Only an hour and a bit late, sorry about that. Enjoy.
Today we meet Meena, drink tea, eat biscuits, and are happier than last time (for a bit).
It was one week until Molly and John returned to work, John was to be full days at the clinic, thanks to some favours and acceptance from Sarah, and Molly was to still keep odd hours at the morgue. Spending many off her nights cooped up in the lab, and being on-call over the weekends, but never scheduled for full shifts on the Saturdays and Sundays, much like John.
The week that bridged the gap between funeral and work had not held much in the way of adventure, it had felt odd but peaceful as the two shuffled around the flat, eating pasta at 5 and drinking indefinite amounts of tea, or the bitter coffee that was just how he had liked it and how neither of them found appealing, but had found it a connection to the lost man.
On the Wednesday, with few warnings exculding one short text, the pair were visited by Molly's closest and oldest friend, Meena. Meena was terribly worried about Molly, with her little contact to the outside world and the short few word text exchanges, she needed to know how she was after the infamous detective's fall, and she needed to know face to face.
What Meena hadn't expected was for the door to be opened by a disheveled and slightly worse for wear, yet unquestionably handsome man. Of course it was John Watson, and of course the reason for his scruffy clothes and ruffled hair was simply his life's current disarray, but it had been years since Meena had even conceived of the notion that there could be a man in Molly's pastel home, so her mind momentarily jumped to the wrong conclusions and the usual sarcasm and bolstered wit that dripped from her voice faulted. "Oh, hello. Sorry is Molly in. If I've come at a bad time, I can always come back later?"
John had opened the door to a face he'd seen so many times in the past few weeks, at varying ages and through brilliantly drastic hairstyles, but never face to face.
She was pretty, but she isn't Molly... Again, really?
So this was the Meena he'd heard so much about, and she seemed to be assuming that John was somewhat more than a lodger. Well I guess I'm here in ratty clothes with mushed hair and Molly's in the shower, lesser people have jumped to more extravegant conclusions. "Not bad timing at all, Meena is it? I've heard a lot about you. I'm John, John Watson..." He saw the jolt of recognition in her features, and the false conclusion fall. "And the penny drops. Molly should be through in a minute. Do you want some tea or something, I've been feeling a bit useless lately, but I can still make tea."
A smile fell easily across Meena's face as she told herself not to flirt with a man who's grieving, or a man who could fall for Molly. This rule of the friendship had been quite clear after the fifth of Molly's boyfriends fell for her charms. "Tea'd be lovely, I know it's probably a little insensitive to say this, but please tell me Molly's habit to binge on gingernuts still happens, because a gingernut really wouldn't go amiss."
"It's fine, and yes she really has, although there's a small chance she's eaten them all."
"She was the same with her Dad, even before he'd gone. They used to eat them together, even when it seemed he wasn't strong enough. Not much can beat the healing powers of a gingernut in the Hooper household."
John chuckled lightly and Meena's laughter was a little stronger, finding the light in the darkness was her speciality, something she had in common with Molly Hooper. John was thankful that the friends were alike in this quality, he felt so much stronger with Molly around, so much happier through the pain, but the thought of pity in someone's eyes or their tone would make him weak again.
The kettle bubbled and boiled, steam misting up the kitchen window; Molly wandered into the kitchen as she heard it, the promise of John-made tea was enough to hurriedly pull on her comfy leggings and her too-large med-school hoodie, scraping back her roughly dried hair. As she made her way through the curved arch that lead to her kitchen, Molly spotted the shock of falsely red hair that could only mean one thing.
"Mee! What are you doing here?" She was bundled into a tight embrace. If it weren't for the difference in height and bone structure, John could have mistaken them for sisters.
They were still bundled in each others arms, girls who had grown up together, learnt how to understand the muffled words of a hug. "I was worried about you Molls, we haven't spoken since it happened. I also thought you'd be in need of the newest Doctor Who box set and some tissues, so I bought you both." John continued to make the tea and search for the biscuits, busying himself as he didn't wish to intrude on something that seemed to personal and vulnerable for Molly.
Molly started to notice she was crying, smiling up at the friend she could always count on. It was inevitable she was still sad, but sometimes it was easy to forget, now it was easy to remember.
Meena had left late that night, all three had sat on Molly's sofa and watched the adventures of a madman with a blue box. They had talked in the breaks to make tea and restock on biscuits, and to Molly's relief John and Meena had gotten along. Molly had fallen asleep on John's shoulder on more than one occasion and in one such occasion when John had rested his eyes for a moment too long, Meena had snapped a picture; she had even noticed certain glances between the two, that the pair themselves weren't aware they were giving, but thought it best to put it down to a new found familiarity. She had gone home with a packet of gingernuts and a not to be broken promise from Molly, and even John, that they would venture outside to 'watch something, eat something or do something that will let me break out the new heels' upon Meena's request.
Molly had missed the safety of her lab, missed the puzzle of post-mortems, she was glad of the quiet nights and the uncomplicated paperwork. But returning to the place her plan had failed, where she had lost yet another, had taken its toll and she had on more than one occasion returned home in the early hours of the morning with red rimmed eyes and a fresh packet of biscuits. John had certainly noticed it, having to wake early for work and finding her slumped on the couch without the attempt to walk to a more comfortable sleeping space, dried tear tracks staining her cheeks. It was hard to approach, as work and a need to sleep, would always mean they just missed the other.
When they had finally reached Saturday John took his chance to be there for Molly, sitting next to her and folding her neatly in his arms.
"I could have saved him. And I failed." The tears were fresh as they rolled down her cheeks, she sounded more broken than he had ever realised, more fragile than he had ever cared to notice. "I could have saved him."
John was confused, but grief made fools of us all, and broken sentences always make sense to the minds that deliver them.
"It's okay Molls. There was nothing anyone could do. Not you, not me, not even him, in the end. Don't blame yourself. You'll find work easier everyday, I promise. We'll find a routine, time to talk and eat each day. It'll get easier Molls, I promise."
And it did, they fell into another routine within weeks. Work became work again, for Molly. And St. Barts began to loose the negativity it had held with a vice like grip in her heart.
The would eat toast together at six, with the jam and butter mixed just how they liked it, as Molly got in from the late shift and John was heading out to the clinic. John saying 'Good Morning', shutting the front door behind him, as Molly uttered a 'Good Night' heading for her room, in need of her bed and a good nine hours.
Molly would potter about the house once she'd woken and dressed, tidying up the bits and bobs that were easy to leave hanging about, doing the ironing she had been dreading and finding excuses not to do for weeks. Then she would cook something simple or pick up the nearest take out menu as John got home from another day filled with runny noses, false ailments, bruised children and 'you'll need to take these twice a day for two weeks, with food'. He was always so tired as she got ready for work, after they ate dinner, but then again it worked both ways; heavy workloads and borrowed time to eat and chat meant they were healing, but, the weekend could never come soon enough.
I thought it would be nice to be a little more lighthearted for this one, then some sad happened for which I apologise,but I think it needed to happen.
To the lovely guest: I'm glad you thought it wonderful, even if it was sad, one day, maybe soon there'll be a fully happy chapter. Trust me, you're not being creepy, it makes me so happy to see you enjoying this :)
Thank you for the response to this so far, you're all my favourite person just for reading so the follows and favourites literally brighten my day :)