?"

He cocked a brow and sipped.

"Fine. Where did you go?"

"Oh…here and there. I got you something," he smiled and put a plastic bag on the table.

Molly looked at it. "Ah…"

"It's a bag, Molly."

"Yes…"

"You need to open it and look inside."

"Right," she looked suspiciously at it.

"It won't bite. It's a bag," he bit into the cake.

"Why did you get me something?"

He sighed. "You really are taking the fun out of this."

"Yes, but…"

"Because I thought you might enjoy these…things. I saw them and I thought, 'Molly might like this.' And so I purchased them with the hope that you would. But I see now that that was a false hope, since you seem intent on staring at it instead of opening it up."

She sighed and took the bag. "You've never bought me anything besides some crisps."

"That's not true. I paid for lunch today," he smiled.

She rolled her eyes and looked inside. "It's two books."

"Brilliant. Now, why don't you see what they are."

She reached in and pulled them out. One was, "A History of Medicine in Derbyshire," the other was a very old copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. Molly looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "How old is this?"

"The publication date is just over two hundred years ago."

"Wow," she opened the book delicately…the pages were thin, and there were drawings and renderings of the sonnets. "This must have cost a fortune."

"Mm…it wasn't so bad," he sipped. "Do you like them?'

She smiled and nodded. "Thank you so much."

"Good. I thought we might look at them…" he cleared his throat. "If you're agreeable."

She nodded. "Of course," and she set them down and sipped the tea. "It's good tea," she sounded surprised.

"Mm…"

"Sherlock?"

"What?" he looked up from his plate.

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded, looking at her. "My pleasure."

"I want to take a walk in the garden," she stood and took the bag. "Care to join me?"

"It isn't a very large garden."

"Well, it needn't be a very long walk," she smiled. "I'll take these upstairs and I'll be right back," she smiled and left. They were lovely books. She was utterly taken aback by the gesture. She set the bag down and took her sweater, heading back downstairs. "Ready?" he was standing with his coat on by the doorway.

He nodded and opened the door. They walked over to the gate and he opened that for them, and Molly walked inside. It was more dim from the low hanging trees…the blooms were fragrant and succulent.

"I guess you don't have a case," she observed, hands in pockets.

"Oh no. I've been working on one."

"Here?"

"Yesss…Lestrade has been sending photos. Nearly solved."

"Oh," and she walked over to a small pond, squatting and touching the warm water. "You seemed like you didn't have anything going on."

"Well, when I've been with you, I haven't been thinking about it," he sat on a bench by the pond.

"You aren't here for the case, are you?" she looked at him.

"No. I'm here for you. And a respite."

"From?"

"As I said, many things."

Molly nodded and stood. "You've been through much, too, haven't you?" she sat next to him.

"Well, yes. I suppose so."

She looked at him. "Are you ok?"

And he looked at her. "Not really."

She sighed. "No," and she sat back and looked at the sky. "It's actually good that you came here with me."

"Is it?"

She looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Puts things into perspective."

"Glad to help," and Sherlock sat forward, hands on knees, and folded his hands. "I need some perspective, I think."

"Can I help you?" she almost hated herself for offering, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Yes," he said without looking at her.

"How?"

The sun had just begun its descent…the sky was turning a soft pink. "You're doing it, Molly."

"I'm helping you?" she smiled.

…and he looked at her, and nodded. "By agreeing to spend time with me here, and by promising to talk with me about that phone call."

"Oh."

He smiled and took her hand. "Let's take a look at those books," and he pulled her to standing.

She nodded and allowed him to guide her to her room. She opened the door and went inside. Sherlock sat at the table by the window and Molly took the books out and sat across from him. He took the medicine one first.

"I thought that this was interesting…a catalogue of country doctors," and he pages through.

"I don't know much about them…"

"Well, they were more informed in general than people give them credit for."

Molly nodded. She moved her chair closer to him to gain a better view. And they looked at it for a while, talking about some of the pictures and the remedies employed by the doctors.

After a while, Sherlock took the sonnets. "Are you familiar with them?" he opened the book.

"A bit."

"How much is 'a bit'?"

"Ah, well…I've studied them."

"Have you read them for fun?"

"Here and there…" she was a bit uncomfortable.

He smiled at her. "More here than there, perhaps?"

Molly shrugged. "Do you know them?"

"I have most of them memorized."

"What."

He laughed. "When I would be very high, I would often memorize Shakespeare."

"Do addicts normally memorize Shakespeare when they're high?" she sardonically asked.

"No," and he paged through. "Most people are only familiar with a few, but there is a cornucopia of verse here begging to be read.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

"Wow."

"Sonnet twenty nine," and he looked at her, a brow raised, and then went back to the book. "I hope you enjoy it," he handed it to her.

"Did you memorize the plays as well?"

"Some of them."

"Which ones?"

"Ah..Hamlet. Henry the Fourth, both parts. King Lear…"

She smiled. "Wow."

"So…" he clapped. "What time is it?"

"It's…" she looked over at the clock. "It's five thirty."

He nodded. "Well…dinner is soon…" he cleared his throat. "Did you have any plans to eat?"

"You mean, other than eating?"

"Yes. Besides that," he smiled.

"Not really."

"Would you…" he swallowed. "Would you care to come with me to a restaurant just down to road?"

"Is it formal?"

"No."

She shrugged, smiling. "That sounds nice. What time?"

"Bout an hour? I'll meet you at the front door."

Molly nodded. "Ok."

Sherlock stood. He paused, looked around a second, then left.

…and Molly thought that that exchange sounded suspiciously like he was asking her out on a date.