Her Empty House - another quick fic with spoilers for TRF
Seriously. Seriously- Seriously! I should be working but this is what my brain is doing!
Her Empty HouseShe jumps when she notices the figure sitting in the dark. She really should be used to it by now.
"He's angry," Sherlock says and she can hear the confusion in his voice.
"Well, you did fake a suicide and made him watch," she replies, turning the lights on. He looks so forlorn sitting on her couch with Toby in his lap and a bag of peas pressed to one side of his face.
"I'm alive," he counters and she laughs because that would be his argument, wouldn't it?
"Give him time to get over the shock." She sits down on the couch next to him, makes him show her the nasty bruise on his cheek.
"That won't look pretty in the morning," she comments and let's her body sink into the cushions. She's tired. It had already been a hard day at work and then John called her and she hadn't known what to say.
All she wants to do is have a take-away and watch some mindless telly for an hour or so and then go to sleep.
"I brought food."
She turns to smile at Sherlock, grateful that he'd had one of his thoughtful days. He was capable of them, now and again. She probably should be more concerned about that bruise. But he did kind of deserve it.
"Thai?"
"Yes."
"I think I love you," she says and he cracks a smile, followed by a wince of pain. She chuckles and decides to stay on the couch for a while longer. Sherlock was being pleasant and it felt nice to sit next to a warm body.
She can hear him think beside her, but lets him go through the conversations in his head on his own. Toby has moved to squeeze in between the gap of their bodies and she lazily runs her hand through his fur.
She feels the tension of the day drain away and feels perfectly boneless and content.
"I think I'm going to have a shower before dinner," she says and Sherlock gives an audible sniff.
"Good," he comments and she swats him playfully. The smell wasn't that bad, was it?
She makes it into the shower in time, before she bursts into fits of sobbing. She stands there for a good five minutes, crying her heart out, the tears mingling with the water. She hopes that Sherlock won't notice later.
She's tempted to stay in the soothing embrace of the warm water for the rest of the evening, but she's too hungry and there were only that many tears she could cry.
"Stop it, Molly, just stop it," she scolds herself and grabs her shampoo.
Sherlock's already eating when she joins him again in the living room. He points at her food with his chin. "Eat."
She resumes her seat next to him and picks up the plate he's prepared for her. She ignores the look he's giving her, ignores the questions he's not asking out loud. All she wants to do at this moment was eat. He allows her to finish her food before he attacks.
"What's wrong?"
The quiet and the food and her general exhaustion lulls her into replying with the truth. "I'm going to miss this."
"What do you mean?"
Despite the pain in her heart, she smiles. Because this was so him. Seeing everything, understanding nothing.