This will be mostly Molly's POV of the aftermath of TFP. I'm thinking of doing this as two chapters her POV, one chapter his. We'll see. It is not a companion piece to "Zephyros," but it won't differ that much…and I anticipate slightly more angst.

She hung the phone up, shaking.

She felt ill…dizzy…what on earth had just happened?

…and she felt the bile rising from her stomach, and ran to the bathroom. She spilled the contents of her stomach into the toilet and slumped in a heap.

Molly Hooper had tears streaming down her face…she had had a shit day, and now this. Her mum had called, berating her for choice of job, her lack of boyfriend, and for dumping Tom.

On her day off…this is what she had to contend with.

She sobbed…he had said the words…and she played along. His stupid games.

But on her terms, she thought in a desperate attempt to make herself feel better.

No. Never on her terms. He dictated everything about her heart. Yes, they were friends…

She fell sideways onto the floor. No. They weren't friends. Friends didn't do things like what he had just done to her.

Molly must have fallen asleep, because she opened her eyes and felt dazed. She went to stand and nearly fell over.

She couldn't think about it…couldn't think about what had happened…it was too humiliating.

But her mind kept going back to it. How she gave in, again.

How she had almost never said "no," but he made her comply.

What might that say about her mind? Her heart? Her person…?

She got unsteadily to her feet and rinsed her mouth. She held onto the sink and looked at herself in the glass…her makeup had run down her face from wrenching. Her eyes were bloodshot and still crying. She was pale, shaking and had a raging headache.

Molly looked away. It wouldn't do to stare at herself. What was the point? She knew she looked like shit.

She went to the kitchen and checked the time.

Six at night.

The call had been over an hour ago.

She thought about what she should do now that she had been undone again and had to pick up the pieces once more by herself.

Molly looked at the tea, cold now, and felt ill once more.

Bed.

She turned and went to her bedroom, took her clothes off, and climbed into bed.

Sleep came easily, fraught though it was. She didn't recall any dreams, but woke with some regularity…nearly every hour…

At six she texted Mike Stamford telling him she was too ill to come into work.

…and she got up and ate ice cream and pretzels, watched crap telly and cried.

Her life had become a punch line. She had a respectable job in the basement of Bart's, but the geography of it made it laughable. A basement. She worked in a basement.

She had a lovely flat, but it, too, was in a basement.

And she was so alone…her friends were mostly his friends, too. She only had Meena and a couple of people from home. After she and Tom broke it off, she lost that network, which was devastating in its own right.

And Molly felt herself despair. She felt sorry for herself…she felt angry. She thought that, had she have been of less sound mind, she would consider offing herself.

But she wouldn't, because that wasn't something that she would ever do.

How she hated him, then! He wasn't worth it. No one was.

She wished that she had the strength to get up and make herself something to eat.

She looked at the telly and sighed. She had to get up. Molly stood on wobbly legs and walked to the kitchen. She decided to clean up the mess she had left yesterday when she hung up…she swallowed.

And now he knew. He always had known, but now he knew because she had told him. There was something so…pathetic about telling the person you were in love with and knew them not to be in love with you that you loved them.

But she cleaned the mess and decided to eat something.

And tomorrow, she'd go back to work.

The morgue was cold. Not surprising. What was surprising was how nice Mike was to her. Not that he was ever mean, but he seemed to go out of his way to smile and ask how she was.

She didn't think much of it until she remembered that John Watson and Mike were friends…and that he had likely spoken with John about the call, and John spoke with Mike.

And she felt pissed.

Molly ignored Mike the rest of the night.

She was tired of always being nice. She was sick of being so compliant.

She left Bart's in a state.

And she decided to walk instead of taking the bus. Molly shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and tried desperately to not think of Sherlock Holmes.

It was near impossible, though, and s lump formed in her throat. She felt so small and naive. So…

She rounded the corner and saw his figure standing at her door.

Molly froze. She didn't know that she could face him. Didn't know if she could speak with him…she took a step closer…

…and he saw her.

