The Cold Tea

3. The Warmed Hands

"Yes, Lils. I'll be all right," she said, rolling her eyes. Good thing it wasn't a video call. "And yes, I am sure. No, your boyfriend won't be a problem."

Molly began to suspect her sister was far more worried about her arrival than Molly herself. The moment she had left the interview, she knew she was ready and there was nothing to hold her back. She made a promise, though, to visit her friends in London as often as possible. They had become her family, too. It wouldn't be easy with so many new responsibilities and over three-hour drive. The project required working five or even seven days a week, if the research would need a series of test done as a matter of urgency.

She was going to give Lily another reassurance of her wellbeing and readiness, when the lab doors pushed open and a tall figure with dark, curly hair appeared, followed by a shorter one, both of them preoccupied with a very expressive conversation.

"Have to go. Bye!" Molly whispered and hung up.

"...and since when have you become an expert in this matter?", Sherlock asked, taking his coat off to hang it on a rack.

"Oh, I swear to God, sometimes I think you live only to push my buttons," John replied angrily, taking off his jacket as well.

"Dear John, I think we both know, that God doesn't exist," Holmes muttered, already busy with texting.

"I agree, because if he did, he wouldn't have let me live with you."

"Hello. Am I interrupting?"

This caught their attention because both Sherlock and John looked at her right away. Both of them also seemed a bit surprised to see her there.

"M-Molly! Hi!" John uttered finally.

"What are you looking here for?", she asked, getting back to her work.

"We just have a few samples we need to check," Sherlock replied.

He didn't look at her. Molly suspected it might be the result of their last conversation. She decided to keep on acting naturally to prevent any awkwardness. She sat back at the microscope she had been using before Lily called and continued her work, no longer paying any attention to the guests.

"May I?"

Molly rolled up her eyes to see Sherlock standing right next to her. He was so close she felt his breath on her left cheek. His face remained enigmatic.

"I'm using it. Take the other one." She pointed her finger at the microscope on a different table.

"I prefer this one."

Molly sighed, trying to hide her increasing irritation.

"Give me five more minutes, then."

She suddenly found herself trying to relax. She didn't feel exceptionally good that day, so it wasn't a spectacular descent, but the annoyance began to take over. She checked if this could be a subconscious anger based on her disappointed hopes but she couldn't find such feelings. Maybe the love hormones had run out a bit and she had began to see Sherlock's flaws in a different light. He got back to obsessive texting, but she noticed that the notification sound got on her nerves as well. She decided to ignore it until a usual ding turned into a woman's moan.

It caught John's attention as well, as he raised his head up from his own phone.

"Sorry," Sherlock said.

Molly remembered very well whose text it indicated. She flashed him an irritated look and stepped back from the microscope.

"I'm done," she muttered.