Molly smiled as Mrs. Hudson helped her into her apartment. It was small, obviously enough space for a single widow, and dimly lit. The décor was simple, reminding Molly of her own Mother's taste in furniture. She was certain Mrs. Hudson and herself would have gotten along beautifully.
Getting through the living room was kind of tricky, what with her crutches. It took her several tries before she was able to propel herself forward between the bookshelf and table. As she moved slowly passed, Molly eyed the books on the shelf, and smiled to herself when she saw a few of her favorites. Who knew Mrs. Hudson was a fan of old fashioned romance novels? Maybe she would ask her if she could read a few of them. Diving into a good book would take her mind off the discomfort she felt.
Though she had been discharged from the hospital, Molly was still in quite a bit of pain. Her body ached all over, from a combination of the beating she took in the accident and laying in one attitude for so long. The tenderness around her ribs was agitated every time she moved, making a simple lift of the arm tedious. Thankfully, her legs were not too sore. The only problem they had was constant itching from the casts. It would be a glorious day when she could have those taken off.
"Where would you be most comfortable, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
Molly smiled. "Probably in bed; I would try the sofa, but I am afraid I wouldn't be able to get up once I sat down."
She smirked slightly before nodding. "There are two bedrooms just through that door. Yours is the one on the right. The bed is turned down already, so you need not worry about that."
"Thank you so much for your hospitality," She said, smiling faintly. "You really did not need to go through all this trouble. I'm sure I would have been fine at –."
Molly was cut off by Mrs. Hudson shaking her head. "Don't even think for a moment you are an inconvenience. You needed someone to take care of you, and who better than myself. Besides, I have practice with the grown child upstairs."
She snickered at Mrs. Hudson's reference to Sherlock. His childlike behavior seemed to stretch past her and John, and into this poor woman's life. Most people would think Sherlock was taking advantage of her, but Molly knew better. She had seen the two together on several occasions, and they held a special bond. It was the closest thing to tenderness she had ever seen from Sherlock. For a moment, Molly's heart wished Sherlock would treat her the way he treated Mrs. Hudson, but she let the thought slide. No use dwelling on something that would never come to pass.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mrs. Hudson said, shaking Molly from her thoughts. "I usually have one after breakfast, but didn't get a chance today."
She nodded. "That would be lovely."
"You go and lay down, and I'll fix it right away."
With that, she scurried into the kitchen and left Molly to find her room. Thankfully, the hallway was wide and she could easily fit herself through, without having to worry about the crutches scratching the baseboards. Turning to her right, she was greeted with a spacious guest bedroom, basking in simplicity. Along the farthest wall stood the bed, with a small nightstand placed next to it. A lamp for reading was turned on, casting a lovely glow onto the floral printed bedspread. Molly smirked at the matching curtains. Mrs. Hudson was not unlike herself, who enjoyed having things neat and together.
Against the wall closest to Molly was a chest of drawers and another doorway, leading to the closet. Taking another glance around, she walked slowly into the room and leaned up against the bedpost. Her legs, though not in pain, were throbbing from fatigue. Laying in a hospital bed for so long had drastically weakened them. Physical therapy would surely be in her future.
She placed the crutches up against the nightstand, and slid herself onto the bed. To her surprise, the bed was almost the same firmness as her own. It would seem Molly had found the perfect place to call home until she was well enough to care for herself. As soon as her head it the pillow, her eyes began to drift closed. It took all her strength to remain awake so she could drink her tea.
"Ah, tea..." Molly whispered to herself. "I sure have missed you."
As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway with a small teacup and saucer. "Here you are, dear. Are you comfortable?"
"As comfortable as I can be," She said, taking a sip of her hot beverage. "Oooo...this good."
She smiled. "Glad you like it. Now, if you need nothing else from me, I'll be in the kitchen."
