Molly always came last for Sherlock, but it was okay, usually. She was getting pretty used to being at his beck and call, as much as it pissed her off. But she loved him, and knew she always would.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and she should be at home playing with Toby or watching some soap that only pissed her off. But no. She was in the lab, hair pulled back and a piercing headache coming on. This was not good. He was just sitting at his microscope, not uttering a word except for "Coffee Molly," or the rare biology or chemistry question. Once and a while he even complimented her on the way she looked or spoke, or at least kind of complimented her, she liked to think anyways. Those were the moments she normally liked the most. She loved feeling useful around him. But today every word that left his mouth hit her the wrong way.

"You changed your perfume." he said rather blatantly.

"Well yes." she stuttered in return.

"Why? I don't like it. It's different. Take it off." That one pissed her off. She was allowed to wear whatever perfume she wanted. Who did he think he was?

"B-but I like it Sherlock. I think it smells nice."

"No Molly. Not nice. Distracting. Take it off."

She may not have shown it on the outside, but her insides were boiling with rage. The nerve that man had made her blood boil and she was already in pain and- wait, did he say that she was distracting him? That she, Molly Hooper, was throwing Sherlock off track? God, thinking was making her headache even worse.

"I-I'm distracting you Sherlock?" she asked with a blush creeping down her cheeks. God she sounded stupid when she said that out loud. Stupid, stupid she chided herself.

"Well, no Molly. You are not a distraction. Quite the opposite actually. Your small mousy personality lowers your already low height. Your clothes are most certainly not form fitting, nor are they flattering. Your lack of make up and hair styling doesn't jump out either. Molly you are most definitely not distracting." he said matter-of-factly.

That one really stung. Her eyes were burning and the lump in her throat was getting sore. Ouch, she thought, trying to blink back tears.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

At this moment, John would tell him, Not good, Sherlock. He knew that. He noticed the tears coming to Molly Hooper's eyes.

"I'm sorry for being boring, Sherlock. I'm very, truly, bloody sorry," she said as a tear escaped her eye.

She turned and walked out of the lab, not bothering to tell him where she was going.

John had been watching an old movie one night while Sherlock absentmindedly researched pointless things on his phone. He may have only been partially watching it, but a scene in the movie had quite resembled his present scenario. A man had told a woman, whom he had assumed were the main characters, that he no longer was able to see her. The woman had rushed off but the man took off after her, catching her and embracing her. What an idiotic idea, only from the movies, he supposed. He would never do such a thing with Molly Hooper.

But could he? Her current relationship status had been clear to him. She hadn't painted her nails in over a week and her hairstyle and disposition had remained the same. No boyfriend or significant other. That didn't matter of course. As much as John tried to push it onto him, he did not feel that way towards Molly Hooper. The thought was simply ridiculous.

At this moment he was staring into space and didn't notice Molly Hooper's reappearance. She could have been there for mere seconds, or minutes, or hours, but Sherlock didn't pay attention to her until she screamed and dropped her scalpel to the floor. He then glanced over to find Molly cradling her hand, now red with blood.

In one swift movement he appeared at Molly's side, taking her hand and studying the injury. He pressed his thumb upon the cut to determine its depth. She gasped in pain and the tears began flowing once more. He looked up at her and they made eye contact. He began memorizing the changing colors in her eyes when he realized he had been staring at her for far too long.

"Go to the emergency room and you'll be fine," he said, dropping her hand and turning around.

"I'll just put a bandaid on it." she answered quietly.

"What were you looking at Sherlock?" she asked with what sounded like newfound confidence.

"I don't know what you mean," he answered courtly.

"Just then," she clarified, "you were staring at me like you do when you deduce me, but you were only looking into my eyes."

"Perhaps I was simply deducing your eyes."

"Oh, okay. Sorry," she said in a hushed voice.

"Doctor Hooper, you apologize too much."

"Sorry?" she asked, questioning what he was trying to say.

"There you go again," he muttered under his breath.

Their silence went on for an hour, but Sherlock couldn't help but think about the scene in the old movie.

"I'm sorry Molly," he finally said.

"Pardon?" she said with a tone of surprise.

"I apologized."

"Yes I know but- Sherlock, I don't understand. You never apologize."

"Well I have now, haven't I. So let's simply continue with our work.

Ten more minutes of silence continued and she finally found the right words to say to him.

"I forgive you." she said. "I mean I always do, and I always will, but I know that you don't mean to do what you do. And you don't mean to say what you say. Your brain is just hotwired differently, there's a chemical reaction that just sends your mind into overdrive. I understand Sherlock, I understand you."

The way she said it was so honest, and so loving, he couldn't help but fall under her spell momentarily. No one had ever understood him. No one had ever really cared for him. No one but Molly Hooper. He realized that now. As much as it pained him to say it, he'd be lost with out her, simply alone.

"Thank you Molly," he said stepping closer to her.

He leaned down, and as ungraceful and inexperienced as he was, the kiss they then shared was honest and true. It was short, only lasting mere seconds, but Molly had never experienced a better kiss.

"So, Doctor Hooper, what are the elements you would find in a piece of grass next to a children's swimming pool?" he said after they pulled apart, returning to his microscope.

"Chlorine, indefinitely the stronger form." she answered, unable to help the wide grin from spreading across her face.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, "Chlorine with the extra two protons, barely recognizable but clear now! The morph of the chlorine! Ah I was so blind. Molly Hooper you are a saint." He said this, grasping her by the shoulders. He then snatched up his coat and flew from the lab, his coat billowing behind him.

Before he reached the doors he stopped, looked to Molly, and said, "By the way, that perfume smells nice on you. I quite like it. Good night, Molly.

She felt warm, even though he was cold. She felt at home, even though he was lost. She felt calm, even though his mind never silenced. She felt perfect, even though he was Sherlock Holmes.