I AM SHER-LOCKED

He is beautiful but he doesn't quite get that. He is way too focused in his inner thoughts and does not pay too much attention to anything or anyone. Well, except John, maybe. I, for sure, am completely invisible to him.

Sometimes I sulk in the chemistry lab with Mummy and I cry for hours. I am not pretty – I absolutely get it. The other girls have beautiful eyes and smiles and bodies, wear make-up and expensive clothes. My favourite thing is doing experiments in the lab. And I have this inexplicable interest in dead people. Initially, Mummy was very frightened by my addiction but soon realised that I was one of those people who would inspect dead bodies... path-... patho-... Oh, yes, pathologists. Yes, I would be one of them.

This is not what the girls my age wished for. They are playing with Barbie and Ken – marry and divorce them, making them fall in love over and over again. He, however, does not pay attention to them either. There is only one girl who interested him. The girl.

Irene is extremely, extremely beautiful. Every girl wants to be just like her. She is very bold and awfully clever – the principal once told us that her late mother was just like her in her childhood. She is a bit extravagant – once she came to school in her pyjamas. When she got a detention, she just smiled sarcastically and promised that on Thursday she'd come naked. It is Thursday today.

Why Thursday? Well... This Thursday is the school's fest – everyone should come dressed as they wish. I mean, this year's theme is 'Whom I would like to be when I grow up?' So, I took my mother's white overall and the laboratory equipment – goggles, tubes, flasks, etc – and came to school. It is a clever theme, to be honest. I think it was John who suggested it. It is always John.

That's when I met him – he was kneeling down and was looking attentively at something on the ground, at school's yard.

'Sher-...'

'Shut. Up!'

Yes, of course. He would always backfire me and tell me to get away. So, it's what I would do now as well – I will go away. Fade away. I have never existed.

'Molly!'

Well, this was... unexpected. What would he want me for?

'I need a flask.'

He stretches his right hand, without even looking at me. Now I happen to catch a glimpse at what he is looking at – there is a dead bird in front of him. Suddenly, I get too enthusiastic but I am trying to suppress my excitement down my throat. I hand him one of my flasks and try to walk away. But... I would like to do something; to say something, at least.

'Sherlock, I was wondering... Would you like to have a juice or something... Or...'

'Yes, how kind of you!' Sherlock is trying to fake a smile, as I can see. Yes, it worked! I can't believe that! 'In my favourite glass – an apple one. I would be waiting for you here. Thanks.'

Oh, dear me! What did I even expect?

Mummy has always been telling me that I am way too clever for a 7-year-old girl. This is why, most probably, Irene has tried several times to befriend me. But how can I be friends with a girl like her?

'Molly!'

I turn around. Perfect timing. Irene.

'Molly, I need a favour.'

Strange. An apple juice, maybe?

'I am getting Sherlock an apple juice. Want one?'

'No, no,' she shakes her head, 'I prefer the black currant one. Doesn't matter. I want to talk to you.'

Even odder. We enter one of the classrooms. She is a bit mysterious, I can say.

'Molly, this is my diary and it is extremely important – it has some secrets about the teachers, even about the principal.'

'What kind of secrets?'

'Naughty ones,' she smirks. I don't get the word. Is this...

'How can I help you, Irene?'

'Hide it. I am afraid Sherlock's brother once saw it and he is going to tell Sherlock. The teachers know about its existence and want to get rid of it because otherwise it would ruin their reputation. So, if Sherlock understands there is such a thing, he would find it and I would be ruined.'

'Ok but why do you have such a thing at all?'

Irene gets even more mysterious than before, if that's possible. She chuckles nervously.

'Because I am a bad student – you know that, right?'

I nod.

'They would expel me if I don't have something against them.'

She does not have good grades at all. This is not because she is not clever – just the opposite. She is not lazy either. But she has all these thoughts aside school that keep engaging her mind. I still don't understand how on Earth I could help her.

'So?'

'So, hide it somewhere. Sherlock would never get to you.'

'Why not?'

'Cause he trusts you.'

This is not totally right, to be honest. I doubt that.

I take Sherlock's favourite glass with the apple juice. Irene hands me the dark purple diary of hers but I refuse to take it. She then slips it into my pocket. I swallow hard. I am not an 'adventure type'. What would happen if the principal and the teachers find the diary with me? But most importantly – what would happen if Sherlock sees it in my pocket? I should do something.

I take out the diary and look at it. Oh, Irene is clever. This is not a simple diary – it is an electronic one. I open it, first making sure no one could see me. It has a password. She is clever, indeed.

'Molly, what's this you are looking at?'

