I do not own anything from Sherlock, or BBC, or the works of Sir Arthur. Thank you.
I remember the first day I saw her, it was a Tuesday afternoon and she was all alone and she didn't seem interesting and I wasn't at all drawn to her so I went on my way, but I didn't forget about the girl from beyond the glass.
When I actually met her it was a week later, she was showing me the newest body that had come in, at once everything about her spoke to me. She was single and lived alone, her mother suggested she should find a chap or get a cat at the least, she cares about her work far too much and is much to self-conscious with a lot of self-doubt, insecurities, and lack of confidence. She was also kind, warm hearted, and loving; everything I know I cannot be.
I inquired what her name was; shyly she told me it was Molly, Molly Hopper. I knew I was going to be seeing much more of Molly after that.
As the weeks pasted it became obvious to me that Molly was growing fond of me, unsure how I felt about her I did still come around. I could tolerate her and she was much brighter than other females I have had the ill pleasure to meet. However I still found her ordinary.
After working close to her for months now I never did grow tired of her alacrity to help me with whatever it was I was doing. However there was one Thursday where she dropped all my vials, and I could not have been in a worst mood. But I didn't raise my voice at her, I merely stooped down to help her clean up the mess and get it all sorted once again, even with the hours of work now gone I could effortlessly recreate it.
I asked aloud what I was supposed to do with her, I didn't think she would answer when she said I should take her to dinner. To my surprise as well as hers, I didn't object. I agreed to take her out that night at seven, when the time came and she opened her door, she was far from plain and beyond pretty. Hair let down with the missing lab coat showing off curves that made me silently grateful I had her for the night. She did the stereotypical female thing to ask me how I though she looked, in one word I told her beautiful. Blushing and with a teasing tone she told me I lie. Smiling honestly I led her out into the street, and maybe into the heart I thought I didn't have.
The days after were pleasant and many of them were filled with many more causal dates which were always followed by shy kisses, or quick pecks, but her personal favorites were the ones where I take her by surprise. I enjoyed finding new ways to make her blush when we pull away and she told me she loved when I did simple gestures like that, so I found no reason to stop tasting her lips.
When we had been a couple for months I found no reason for her to be so far away so we had moved her out of her place, she was to stay with me at 221B. She put up a good fight with how she had gotten to know everyone so well at her complex. I caught her lie though and opened her suitcase for her to pack. She huffed away and called me unreasonable, she wasn't lying that time.
She never said I love you first, and the first time she actually did, she didn't even say it, she traced it on the bare skin of my chest as we laid in bed in the dark. It was the night of our one year anniversary, she was resting her head on my shoulder and her hand over my heart, and slowly her index finger grazed my skin as she spelled out "I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U," it had sent a shiver down my back.
I asked her why she didn't say it, she told me she didn't want it to lose meaning, I let her know that I doubt it will. In the still of the night her lips parted and in a whisper she announced to me "I love you.." A smile spread over my face, I leaned in and quietly kissed her brow, as not to wake the rest of the world and ruin my moment. I pulled her in close to me, reassuring her that I loved her too.
She wasn't perfect and I was the farthest from perfect as well she knew this and yet stayed, it always made me question why, even after some of the very particularly loud rows we had. I was honest with her when she had her laps of self-neglect and low esteem. She was my support during cases where I wanted to rip out my hair. There were days we were both on the same page, very rarely did one of us skip ahead a few pages or a chapter. During one of the down days she had another episode of self-doubt; she faced me with the question on her lips and ready to be spoken.
She started with why did I chose her, even though we were nothing alike and I could do far better than a woman such as her. I felt my brow crease in sadness as I stared down at her, taking her hand I had brought it to my lips and whispered against her skin. "You may know this, you know that you matter, you are important and you matter to me and you have always been that way. You count and it has always been you." I asked what it was I had to do to prove this to her and make it known that this is what she was, slowly she bit her lip and looked away when she asked me if I could please stay with her, and promise to never leave. That thought had never crossed my mind.
