SPOILER ALERT! Trying to explore some of the reasons Molly was so upset the day of that fateful phone call and then some.

Enjoy, MakeMeProud

Today was just the day when everything that could go wrong...went wrong.

Molly tossed and turned in her sleep, sweat beading on her skin and soaking into the red-ish pink sheets, turning the hue a dark crimson. Flashes of Sherlock's face passed through her dreams along with all of their encounters, each one turning into disappointment and anger that roiled her blood and made her eyes prickle. She suddenly woke with a start as her phone rang from the other room. Disorientated and sleep-deprived, she rubbed at the sunken, bruised skin under her eyes and sighed.

Her muscles ached as she rose from the bed and she felt a sniffle coming on from the way her nose started to drain. Perhaps she was getting a cold, or allergies. It wouldn't be the first time she got sick while being overworked. Somehow her shifts seemed to be getting longer and longer through out the week, and people were taking a lot of leave which left her stuck extra hours at the morgue. Normally she wouldn't mind having the silence of the sterile tables and instruments, but the long hours were draining her dry, leaving her to her thoughts for far too long. She kept wondering when Sherlock was going to come barging into the morgue like he used to, but that was hardly the case any longer.

Toby weaved his way through her ankles, his orange fur rubbing off onto her black pajama bottoms. She ignored his plea for food and headed toward the still ringing phone next to her sink. Picking it up with out looking at the ID she answered and started to ensemble the things she would need for tea, plucking the lemon from the fruit bowl and getting the cutting board.

"Molly, are you coming into work today?" her co-worker yelled.

"Lewis? What's wrong? And yes, but not until noon." Her brows pulled together at his tone. Toby clawed at her bare foot and she moved it away from the sharp scratches. Her eyes glimpsed the green numbers on the microwave by her fridge and she froze. "Shit!"

She scrambled from the kitchen, the phone still hanging limply against her ear as she raced toward her bedroom. Toby's claws got caught on the top of her foot as he ran away, cutting a stinging scrape on the sensitive skin. She hissed at the pain, sending a disgruntled glare in the cat's general direction. One of Rosie's toys got in her way and she almost fell over. Her hand braced the doorway of her bedroom as she tried to ignore the throbbing of her pinkie toe.

"So sorry, Lewis," she half-yelled, half-cried into the phone. "This morning started a little later than it should've." She yanked out an old wool jumper and work trousers, the ones that always had stains no matter how many times she tried to wash them out, and started to shove them on with the phone held between her shoulder and ear.

"Well its about to get worse," Lewis murmured.

"What does that mean?"

"Just get here quick. We've got a lot of bodies today."

Her stomach dropped like it did every time there was a group. "Was there an accident?"

"Yeah, a bad one. Tell you more when you get here."

Molly threw the phone on the bed and finished dressing, grabbed the keys and her coat, and opened the door before closing again as Toby wailed. She muttered curses under her breath as she grabbed a can of wet food and put the whole thing on his food dish. "I'm in a hurry, so no portions for you. Thats all you get today." The cat eagerly started licking at the gravy coated food as she got ready to leave the flat again. She didn't have to worry about Rosie today since Mrs. Hudson agreed to care for her the next few days.

She grabbed her purse this time, as well as her keys and coat, and walked through the door. She shut it firmly behind her, putting the key in the lock.

Phone. She didn't have her phone.

Sighing, and utterly fed up by this point, she opened the door, grabbed her phone off of the bed, and stomped out of the flat. She took a moment to see if she needed anything else before locking the door and going onto the street.

Trying to get a cab at this time, during her would-have-been lunch break, was completely out of the question so she walked to the nearest tube station. The Underground was packed, as usual, so she stood pressed against three other bodies in the small area, trying to stay balanced as they stopped and started. She got off at the transfer station, only to discover that the red line was delayed. For hours.

Molly's muscles tensed as she tried to compose herself. She could just try to get a cab. Yes, she could do that. It would be more money than she would like and the traffic would be horrible, but she could do it. Steeling her resolve, she walked toward the escalators. They were broken. So she took the stairs all the way up. By the time she reached the top her nose was sniffling and her face was red. Her calves and thighs quivered. She wiped the edge of her running nose of her coat sleeve when she realized she had no tissues.

It had started to rain, heavy drops that drowned the street, and Molly tugged her coat harder to her chest. Of course she had not grabbed the water-proof one.

She was completely miserable as she started walking to the hospital. There wasn't a damn cab in sight as the rain continued to come down in sheets, cold and soaking. It dripped down her hair, pooled in her shoes, and drenched her clothes. The wool of her jumper was itchy and heavy as she trudged on. There was no doubt she was getting sick now. She just wanted some damn tea.

