"Why do you care?" Molly questioned. "Why, all of a sudden, are my injuries of interest to you, hhmm? Want to inspect the clotting process on my burns? Want to observe how every time I close my eyes I see his face? Want to deduce why, even now, when I play it back through my mind, I still expect you to walk through the door and stop him?" She panted, lost for breath at her outburst.
"I've watched you a thousand times" she whispered. "I've watched come to the rescue of so many people and yet when it came to me," she looked up with tears brushing her eyelashes "when it came to me you let me down."
"Is that why you won't get the body of Fred Sheeran for me? Because I wasn't the hero of the hour?" Sherlock questioned scathingly.
Molly took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth before answering. "The reason I will not get any body for you from now on" she glared back at him "is because I am not your pet. I will no longer fetch as soon as you pay me a compliment. I am done being the punch line of your joke."
Sherlock appraised Molly with a long look. "What do you want?" he asked.
She stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. "I want you to treat me with some respect. I may not be a "consulting detective" or a genius but I am good at what I do and I would appreciate it if you recognised that."
"I..." Sherlock began.
"I wasn't finished." Molly seethed. Sherlock, not used to being interrupted started to say something, but the look on Molly's face stopped whatever it was he was going to say.
"Thank you. I would also appreciate it if you didn't abuse my feelings for you. You are a very bright and observant man and I know you know what I mean. Just because I have feelings doesn't make me weak." She looked at him pointedly knowing full well, this was something he vehemently disagreed with.
"For example" she continued "Your friendship with John Watson. You can't say that has hindered your work. And we both know you care for him because you listen when he speaks, which means you care what he thinks."
Sherlock stared back at her, surprised by her insight and, he guessed, her deduction.
"Finally," she said with an intake of breath "I would very much appreciate it if you would go for coffee with me tomorrow afternoon."
She saw his eyes widen minutely. It took so long for him to speak, her chest started to hurt, making her realise she had been holding her breath in anticipation to his answer.
"I'm sorry?" He questioned.
"I said..." but she was interrupted by the darkness that overtook her laboratory. Her eyes went wide and she took a sharp breath in. The only light in the room was now coming from Sherlock's illuminated phone. She could see his face immediately calculating the cause. She knew. She knew immediately that this was not an accident. She knew that this was him coming back to finish what he started two months ago. This was the return of James Moriarty.