The day I asked her to marry me she dropped the tray of tea she was holding, and started crying. I sprung up from on my knee and put the ring aside, I rubbed her shoulders and asked if I had done anything wrong. She shook her head and managed to speak through her tears, claiming how she never thought anyone would ever spend the rest of their life with her. I told her I would. She cried harder and said of course she'd marry me.
She demanded that I take her to Disneyland for our honeymoon, her hair was in its usual ponytail as she fiddled with the paperwork she had to take home from work, turning her head to look back at me, a giddy smile on her face. I demanded to know why, her reason was that she always wanted to go when she was a little girl but never had the chance to, so why not now when the time was right. Sure she wouldn't have mind getting out of the country and seeing some other place of the world, but she could do that any time just decided not to, and a cruse might be nice but she knows I would have gotten bored on the boat, so it had to be Disneyland.
I laughed at the thought, but agreed to it anyways, she got up out of her seat cheering and rushed over to me, forcing me into a hug and a quick lip peck, and repeatedly telling me thank you and how she wanted to go on all the rides, twice. She didn't care how long she had to wait in a line, as long as she was waiting with me.
She looked just like all the little kids with their eyes wide and smiles that went from ear to ear, she had been in the park for three hours now but every little thing still seemed to make her giggle and run around. I didn't mind, I was happy to stand back and watch her have a good time, seeing her happy and knowing I was the one who made her so, and was the reason for the bright smile and glow in her eyes was more than I could have gotten out of this day.
She didn't want to be "Cheesy" and wear the matching bride and groom mouse ears, she stated that every married couple that goes here does it and she wasn't going to be another couple among them. So she put on an Alice top hat, somehow managed to force me into a Mad Hatter top hat, she did enjoy her version more.
She spotted Winnie the Pooh, automatically running up to line of people who were waiting to get their picture with him, for the third time that hour I informed her that the batteries in the camera were dead, she replied to me that I was to use my phone to take the picture then. She wanted to have a picture with Pooh Bear.
The whole time in the line she was bouncing up and down, when we did finally reached the bear she through her arms around him and proclaimed how he was always her favorite, even as a grown women she was blushing at meeting her childhood idol. I told the bear he better not steal my wife away from me, she stuck her tongue out at me in protest.
She teased me, told me if I couldn't be a nice bloke she'd have to run away with the bear. That gave everyone a laugh, I relinquished my phone to one of the workers, promptly told him how to take a picture with it and made my way back to where she was standing, still hugging the bear. We stood on either side of "Pooh," and when the camera man was ready to take the picture she kissed what might have been the bear's cheek. It was a sweet picture; I saved it as my phone's screensaver.
We settled nicely into our new place, I didn't like to admit it but 221B was starting to become too small, she changed hospitals and worked at the one closer to our new home that was on the other side of London. Lestrade was still able to contact me for a case, but after the wedding I was getting fewer and fewer cases. Molly suggested that they just wanted to give us time, being newly married could have trouble stirred up at any time, wither it be work or not. I could not argue I had no facts to support this claim of hers.
She liked to go out to see other parts of the city, I had always thought it dull to get to know my neighbors or environment, but she made me change my ways and I would go along with her. Down the street we held hands, poking our heads into little Mum and Pop shops, she always liked to see if she couldn't find anything cute for the home. Which I knew was her way of trying to get me to get rid of my "Friend", who will forever belong on the mental above the fireplace. She was never going to get over that fact.
The dinner was burning as we had stood five feet away from each other, her body language had told me she was ready for a fight, my typical brooding stance was getting on her nerves tonight. At this point in the row we both had forgotten what had started the fight and why we decided to continue it or drag it out, when it should have died an hour ago. Her hair was messed and her eyes were hard, glaring at me to try and intimate me, even when she knew that never worked. Roughly she switched off the stove, stomped off, and maybe waited for me to follow knowing I never did and never will.
