Molly was upset. It was apparent in the way she cracked the ribs of the cadaver in front of her as well as the way her voice came out short and clipped as she spoke aloud her notes about said cadaver. Her lips were pursed as she worked, trying her damndest not to think about anything but the task at hand. So focused on her work, she didn't even hear the door open as someone walked in. The sound of the person's footsteps were lost on her and she wasn't prepared.

"Bad day, Molly?" Came a voice close to her ear. She jumped, the bone cutters almost slipping from her hand. Carefully setting down the tool, she snapped off one of her gloves and pressed a button on the remote to stop the recording. She briefly closed her eyes to steel herself.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" She asked, whirling around to look at him, her heart thumping painfully once in her chest. He was the same as ever, tall and handsome with his coat on and open and hair falling on his forehead, but at the same time, not. He stood nervously in front of her and she was acutely aware of the fact that she had not seen him in 2 months. Not since before that phone call. Though sometimes she liked to be dramatic and call it The Incident, capital letters and all. Greg did tell her what happened over one of their weekly lunches. He told her all about the secret sister and the bomb. She knew the call was a part of the game his sister, Eurice, played with her little brother but it didn't stop how she felt about it. He gave her a tight smile. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Here we go, acting like nothing happened.

"I thought I would come and see if I could make use of your lab," he told her slowly. His voice washed over her and she hated how it made her feel. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Since when does Sherlock Holmes ask permission?" She said, her voice sarcastic. He just blinks slowly at her for a moment, as if he is trying to convey something. She sighed and turned back to continue her work. She didn't have time for his games.

"You look nice today, Molly." She looked at him incredulously then down at herself. Her apron as well as her face guard had specks of blood. She had a stain on the knee of her pants from lunch earlier and she knew her hair was a mess as she could feel short strands tickle her cheek. She bit back an irritated groan as she turned back to her work.

"Go Sherlock. I have work to do." She knew she sounded harsh but she wasn't ready to talk to him. She still hasn't forgiven him.

"So may I…" She couldn't hold back her groan then.

"Yes! Leave!" She didn't hear any movement for a bit then his feet made for the door. Once it closed behind him, she let out a deep sigh and stretched her neck, lifting her arms above her head. She pulled on clean gloves and pressed a button to start the recording. "Where was I? Oh yes, cadaver exhibiting signs of being a chain smoker, as evidenced by his lungs, which despite his age are…"

Molly walked into the lab after putting the body away, with a folder in her hand. She briefly hesitated, seeing Sherlock peering into his favorite microscope, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, before she continued on to the table across the room. She sat down with her back to him and, putting earbuds in, started on her notes. They worked for a while in silence. Her hand flew across the page as her other hand was fisted on the table. She knew she could just transcribe everything on her computer but she felt better writing. After twenty minutes in silence, she almost forgot Sherlock was there. Almost, until his scent surrounded her and his hand came to cover her fist. She jumped again, this time her pencil falling from her hand. She looked up at him in irritation, tearing the earbuds from her ears. "Stop doing that!"

He looked confused. "Doing what?" She huffed.

"Sneaking up on me. You almost gave me a heart attack." She expected him to make some remark about her not being prone to a cardiac arrest but he just stayed silent, his eyes surprisingly soft. She sighed again and tiredly rubbed her eyes. She can't deal with this today.

"You seem upset," he said. She chuckled drily.

"Nice deduction."

"What's wrong?" She looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh are you a therapist now, Sherlock?" He smirked.

"I can be." She shook her head.

"You'd be a terrible therapist," she snarked. He made no response, just watched her. She licked her lips nervously and saw his eyes track her tongue's movement. Her cheeks burned. "What do you want?" She asked, softly.

"Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." Her eyes slid to her hand where his was still covering it. He, noticing her gaze, slowly slid his hand away, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. Her skin tingled and she moved her hand to her lap. He sat next to her, his body turned towards hers expectantly.

"Can't you just work it out?" She whispered.

"I'd rather you tell me." He leaned forward, his full attention on her.

She breathed harshly through her nose. She didn't like this attentive Sherlock. Especially since she hasn't seen him in a while. They never even talked about that phone call. She could tell he wouldn't leave her alone. She ran her hand over her face. "I had a date. Actually, I've had multiple dates with one guy. But they all fell through. He always cancelled at the last minute. I broke it off with him this morning."

"Is that all?" He asked, amused. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Terrible therapist," she muttered. He smiled and waved his hand dismissively.

"He was an idiot." She rolled her eyes.

"You think everyone is an idiot."

"Not you," he told her. Her breath stuttered and she looked away from him. They were quiet for a while. Then he took a breath. "Molly. About that day, that phone call. I-"

"Did you solve it?" She interrupted. He looked at her, a question in his eyes. "The case. Did you solve it?"

"I- Yes," he breathed. She nodded, not quite looking at him.

"Good. I'm glad." Her hand fidgeted, clasped on the tabletop in front of her. She bit her lip, not quite sure if she should speak. Why was she even still sitting here? She made a subtle move to get up but he spoke before she could.

"You told me you were having a bad day that day," he said softly. She nodded. "Why?"

She brought her hand to her mouth. "M-my last autopsy that day, it was a bit hard is all."

"You do autopsies everyday, Molly." His voice was baffled. "What was different about this one?"

"I don't do kids everyday. And even if I did, I don't think I would ever get used to it. The state of him." Her hand shook as her eyes filled. "I still see him when I close my eyes. He was too young. No one should go through what he did, especially a child."

Sherlock was quiet for a bit. "So you had a difficult time and went home to try to forget what you saw or to try to cope with it," he mused. "And then I called you." He sounded regretful.

She sniffled, nodding. "Then you called me," she confirmed. She let out a sigh. "I thought we were becoming friends, Sherlock."

"You don't think we're friends?" His voice sounded hurt but she couldn't look at him. Sherlock didn't do hurt.

"I thought we were but- but friends don't put other friends in the position you put me in!" She paused. "Although, I suppose being your friend is not normal. I should have known one day you'd get me to-." She stopped, unable to finish that sentence. She made a fool of herself that day. She knew it but she couldn't bear to hear him agree. His hand slid across the table to cover hers but she jumped up before he could make contact, her heart pounding frantically. The stool fell back with a loud clang. The silence was deafening. She refused to look at him, all too sure that she would only see pity. That, she couldn't handle.

"Molly-"

"I shouldn't have made you say it," she whispered. The tears were becoming too much and she tried not to blink to keep them from falling. "I shouldn't have made you say it, and for that, I am sorry Sherlock. I thought I needed to hear it but it- it's so much worse to hear you say it and know you don't mean it." She made the mistake of looking at him and she saw pain mirrored in his eyes. It was an expression not often seen and she hated it. The tears fell. "I'm sorry." She snatched up the folder to her chest and turned to leave.

"Molly wait!" She heard the stool scrape against the floor as he stood up to grab her wrist. She weakly pulled against him.

"Let me go, Sherlock."

"I never said I didn't mean it." His voice was desperate. She stopped pulling, a silent 'what' on her lips as she looked up at him, shocked. He stepped a bit closer. "I never said I didn't mean it," he repeated. "I just… didn't want it said in that way." Molly's lip trembled. She didn't want to believe. Oh who was she kidding? Of course she did. But she couldn't bring herself to hope. He didn't actually say it.

"Two months, Sherlock. Two months. You didn't say a word to me after..."

"I needed time to process everything that happened. To come to terms with how I felt. How I made you feel."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't do feelings," she whispered. He smiled, his hand sliding down to intertwine their hands. She looked at their joined hands in astonishment before she looked back at him.

"I can change," he said, tenderly. She shook her head slightly.

"How long?" She didn't need to elaborate. He knew what she meant. He always did.

"December 24th, 2012. You brought me a gift."

"I brought a gift for everyone."

"That's not what I mean." They stared at each other, breathing quietly. She knew he meant the dress. She had worn it that night, hoping for him to actually see her, but it didn't quite work out that way. Or so she thought.

"You hardly looked at me that night."

"That doesn't mean I didn't notice. I was… confused and distracted."

"By the Woman." He nodded. She remembered the look on his face when he saw her body on the table. It broke her heart. Later, she found out the Woman was actually alive and she was saved by him. Molly had often wondered after she found out what it would have been like to be loved by Sherlock like that. "You tore me down that night. You made fun of me. In front of all of our friends." She paused. "And then you apologized and kissed my cheek," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "That was the first time you did something like that without wanting something for it. I often thought about that night." She didn't mean to confess that but it came out before she could stop it.

"I was jealous." His hand convulsed around hers. "I spoke before thinking. That's a problem I have, it seems. I always do that to you, don't I? Unintentionally hurt you? I didn't- I never wanted to hurt you. I am honestly baffled that you can still care for me as you do. I do not deserve it. Thank you for that." She swallowed harshly, the tears still falling from her eyes. "I do love you, Molly. I have for a long time. I am sorry it took me so long." She stared at him, her breath sounding shallow to her ears. Did he just… His face became uncomfortable in her silence and his hand grew slack in hers. He looked just above her right shoulder. "You're right," he said. "I don't do feelings."

"Shut up, Sherlock," she whispered. She heard the folder and papers hit the floor as she reached up to pull him down to her. He froze as she kissed him, tasting the tears on her lips. She pulled back after a moment to look at him. "Thank you for telling me," she said softly. "I- I love you too." He grinned down at her then his arms came up under her coat, his hands spreading warmth down her back. Her whole body buzzed as he pulled her closer, his head tilting for better access. She quietly moaned and he stuck his tongue in her open mouth and then she was on fire. Her hands fisted the back of his head, tugging slightly. He growled in his throat and his breath became her breath. He lifted her onto the table, his hips fitting perfectly between her legs. So lost in the other, neither one of them heard the door.

"Sherlock I tried texting yo-" John stopped just inside the lab. Molly pulled away from Sherlock, sliding off of the table, her eyes wide as she looked towards the door.

"John," came a chorus of both of their voices, Molly's surprised and embarrassed, Sherlock's a growl, both breathless. John smirked.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asked. He was obviously amused and Molly knew Greg would be hearing all about this later. Her face burned as she bent down to pick up her discarded documents.

"What do you want, John?" Sherlock was clearly annoyed.

"I tried texting your mobile, Sherlock. I thought you were ignoring me. Lestrade needs us. He's got a case." Molly walked over to the table, her hands shaking.

"Okay. I'll be right there." John nodded and left the room with a knowing look thrown at Sherlock. They were left again in the quiet. Molly was too embarrassed to look at him. Sherlock made his way over to her and gently tugged on her ponytail as he bent down to kiss her. She could definitely get used to this. He pulled away, his breath mingling with hers again. "Dinner?"

She swallowed. "Er… I don't get off until midnight. It's a bit late to be eating." He tilted his head down as he looked at her, his hair falling into his eyes, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"That's not what I had in mind." His voice was slower and deeper than usual. It vibrated through her and sent a lightning bolt of heat to her core.

"Oh," she breathed. He smirked and kissed her again before backing away to get his coat.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, tossing her a wink. Then he was out the door, coat swishing behind him. She stood there a moment longer, her legs shaking and staring at the door. How was she supposed to get through the next six hours with that promise?