The Cold Tea

2. The Lonely Nightstand

She had sat on the floor, her back leaned against the kitchen counter. The sky had turned dark some time ago, but she barely noticed that. She had been sitting there since he'd hung up. He hadn't called back. The cold tea she tried to make for herself still stood on the counter. She lost interest in drinking or eating.

She really had done it. Molly Hooper, after nearly five years of restraining herself from saying anything personal to Sherlock Holmes, finally had confessed her love for him. It wasn't romantic at all. Not that she would ever really expect from Sherlock to be even slightly affectionate in any way, but she knew he was capable of feelings. He certainly loved John and Mrss Hudson, he also considered inspector Lestrade a friend. And that woman with a bashed up face... could have he been involved in an affair? Molly felt a sudden wave of jealousy.

She was just a pathologist. Her mind, however close to his, wasn't brilliant at all. She wasn't a real beauty. She didn't like playing mind games. She wasn't a challenge for him. And that's what he had been constantly looking for: a rush of adrenaline, a complicated puzzle to solve. She was an open book. There was no mystery to discover, no secret thoughts to decode. He had proved it during that call. If it's true, just say it anyway. Maybe, if she had hope... but she had known very well that the feeling wasn't mutual. She was just a useful friend, or even less.

Her heart was pumping the pain through her veins. With every beat, she felt weaker and more tired, more incapable of pulling herself back together. Her eyes were red and swollen, her make-up runny. She hadn't made a move in a couple of hours. Two, three maybe? She couldn't tell.

She managed to stand up around midnight to take a shower and bury her sadness under the bed sheets. Hot water helped her wash off what was left of the make-up, and relax tensed muscles, but his voice was still flooding her head. All the good things, which had happened between the two of them. The surprise on his face when she said: I don't count. And: Are you wearing a lipstick? You weren't wearing a lipstick before. Was it one of his manipulations? But he didn't have to ask her to do anything for him. So maybe he was genuinely intrigued by all those changes he pointed out?

No, manipulative, that's what he is.

She got out of the shower and, wearing a pyjama consisting of funny T-shirt, old shorts and winter socks, she went to bed.

* * *

"DOCTOR HOOPER, PLEASE, OPEN UP!"

A heavy knocking on her front door woke Molly up immediately. She had slept not more than three hours and felt even more tired than she had been before. She got out of bed fully awaken, with her heart pounding fast again. She put on a dressing gown and went to her front door.

"DOCTOR HOOPER, OPEN UP!"

"I'm coming!"

Once she opened the lock, a group of men in dark uniforms stormed into her house, pushing her on their way inside. Mycroft Holmes was the only one that still stood at her doorstep.

"Hello, doctor Hooper, I'm very sorry for the intrusion", he said in a fully calm voice. She couldn't utter a single word out of her throat. "We need to search down your flat. Security purposes and so on."

"Security... what? Mrs Holmes, what's going on?"

She automatically thought about the call. Had she landed Sherlock in some trouble? Maybe he had called her because he knew he was about to die? No, not possible. Besides, why would he call her to make her say "I love you"? If he had any sort of feelings for her... Maybe it was a code she was supposed to understand?