Moment
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He was exhausted. Absolutely and irrevocably exhausted. He was sure the bags had already formed underneath his eyes and probably looked as if he'd aged about ten plus years. The bottomless pit of his coffee cup seemed to tire him out even more and yet even from the crashes he was still typing away at his cell phone. His eyes were becoming blood-red and unbearably uncomfortable from the contacts. There was rush as his fingertips tapped away at the cell.
'Did you receive the information I sent you? -H'
'Yeah, I got it. Surprised me though. Never thought it would be happening at the hospital. Still keeping tabs on her?'
'Only long enough till everyone is satisfied. - H'
'Well, she's already cleared. Do you really need to keep up with this all?'
'Unfinished Business. -H'
'Fine. I'll do what I can.'
'Thank you. -H'
With a heavy sigh he got up from the couch and began to tear away the remnants of a man he had known to be his Mr. Hyde. The prosthetic bits were easy to pull off more than the bald cap after he discarded his wig. His fake tan was soon to be scrubbed away with some wipes, contacts taken out just as fast, and the remaining clothes he wore that day were neatly folded and placed into a black trash bag. The man he became in the mornings was easily disposed of in a nice black case that fit right underneath the couch cushions and was hardly noticeable.
Sherlock took a moment then to rub his face and stride over to the bathroom. He hurried to clean off whatever was left of the prosthetic glue or tan he had sported around in the last few hours. He was back: Sherlock Holmes lived.
"Eye drops, eye drops..." the detective muttered to himself as he felt around the medicine cabinet for the small unlabeled small container to erase the evidence away of tired and red eyes. The man was a perfectionist. He even went as far as to run some warm water through his hair and splash it onto his face before exiting the small bathroom.
Ah! The door soon opened with a click and a rather cold woman fumbled through with a sneeze.
"Molly, you're late. What took you?" Sherlock quipped sharply as he eyed his wife and the bag of Chinese take-out. "No matter. I'm hungry. Did you buy the crab ragoons?"
"I did and plus an extra box of orange chicken. You seem to always keep stealing mine." the ginger haired pathologist gave her husband an accusing look before handing him the bag. He was in his robe and pajama pants already. Looked as if he had taken a shower in the last minute or two.
"So," Molly tried to start conversation as her husband set the table with two plates and began to dig out the contents of the bag. "Anything good happen today?" Molly's back faced her husband as she put away her coat and scarf and kicked off her shoes by the door.
Sherlock smirked as he stilled himself before taking the next second to separate his chopsticks. Oh, yes, darling. Something quite good. Sherlock thought and said over his shoulder. "Yes. You came home." he meant it, actually. Sherlock was really glad she had made it safely to the flat. All in one piece and with food to boot!
But Molly thought he was playing with her like usual and took his words for that of jest. "I'm sure you are, darling." Molly said the last bit with her own hint of joking and turned around to see her husband giving her a very serious look.
"Really..." Sherlock's eyes were softer than usual. "I'm glad."
Molly didn't quite know why her heart suddenly felt as if it would jump from her chest...
"Well," she was a bit shocked but addressed him calmly. "I'm home. I'm back." It felt right to say it.
Felt so right.
"Welcome back home," for Sherlock... it felt just as right to say the words. They weren't foreign sounding.
Not at all.
So... I updated... can I have my cookie now? :D Pleeease?!
Thoughts so far? Comments? Delicious marshmallows to share?
It was nice writing this chapter. It was especially fun.