A/N: First of all, I own nothing. There, that should stop the copyright snipers. Anyway, sorry it took so long to get the next part up, but I wanted to make sure Sherlock...sounded right. Thanks for reading and reviewing. More to come! Enjoy!
You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?
Yes. So do you.
Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to.
Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.
-Sherlock-
Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels.
-Sherlock-
Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them.
"SHERLOCK!"
Sherlock's eyes snapped open to the vision of Molly Hooper hovering directly above him. Confusion was not a feeling Sherlock experienced often, but right now it was at the forefront of his brain, which was slowly picking up speed.
"I think you were having a nightmare. You were thrashing about and talking in your sleep."
As his vision crept back to normal, Sherlock remembered the events of the previous day, and visibly relaxed as he sat up on the couch, taking a deep breath, which caused him to wince at the pain it caused in his torso.
"How are you feeling?" asked Molly, her eyes trying their hardest to not linger on his bare chest as she looked to the bandages covering his bruises.
Are we still doing that, then? The embarrassment?
Sherlock sighed and internally rolled his eyes as he stood and began removing the bandages. The bruises had remained a violent purple, but his range of motion seemed have improved slightly.
"A shade better, I think."
"Well, let's wrap you back up. And you need to rest today-no pacing around the flat," said Molly as she gently replaced the bandages.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock had just realized that Molly was dressed. "Where are you going?"
"Work, of course."
"Oh, I-" Sherlock looked up, studying her.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just thought you would have taken some time off. In light of your recent tragedy."
"Oh. Well, I-" Molly stammered. "It's just, Mycroft said he would be dropping some things off today, so-"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, this time for the world to see. "Enough said. My brother may be the British government but his back up will always be 'annoying insect' in my eyes."
Molly smirked as she went to pick up her handbag and keys. "Well, then. Take it easy. Should be back around-"
"You may want to take some painkillers with you, as I suspect your headache will continue throughout the day."
She stopped and stared at him as he went to pick up her laptop from the kitchen table and began haphazardly searching through news sites. After a beat, she raised her eyebrow and smiled with derision.
"Please. You guessed that. There is absolutely no way you could have-"
"Molly, from the approximate fifty-six minutes I spent in this flat last night before falling asleep and the four minutes I have been awake this morning, I can see that your brother is angry with you, and you miss him desperately, you haven't had a man in your apartment in over four months, you are on your menstrual period, and lastly, you have a headache."
She stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open slightly. She shook her head slightly and looked off to the side.
"Was anything wrong?" Sherlock asked, the corners of his mouth turned up mischievously.
"Yes," she said, crossing her arms and looking back at him, looking slightly miffed.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for her reply.
"I'm mad at him. My brother."
Sherlock smiled and turned back to the computer.
"How did you know?"
"Do you really want to do this? Every time I deduce in front of you it just makes you angry."
"Only when what you have to say is mean."
"It's never mean. It's the truth."
Molly slumped in her stature and gave him the most sarcastic, 'are-you-serious' look.
"Ok, fine. Sometimes I should keep it to myself. But this time, you asked. There are pictures all around your flat of you with seemingly every person you have ever known, but the pictures with you brothers are clearly from the late nineties- judging by your fashion and frankly alarming ponytail height-indicating that you have not seen them in sometime. Due to the fact that there are more recent photos of you with your eldest brother, I can deduce that your problem is with the younger of the two. 'But how do you know they're my brothers, Sherlock?' Aside from the obvious genetic markers the way you have your arms around each other in the photo suggests love but not of the romantic sort, not to mention the highly unlikely thought of you keeping photos of yourself with ex-lovers. You have multiple saved messages on your answer phone, all from a foreign number, no doubt you brother abroad, and you can't bring yourself to erase them because you enjoy hearing his voice. Usually this would indicate him being mad at you, but upon further thought, you being the immensely sentimental person you are, it's not hard to imagine it going the other way.
"You haven't had a man over in at least four months judging by the hoover marks on your carpet in the dining room. It's an area you don't frequent, so the only time it gets attention is when you clean for guests. The bill lying on the floor in one of the aforementioned corners is dated four months ago, hence the date. True, your last visitor could have been female, but judging by your long hours in a socially unnerving profession you probably have few female friends, and the close one or two you have wouldn't have been ones for which you would have tidied up.
"The exercise machine in the corner of the living area has no dust, showing frequent use, indicating that you care about your weight. Yet, when you opened your freezer to get the ice packs last night I noticed a container of extremely fattening ice cream, bent in at the sides indicating that you ate directly from the carton. I suppose it could have been stress eating, but prior to two days ago you had nothing to be overly stressed about and from the frost build-up on the side of the container I see that it has been at least two days since you've eaten it-so, PMS it is then."
Molly seemed to be trying her absolute best to not be flabbergasted. "And the headache?"
"You have dark circles under your eyes. You –understandably-did not sleep well. And when you looked at the telly this morning you pinched your brow together-a common reaction to a tension headache coupled with bright light."
She stood, staring at him silently. "You-"
"You asked."
She sighed and allowed herself a small smile. "You're right, I did."
"I'm always right," he said, finally going back to the screen.
Molly crossed the room, leaned down, and gave him a brief peck on the top of his head. As she walked out the door, she seemed surprised at her sudden confidence.
"Sherlock Holmes," she said, chuckling lightly, "you never cease to amaze me."
As the door closed behind her, Sherlock sat thinking, slightly derailed by Molly's outward show of affection.
That was…not unpleasant.