Before she had met him, she had given up on love. Oh, she still dated of course. She had to get her kicks in there somewhere, but that was as far as she'd take it.
Then it happened.
She'd been in the middle of an autopsy. Mrs. Peters was a 57 year old woman that died from a heart attack. The family said the woman was as healthy as anyone can be, but Molly could already see some of her dirty secrets.
The doors to the morgue opened with a bang, making Molly jump, and in stormed that beautiful bastard. He always did know how to make an entrance.
"Lestrade, you know it is of little consequence what the family feels. Do you want the perpetrator in your custody?"
Detective Inspector Lestrade could only rub his temples. He really should know not to question the strange man. "Fine Sherlock. Try not to do too damage much then?"
"No such promises will be made."
Both men turned to face the pathologist. However, Molly was still confounded at their sudden entrance. Lestrade immediately noticed, made brief introductions, and explained the situation.
"Earlier a man was brought in. The man was in his late twenties. He had a girlfriend, family, and friends to help him if he needed ever needed support. However, the man committed suicide and according to everyone he gave no signs of depression, and much less no suicidal tendencies. Scotland Yard has hit wall on this case since we've seen no evidence to suggest there is someone else at fault. However, Sherlock here has apparently taken the lead."
"Yes, well, when London's finest can not solve a case that is a measly 5…." Lestrade opened his mouth to defend himself, but as usual he plowed on. "Now I have two theories: the first may turn this case into an interesting one, the second not so much and I will be highly disappointed. Miss Hooper show me the body."
Since her skills were being called upon, Molly sprung into action changing herself into doctor mode. "I've done the autopsy." She said pulling out the body. "Although, I have just one theory as to how he died. I've done the blood tests and the toxicology report. Now before I did this I was 90% sure on my theory and the tests just confirmed what I already believed."
Sherlock looked at her. "Do you know about deductions?"
"Of course. Now based on how his hands look and diagonal marks on his neck, I believed Mr. Scott Cullen got a little more than he bargained for in his latest adventure in autoerotic asphyxiation. When the blood tests came in all with slightly higher than normal levels of oxytocin, seratonin, and adrenaline, it confirmed my suspicion."
Sherlock was not easily surprised by much, since he could usually deduce first. However, that day was the beginning of what he could only recall was the only exception to this.
"Graham, you finally found someone competent enough to work beside you. Dr. Hooper." He slightly nodded his head and stormed out.
Lestrade looked like a fish just opening and closing his mouth. After awhile he opened his mouth and spoke. "Woman, you've achieved the impossible."
After her first encounter with the great Sherlock Holmes- though she was the first to show off and she at first liked him for his looks- she fell for that magnificent brain of his. Later on, she saw glimpses of his personality and even though he was self professed "high functioning sociopath" (he did well in covering it up for others), she knew better than to believe any of what he said. She especially knew to ignore all that "love is a chemical defect found on the losing side." She ignored it because, if it were true, she was the biggest loser of all.
Molly Hooper was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
She was a stuttering mess. She tried to capture his attention with small talk even if she knew better. He absolutely hated any form of it.
And after awhile of this she got tired. Her first attempt to move on was completely disastrous. Jim from IT was a complete bastard, using her to get to Sherlock. Moriarty was a smart enough man to reach out to him on his own. He didn't have to use her. It made her wonder what was wrong with her. Sherlock's words were cruel to hear, but she moved on. Moriarty himself was what made her self esteem go lower than it was already possible. Then there were the incidents at the Christmas party and with the The Woman. She knew by then that she was nobody but a bloody good pathologist to the man.
Hope was a funny thing. To her it was something that she could feel spreading through her chest and taking a tight hold on her heart, that it didn't show any signs of letting go. So she felt this when he asked her help in faking his death. Then crushed when he left to dismantle Moriarty's network. To everyone she was the depressed girl that had deeply liked Sherlock Holmes. In reality she was just bothered that she had even let herself feel anything when it came to him.
She felt it again when she met Tom.