Molly nodded and watched as the petite woman walked out of her room. Another wave of gratitude swept through her, and she knew when she was well, she needed to do something for Mrs. Hudson. Maybe have her over for dinner one night, or maybe take her out? Ideas began to swirl through her head, just as her eyes began to close again. Sitting the teacup on the nightstand, Molly slid further into bed, pulling the sheets up around her. Though it wasn't even the afternoon yet, she let the fatigue wash over her like a cool bath. Tomorrow, she would try to regain her normal sleep schedule. For now, all she wanted to do was rest.
*bang, bang...bang!*
Sherlock frowned. His attempt at amusing himself didn't work; it only left another three holes in Mrs. Hudson's wall. Slumping down into his chair, he pulled the bathrobe tighter around him and grunted. Ever since Molly had been released, Sherlock had been looking for a case to work on. Unfortunately, Lestrade had nothing for him. Not like it mattered much anyway; if he needed to use Molly's lab, then he would have to face the person who was subbing for her. Knowing his luck, it would be one of the many staff members who didn't like him...not even a little bit.
As he thought about this, his mind slowly drifted toward thoughts of Molly downstairs. He had heard Mrs. Hudson and Molly enter her apartment about a half hour ago. In fact, he knew they were here long before they stepped foot into their flat. The distant sound of a cab alerted him to their future presence. Part of Sherlock wanted to go downstairs and see how Molly was doing. Certainly he could come up with an excuse for his appearance. Mrs. Hudson had left something in his flat, perhaps. On the other hand, he could say he thought someone was breaking into her flat. He was merely there to apprehend the fool, until law enforcement could be called. However, deep inside his mind, Sherlock knew those excuses wouldn't fly very far with his landlady. She wasn't an idiot.
Standing up from his chair, he went over to his coat to fetch a cigarette from his pocket. He searched for several seconds before realizing he was all out. Disappointment and irritation washed over him, before an idea popped into his mind. Maybe he could go out and get some more, and then pop in to see Molly after he returned. Surely, they would not suspect any ulterior motives if he explained his lack of tobacco.
He pulled his coat on quickly, and headed for the stairs. Before he could reach the top step, Sherlock's attention was diverted to the vibrating phone in his pocket. A shrill of delight swept through him at the prospect of being able to solve a case. Looking down at the screen, his hopes were soon dashed as he read Molly's name.
Sherlock, don't shoot holes in Mrs. Hudson's wall. -M.H.
A smirk formed on his face. He wasn't certain why this command from Molly made him so happy, but it did. Quickly tapping the screen, Sherlock typed his reply.
She won't mind. -S.H.
Within seconds, he received an answer. Yes, she will. In fact, she does. And besides, your sudden desire to destroy property woke me up. -M.H.
For a moment, Sherlock felt his normal indifference toward other peoples problems. The moment passed, and instead, his heart was filled with...regret? There had only been one other time he had felt this way, and it was at the Christmas party. Memories from that evening flashed in his mind. Sherlock could see Molly's face as if it was right before his eyes. The sight pained him, and he quickly wanted to ease the pain. Without even realizing what he was doing, he shoved his phone into his pocket and raced out the door.
Molly waited for a reply, but received none. Disappointment flooded her heart. Why in the world did she care so much what that man thought? No normal person would think twice about the words of a sociopath – high functioning or not.
"Molly, why must you be so..." Her whispered words faded into the air. What was she, exactly? A fool? Anyone who loved a man so cruel as Sherlock Holmes was surely foolish. A idiot? It would take someone completely idiotic to desire any relationship with a man such as him. Whatever she was, she wished she was stronger. Why couldn't she be the type of woman who didn't wait...no, who didn't ache...for the words of a man?
Her thought process was interrupted when she heard the slam of a door. Molly sat up in bed, listening for any movement upstairs, but she heard none. Sherlock had left his apartment then, without even a "Talk to you later, Molly." Of course, what else should she expect? He was a sociopath, after all.