She was awake at least, she could see, hear, concentrate on the minute movements of the other people around her. A couple of nurses had been appearing on a fairly regular basis, just to check her vitals, they were lying, she hadn't been born an idiot, they just didn't like seeing how alone she was. No one had visited Molly since she woke up. Apparently someone called Mary had wished her well. But the name didn't ring a bell and Molly sensed that there was a lack of sentiment behind this Mary woman's words.
Time meant nothing to the ever over stimulated Sherlock Holmes. So when John entered 221B he had to physically shake the detective to wake him from a literal two days of silence. "Sherlock, how are you really, I know you think that you have to put up these walls when it comes to anything sentimental, but it's ok to break them once in a while…"
Soon a terse and worrying voice replied "John, I have absolutely no idea to what you are referring to. There have been little traumatic incidents in either of our lives of late and I have a steady stream of cases piling in from the somewhat useless Lestrade, now kindly sit down and tell me the true reason you are here."
John simply stared at the detective, was what he saying true, was he truly not bothered by one of his friends conditions? "But Sherlock, what are you saying-"
"John, you are simply blabbering now, out with it!" Sherlock's stern gaze and his impatient finger tapping hastened John's speech faster than what he would of liked.
"Sherlock, what about Molly?" John looked up from the floor to meet the tall man's blank stare…
Sherlock's next words sent shivers down John's spine.
"Who's Molly?"
The woman in question was currently watching yet more distressed patients being wheeled past her room, she couldn't help but wonder if she would be meeting any of the unfortunate souls down in the morgue when she returned to work.
Looking over the cabinet by her bedside Molly glanced at the time, only mid afternoon, no matter how ironic it sounded Molly missed her inner time clock, her silent Mind Morgue, where hours passed in mere minutes. Contrary to her belief that everything in her Mind Morgue would disappear, quite a few memories remained, memories of a childhood overshadowed by her fathers premature death and her lack of her friends. She is sure that she has forgotten some people, but if they weren't regarded as important enough to be given there place in her mind after she awoke, they clearly weren't that important.
Down in the epicentre slab room of the mind morgue the freezer opened to condemn some more information to the cold unfeeling stores of its deep catacombs, a body is prepared for movement. Silently the slab inches across the floor, it's wheels squeal, resisting it's removal from the centre of the room. Slowly the body is slipped into its individual department, the door shuts suddenly sealing the deep storage freezer. Where thoughts disappear. Where memories are directed if unpleasant. When the pressure of storing the information gets to heavy. The door is sealed as a coping mechanism, as a precaution. A new body tag appears on the outside of the cold metallic compartment: the name of one Sherlock Holmes.