This has already been posted on Tumblr (not onionna), but I'd like to get some feedback here just the same. This story is complete, and inspired by the song "My Medea" by Vienna Teng. I don't particularly care for very many of the "Sherlock finds his heart and falls in love for forever with so and so!" fics because I think he is a bit too distant with people for that to ever happen. I think that if it did happen it would happen completely on his own terms and at his own pace.

This story will be organized by "Cases" which are stand-ins for the extended chapter titles, taken directly from the lyrics of "My Medea." Another thing, just because I have "finished" this story doesn't mean I'm not open to changing things a bit if you point something out, so please do if you wish. The cases will range in length greatly, too, so don't get comfortable in thinking you've got this story mapped out (unless you read it on tumblr and then shame on you for reading it twice and not saying a thing about it! No, not really, I love you to pieces for reading it twice :) ). Also, this is Sherlolly. Because that is my Sherlock OTP.

Well, without further ado,

Enjoy!


Inside the labyrinth walls there lies a tiny child who sleeps alone.

Sherlock liked this hospital. You would never get him to admit it, he claimed he had no room for something as useless as liking something, but he did. He liked the location—close to the flat he'd been living in for the last five years, doing Mycroft's bidding occasionally to assure his rent was paid—and he liked the look of it. He liked the people, and the way the hallways were shaped. It was a modern hospital, fully modern, and he liked it.

He especially liked that their chief pathologist was a timid young woman by the name of Molly Hooper, and that her personal lab was only a floor up from the mortuary. He liked that she was single when he met her and he liked that she let him assassinate the characters of the men she tried to attach herself to. He liked that she let him, even though she was strong enough to see just what he was doing. Sherlock did not kid himself that his vapid, half-pleasant observations would have gotten anywhere with any other woman. Molly Hooper was a rarity for him, and rarities always pleased Sherlock Holmes. He liked them too.


Review?