Hi dears,

Thank you for your lovely reviews. I was so glad to read them. So here's the next one. Hopefully you will like this one too.

Five month later

'Molly! Molly, wait!' Molly turned to the direction of the voice to see Mike Stanford jogging towards her on the long corridor of the basement. As he caught up with the young pathologist, he tried to catch his breath and wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. 'Uh, Molly...your landlord had just called. He said that your flat had been soaked again by the tenant above you.' Molly's eyebrows arched in surprise. 'If you want, I can ask Peterson to fill in for you for the rest of the day.'

'Uhm, thank you Mike, it would be very nice of you,' said Molly as she quickly turned to grab her bag and coat from the locker.

She almost ran out of the hospital to hail a cab to reach her flat as soon as possible She was in a rush but not because she was afraid that the water from above would damage anything in her tiny flat. No. She had a landlady, not a landlord, and her flat was on the top of the four story building. But she knew that a certain impossible dead man was in her flat waiting for her, presumably with a few bleeding wounds.

In the last three months since he was back to England, Sherlock had appeared randomly in her flat with various injuries. Sometimes he needed sew or bandages and rarely he just needed a safe place to have a rest. He always left with a note or a text thanking her help. She was wondering if she would ever hear him actually say it.

As Molly entered her flat it seemed empty but soon she heard the tap running in the bathroom. She sighed in relief and taking down her coat, shoes, Molly walked to the bathroom door and lightly knocked.

'Do you need help?' She narrowed her eyes as she was ears dropping, but there was no answer. When the white door finally snapped open a red headed, half naked Sherlock Holmes, towel across his right shoulder appeared in front of her eyes.

'Actually, yes.' As he removed the late white towel, Molly could see the awfully lot of blood filter from a quite long cut under his shoulder blade not so far above his heart.

'Umpf...' she backed but in the next moment she was it the kitchen searching for the medical kit, which had to be expanded since Sherlock had regularly emptied it.

'It looks quite bad. Does it hurt?' Molly asked with worried curiosity. Sherlock hissed as Molly began to clean.

'Barely. By the way, since when do you have stars on your ceiling?'

'Very funny.' Molly murmured under her breath.

When Molly finished sewing and bandaging the deep cut on Sherlock's shoulder, she ordered him to sit on the armchair and stay still, and she disappeared in her bedroom. When she was back she held a long neckerchief in her hand, it was white with small red pattern. As she came closer Sherlock saw that the red dots were small cherries and he got appalled.

'Cherries? No way!' He objected with horrified expression and Molly giggled.

'It's the only one which has the optimal inelasticity. Now lean forward!' She held the fabric in front of Sherlock eyes, but he just stared into her eyes stubbornly. 'Sherlock!' She yelled at him still giggling. He huffed and let her to fix his right arm into the right position in front of his chest.

'Tomorrow I will get another one, I promise.' She said calmingly.

During these three months Molly became more relaxed in Sherlock's presence. She got used to have him being around, popping up occasionally with wounds, eating her fridge out and occupy half of her bed. Although Molly was still in love with Sherlock, probably more than ever, she had given up her hopes years ago and was just ineffably happy to see him alive.

The wound on his right shoulder healed slowly, and despite of all his effort, it took him out of action. After a few days of forced rest Sherlock started to become more grumpy and critical than ever. He was like a tiger in a cage, a very bored tiger. Molly knew him well enough to know that it was better to avoid him for her own sake. She took extra hours at work, began to wander around the supermarket, doubling the time spent there, she walked home from Bart's instead of taking the tube. But still she couldn't be home little enough to completely avoid Sherlock's constant bad mood. Sometimes he seemed to make an extra effort only to peck at her.

One morning she was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom staring at her own drawn face. She decided to cover up the deep dark bags from under her eyes. Molly grabbed her poor make-up kit from the shelf. She chose it would do good for her to feel pretty that day so she continued with adjusting some mascara too when she saw the bathroom door opening in the mirror and her temporary flatmate stepping in. Molly froze in her motion and looked into his eyes through the reflection.

'Do you need the bathroom?'

Sherlock was just standing there with lips pushed together for a moment then suddenly spluttered like he couldn't keep it inside.

'They won't make you prettier, completely useless.' Molly slowly turned towards him; she stepped forward and slammed the door into his face. She heard him huffing but to Molly's relief he walked away from the bathroom.

The other day Molly felt like cooking and pulling together all her knowledge, she made the best lasagne with tuna and caper of her life. It looked delicious with the molten cheese on the top spotted with the semi-roasted capers. The enticing smell was attractive enough to lure Sherlock Holmes out from his mind palace. As he wandered out to the kitchen he grabbed a spoon without a word, took a huge portion of the still steaming food on the table and after a little blowing he took it into his mouth.

Molly was standing there, waiting for a satisfied moan or an appreciative nod. But no. All he could burst out was that he didn't like caper. Molly's eyes narrowed, she knew it was not a big deal, but this was the last drop in the glass. She whirled around, grabbed her coat and purse, and stormed out of the flat leaving a confused consulting detective behind.