But not on this night. I had retrieved the gift I hidden in the freezer behind the lungs and I made my way up to our room, thinking I should practice what to say. Seeing her cry at the foot of the bed made me think that speaking was a bad idea at this point, I sat next to her and placed the small, poorly wrapped gift into her lap. She looked up at me with her eyes already red, she had let me lean over and wipe the tears from her eyes, she then slowly tore the corners on the box. I knew she was never one for jewelry, that's just how she was, but I knew she was one for sentiment.
When she opened the small black box and saw the little heart shaped necklace, when she gave a small gasp I knew I had done well. The sentiment part was our wedding date engraved on the back of the silver heart.
I leaned in to whisper how sorry I was, and to please stick with me. She was crying again and without a word but just her lips, she gave me the answer I needed.
I called for her when I stepped into the home; I knew she would be here by now seeing as she always got off at the same time every day. I heard her in the guest bathroom down the hall as I walked around the home. She was sitting on the floor with a white stick in her hands, a little blue line across one surface of the stick. She was crying into her knees, I made my way over to her and sat on the floor next to her and pulled her into my arms. I shushed her letting her know I was with her, and that it doesn't matter that she couldn't give me kids, I still had her.
Eighteen weeks in she truly was glowing, and her shower was coming up soon, she was so excited for it. Her mum and friends from work were coming down, even everyone from the Scotland Yard were going to be here. I had to clean the house.
At twenty-two weeks in she wanted to decorate the nursery, we did not yet know the gender of the baby. It was her idea to keep it a surprise. So we had to choose between painting the nursery yellow or green. And to her it was stupid and irrational to want to paint it both colours to save time and effort.
At around thirty weeks she wanted to eat anything and everything that had cheese in it, on it, or had been dipped in it. I was sure to stock the fridge up for her so I would have to take fewer trips to the store. We still could not decide what to name our baby. I didn't want any boring names that every other child had, and she thought naming them after scientist was weird. All name debates were being put off for the time being.
At thirty-three weeks she liked to rub her baby-bump when we'd laid down in bed for the night, she gasped and swatted for my hand, once she had my hand she placed it over a spot on her belly. She then instructed for me to wait. I felt a kick, smiling I kept my hand there all night while we slept, waiting for our baby to give me other kick.
She was thirty-eight weeks in when I woke up to her crying and clutching her lower abdomen, when I shifted in the bed and felt the wet spot beneath my knee I thought her water broke. It was too soon, when I drew the covers off her, it was blood that had soaked the sheets. She was crying in pain that something was wrong, everything hurt and she feared for the baby. I had tried my best to scoop her into my arms without hurting her or the child any more, but that didn't stop her cries.
I ran out and tried to hail a cab, I'd run to the hospital if I had to but I know by then it could all be lost. Luckily one had come without having us wait too long; I gently place her in the car and told the driver to run every red light to the hospital. When we arrived they whisked her away from me and took her to a room and told me that I had to wait and I could not follow, no matter the amount of vulgar and ill spoken thoughts I said to them, it had not changed their rules.
They told me she was having abnormal contractions. She was in premature labor. She had to have the baby; tonight. They brought me into the room with her, she was sweaty and her hair was pushed away from her face while it contorted in utter pain. I took hold of her hand and kissed every inch of her I could, I told her how brave, strong, and beautiful she was. How great she was doing, how everything was going to be alright.
The doctors were saying how there was complication and they needed to give her a C-section, they took her away from me for the second time tonight. I waited outside the room, just stood there by the door for a doctor to come out, a nurse, anybody. When someone did, they told me that our baby didn't make it, and Molly was running a high fever.
She was looking down at her hands; they were clasped over her now flat, baby less stomach. I took her face into my hands, her tears were spilling over, she was barely making a noise and she was unbelievably warm. I made our lips touch and I brushed my thumbs under eyes than took one of her hands in mine. She was tired, I told her to sleep for me. I loved her. She nodded and scooted down the bed and rolled to her side to face me, a sad weary smile on her face and she closed her eyes then slept and I followed shortly, still holding her hand.
I had put her to bed that night, now three years later she rest, six feet in the ground.
Thank you all so much for reading, I do hope you have enjoined this little story.
Have a fantastic day!