Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Another thing I should probably mention- The chapters are really ridiculously short, as you have probably already noticed. There is no reason for this, other than I have trouble paying attention to the long chapters, so I decided to make mine smaller. That might change for future stories. Hopefully it doesn't bother you.
Also, I will usually be updating 2 at a time. I hope you don't mind!
Chapter 4
Sherlock came to Molly all of three times in the next 6 months, which she supposed she ought to have been grateful for. After all, that was three times more than anyone else in his life had been given. The first time was for a gash to the head that had bled all over her favorite blanket, but turned out only needing a few stitches. He was up and gone the next day, leaving behind a fake rose on the couch. That was odd, but certainly no weirder than all the other knick knacks he had left in her flat.
The second was for a gunshot wound in the leg. She wished he would have gone to the hospital for that one, or at least come and found her at the morgue. Although it wasn't life threatening, she really didn't like having to perform surgery on her kitchen table. He had left behind an anatomically correct model of the human heart this time, which was more than a bit creepy for anybody but Sherlock Holmes.
Molly placed these items with the rest of them, but she moved the box to the top of her fridge instead. Having the model underneath her bed, along with the ticking pocket watch, was just a bit too Telltale Heart for her, and she really didn't fancy falling asleep each night only to have dreams inspired by Edgar Allen Poe.
However the last time he arrived was different. Because this time, there was no injury. Sherlock Holmes was more exhausted than he could ever imagine, but his job was finished. He was ready to return to the streets of London, ready to be alive once again.
He came by the flat that night without really ever thinking about it. He wasn't sure what he was doing there, other than the fact that once again he didn't have anywhere else to go. And he didn't know what to do. Only Molly could help him. Molly, who always understood him. Molly, who listened as he shared his whole life with her, and never judged him for it. Molly, who no longer stuttered around him, but had somehow become his biggest ally in his darkest times. Molly, who had the kindest heart and was always there to save the day. Molly would help him. Molly would know what to do.
Somehow, through all his thoughts, he ended up at the pathologist's flat. He picked the lock, planning on waiting for her on the couch like he usually did, and opened the door in his noiseless way. And he froze almost immediately at what he saw.
It seemed to happen in slow motion in front of him. The mild mannered policeman knelt on his soon to give out knee, slightly leaning forward and holding out a box. He opened the box, revealing a diamond engagement ring that was a size too big for Molly's finger. Her face lit up at that moment, and her big brown eyes shone as she nodded, speechless. The policeman got up and swept the pathologist into his arms, swinging her around with his face buried in her long hair.
Neither one of them ever noticed the detective, who silently pulled the door shut, turned on his heel, and started sprinting towards the street.