I don't own Sherlock.

Just a drabble.

Because, in the end, Molly Hooper was done.

In the end, Molly Hooper didn't count.

At least, that's what she thought after the last straw.

Molly Hooper was done.

She was broken, her heart shattered. She stood in her bathroom,, which was empty and cold, with the blade in her hand. She knew it was the weak thing to do, to walk away from your responsibilities, but saw no other way. Her thoughts flickered over her whole life.

High school, where she had met a certain Consulting Detective, who was her only friend. That was, of course, if friends talked down on you, manipulated you into doing as they pleased, if they deduced every little aspect of your life, leaving you in tears after.

Molly let out a small smile at the memory of Sherlock in high school. She had always been there for him. Helping him through his addiction, his family issues, everything. But he was never there when she needed him. She had called him in tears, telling him her father had died, and he told her that 'sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side' and hung up.

Then she thought about the first time she saw him in the morgue. She hadn't seen him for over 5 years. He looked better, clean, and she was about to tell him that when he looked at her with those cold, icy-blue, beautiful eyes, which didn't show any kind of recognition. He demanded to see a body, and Molly suspected he'd deleted her, a trick he could do. That night was spent in tears, curled up on the couch by herself.

Then she thought about the previous afternoon.

Sherlock had come in the lab, demanding she'd help him with an experiment. He took one look at her and started his deducing.

"Your eyes are red and puffy, your hair is a mess and the make-up you are currently wearing to hide the bags under your eyes is smeared by your tears." Sherlock said, not giving her another glance.

Molly ignored his comments, not letting him know she was breaking inside.

"Miss Hooper, do stop sulking about the fact that it is the anniversary of your father death and do your job, you are acting rather unprofessional. " again, he was ignored.

Molly didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her tears, she had ran out of them anyways.

"If you behave like this every time you have something to be emotional about, I can understand you do not have any relations. It is highly likely that this is your high school experience all over again, isn't it?"

Now, Molly was done. She was done with the way the Detective spoke to her.

"Sherlock, go fuck yourself." She snapped, at which the detective's head snapped up at her.

"Do not feel like you can speak to me in that way, miss Hooper." He said, his voice dangerously low.

"It's DOCTOR Hooper to you, DOCTOR!" She yelled just as John Watson, the ex-army doctor and current blogger of 'the great Sherlock Holmes' walked in.

"Bloody Hell Sherlock, what did you do this time?" He said, giving Molly a sympathetic look.

"It's fine, John. Don't worry. I'm done." She said, walking towards the morgue doors, not bothering to retrieve her bag and coat. Before she exited, she turned around once more, looking at Sherlock.

"Just know, Mr. Holmes, that you would still be lying somewhere in the gutter, getting off your high if it wasn't for me."

Sherlock looked at her, taken aback by her words. He had never told anyone about his previous addictions, only Mycroft knew.

"How do you know about that?" He demanded

"Can't you deduce it?" Molly said, turning on her heel and exiting the morgue, knowing it would be the last time.

Molly looked at her own reflection in the mirror and laughed. She hated what she saw. Sherlock Holmes had turned her into a meek, mousy woman without a backbone.

She looked down at her hands, which were holding the knife, pointing it at her stomach. Taking one deep breath, she plunged the knife into her abdomen. The first thing that hit her was the shock, then came the pain. She welcomed it, knowing it would all be over soon.

She heard the faint noise of footsteps in her apartment, but she couldn't care less. The last thing she heard was the baritone voice of Sherlock Holmes before the darkness took her.

Yeah... that's it. lemme know what you think. a bit not good, rubbish, a bit good. maybe a next chapter in Sherlocks POV? or Johns?