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He knew precisely where to stand so his reflection in the mirror would be seen as she opened her locker. He wasn’t sure exactly why he felt this was the best way. You always did have a flair for the dramatic, he heard brother’s words resonating in his head.
So what if I do? She liked it before or at least tolerated it... No, she liked it and him.
He stood tall and still. Her smile, small at first from the shock then wide and open, made his chest ache for a moment and he allowed his smile to match. She raised a hand for a moment but dropped it to fidget with her own fingers. Greg had hugged him but she thankfully had more restraint, he thought. “Hello, again,” she grinned. “Hello, Molly,” he smiled, softer than he expected from himself. He saw it in the mirror and corrected it to a more open one. She moved in his direction, and he stood stiff, unsure what her next response was going to be. Perhaps I was premature in my judgment on a hug, he thought. But she brushed past him, he felt a tingle near where her arm passed across him. He ignored a feeling that resembled disappointment. She paused near the door. “Gotta prepare some tissue samples in the lab,” she “You wanna join, I mean, if you aren’t--” “Sounds like a perfectly delightful afternoon to me.” -:- Her hair is the same, to the side as I prefer...no, that compliments her more rather. Clothing choices still the same. More color in cheeks, perhaps she walks outside more than in the past. Amount of makeup the same, new lipstick color. He found it comforting to watch her work and deduce much was the same as when he left. “Its great to hear your voice again,” she murmured looking into the microscope. “Just, um I...we all missed you. Well, I missed you, they...mourned you.” She lifted her eyes just enough catch his staring at her over his work.
There’s the Molly I know, garrulous and...missed by me as well. I can admit that, right?
“Ah yes--” he began, lifting his head from the microscope to see a lab tech approaching her quickly. “Dr. Hooper, here are those reports you emailed me about,” the man unknown to Sherlock advised. Molly gave a courteous smile in return and took the folders, “Thanks, John. You can call me Molly, you know.” Sherlock stiffened, sitting up tall at the name and her smile at the other man. “Gotcha. Let me know if I can help with anything else, Molly.” He gave a half grin. His eyes turned for a moment to Sherlock, who caught his glance with an icy look. The man’s eyes widened as did his mouth but he clamped it shut and walked away quickly. Molly returned to her work, flipping through the folders. Sherlock abandoned what he was going to say and returned to his eyes to his own work.
She knows anyway.
“I saw you stiffen at the name.” She spoke without looking up. Sherlock kept his eyes on the sample in front of him. Molly’s eyes lifted up and watched him steadily. Dark brown wide and bearing down waiting for a reply. Sherlock met them and swallowed as he composed his thoughts. She waited as she always did. Holding his gaze so he cannot escape the sentiment. “John did not take my returning as I expected,” he replied plainly. Molly’s lips spread into a smirk, “I am going to hazard a guess he wasn’t a fan of your flair for drama.” Sherlock breathed through his nose, not hiding irritation at that repeated assessment of him, as he answered, ” Yes, it seems I interrupted his plans to ask Mary to marry him.” He reflexively rubbed his chin. Molly snickered as she finally dropped his gaze. “He punched you, didn’t he?” “More than once.” “Lesson learned then?” He chuckled, “Never.” She shook her head at him, giving her best “Really, Sherlock” look he knew too well. He curbed his laughing and with a cough, began more seriously, “He’ll come around just giving him time to accept it.” “You should tell him how much you missed him, that you are truly sorry,” she dropped her eyes to her reports, closing one of the folders. Sherlock grimaced, “ For what? He knows--” She huffed and he stopped with an open mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as if willing something either away or forward. Sherlock cannot be sure which. She always was an open book in an unlearned language, he mused to himself. He spied her rubbing her finger on her left hand, and concentration making lines around her mouth. He watched it too long and recorded every one along with the new color of lipstick. “Sherlock, perhaps for once remember in your life that words matter.” She opened her eyes, slowly, chin still lowered as she glanced back up at him as she sighed. He nodded, focusing on the determination on her face, reading it best he could. “Yes...I’m sorry.” She breathed out another sigh and gathered up her folders. “I have to go get some more tissue samples in the morgue, you want to come with?” The corner of his lips curled at the prospect, “Perhaps I can gather some for myself?” She narrowed her eyes, “I wonder why do I let you...nevermind, yes, come on long as you gather it yourself.” He followed behind her out the lab contemplating the first words rather than the latter.