AN-This one was inspired by the song "Let Her Go" by Passenger
Sherlock Holmes looked at the cardboard box before him, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The box was full of meaningless things: a ballpoint pen that no longer worked because she had used it to fill out the mountains of paperwork that often towered on her desk, some old memos he had hastily scrawled onto sticky notes instructing her on how to assist him in his experiments, some crumpled chocolate wrappers from the sweets in which she would indulge whenever the stress got to be too much, an old, dog-eared notebook she used to jot down notes from the experiments they ran together, and so many other things for which he had no use. Yet, he could not bring himself to throw any of it away. These measly little items were all he had left of Molly Hooper.
Why had she left him? She hadn't even planned on saying goodbye. Did he really mean so little to her? Why did that bother him? Sherlock felt his heart clench, and that terrified him. Why did the mousy little pathologist have such an effect on him, and how long had this been going on? Before he could delve into this, he heard the front door open and John walk up the stairs.
"Oi, Sherlock, I just remembered something," he called as he entered the flat. "I forgot to tell you, Molly got a new job in Edinburgh. She leaves today." He came to stand in front of his best friend.
"Yes, I know," the taller man muttered without looking up.
"Oh, well, I thought we should probably go over to her flat and, you know, see her off," John said with shrug.
"It's too late for that; she left four hours ago," Sherlock responded, still staring down at the coffee table.
John sank into his chair, facing Sherlock. "That's a shame. Mary and I are gonna miss her, but this should be great for her career. She told me she'll be heading the pathology department, and she'll be working with Ewan Buchannan. I hear he's one of the best pathologists in the UK."
At this, Sherlock's head snapped up. He had heard of this Buchannan character. He was one of the youngest and brightest pathologists of this generation. He had blond hair and green eyes and was what many would consider handsome. Sherlock could not understand why the thought of sweet Molly meeting this man made his stomach churn. He decided the best thing for him to do was to throw himself into his work. A case, that's what he needed. The detective grabbed his phone and chose a case at random. He stood with a flourish and marched out the door, leaving a poor, confused John in his wake.
It had been a month since Sherlock last entered the lab of St. Bart's Hospital; he hadn't been there since the day Molly left. Since then, he had been solving all sorts of cases, from a simple kidnapping that had barely been a three to a nine given to him by his brother. Somehow, he had managed to avoid the hospital in the solving of his cases. Now that the cases had all been dealt with, he guessed it was time for him to finish his experiment. When he arrived in the lab, Sherlock saw Mike Stamford talking to strange woman. She was slightly shorter than average height and had shoulder-length red hair, hazel eyes and a very pale complexion. She must be Molly's replacement, Sherlock thought.
"Ah, Mike, how nice to see you again," he greeted loudly. "And who might this be?"
"Hello again, Sherlock. This is Meredith Cross; she's going to take Molly's place. You and she are going to be seeing a lot of each other," Mike said with a gesture towards the lady in question.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard so much about, and I can't wait to work with you," the pretty woman gushed, extending her hand enthusiastically.
"Hello," Sherlock replied with an aloof tone. He took her hand and proceeded to make initial deductions: single, never married, two dogs, plays guitar, kick boxes, spends a lot of outdoors for recreation. "Nice to meet you," he said as he released her hand.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it then," said Mike as he walked out the door.
Sherlock made his way to his favorite microscope with Meredith right on his heels. "Can I get you anything?" she offered.
"Coffee, black, two sugars," he responded as he sat down and started to fiddle with the microscope knobs.
A few minutes later, Meredith was back with a hot cup of coffee. She placed it carefully on to lab bench near enough for him to reach and stood there expectantly. Sherlock slowly took a sip and made a face. It wasn't quite right. Despite this, he nodded his thanks. Satisfied, the new pathologist walked away and went about her business. Sherlock watched her as she moved about the room. She wasn't quite as efficient as Molly. "I think I left something in the morgue. I'll be right back," the redhead announced as she exited the lab.
Sherlock stood and made his way to Molly's office. On the plaque outside the door, there were no longer the looping, scripty letters declaring that this was the office of Doctor Molly Hooper. In their stead, large block letters stated that Meredith Cross now occupied this room. When he looked in, he was disturbed by what he saw. Where Molly had filled the room with color and warmth there was now nothing. The fairy lights that Molly had strung up along the ceiling were gone. The bright cup of pens and pencils was missing from the desk. The colorful paintings and kitten posters no longer adorned the wall. The room had lost its homey feel; it felt cold and empty and devoid of the cheer Molly had brought.
Meredith had already started to settle into the room. She had placed some books on the shelves and tacked a few picture of her doing various outdoorsy activities on the corkboard. A vase of white orchids sat on the table. Something in Sherlock stirred when he saw the name on the name plate on the desk. This was no longer Molly Hooper's place. Sherlock felt as if there was a hole in his heart that nothing could fill. Meredith could never replace Molly, but Molly Hooper was no longer here. She was off 400 miles away with Dr. Blondie the Genius Pathologist who would probably sweep her off her feet and live happily ever after with her. Suddenly, Sherlock's mind palace was assaulted by the image of Molly Hooper assisting some dashing Scotsman in a lab and bringing him his perfect coffee and blushing at his compliments. This was simply unacceptable.
He heard a noise behind him. "Did you need something?" a voice called from in the lab. Meredith made her way to the doorway.
The detective looked at her and shook his head. "No," came his curt reply, and he made to leave the room.
"You know the person who used this office before me, right?" At his nod, she entered the room and began rummaging through the desk. "I found this here. It was stuck in the bottom drawer under a stack of papers. I didn't know what to do with it, but maybe you can give it back." She handed Sherlock a piece of paper.
He took it in his hands and realized that it was a picture. It was from his goddaughter's first birthday party some time ago. He remembered the day well. It had been the beginning of spring, and it was beautiful out. The Watsons had decided to celebrate their daughter's birthday with a picnic in Hyde Park. It had only been the Watsons, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, and Molly. They had all had such fun that day, even Sherlock, not that he would ever admit that.
This picture was taken when neither Sherlock nor Molly were looking. Sherlock himself looked rather happy animatedly talking, most likely about a case he had just solved. And Molly, well she looked absolutely angelic smiling and laughing at whatever Sherlock was saying. This is how he loved seeing Molly, bright and carefree and happy, so different from the way she had looked the last time he had seen her. He wanted to see her like this all the time. He wanted to be the one to make her this happy all the time.
That was it. That was why he had reacted so strongly to Molly's departure. He needed her. He loved her. Why had it taken him so long to realize this? He loved Molly Hooper, and he sure as hell was not about to let some strange Scottish man take her away. Something had to be done. Without another word, he swept out of the lab hoping that it was not too late.