Chapter 1

I slammed the door to my flat and fell to the floor in tears. I couldn't believe the turn of events. I went to the Christmas party that John had mentioned to me a week prior with gifts in hand, expecting nothing but a happy, winter filled Christmas-y evening.

I was in my lab preparing some samples for Sherlock when John motioned towards me.

"Hey, Moll. I thought I'd let you know, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson and I are throwing a Christmas party next Saturday evening."

"No I'm not!" Sherlock added into the background and I had to stifle a laugh.

He had scoffed off Sherlock's remark, rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly and continued.

"Mrs. Hudson and I… You are more than welcome to join." John smiled to me.

"Thank you for the invite. I'll think about it, of course." I finished.

"She'll go. She has no family in London and few friends. Most of them will be on holiday, so she will go." Sherlock added absently and I just inwardly groaned and looked down. John gave me a sort of sympathetic look.

I went to my kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine from my cupboard. I brought out one of my wine glasses and angrily opened the bottle up. I sniffled lightly, and decided against better judgment to forgo the glass altogether, which only made me feel worse. I went to the fridge and grabbed some take out from the night before and put it in the microwave.

I practically ran back to the sofa and cuddled with my bottle of wine. It was a pinot noir. I normally am not a fan of reds, but this one is a favorite. I waited for the microwave to ding, signaling the food had finished and turned on my telly as I passed to the kitchen.

I grabbed my food and threw it on the table while I sat in a heaping mess of curls and make –up. I felt terrible. I felt pathetic. I could never show my face again to that man, Sorry, or no sorry. I had never felt so horribly exposed in my life.

A wave of tears washed over me again as I took another swig out of the wine bottle, that I was starting to feel the effects of. I put the bottle down on the table gingerly and picked up my plate of food practically shoveling it into my mouth. I was not a pretty sight at the moment, but I did not care.

I put the plate down and focused on the telly once more, just more sappy Christmas movies that graced the set this time of year. I groaned loudly and turned it off. The last thing my mind needed at the moment was sappy love stories mocking me while I sat here sobbing in a mess.

What did I expect, honestly? I did not expect him to profess his love for me, that's for sure. I did at least expect him to 'take a night off' as John so well put it. I started to feel bad when I thought about John chasing after me as I left not too long after the incident. I pretended to receive an emergency text from Bart's and left without another glance back at the people in the flat; most certainly not Sherlock.

I didn't expect him to compliment my dress, which seemed to mock me even more now and made me feel ridiculous for putting in so much effort for a man who never even cared a glance towards me. It was black and very snug, went about knee length and had studded straps. I had sparkling earrings to match and a bow in my hair. How pathetic. I scoffed at myself and took another swing from my bottle not forgetting to spill some on myself, of course.

The night played over and over in my head. I wanted to drink til I could forget, but I doubt it were possible, the scar was too deep, and it would take much, much more than alcohol to forget the pain.

I went up the steps towards 221B Baker Street and entered the flat.

"Oh! Hello everyone! Note on the door said just come right up!" I smiled to everyone. Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, John, his girlfriend Jeanette and Sherlock of course were all there. Everyone said hello, which caused Sherlock to make a comment about formalities of greeting people when they came through the door.

John was kind enough to help me out of my coat when he looked at me startled, "Holy, Mary!" John said and I smiled sheepishly.

"Everyone's having Christmas drinkies then?" I said, and I didn't notice Greg behind me staring holes through me. I guess my dress made more of an impact than I had hoped… just not on the right person. Sigh.

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock chimed in.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's always worth it." Mrs. Hudson chimed in while she raised her glass in the air.

John pulled up a seat for me and lightly motioned towards it and I gave my nod of thanks. I turned to say hello to Greg who kindly offered to pour me a drink and I nodded my head and said thanks.

"How's the hip?" I asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems. Oh god, sorry." I couldn't believe I said something like that.

"Don't make jokes, Molly." Sherlock said.

"Oh… sorry." I whispered. I can be so awkward.

Thank goodness for Greg. He finally came back with my drink in his hand and I smiled thinking of starting light conversation.

"I wasn't expecting to see you, I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas?" I asked casually.

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. Back together a sort of sorts." He said smiling.

"No, she's sleeping with the PE teacher." Sherlock added still looking at John's blog. I saw Greg's face fall.

