It's not much of a life you're living

It's because he doesn't just let himself into her flat, but waits for her to answer the doorbell, that she lets him stay. He's brought take-away and his devastating smile and Molly mutely accepts his apology.

"Forgive me. Last night…I was…please."

It's not that she doubts that he's sorry.

They eat lunch. She watches telly with her feet on his lap, while he works on her laptop. He mumbles as he goes through his emails, solving cases and ranting how unimaginative some criminals are. She dozes off, not having had much sleep last night. He reads her research draft and makes some comments when she wakes up. They argue points and discuss related research. They eat the rest of the take-away. She goes to have a bath and when she comes back, he's lying on the couch, talking to Toby.

She goes to bed and a little later he joins her.

It's a familiar pattern and she's no longer finds comfort in it.

::

"We could go out for dinner."

"Takeaway is much more convenient."

"True, but it would be nice to go out. We've been inside all day."

"You enjoyed the experiment."

"I did. I do. It's just…I spend most of my time in the morgue or in the lab and sometimes it's nice to go outside."

"It's Saturday night in London, we'll be much more comfortable staying here and ordering in."

"You could people watch."

"I'd rather watch you. And kiss you. And taste you. Every inch of you fascinates me, Doctor Hooper."

::

Her sister gives birth on Wednesday. Molly decides to see her and the baby on the weekend.

"Look, David, this is your Auntie Molly. Say hi to your Auntie Molly."

The baby fusses as he's being transferred to his aunt, but Molly holds him close, making soothing noises.

"Hi, David. Hello. It's very nice to meet you," she coos, swaying him gently.

After dinner at her sister's, she goes home with her mother, walking through the town where she grew up.

"I always thought it would be you," her mother says.

"Me what?"

Her mother grins, "Married with a baby."

Molly sighs, "Mum…"

"I know, I know. But you were always the more sensible one."

Her mother wouldn't call her sensible if she knew what her life had been like the past few years. She's never told her family of her involvement with Moriarty and Sherlock's faked death. She barely even talks to them about her relationship with Sherlock.

"Remember Claire's sixteenth? She wanted to have her birthday party at a graveyard?" her mother asks.

Molly laughs, remembering, "I can't wait for David to see photos of her Goth phase!"

"It's sometimes funny to me that you're the one who ended up as the pathologist."

"And she's the accountant?" she smirks.

Her mother puts her arm around Molly, "I'm proud of both my girls. Your dad would be too."

She turns to give her mother a full hug, "Thank you, mum."

Her mother still lives in the house that Molly and her sister grew up in. When Molly had made the definite move to London, her mother had her old room converted to a guest room. Molly had helped her sort out her old things and had only kept a few, sentimental items.

"Claire didn't want to mention anything earlier, but there's something I wanted to talk to you about," her mother says, when Molly comes downstairs, having changed into her comfortable pyjamas.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, instantly concerned.

Her mother hands her a mug of tea, "No, no, it's nothing serious. Well, it is serious but not in a life-threatening way."

Feeling only slightly reassured, she prompts, "Go on."

"You know how Claire and Alex have been looking for a house of their own? Well, I was thinking, and I mentioned this to them, they could have this house."

"Oh," Molly says, having expected something entirely different.

"But only if you're okay with this," her mother hastily adds.

"And where are you going to live?"

"I have an eye on a flat, nearer to town. The house is too much space for one person. Claire has the little one now and I thought it would be a good idea."

Molly doesn't disagree with her mother but she's still a little surprised.

"What does Claire think?"

"She wants to know what you think first," her mother says, looking at her inquiringly.

"I think it's a brilliant idea. And you should definitely do it if you want to," she says.

Her mother looks concerned, "There's still a lot to discuss and they won't be able to move until next year, anyway. But you're okay with this?"

Molly smiles, "Of course I am, mum. It's just weird thinking that you won't live here anymore."

Her mother smiles back, "I've actually been thinking about moving for a while now."

"Have you? You never mentioned."

"I've been in this house for over thirty years, and alone since your dad died. I'm looking forward to something new. And the flat I'm thinking about is nice."

Later, when she's in bed, Molly realises that she's feeling sad. Not because of her family's plans.

It's because she can see them moving on, while she feels stuck. And she doesn't know what to do about it.

::

"Why do you introduce me as your pathologist?"

"Because you are a pathologist."

"You introduced me to your parents that way."

"And you have a problem with that."

"Yes!"

"And how did you want me to introduce you?"

"As your girlfriend."

"Molly, we've agreed that the term is juve…"

"Well, I prefer it over 'my pathologist'."

"But it's a very accurate description, is it not?"

::

"So Mum's told you about the house," Claire says to her the next day.

Molly nods, "Yes and I think it's a good idea."

"I don't want you to feel like we're taking something away from you." Claire comes to sit beside her on the sofa, having put David in his Moses basket.

"Why would I think that?" Molly frowns at her sister.

"Because it's your home too."

"I haven't lived here since my twenties. And I don't see myself moving back here."

Claire looked at her, "Are you sure?"

"Of course! Besides, the place mum's picked is really swish. It has a gym and everything. It's better than my London flat!" Molly laughs.

"She's been talking about throwing parties…"

"By the way, is she seeing anyone?"

Her sister gives her a look, "Has she mentioned Clive?"

Molly nods, "Yeah. At first I thought he was just the estate agent, but the way she talks about him…"

"I've met him, he's nice. She could do worse."

"Good for her! She deserves some fun."

"Speaking of fun, how are things with your detective boy?" Claire asks, teasingly.

Molly rolls her eyes, "He'd hate you calling that."

"Pardon me, I meant consulting detective," her sister says, trying to imitate Sherlock's manner.

Claire and their mother had met him when they'd come to London for a shopping weekend. Molly had asked him to have dinner with them. He'd been polite but barely spoke during their meeting. She had to admit that it could've been worse. Her meeting with his parents hadn't been planned at all. She'd simply been there during an unannounced visit. And Sherlock hadn't acted pleased at all.

"Things are fine," Molly answers.

Claire arches an eyebrow, "Fine?"

Molly plasters on a bright smile, "Fine."

"That's convincing," her sister retorts sarcastically.

"Claire…"

"Molly…" her sister imitates her.

She doesn't want to talk about it but she stills ends up saying, "Sherlock is…Sherlock."

"And what does that mean?"

"I don't know," she whispers forlornly. She gives her sister a helpless look.

Claire moves closer to put a comforting hand on her arm, "Talk to me."

And Molly says something she's been afraid to confess, even to herself.

"I love him, but sometimes I don't think it's worth it."