"Molly," she heard him say.

She panicked and turned…but didn't move. God, she felt stupid. She wouldn't let him do this to her again…she just wouldn't…and she turned once more and saw him walking toward her. She swallowed and tried to muster what she could in terms of gall. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to speak with you."

"Obviously," and she saw his eyes react to that word. "That's assuming that I want to speak with you."

"It really isn't a matter of whether you want to. I need to."

"Really?" she couldn't believe her ears. "You are something."

He took her elbow. "Molly, please…give me five minutes of your time."

"Let go," she said calmly.

He swallowed and dropped his hand. "Can I speak with you? Please?"

"About what?" she crossed her arms.

He rolled his eyes and she almost slapped him. "About the other night. The phone call."

"Don't," she choked, and she hated that she did.

"Let's go inside," he said softly.

"No."

He looked around them, and she watched him make calculations. "Will you speak with me outside of your flat? Just outside the door there?"

"Sherlock…I don't want to. I don't want to speak with you. I want to go home, have a bath, and go to bed. Can't I just do that?"

She watched as he exhaled a long breath. "I…" he seemed to be considering something. He looked at his feet. "I'm sorry, Molly," and he looked at her again. "And yes. Of course…I won't keep you. But this needs to be discussed. I hope you'll agree to soon," he smiled a bit, and turned away.

She exhaled. Thank god he didn't make a scene. She didn't think that she had the strength for that. She fumbled with her keys and went to her door.

…and promised herself she wouldn't cry.

And she didn't.

She went inside and felt the silence press against her. She breathed in deeply and set the keys in the bowl by the door.

She turned her phone off.

And got the bath ready.

Molly was making breakfast…she only needed to get through the day, and then she had a glorious three days off.

Three days to try and not think about Sherlock Holmes! She smiled.

Perhaps she should take a holiday…ask Mike for a full week.

That was an idea. She smiled. And she felt resolved and purposeful.

"You want the week? What for?" Mike was sitting at his desk, looking crookedly at Molly. And she was smiling.

"Rest."

"Where will you go?"

"Dunno yet. That's part of the reason why I need some more time. It's already Wednesday…"

He looked down at the paper she had filled out and shrugged. "You ok, Molly? You just called off."

"Fine. I'm fine. Just need a break."

He nodded. "So you'll be back on Thursday?"

She shrugged.

"How about the following Monday. That should be enough rest for you," he smiled, fixing the dates and signing the paper.

"Thanks Mike," and she took the paper. "That's really generous."

"No problem. Get yourself sorted," and he turned away and started typing on the computer.

Molly nodded and left. This was exactly what she needed. This…this time would allow her the opportunity to gain perspective.

…and the rest of the day at the morgue went pleasantly enough. She felt like she had made progress.

She was going through her mail, nothing of consequence was there…

…until she saw an advertisement for "The Old Lockup" in Derbyshire.

The Old Lockup is an ideal location for exploring the unique landscape of the Derbyshire countryside, walking or cycling the High Peak Trail, or enjoying the many water sports on offer at nearby Carsington Reservoir.

The Old Lockup has been sensitively refurbished to combine its historic original features with modern convenience. Its four spacious en-suite bedrooms are individually styled and furnished, complete with everything needed for a comfortable stay.

She poured some wine and sipped it. This…this sounded lovely.

But what were the chances there was a vacancy this weekend?

She dialed up the place.

"Old Lockup."

"Hi…um…I was wondering…do you have any vacancies this weekend?"

"Actually, we have only one reservation. And I can offer you a fantastic price on The Magistrate's Room, since our other two are going through renovations."

"What's the price?"

"Fifty pounds."

She couldn't believe it…"A night?"

"For the weekend. Another fifty for Monday through Wednesday."

"A hundred for the week?"

"That's right."

Molly smiled. "I'll take it."

A/N: so...this idea was originally introduced in Zephyros, but I never did anything with it. Thought it was a clever enough trope (overdone though it may be), to examine here. Hope you enjoy it!