Firstly, thank you all every so much for your response to the last chapter and the fic as a whole, I am very humbled that you've enjoyed it enough to review etc. This chapter is a follow up to the last one to address a couple of points made in the reviews, I think I am going to follow cannon through HLV, TAB, S4 for Z-A if that's ok by people? You can find me on Tumblr under Fibrochemist too if you're into that sort of thing, and send me prompts for the sequel through that platform if you fancy. Or in the reviews, or a message, I don't mind.

There will be at least one bonus chapter after this one, because you're all so lovely.

Zzzz Part 2

Tom stood dumbfounded, unable to believe that Molly would kick him out just like that. He was sure she didn't mean it, she'd simply lost her temper, and he could talk her round. He breathed a sigh of relief when she followed up her outburst with a quiet concession,

"Come back later, we can discuss it all properly then, after work, when we've both calmed down."

Sherlock eyed the pair suspiciously, before leaving, coffee in hand. Molly didn't see him again for nearly a month. Tom followed him out of the door shortly after, realising he was going to be late for work otherwise, leaving Molly alone in the flat. She sighed heavily, flopping down on her sofa with her head in her hands. She knew what had to be done, she had known it for months now, but she'd never found the right moment to do it. She didn't want to hurt him, she cared for him too much for that, she just didn't love him like he loved her. She was about to ring Mike to ask to swap her shift, when her phone pinged, someone had beaten her to it.

Molly had almost forgotten how bittersweet her relationship with Sherlock was, and how frequently he crossed the boundaries of friend, family, and unknowingly that intangible not-quite-more. If he acted simply in the manner of an over-bearing older brother, she may have been able to adjust to having another man in her life, but no one had managed to look after her quite like Sherlock did. That wasn't to say that Tom didn't look after her, or that her previous boyfriends hadn't, they had all done their very best for her, to the best of their abilities. The problem lay in the fact that next to a man like Sherlock Holmes, their abilities were shown to be painfully lacking in every area. She ruminated on the topic for far too long, trying to plan what she'd say over dinner, how to break up with him in the least painful way without beating about the bush too much. She planned out a rebuttal to every Sherlock related accusation she could think of for the inevitable assumptions Tom would make, and if push came to shove, she would just find a way to blame Anderson.

She looked up at the clock, groaning when she realised she'd wasted over two hours worrying and creating counter-arguments for things that may not even come to pass. She shook her head and decided to do some baking to clear her head, although cake did raise the probability of an impromptu visit from Her Majesty's Government- maybe she could get Mycroft to break up with Tom for her. Giggling to herself at the idea, she decided against it, after the Salmonella incident she was reluctant to give those two any free reign to act on her behalf.

Her day plodded by until Tom came home at his standard time. She had dinner on the table ready for him (as a good wife should), she'd done the housework (as a good wife should), and yet she felt nowhere near 'good'. The meal was awkward, to say the least, and nothing much was said, neither of the two wanting to spark another row, or confront that painful truth about their relationship. They watched some crap telly, and went to bed, barely saying a word to each other.

It took another two days for them to have that fateful conversation, mostly due to Molly being given two consecutive night shifts, which started an hour before Tom got home. It was a Sunday afternoon, the sun was shining, and she'd already spent an hour on the phone to Mrs Holmes, then twenty minutes convincing Mycroft that he needed to go to the theatre with them next month, and a further 10 minutes discussing liver toxicity with a member of Sherlock's homeless network by the name of Billy. After she'd finished the bizarre last conversation she walked into the living room to find Tom slouched on the sofa watching a re-run of one of his favourite fishing programmes. She sighed to herself, it was now or never.

She let him down gently, avoiding the terrible clichés of 'it's not you, it's me' and 'I hope we can still be friends'. She took off her ring, told him that they wanted different things, and that she didn't love him like she thought she did. They both cried, a cathartic release of pent up emotion from the last few months, and agreed that he could stay with her until he found somewhere else to live, or two weeks, whichever was sooner.

It was the worst two weeks of Tom's life, as he started to realise just how close the pair were before Sherlock went away. His person may have been absent, but he still managed to infiltrate their surroundings, items that had been stored during his absence returning to where they had previously lived, in the kitchen, the bathroom and the bookcase. He sent a member of his homeless network to pick up his clothes for the dry cleaners and reclaimed some of the wardrobe space as Tom packed his things up. The nooks and crannies that had been left undusted and untouched for three and a half years were filled with markers of his presence. It was other little things too, like if Molly had students in, or there was a particularly nasty autopsy that she had to do, there was always food delivered to the house for around 5 minutes after she got in. Little things that Tom could never hope to live up to, but an extraordinary woman like Molly deserved an extraordinary man, and there was no one better at being extraordinary than Sherlock Holmes, with the possible exception of his brother. Not that Tom would ever say that out loud, he'd had more than enough Holmes drama to last him a lifetime.

FIN FIN