I turned to John hoping the conversation may get better.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right? Sherlock was complaining…" Sherlock gave me a side glance. "Saying…" I squirmed under his stare.

"First time ever she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze!" John raised his beer in the air.

"Nope." Sherlock said which made a popping sound coming out of his mouth.

"Shut up Sherlock." John snapped back.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of the sitting room, so looking back on the entire situation; I should've seen it coming.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly and you're serious about him…" Sherlock turned to me in his chair smiling.

"…What—sorry, what?" I stumbled out of my mouth. My heart began racing at the unwanted attention and I felt like a deer in headlights, like I had nowhere to go.

"You're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift!" Sherlock stated adding to his previous comment. No… please, no, no no no…..

"Take a day off…" John added in to try and distract him.

"Here Sherlock, have a drink." Greg rushed towards Sherlock trying to desperately change the subject, which only made me feel more and more uncomfortable.

"Oh, c'mon surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best. Must be someone special then." He said walking towards the bag of presents and I felt my heart stop. He looked down at me with an innocent smile. Did he really not know what he was doing, or was he truly so cruel?

"The shade of red echo's her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one she's deliberately trying to encourage…" He continued. I couldn't help squirming around in place at the sheer discomfort and embarrassment of it all. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if it were him and I, but we were in front of the closest people we know. I saw John look at me eyes filled with pity. He felt sorry for me. Pitiful ol' Molly Hooper.

"Either way, Miss Hooper has looove on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear that she's even giving him a gift at all. The thought suggests long-term hopes however forlorn. And that she's seeing him tonight is evident in her make-up and what she's wearing, obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…" I could see him take a breath. He looked as if the gift had burned him. Maybe it had for him being so bloody damn wrong. It took everything in me to fight the tears threatening to pour from my eyes.

"You always say such horrible things… Every time, always...always." I tried looking away. He looked at me and stepped back,

"I… I am sorry. Forgive me." He said. I looked into his eyes and they looked sincere. But they always looked sincere whenever he wanted them to be. That didn't make it true.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He came down and kissed my cheek. I looked at him as he did so. He broke from my cheek when an obnoxious noise come from him.

"Oh! Oh, that wasn—"

"It was me." He concluded.

"What?" I looked at him baffled such a scandalous sound coming from his phone was baffling indeed.

"…Fifty…seven?" John added with a smirk on his lips.

"What?" Sherlock snapped at him.

"Fifty-seven of those texts." John grinned. Sherlock just scoffed and told us he'd be back and went to his bedroom, I could only assume. John kept trying to get a rise out of Sherlock but was surprised that he got nothing.

I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. How I felt more uncomfortable than I did less than ten minutes ago was beyond me. I felt like a cold breeze was running over me. I wanted to scream and fall to the floor. I wanted to cry. I felt like I had just been tossed out of the cold and I knew everyone was avoiding my gaze. They felt sorry for me.

How was it that every damn person in this room knew who that present was for, except for him? How was it that every damn person knew that I loved that man and not him? I understand him not understanding emotionally, but he understands biology perfectly fine, and all he'd have to do is bloody look at me!

I laid down on the sofa as the effects of the wine were starting to crash on me. I could feel them dragging me under into a restless sleep that I probably wouldn't have been granted otherwise. I laid down trying to sleep.

Thoughts of all the times with Sherlock rampaged even my dreams and it was unfair. It made me not want to sleep. I had to sleep. I had to be able to rest. I couldn't take the pain and the anger, the embarrassment and the loneliness. I never felt like this in my life. I sat up abruptly from the sofa and shuffled to the bathroom to grab a bottle of sleeping pills, low dosage so I know it wouldn't do much harm.

So what if it did. No one would miss me. Sherlock was always keen to point that out.

My consciousness pointed out. I knew it wasn't true. I had friends. They may be few, but they were there and they would do nothing more than hate me if I ever thought such things.

I refuse to allow a man subject me to such thoughts.

Sherlock isn't a man.

He is human…

You know he is not. He is a leech on you Molly Hooper, on your life. Look at what your life has become since he has been in it!

Meaningful!

Lonely!

Wondeful!

Pitiful!

Happy!

Unbearable!

Shut up!

You are alone!

SHUT UP!

I sobbed out as I crashed into the sofa, having an inner war with myself was never fun. It was especially unenjoyable if what you thought was the losing side was beginning to win.