The hospital loomed ahead of her and she started to pick up her pace. Her phone buzzed in her bag and she knew it was work calling to see where the hell she was. This was so unlike her. She hardly missed a day in her life, unless it was to help Sherlock with some stupid experiment. The building was freezing as she stumbled into the entrance, slipping due to her wet shoes and tumbling onto the floor.

"Miss, are you okay?"

A hand touched her shaking body and she tried to hold back her blush of embarrassment. "I'm fine. Just a tumble." She finished it off a false laugh as she rose from the cold floor. "Thank you."

The morgue was as cold as she knew it would be. She imagined her clothes turning into ice so as she walked they would crack and tumble to the floor. Her scalp itched from the leftover water drying in her hair and her jumper stuck to her skin in a most unpleasing way. The clean lab coat covering her body did nothing to hold back the chill of the air.

A tele displayed the new channel showing an accident that had involved a school bus crash, killing everyone inside.

Lewis and a few other pathologists were working on small, child-like bodies and Molly's heart dropped into her stomach. "Don't tell me that's the accident you mentioned," she whispered. Lewis looked up at her as she stood before a table and a small sheet, her fingers ghosting across the outline of a face.

"Unfortunately, it is," he said solemnly.

She hated working on children. She could handle cutting into an attractive man, or a woman who looked just like her, or a gruesome scene where people where missing appendages, but she hated when children came through those doors.

Her hands moved on autopilot for hours as her mind wondered away from what she was doing. She tried to steer her thoughts away from Rosie, the sweet baby girl who held her heart in those tiny hands, as her hands sliced through the skin tissue of the dead little girl in front of her.

It was part of her job.

It was the job of being a pathologist.

It was...

Her hands started to shake as the events of the day crept up, burned in her eyes, and strangled her chest. She couldn't see the body in front of her anymore, just a more mature Rosie lying dead on the table. She wondered if Rosie's bone structure would be as round as this girl's or if her hair would curl the same way.

Her tools clang to the floor.

It was too much. "Too much," she whispered. Hands grabbed her shoulders and steered her toward the lockers as she continued whispering. The tears choked her throat and her runny nose started to leak down her face. She knew that she looked like a disaster, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She sat on the benches in front of her locker, alone, she didn't know how long.

She wanted this day to be over.

As soon as possible.

Before she could even realize what she was doing, her body dragged itself until it was at her door with the key in the lock. Her feet felt like lead, one foot stinging and throbbing, and the other foot stepping in cat vomit. She knew she shouldn't have given Toby the full can because she knew this would happen.

She dropped her purse by the door, throwing her phone on the kitchen bar, and took a few steps to grip the back of the couch. Her eyes started to sting, but she swallowed the feeling back down and took some deep breaths. She would change into some completely dry clothes, make herself some tea, and then cry her eyes out of this couch. Her fingers pressed into the cushion hard before letting go and heading to the bedroom. She peeled the slightly damp clothes off her body, tossing them on the floor, and put on one of her warmest jumpers. It was striped and colorful, and felt so wonderful on her cold skin. She immediately wanted to snuggle into her bed, but when she turned to do so she saw the glob of cat vomit directly on he sheets.

She wanted to feel angry, but she felt nothing. There was just a numbness that had settled in her bones that she couldn't shake.

Tea.

Then she could cry and sleep on the couch. She would worry about the fucking sheets later.

The kitchen was as she left it this afternoon; the lemon still left on the table on top of the cutting board, the kettle in the corner filled with unused water, the large empty soup cup waiting for boiling hot tea. She turned the electric kettle back on to reheat the water and grabbed a knife to cut the lemon. She cut a sliver off before being remind of what she was cutting less than an hour ago. Her stomach roiled and she felt like she was going to vomit as she turned to the sink. She pressed her hands to the rim and supported her weight as weighted for the clammy sweat to cool on her brow.

Yep, definitely getting sick.

She lowered herself so her elbows touched the rim and she cradled her head in her arms, deep breaths dragging into her chest. Her phone on the bar started to ring and she turned back toward it. Was it work asking if she was coming back. Her shift wasn't technically over, but she had already come in late and left early so what was the point? She decided to let it ring. Whoever it was could just leave her a message.

She finished slicing the bit of lemon she needed and grabbed the honey out of the cabinet, hell-bent on making her tea in peace. The ringing was so damn annoying though. Whoever the person was, they were very persistent. There was a tingling in the back of her brain as it occurred to her who might be calling. There was only one person Molly knew who would be impatient enough and random enough to call her twice in a row at such a strange hour. She wiped the lemon juice off of her hands and reached out for it.

Sure enough, it was him.

Sherlock.

Her heart fluttered for a brief moment as she debated taking the call. He was probably going to ask her for something like always and she really didn't want to do anything. She wasn't up for his banter and sharp comments, not with how her day was apparently still going. She shouldn't pick it up.

Her finger pushed the green button as she raised it to her ear. "Hello Sherlock, is this urgent because I'm not having a good day." She knew he could hear the emptiness in her voice.

