"Sherlock? Tea's ready!" John brought the tray into the living room and poured two cups. John sat and took his cup, staring at Sherlock's for a long time. No hand came to pick it up, or to complain that it wasn't the "imported Indian tea I've made special adjustments to, increasing the caffeine and hiding the flavor of the drug I added." John had long ago learned not to drink any of Sherlock's tea, but to stick to his own simple flavors.

But where was Sherlock? It wasn't like him to miss tea, even if he was in the middle of a case. "Sherlock? You alright?" Only silence met his question and John sighed, rubbing his eyes. Of course. John wasn't in 221B and Sherlock was dead, but every day John went through the same motions, expecting that someday he would receive an answer. Wasn't that insanity?

"John? Where's my tea?" Sherlock threw his coat in a chair and started poking at one of his many experiments. Molly walked in and handed Sherlock a cup of tea.

"Thank you, John."

"Molly."

Sherlock nodded and took a sip, not registering her words. He made a face. "John! This isn't my tea! It's the Italian now, not the Indian. Actually, it hasn't been the Indian for a while. I already finished the tests on that one. Where'd you find this?" He peered into the cup as if he could deduce it's secrets.

"Sherlock, it's Molly."

"Hello, Molly. Can you bring this to John please? He made me the wrong tea." Sherlock held up the cup and then went back to his experiment, eyes darting over lists of equations and numbers.

Molly sighed. He was obviously absorbed in his work. When Sherlock was still living with John she'd heard about this often. John said that Sherlock often held conversations without realizing his flatmate was missing. "Sherlock!" He looked up at her and finally focused on his surroundings. She still had the teacup.

Sherlock blinked. "Molly. You brought me tea." She nodded. "Thank you." He took it back and gave a tight smile. "I thought John made it, didn't I?"

She nodded again. "It's fine, Sherlock. You were busy."

"I should have paid attention. I am sorry, Molly." His mouth twisted around the words. He'd had to learn to modulate his tone when around Molly; John had put up with a lot from him.

"It's forgotten." Molly smiled and touched his shoulder before slipped back out the door. It was the same routine every day.

A/N- Don't worry, they will get a bit longer. Just getting my stride :)

All credits for characters go to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC!