AN: Some thoughts from Sherlock on the paradox of Molly Hooper, one of the strongest people he knows.

. . .

Her hands are a continual source of fascination for him. Looking at her, with her timid face and shoulders, a person would think her hands would be just like the rest of her — soft and gentle, with smooth palms and delicate finger bones, like the keys of a piano.

What they are instead is strong, surprisingly so. Her hands define the paradox of her existence — slight, but sturdy, with a rigid determination. He remembers noting the calluses that dot her fingers when he shook her hand at their first meeting. She had a firm, decisive grip — always a reliable factor when determining character, he found. Sherlock hasn't met a soul who couldn't be deduced from their handshake.

Of course, given her profession, these things aren't surprising. He's seen her rip open the sternum of a football player with little more than a twist of a scalpel and a grunt of exertion. But somehow, with Molly Hooper, it's easy to forget the power she holds in her small frame. Her eyes are so gentle and kind, her voice pleasant and lilting, that he expects her hands to be as soft as she is.

Sherlock Holmes doesn't like to be proven wrong, but the people he admires most make a habit of doing just that. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, and most days he doesn't even admit it to himself — but he likes it.

It keeps him on his toes.

. . .