[Sherlolly fanfiction] Silhouettes

Chapter 12-- Time and time again

(MOLLY'S POV)

I pull my jacket from around my shoulders and hook it over a peg in the hallway, next to his. That little thing somehow causes me to smile. But practically anything causes me to smile now.
I pull down the sleeve of my yellow jumper into the palm of my hand. I run my fingers through my hair briefly fixing it as I enter the lounge.

I visit him almost every two days. It's beginning to become routine, a good one at that.
Weeks have passed and we do this little routine of ours.
Monday, we both work,
Tuesday, I visit him after work,
Wednesday, we're working,
Thursday, he visits me,
Friday, we eat dinner together.
Saturday and Sunday are debatable.

Today is Sunday. We occasionally meet up if there's a case or to have dinner.
It's all very mutual.

But we're not together.
Like I said, we'll take this slowly. A slow transition, if ones even ever made.
And still, I am comfortable right where we are.

"Hello," I say, most likely grinning like an idiot as I walk into the lounge.
He looks up, "Hello, Molly." He is not sad, nor happy; he's just as comfortable as I am, but in a different way.

The conversation is pleasant; it works itself out. We're comfortable where we are at the moment.

You do tend to feel more comfortable when you're alive.
Being alive becomes routine, I suppose, a nice one at that.
**
Our routine.
**
(MONDAY)

As I separate the abscess from the tissue of the brain. My brain --note it is different to the one I am dissecting-- begins to wander. Despite the task I have to do of separating the disgusting substance from the brain, my thoughts are of a fond kind. They're quite obviously about Sherlock. They're rarely not somehow linked to his name.

Once I finished my work, I peeled the gloves from my palms and began to write out a report.
As I wrote, my mind, once again, wandered off like a misbehaving toddler.

On the clean piece of paper I drew, the varying circles and lines creating a sketchy image of a face, my face.
I occasionally glance in the reflective metal of the table, to help with the composition.

As a child, I loved to draw. I wasn't particularly good at it, but the idea of expressing my thoughts so visually and beautifully always interested me.
At the age of 18 I occasionally met up with my university friends, they were all incredibly talented artists.

I stroked the dark pencil lines with my finger tip, creating tone on the face. My eyes looked so big, so hopeful in the sketch. Probably not accurate.
My face is not this refined, that I am sure of.
I use the side of the pencil to get thicker, bolder, darker lines around the rims of my eyes and lips. Sketching the contours of my face, realising how much it has developed and grown from a child's face to an adult's.

Eventually, I finish my doodle. I stand there, looking and smiling at it one last time before shaking my head, screwing it up and dropping the pointless drawing in the paper bin.

I continue my work, my mind light and positive, despite the tedious task of slicing up organs and body parts.
**
Our routine.
**
(TUESDAY)
(SHERLOCK'S POV)

"Let me get this right," Molly says, trying to grasp the idea of Sherlock's previous hint, "you think 'the rats have evolved'?"
I nod, "I said it was a possibility."
"So....what will they evolve into?" She asks. I can see the possibilities swarming around her mind.
"Nothing too interesting, unfortunately." I admit. I can now see her thoughts get weighed down by reality. I continue, "Vaguely more developed minds perhaps, but nothing too drastic."
She smirks, unable to believe the possibility of me creating a mutant rat, when I'd originally intended to kill it.
I know what she's thinking but I ask her why she's smiling never the less.
She makes eye contact with me, "Just the possibility of a mouse dressed and acting like you under the floor boards."
This image was beyond even my imagination.
I smile at the ridiculous character she's just described to me. "He has good taste in jackets." I admit.
We laugh quietly, our worries pushed from our minds.
Metaphorical evolved rats are guarding our minds, keeping the negative thoughts away from us.
**
Our routine.
**
(WEDNESDAY)