They worked together for several hours. Sherlock was always comfortable with silence, and neither of the two felt compelled to speak often when they worked together. Sherlock really only spoke when he muttered instructions. So they were both surprised when his deep voice rang out clearly in the lab.
"Are you okay?"
Molly dropped her slide. She didn't turn to face him.
"And don't just say that you are." The echo of their conversation from all those years ago hung in the air. Neither of them moved for a long moment, and then Molly started packing up her station.
"Do I look sad?" she said quietly as she looked at her instruments, her hands, anything but Sherlock.
"No, not sad," he said, watching her closely.
"I do believe it's past time for me to go home," she said cheerfully, ignoring their awkward moment. Sherlock I silently rose and walked to her.
He started helping her clean her station and pack her things. That would be her second shock for the evening. She accepted his help without comment, however.
They worked like this for about three or four days out of her week for the next month or so. It was interrupted occasionally by cases, of course, but those were either solved quickly or solved with her in the lab.
Their comfortable routine was not marred again by any unpleasantness, and Molly was again sure that she could let her guard down with him. Unlike the rest of the people in the building, she knew he wouldn't read too much into her calm, however troubled face. Or if he did, he wouldn't comment on it again. She could also trust her misanthropic friend to keep it to himself, as well.
Sherlock, to her estimation, was no more or less preoccupied than he ever was, coming and going as he pleased. He didn't comment on her jumpiness again, but as she squeaked at his shadow coming behind her at her locker, she knew he noticed.
She turned around and put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. Molly smiled in greeting.
"Molly! I'm glad you're still here. You have someone on your list I'm rather interested in seeing."
"Of course I do. I hope you don't mind if I take 30 seconds to take some ibuprofen?"
"Oh, take your time. There's no mystery with this one, I just want his liver."
"His liver, specifically?" Molly enquired.
"He's scheduled for cremation, they won't miss it. You only have two other bodies, both of which had families that declined autopsy. Instead of crossing my fingers they don't have an open casket, it's just easier if I can be sure the family won't notice a large incision." Sherlock had his arms crossed, leaning on the row of lockers behind him.
"You could personally ask for permission, you know." As Molly opened her locker, his posture changed dramatically. His grey eyes narrowed and his long arm shot out to snatch a card taped to the inside of the door.
"Pardon me?" Molly said, as her eyes tried to follow his pacing.
"Where did you get this?"
"Oh, it came through the post, addressed to me. Someone in the office trying to make light of my broken engagement."
"Make light?"
"There was no return address, I expect that it may have been mean spirited. I decided to stick it to my locker, though, enjoy the laugh. Steer into the skid, if you will."
Sherlock turned the red card over and over again, slowly, examining every square inch on it time and time again.
"What do you think?" Molly asked as she watched him. She very much disliked being kept in the dark.
"This is heavy, high quality card stock, purchased in London. There's no name on it, but this was a special order, bordering isn't typically done via thermography. Because of the custom order and the deep red color of the bordering, we can assume this is the stationery of a woman," Sherlock had even smelled the card during his thorough examination.
"I had gathered that from the handwriting, Sherlock. I believed the jokester was insinuating I should give up on men."
"Believed?" Sherlock looked up as Molly started wringing her hands.
"Yes, past tense. I can't imagine you would be so interested if that's what you thought. So you know something I don't. I threw away the envelope, this came in the post almost three months ago."
Sherlock pocketed the card and stalked out of the room. As he dialed his phone he shouted behind him, "Rain check on the liver, Molly, I'm working on something else right now."