"Molly I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why."

It was just as she expected. He wanted something from her. Again. Her breath left her in a gust as she felt disappointment welling up in her again. "Oh God, is this one of your stupid games?" She felt anger, at herself and at him. She didn't need this right now and yet she couldn't just hang up the phone.

"No, its not a game. I...need you to help me."

Her chest squeezed at the memory of a different moment with very similar words.

What do you need?

You.

She couldn't help him like that again. At least, not now. She would not set foot in there until those children were gone. "I'm not in the lab."

"No, not about that."

Molly fidgeted, fingering a spoon as she asked, "Well, quickly then." She patted at her hair nervously, realizing she still hadn't brushed it since last night. The silence continued until she continued. "Sherlock, what is it? What do you want?"

"Molly, please, with out asking why just say these words..."

"What words?" What was he playing at?

"I love you."

She ripped the phone away like it had burned her and glared into the earpiece like he could somehow see her expression. How could he do this? How could he do this to her after everything she'd done for him? He was going to hurt her again. And again. And again.

Hang up.

"Leave me alone." She was broken after this day, and to hear him mock her feelings...it was too much.

"Molly, no, please, no, please don't hang up! Do not hang up!"

He sounded so scared, like he was in danger. She couldn't trust it though. She couldn't trust him. Not right now.

"Why're you doing this to me? Why're you making fun of me?" It hurt. Her chest ached and her eyes were burning again. She just wanted her damn tea and her damn cry session on the couch.

But she had to know why.

"Please you just have to listen to me. Molly, this is for a case."

Of course it was for a case. He would never feel that way about her in real life. After all, she's been feeling this way for years. Why would anything change now?

"Its a sort of experiment," he said.

Blood pounded in her ears and her jaw tightened. "I'm not an experiment, Sherlock." Her mouth grimaced around his name. She wanted to slap him again, to feel that sharp cheekbone slam against her palm so hard she could feel the stubble on his skin.

"No, no, I know that you're not an experiment, you're my friend. We're friends, but...please just say those words for me."

They were there on the tip of her tongue. They were there, but they had been inside of her for so long she didn't think they could ever come out. It was like it was her own little secret even though she was positive he knew. He was a genius. And she was nothing.

"Please," she begged. "Don't do this. Just-just don't do it."

"Its very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

Molly shook her head. She couldn't do this. "I can't say that. I can't-I can't say that to you."

"Of course you can. Why can't you?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't know why."

He was really going to make her do this. Her hand gripped tighter on the phone. She took a deep breath as the nausea hit again and she sniffled, wiping it on her hand. "Of course you do."

"Please just say it," he said desperately.

"I can't. Not to you." Anyone but you.

"Why?"

"Because its-Because its tr..." The words were trying to escape, but she kept choking them back. "Because...its...true, Sherlock." Words started to tumble out as the dam broke behind her eyes. "Its always been true."

"Well, if its true then just say it anyway."

How cold he was, to make her do this when she knew he didn't love her back. She laughed at the irony of the moment. She was going to do it. "You bastard." She could feel them welling up from the bottom of her soul.

"Say it anyway." He sounded clipped and stressed.

"You say it." Hope blossomed in her chest as her confidence swelled. "Go on, you say it first."

"What?"

There was the doubt she was looking for. It brought her back to reality as she said, "Say it. Say it like you mean it."

"I..." She cradled the phone to her ear, knowing that this was going to be the only time that she would ever likely hear Sherlock Holmes say he loved her for the rest of her lonely life.

"I love you." Her heart stopped until she let out her breath. Her thumb ran over her bottom lip, imagining that if she could kiss him in this moment she would. It would be brief, but it would be something she would carry for the rest of her life. Those words would stay with her always.

His voice range out as he said again, "I love you." Her heart picked up at his tone. He sounded surprised, like he had just discovered something. There was a shard of hope plunged into her heart. He said it again. He didn't have to say it again. She only asked him to say it once.

"Molly?"

She brought the phone closer to her mouth, pictured it was the shell of his ear she was whispering such true words to.

"Molly please!"

She took a deep breath, opened her heart, and whispered, "I love you."

The phone was silent in response.

The call was over.

Time stood still as she stood in the middle of her kitchen. The kettle whistled and the cat meowed. The sun started to set, casting the room in shadows.

The tea lay forgotten on her counter as she walked to couch and sat, tugging a pillow to her chest. "Toby," she called brokenly as the tears started pouring down her face. Her knees rose to her chin as the sobs started to shake her body. "Toby!"

The cat meowed lightly from the floor and she bent to scoop him up. She let him walk on her and find a position to sit before stroking his fur and listening to his soft purrs. Sleep started to tug at her at last and she followed it gladly until she dreamed of nothing but darkness. She had done the unthinkable and now she was empty.

She had bared her soul to the great detective, and now she had nothing left.