Mrs. Hudson let Molly into Sherlock's and John's flat, the windows still boarded up and the flat completely empty. On any other day, Molly would have been ecstatic and thrilled to be in Sherlock's flat; this is where Sherlock stood (naked, she would hope), this is where Sherlock slept, and spend most of his days. However, instead of delight, she felt angry and annoyed that she had to give her day to clean up a mess that he made.
..."That's the problem with shows on the telly these days..." Mrs. Hudson rambled off as Molly walked towards the refrigerator with a bag, a few pairs of latex gloves, and a type of cleaner.
"Yes, yes", Molly mumbled as she laid her hand on the fridge door handle, "quite so", agreeing, absent-mindedly, with Mrs. Hudson. Molly opened the fridge door, the stench of death slapping her in the face, and her eyes watered from the odor, now understanding why John had insisted that she come over immediately. "Mrs. Hudson", she coughed, "I suggest that you leave before the odor reaches you", Molly bent over to grab an escaping eyeball when she heard the door open and slam close.
Molly continued to work for another ten minutes when she thought she heard the fount door open, but thought nothing of it as she stuffed some guts in the bag.
"What are you doing with my experiments?" a familiar low voice asked. Molly quickly stood up, with the guts in her left hand and the bag full of body parts in the other, to see Sherlock—with some scars and bruises—standing there.
Molly felt an uncomfortable churn in her stomach that she kept telling herself was because of the rotting cheese next to the rotting guts, "Well, John practically begged me to come over and collect your"—Molly paused and then said acerbically—"your collection."
"You can't do that", Sherlock said loudly as he floated towards her, taking off, and throwing his coat and scarf onto the floor. "They're for an experiment."
Molly sighed and then said melancholically, "John told me you'd say something like that and told me to tell you, 'No'", and then added quickly in a cruelly tone, "And I'm not talking to you", she said pointing at him with her left hand.
"Oh", Sherlock said as he glided to the table and sat down, "why?" he asked as he unbuttoned his sleeve to his elbow to examine his nicotine patches.
"You know why", Molly muttered as she went back to work.
"Have you lost weight?" he asked, nonchalantly.
"Yes, six pounds."
"Mm, five."
"Five and a half", Molly added quickly.
"But, I don't think that's the only way you've changed."
Molly sighed and faced Sherlock again, "Well, anybody would change after the police turns their flat upside down, searching for evidence", Molly wiped her hair out her face with her wrist, "and stop making me talk to you or I'll kick you."
Sherlock smirked as Molly turned back around to work, "What has changed you? You're not frightened and withered as I expected you to be after what"—Sherlock paused—"he did."
Molly stood up as she plopped the bag on the table, "I stopped caring", she grinned and turned back around and shook some of the cleaner into the fridge, "I don't care about what you think anymore, about what people think of me, or what people think at all."
Sherlock nodded, "Well, I gotta say, this 'I-don't-care' demeanor is very interesting. More interesting than your normal behavior."
Molly closed the fridge door and spun around to face Sherlock, "Thanks Sherlock", she said sarcastically and as she snapped off her gloves said, "Incidentally, you've gotten fat", she then threw her gloves towards Sherlock and, grabbing the bag, left.