Tom was wonderful. Really just absolutely marvelous. They each got along with each others families and both families got along quite well. So it was a good surprise when he asked her to marry him a month shy of Sherlock's return. But he did return, so that relationship went down the drain. She couldn't lie to Tom about her feelings for Sherlock. especially after she stabbed him with a fork at the Watson's wedding. She did love Tom, but she loved Sherlock even more.
She should have known better than to let herself fall for Sherlock, but she'd gotten so far with him, that it was much better to have him as a friend than to have nothing at all.
So, once again she felt disappointment with herself when realized that she'd let herself feel hope again after the thing with Janine.
Sherlock was a difficult man. He knew this about himself.
Not just anybody was willing to deal with him. Over the years he had collected the strangest group of friends that anyone could have: a copper, the widow of a drug lord, an ex soldier with a slight adrenaline addiction, and his wife, a former assassin. However, Molly was the one he got stuck on.
He wasn't aware of when her role had become bigger in his life... No, he knew. He just hadn't realized until now.
He had no case to speak of. Since he had returned from his brief exile, John had been pestering him to figure out who was behind the "Moriarty Media Domination," as he had put it. Sherlock had already known his brother was behind it. Nobody else could have done what he'd done to that magnitude. So all his work had been put on indefinite hold. Idle hands are the devil's threat.
Molly was something that, no matter the timing, continued to be there, in his mind. He had changed. She had changed. It was a commonly known fact that no one stayed the same when stumbling upon new information they deem worthy, no matter how small. They processed it, assimilated it, and went on their merry way.
However, he'd never been able to process why Molly liked him, and then had a harder time understanding when she fell in love with him. He himself felt like he was falling into an abyss he couldn't get out of and the scariest part was that he didn't want to. He regretted ever saying anyhing bad about love. It had never hindered his work.
After his great fall, he started thinking about her more often. Molly from his Mind Palace actually helped him to find some of the criminals from Moriarty's network. Molly had saved him time and again, even if sometimes it was only some figment in his mind with her voice. It was likely that he'd never find someone like that again. Someone who could accept him with all his faults. Someone who could put him in his place as she had done.
All of a sudden he felt suffocated and knew he had do something. He passed John on his way out, who had come to convince him to get away from his flat for awhile.
Molly had woken up from her sleep on her day off at the insistent pounding on her door. She looked through the peep hole and yelled "Just a second!" and retreated to her bathroom. Sherlock who was already impatient just picked her lock and welcomed himself inside her apartment. When she returned she prepared coffee for both of them.
"Sherlock." She said to get his attention.
"Good Morning Molly. I hope I didn't bother you too much."
"Don't lie to me Sherlock. You meant to bother me. So, what is it that you need that you felt you had to come to my flat?"
"You." He said it with the same look he had the day of his "death."
Molly held her breath. Now? After all this time? "Explain." She said in little more than a whisper.
Sherlock heard her perfectly clearly.
"Molly, I've never been one for heartfelt declarations. All I know is facts, or at the very least facts as I perceive them. Ever since I came to you for help since my demise, you have saved me. You have always aided me even when I thought I didn't need it. You have never hindered my work even with you in here." He pointed to his head.
"Instead of ignoring you, I need to keep you. If I had my way, I would keep you by my side until I die because let's face it, I would die way before you with as many enemies as I make. Molly, I need you because without you I fear I would drift in this life aimlessly. I need you because I love you Molly Hooper."
The tears were keeping her from seeing him clearly. She wiped her eyes and saw that beautiful man. Here she was in her father's old football shirt, her hair in a ponytail, and she was the woman to bring Sherlock Holmes to his knees.
"Say something Molly."
She realized she'd taken way too long being in her head.
"Oh, sorry." She giggled. Her giggles turned into laughter. She must have sounded like a maniac.
"Dear God I've broken you." He looked at her in puzzlement.
"No, no, I'm fine. Just come here you spaz."
She closed the gap, stood on her tippy toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and touched her lips to his. When they parted he touched his forehead to hers.
"I love you too, Sherlock."