So this is a plot bunny that I've been stuck with for SOOOOOO long and I finally decided to try to expand on it and see what I could make it into. I'm not really proud of it but I hope it gets better. It was hell trying to write this one! hahaha sorry I'll shut up now and let you judge for yourself :)

Molly Hooper flopped on her bed after a quieter but eventful day. She was tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. She had helped harbor a dead man, keep the secret for three years while everyone was grieving, keep her feeling for the said dead-but-not-so-dead-man under control as best she could so as not to interfere with anything, patch up the said dead-but-not-so-dead-man periodically and often run errands to help him bring down the leftovers of Moriarty's network.

Needless to say she was dead-tired—not helped by the number of autopsies and the corresponding amounts of paperwork that had doubled when the not-so-dead-man was busy successfully taking out people involved in the network. The numbers had finally decreased, so she could only hope that he was still safe and almost done.

That afternoon, a previously-thought-to-be-dead but actually-not-dead man came flouncing into her morgue in his tall, dark Belstaff clad glory, sporting purple cheekbones and a cracked lip, followed by his faithful blogger who was looking a bit pissed but relieved as well as joyful at the same time, she thought nothing of it—having been used to this in all the years before the fall, it was a usual occurrence after particularly tricky cases, though he never got this beat up on those. Then he started ordering her around and her brain finally caught up.

He wasn't in disguise

He was paler and skinnier than before—if that was even possible

And it all led back to the glaring fact that he was no longer pretending to be dead.

He had decided to come back to the land of the living, but neglected to inform her- the woman who had sacrificed so much of her career, health and sanity to help him not be dead-first?

She knew she wasn't like his girlfriend or best friend or anything like that to have a right to know everything he did, but considering how much he had to rely on her during his fugitive times, she thought at least she deserved to know he was planning to 'resurrect' again.

So to say she was pissed was a major understatement

Even if she tried to reason it to herself and make excuses for him, her sense of self-respect finally kicked in and overrode it. Finally her 'mousy Molly' gave in to what her heart said (of course a certain consulting detective would most likely argue that it was certain parts of her brain— as her heart only pumped blood, but then the mere thought of him saying that with his usual stupid technicalities only served to infuriate her more).

She was so frustrated, after all her hard work for him he just dismisses her without a word and goes back to his normal lifestyle.

She couldn't take it anymore. She needed a break. A vacation. Away from Sherlock.

She had many years of holiday break to use up, since she never left unlike the other staff—partly because she had no place she really wanted to go, and partly because she always wanted to be there in case an emergency happened—which nearly always did, but with Sherlock back she was sure there would be much less this time.

So it was decided- preferably a long vacation, and unlike all her dates and days-off which would get interrupted by the said detective, she did not want to hear from him, she would not cut it short for any of his requests—in fact, for that matter, she wouldn't tell him at all this way he can't interfere until it was too late—it's not like he actually paid much attention to her anyway, and if he needed to do things in the lab, she would make sure to leave instructions for the replacement that enabled his access.

Of course he'd have to forgo the coffee, but she was sure he could manage; after all he had John again.

So saying (or more like thinking for that matter), she decided to start planning and getting ready for her break, she thought of going to the States...she had a few friends whom she knew from uni and some science conventions, who lived there, so she could ring them up and see if they have any good suggestions on where to go.

She looked at her clock, it was late here but it would only be early evening in the states at latest, that was acceptable. She dialed a number but it went to voicemail, taking a deep breath she decided to just leave a message instead of waiting for a call back …

"Hey Tony, this is Molly- Molly Hooper, erm, Corpse Bride? if that helps ring a bell in case you don't remember. I know you're notorious for forgetting your acquaintances so just making sure haha. So, I'm coming over to the States soon and if you have any suggestions for vacation spots, please let me know, thanks! Oh and you owe me $50, my cat's name is TOBY not Tony. If you remember that too. Anyway, call me back if you have anything, thanks!"

Soooo...Was it that bad? Should I scrap it and go hide? It seems so cliche but I'm not sure. HALP! Should I keep going?*takes deep breaths and tries to stop hyperventilating* Sorry I'm kinda paranoid but I feel like a dog in a chemistry lab that has no idea what the hell I'm doing LOL