I know that until now I mostly avoided Molly POV in the story. It's not that I don't like her POV, it's just that she kind of tries to avoid thinking too much about everything that is happening (even if she is quite aware that she's doing it). Anyway, from now on, we'll see more of her POV. Not as much as Sherlock's (she's much more aware of herself and her feelings so doesn't need to mull over it as much as the detective), but we'll see a little more of what is going on in her mind. I also have to warn you, that the way I see Molly is not a perfect angel of kindness and understanding. To me she's normal and she can get grumpy and angry for no particularly good reason. So you're warned.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

When Molly finished for autopsy, it was 6 p.m. and she felt somewhat irritated. She didn't know why. She loved her job. Really. She loved the method and protocols she followed in PMs and the story that she could collect from tiny little details in the bodies of the victims. She should be relaxed and content by now. The autopsy had been interesting, mostly by the lack of little clues she had been able to discover. A little smile played on her lips when she thought about Sherlock's probable joy at that. He loved a good puzzle. At that precise moment, her phone buzzed for what seemed the hundredth time in the day, probably the same detective requesting answers or demanding other tests to be performed. She sighed and again her humour soured. She still had to do the tox report because, of course, if she asked anyone else to do it, the consulting detective would have her redo the tests. And then, all the other little tests Sherlock needed. So, she might as well cancel her night with Nick. And then, it hit her. Why she was so irritated. She was pissed at Sherlock. Pissed at how he'd been outraged at the idea that she might have taken a break at noon to have a lunch date with her… boyfriend, lover, whatever this time-limited arrangement was. Pissed that he demanded and demanded without any please nor thank you. And that she was supposed to oblige. Normally, she didn't mind. Sometimes it was even a pleasure. But right now it felt contriving. She slowly shook her head and tried taking deep cleansing breaths. Sherlock was her friend. More so, she was his friend. She shouldn't be mad at him for just being himself.

It didn't work. She was mad. Then, her phone beeped again. She looked at the screen and saw a new message from Nick. He was asking if they could meet up later, he had a call with his team. Another text: a proposition for proper compensation, her own little pound of flesh, with a wink - Nick did love sexual innuendos that weren't that much innuendos. It should have been alright. It should have been great news. She would have had the time to do the tests for Sherlock and then, go and dine with her… whatever he was. But no, this infuriated her even more. Right now, she felt stuck between the two of them. One detective that required all of her time but refused to emotionally engage and a doctor that, well, did engage sexually and somewhat emotionally but was quite alright with her time being quite all taken up on other things. And finally, she felt as something snapped.

She looked at the corpse before her. A corpse she just finished the PM's of. She took a step back, retrieved the green flimsy coat that shielded her clothes during the autopsy, bundled it with the disposal gloves, aimed at the basket at the corner and threw the lot at the basket in the corner of the room. Her decision was taken. She would delegate the tox report and other tests to the people who actually were on shift and she'd go home. She contemplated asking Nick to come but the fact was, she wasn't so eager to see him either. Tonight, she just wanted to be alone. With her cat and with her grumpiness. So, finally looking at her phone. She sent two messages back. Two messages saying that she wasn't available tonight.

When the diagnostician received the text, he was in a middle of a conversation on his phone, comfortably seated in his plush hotel room. He ended the call, not bothering to deny the last taunting words he'd heard "The current lack of mind games is refreshing. Who'd have known that the England air would be so mellowing? Unless it's not only the air…" However, his usual smirk faded as he frowned over the text he'd received. She wasn't available any longer. But why? He had made so much progress with her. And then, the answer hit him. Of course, the freaking detective. The one who tried so hard at not being aware of her. The same and only detective that would fuck up his whole carefully crafted plan if he didn't do something about it. Irritation gnawed at him and he grounded his teeth together. When his phone rang back, he took the call, not bothering to hide the dissatisfaction in his voice. "Did I miss something or did the mood completely flip?" said the person on the phone. He answered truthfully and sarcastically "Yeah, my booty call cancelled on me. Fortunately, there is still your ass to burn."

When Sherlock received the text, he was still back in the alley were the body was found, John muttering behind him about cold and going back to his wife. Sherlock just tuned him out as he was on the ground trying to get something that would give him some clues about where the body had been transported from. Unfortunately, the bleach and fire that polluted the scents of the scene and the setting sun prevented him to find any visual traces that shouldn't belong there. He was about calling it quits and return to the morgue to get his tox report and run additional tests with Molly's help when his phone beeped. Finally. She must have found something interesting. That was great. He turned to John gleefully, taking out his phone but finally settled in front of the army doctor with a deep frown on his face.

"What?" snapped John, trying to hold off the cold and hoping that the stench of the back alley wouldn't clung to him once he went back home.

"It's not possible." The tone of the detective was dismayed and at that John snapped back at attention, trying to decipher what the change in attitude of the detective meant.

"What is it?" he repeated more softly this time.

"She went back home." Replied Sherlock.

"Who went back home?" asked John, not following.

"Molly. She texted me that Robinson would do the tox report and that if it needed to be redone, that would wait until morning." Said Sherlock, clearly puzzled. "She said she was unavailable this evening. But what about work?" he sincerely mused aloud.

At that, John couldn't help but bit back a laugh. Sherlock seemed totally taken aback that Molly Hopper had a life beside him. This was so Sherlock that John couldn't help his mirth.

"Well. You might be married to your work, but she isn't." Said John, hiding a smirk.

Sherlock froze slightly and said "Don't be stupid John. She has a boyfriend. Of course she's not married to her work."

The scorn in the detective's voice was so thick that John found himself puzzled at what it was directed to: him, Molly or the boyfriends.

"Well. She isn't married to your work either, Sherlock. So please leave the girl alone and let's just get back to Baker Street." He reasonably stated, trying to get his friend to get out of the alley.

"But she always helped with my tests! She knows I cannot trust the other pathologists! They're not as thorough as her!" Sherlock was now clearly in pouting mode and John didn't relish the task to get him back to the flat. However, after a few minutes of Sherlock pouting and pacing, the blogger finally managed to get to the main street and hail a cab in which him and his friend engulfed.

"You don't understand, John! The tests need to be done by her! She always did them before! Why should that change? I have a process, John. It's integral to my work and it relies on Molly. She never failed to help me before…"

"Well, if she was such an important part of your work, you might have considered marrying her as well. God knows, she is a saint to put up with all of this." Finally snapped John, interrupting Sherlock's tirade.

At that, Sherlock shot him a look that could kill before shutting up and starting to sulk. And then, finally, there was blissed silence.

"You don't understand, John! The tests need to be done by her! She always did them before! Why should that change? I have a process, John. It's integral to my work and it relies on Molly. She never failed to help me before…"

"Well, if she was such an important part of your work, you might have considered marrying her as well. God knows, she is a saint to put up with all of this." Finally snapped John, interrupting Sherlock's tirade.

At that, Sherlock shot him a look that could kill before shutting up and starting to sulk. And then, finally, there was blessed silence.