A/N: review shout out! Thank you to: somethinginthewayful, eccentricpetal, loulouflower, Agatha, kestralspace, Miggs, T.N. Weston, MissKingAtYourService and everyone else who reviews. I figure if you can take the time to review, you deserve a mention!

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Molly lay in her hospital bed, watching the telly. Well, it looked like she was. In reality she was driving herself mad trying to figure out Sherlock's behavior.

OK, well, in some ways he'd been completely normal. Asking for details, looking at her back, touching her bare skin without asking…

God, that had felt good.

But sitting with her, taking her hand… not Sherlock. Unless…

The events from the whole Moriarty mess before still hadn't all been smoothed out. And Molly didn't care who you were, having to lie to your best friend and fake your death would weigh heavily on anyone. Even Sherlock Holmes. Since then he'd been nicer to her. He wasn't insulting her at every turn. Maybe just every third one or so.

Had the impossible happened? Had Sherlock become more of a, well, normal person? Was he doing a test run on her or something? After all, it would be easier—and more logical—for him to start with people he cared about. And she did feel like he cared about her. Somehow. A bit.

It made sense… in a very bizarre way. The same way watching a car race so you could see a crash made sense. Oh, wait, that wasn't a very nice comparison…

She was interrupted from her mental chagrin by Sherlock opening her door and sweeping into her room.

"Molly," he greeted her. "You're looking much better."

"Oh, yes, I'm starting to feel a bit better, thanks," she began, and stopped cold when she realized what Sherlock was holding in his hand.

Flowers.

A vase of pink and peach roses, to be exact.

His sharp eyes followed her gaze. "Your room could stand some color to it," he said, placing the vase on a nearby tray. "All this white, the glare: can't be good for the eyes."

"Er, no, probably not," she said, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. "They're… lovely, thank you."

He smiled briefly and swung into the chair near her bed.

"Have you made any progress yet? With finding Moriarty?"

"No. So far I haven't seen a hair on his head."

"Well, it's sure to not be long before he makes another move," Molly said. "I do hope you can figure out what's he's plotting soon."

"So do I," Sherlock replied.

A moment of comfortable silence passed between them . So naturally, Molly spoiled it.

"Why did you bring me flowers, Sherlock?"

He blinked. "I told you. To brighten up your room. Besides, it's what people do, don't they? Someone's in hospital and you bring them flowers?"

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"You're not 'people.' You're Sherlock Holmes."

"So I can't do something nice to cheer up a friend?"

"It's just not like—hang on, did you just call me your friend?"

"Well aren't you?"

"I dunno," she said faintly. "You tell me."

"I just did," he said, looking perplexed.

"Right. Yeah. You did. OK. Thanks."

It used to be when Molly got tongue-tied around him, he looked at her with confusion or worse, a blank stare. But now he looked… uneasy. Oh, God, did he already regret it? Was he thinking of how to retract his statement? What if any second now he…

"What are you watching?" he asked.

Molly blinked. His question had broken the spell of panic she'd cast on herself. She glanced up at the telly. "Oh, erm, it's something different now. It's an updated version of Romeo and Juliet. I know most people like the Zeffirelli version, and I do too, but I prefer this one, to be honest," she said, somehow feeling as though she'd admitted to having mono after she said it. Then she groaned inside. What did it matter to him what she preferred or if he thought it was stupid? He'd no more care about her opinion on a romance movie than he'd care what she thought about-

"Do you mind if I watch it with you?"

Molly was reasonably certain her heart had just fallen out of her chest onto the floor.

"Watch… it with me?"

"Yes."

"Um… don't you have to be going off?" She asked faintly. "Finding clues, sorting evidence, that sort of thing?"

His gaze was unreadable. "I'm doing exactly what I should be right now."

"Oh. Well, sure, if… if you like," she told him, her mental capacity rendering her completely unable to say anything else.

He nodded. "Thank you." He moved his chair to see the screen better, then reached inside his coat pocket. "Would you care for a dark chocolate Galaxy bar?" he asked.