John checked himself in the mirror quickly, noticing his disheveled hair and now-rumpled shirt.
He straitened himself up quickly, rushing down the stairs while simultaneously putting on a stern countenance.
He opened the door quickly, a shaky smile greeting the mortician.
"Hey Molly. What, ahh, What's up?"
The women's smile fell, and she glanced around worriedly.
"Did Greg not stop in earlier? He was supposed to-"
The former doctor laughed harshly.
"To what? Tell me you were coming over? Ha, come in though, come in."
He stepped back, letting Molly in with a wave.
She stepped in, glancing nervously at the doctor.
He gave her another soft smile before gesturing at the stairs.
"Lady's first."
She made her way up, constantly glancing over at the doctor.
They made their waycinto the kitchen.
"Would you care for some tea?"
The woman waved her hand.
"No actually. I brought food though. Sheppard's Pie."
She held up the basket on her arm.
"That sounds lovely Molly."
He grabbed to plates from the cupboard, setting the table quickly, while Molly watched him curiously.
"So Greg didn't come over."
The former doctor sighed.
"Actually, he was here. I was just hoping that he was wrong about your reason for coming."
The woman frowned, her eyes scanning the room around her.
John's lips looked slightly swollen. His face was streaked with tear stains.
Yet his eyes were literally than they had been in years.
His posture straighter, and-
"You're not using your cane."
The man looked up, his eyes wide with surprise.
"You haven't used your cane since you opened the door. In fact."
She looked around the flat, sighting the discarded item on the floor.
"I'd say you dropped some time ago. When he came in."
John froze, glancing surreptitiously at the stairs.
"Who? Molly-"
The woman walked to the stairs, rapping her knuckles on the wall.
"Sherlock!"
John was slightly panicked now.
Did Sherlock want the Molly to find him?
Was anyone supposed to know he was here?
The former doctor was about to interject another protest on the presence of he detective, when the sound of a thud came from his room.
A stream of profanities followed by Sherlock trudging down the stairs answered his questions.
He was rubbing his forehead,and John could see the red mark forming there.
"Hey Molly."
The casual greeting startled the doctor, but didn't seem to faze the mortician.
She took one look at the detectives battered face and sighed.
"Another bruise to add to your collection?"
The detective simply shrugged, flopping into his usual chair at the table.
"Attic access is lower than I remembered."
John smirked.
"I've never had an issue with it."
Sherlock muttered something that sounded vaguely like "Hobbit sized idiot."'
The former doctor crossed his arms indigently.
"What was that?"
The detective looked up,feigned innocence failing to hide the mischievous glint in his eye.
"Oh. Nothing."
The former doctor simply shook his head.
"Back not even eight hours and you're already insulting him? Really Sherlock."
The detective rolled his eyes.
"To be fare he did punch me earlier."
John shrugged.
"You deserved it."
Molly smiled, seating her self at the table.
"Deserved more if you ask me."
Sherlock sent her a withering look,but the woman simply rolled her eyes,crossing her arms defensively.
"I lived with you long enough Sherlock. You're an arse."
The former doctor fought himself to keep hold of the glass in his hand. He set it quickly onto the table and braced himself against it, suddenly weak.
"John?"
The collective word brought his head up, but his eyes were once again riddled with shadow.
Molly covered her mouth and glanced apologetically at Sherlock.
"Oh, that was bad wasn't it? I wasn't supposed to say anything, was I?"
Sherlock shook his head, his suddenly worried gaze flitting nervously over the doctor.
For his part, John was keeping himself together well.
White hot rage and betrayal coursed through his veins,coupled with wave after wave of sadness.
"How long."
He managed, his voice deceivingly calm and collected.
"Have you known, Molly?"
The woman chewed her lip nervously, glancing at the detective for permission to speak.
"Umm. In total? About a year. Not at one time though. I mean he stayed with me for segments of time. Three months after the fall,a few more interspersed here and there-"
She paused, her gaze begging the detective to finish the story.
Sherlock obliged.
"The last six months, John."
The former doctor nodded, the anger overpowering every other emotion in the man's body.
"Right."
John stood,his short legs carrying him quickly to the door,where his coat and shoes were donned in a record amount of time.
He was down the steps and out the door before the other occupants of the room had registered what had happened.
"She's dying you machine! Sod this. Sod this, you stay here if you want. On your own."
The detective was suddenly back in the lab at saint Bart's, the man he loves leaving him alone.
Then it had been intentional.
Now-
Sherlock stood to follow his blogger, but was stopped by a soft hand on his arm.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry.I really am sorry. But I think that maybe John might need some time to process everything that has happened to him,alright? I mean you did just come back from the dead and now he knows that you were nearby the whole time and now he's probably thinking that you could have come home at any time and-"
Molly cut herself off, taking a deep breath and staring the detective dead in the eye.
"Sherlock. I saw him when you were gone. I visited as often as I could. He's so broken. So broken, Sherlock. And no matter how mush you will his wounds to heal, it will take time."
She leaned closer, patting his shoulder gently.
"I can see you, you know. You're broken too. I haven't the foggiest about what you did when you weren't staked out with me, but whatever it was, you need to heal from it too."
"I don't count. What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do—anything you need, anything at all—you can have me. No, I just mean. I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine."
The detective sat back down, his head once more cradled in his hands.
"I need him."