Chapter 3: Fainting
After John had left the hospital, Molly sat by herself for an hour, trying to compose herself. She would have to go back to her flat soon and Sherlock would be there. She couldn't look like she had been crying. Though he would probably know anyways.
Returning to the morgue where she had left her coat and bag, Molly looked around. The room was so empty. She had performed countless autopsies in here, had helped Sherlock with so many cases, and even tried to ask him out. Strange as it was, this room was full of memories that she treasured, because Sherlock was present in almost all of them. But now, all she could see was Sherlock's carefully closed off face, John's wrecked emotions, Molly lying, over and over again. Liar, liar, a small, vicious voice in her head chanted.
"Shut up," she muttered. "It's for John's own good."
That sounded weak even to Molly. Surely Sherlock could have come up with some solution other than faking his own death? But when she stopped to think about it, Sherlock had always liked being on his own. While she knew he cared deeply for Dr. Watson, maybe this was his way of escaping him. Not much help Sherlock's interest for long.
Donning her coat, Molly killed the lights and locked the doors behind her on her way out. As usual, she was the last to leave. She didn't really mind, except that there was usually a man waiting for her outside who liked to harass her. This time, he was nowhere in sight. No one looked at her, no one spoke to her, as she made her way to her flat. It was only a ten minute walk. When she arrived, the windows were dark and the building was quiet. Sherlock must not have been here yet. He liked to disappear for a while, she knew. He would probably show up in the morning.
Unlocking the door, Molly felt wetness on her cheek. Tears? No, it had started raining. She hurried inside as the sprinkle, suddenly turned into a downpour. She was relieved to be home after such a stressful day. Her flat was dry and warm. She dropped her bag and shrugged out of her coat. Her sweater was next, so she was left in her pants and a tank top.
"I feel I should alert you to my presence before you remove any more clothing."
Whirling around, Molly screamed when she saw the tall silhouette standing in her bedroom doorway. Her heart pounded and her breath caught. Was she going to faint? Sherlock moved out of the shadows, looking amused which turned to slight concern when he took in the fact that she was swaying dangerously.
"Sit down," he ordered, pulling her over to her small sofa. Once there, she collapsed in a heap, hands pressed against her heart, willing it to keep going.
"Sh-Sherlock!" She gasped out. "You scared me!"
"I can see that," he hesitated. "I…apologize."
She waited a few more minutes, letting her breathing and heart rate return to normal. Sherlock sat down next to her, looking uncomfortable.
"Molly, where have you been?"