Prompt suggested by madeupmatters on tumblr: Tom dumps Molly for a dumb reason. she never really loved him, but is upset. she finds herself crying in front of 221B

The cicadas were out early this year, their hum filling the hazy twilight air. Couples wandered around the park wearing goofy smiles, hands clasped tightly held between each other. Children laughed. Elders looked on, remembering their younger days. Flowers were in full in boxes outside windows, and a single violin pierced the settling silence in 221B.

Sherlock Holmes was pacing, unfazed by the change of season, music twitching from his fingers as he thought. He wasn't on a particular case, not today. That all quieted down for now. The warm weather may have deterred criminals, he thought wildly, a smirk gracing his features. Right. That's totally plausible.

Everything has slowed down as the violet of the sky begins to burn out, soon the night air will be clear of everything except the passing of cars—

Oh, hold on.

The bow stopped gently on the strings, allowing him to listen to the footsteps rushing up the stairs, his stairs. They skidded on the landing and continued more furiously to the top until there was a bloodshot face in his line of sight. A woman's face.

"He broke if off. He's gone and ended it."

Sherlock blinked, watching Molly bounce from foot to foot in doorway, nervously rubbing her hands together. The ring was gone.

"T—Tissues, tissues, let me just—" He placed the violin and her bow on his chair and hurried off to the loo, hastily grabbing the box and whipping around, shoving it in Molly's hands. "Right. Come in. Sit down, tell me what's happened."

She shuffled over to the sofa, dropping her bearings on a cushion. Sherlock took a chair from the desk and brought it up in front of her. She dabbed her eyes and began to pour information into him. "We had a row over something silly—incredibly silly—and it just escalated and escalated and next thing I know we've changed topics and he's—he's asking for the ring back, claiming it was all a mistake and—and—"

He froze up. Acting out sympathy and feeling sympathy were two different things. This was Molly, not a client, and he couldn't just wear plastic smiles until she felt better. "What was the row about?"

"It started off about walking the dog and it—it's embarrassing."

"Molly."

"No, no, it's embarrassing."

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Fif—fifteen," she muttered, looking down. "He may have…accused me of not...mumble mumble mumble."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"He accused me of not being over you!" She snatched a tissue and blew her nose, tossing it as close to the wastebin as she could (not close). "Said I 'didn't fancy him the most' and that I'm 'still in love with that detective bloke' and 'I'm just a replacement, aren't I, Molly?'" She folded her arms, sitting back into the sofa. "Silly, isn't it? Me, I'm—I'm totally over you, completely finished with that silly infatuation."

"I didn't think it was that silly. And I think he's right."

"Oh—oh for heaven's sake, Sherlock, you don't need to take his side! I came to you for help, not the same blether."

"He looks just like me."

She frowned, head perking up. "Does not!"

"Tall, curly hair, wears a scarf—"

"Oh, shut up," she moaned, pushing him, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Everyone who wears a scarf does not automatically become you."

"They do too," he joked. giving her a grin. "But I do think he's right. I could deduct a million things to prove my point, but I feel it's something you have to come to terms with yourself, not from him, not from me. And when you do, you'll know where to find me." He stood up, encouraging her to follow suit.

"What do you mean?"

He grinned as she stepped into the threshold, looking up expectantly at him. "I think you know what I mean."

She furrowed here eyebrows, puzzled. "No, I don't believe I do."

"You really do." He bent down, letting a chaste kiss fall on her lips. "I'll see you in a few days, Molly Hooper."