I am trying to hide it back into my pocket but this is Sherlock – it's useless.

'Well... This...'

My hands are shaking while I hand the electronic diary to him. He grabs it, and then grabs the juice.

'Hers?'

This is a habit of Sherlock's – he never uses her name. He calls her The girl, she, her but never ever calls her by name. I wonder why.

I nod in response. God knows what Irene would do to me once finding out what happened.

He opens it with delight – he has probably heard from Mycroft and the teachers about the compromising information in the small electronic thing. The beep signified it is locked and needs a password to be entered. An easy-peasy for Sherlock, I guess.

He smiles nervously and drains his glass, then hands it back to me. I am still a bit frightened.

'Did she mention something?'

'Well, only that... It has some 'naughty' things about the teachers and the principal...'

He nods and clicks his tongue.

'Yes, Mycroft has mentioned about that; the principal too. But she is clever – she has put a password.'

He turns the screen I know so well at me: I am **** locked it shows. I thought Sherlock would have already guessed the code.

He thinks a bit, then smirks and presses the buttons. The diary beeps. Wrong code.

'What did you enter?'

'I have seen the number 1895 several times on her clothes and bags. Guessed this would be the code. Wrong. Can't be.'

I am trying to think. His blue eyes are sliding through the small screen. He pouts.

'What could it be?'

'If you don't know, who will, Sherlock?' I am trying to smile but he doesn't respond, 'Well, what does she like? What does she want? What does she-...'

'Right!' he presses the buttons again. Beep. Wrong. This is Sherlock Holmes, for God's sake! He can't be wrong! What's going on?

'What happened?'

'As if you didn't hear!' he's so nervous that he starts walking in circles around me, 'The first time I met her, it was on 221B Baker Street. She was so fascinated by this meeting of ours that she told me she would always remember this number and this address.'

Irene liked him too – it was more than obvious now. I sigh.

'Well... Ask her...'

'About what? About the password?'

'Well...'

'Molly, no one is asking for your opinion!'

I swallow. He doesn't even get it how hurtful he can be. I cry out.

'You always say those horrible things, Sherlock. Always,' he looks a bit surprised, 'I am trying to help here. Try with 1095 – it was the password she enters in her phone.'

'I-... I am sorry, Molly Hooper,' he comes near me, fakes a smile and leans forward. What is going on? Places a light kiss on my cheek. I swear – I am blushing now, 'Forgive me.'

I nod and swallow once again.

'Go on. 1-0-9-5.'

He enters the password. Beep. Wrong.

He leans back in order to throw the electronic diary but I catch his hand at the very last minute. God knows what would happen if he destroys it.

We hear an applause at the other end of the corridor.

'Oh, Molly... And I trusted you... Bad girl. Seems like your feelings for Sherlock are more valuable and precious to you than our friendship.'

'I... don't understand...'

'Oh, the poor and innocent Molly. And the strong and powerful Sherlock. What a lovely couple! Pity John is involved in it too. Isn't that so, Sherlock?'

'What's the password?'

'And you think I would say it just like this?'

'I will make you. Mycroft will make you.'

She laughs.

'Ah, yes, Mycroft. Well, he should. I have some compromising photographs and information about him as well. Bad, bad. Very bad. Surprising stuff.'

I see Sherlock is deliberating. Then he smiles a bit, slightly winking at me. He got it. I am sure he got it.

'There is a reason for you to give the electronic diary to Molly, isn't it?'

'She was my friend.'

'And I think this was your huge mistake. Or not? Was it a hint, Irene? Giving it to Molly, knowing her 'feelings for me'? Huh?'

I am trying to interrupt him but he is getting somewhere and I am anxious to know where exactly. Irene shivers a bit. I can notice she is uneasy.

'Very, very close but no. You got carried away. The game was too... how do the adults say it... too elaborate; you were enjoying yourself too much. Oh, enjoying the... thrill of the chase is fine; craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely... but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.'

'Sentiment? What are you talking about?'

Sherlock makes a step towards her, with the most serious look those light-blue eyes are ever capable of.

'You.'

I have to admit – I don't quite follow the dialogue.

'Oh, dear God! Look at the poor boy! You don't actually think I was interested in you, do you? Why? Because you are the great Sherlock Holmes, disguised today as a clever detective in a funny hat?'

It is true – for today's fest, Sherlock is wearing a crazy deerstalker: a gift from Greg Sally and Anderson, I think.

'No. Because I took your pulse.'

I don't know what he is talking ab-... Oh, wait! I do! Irene told me once that Sherlock was interested in her and I jealously asked her how she knew. She told me that once she leaned towards him to kiss him (though, unsuccessfully) and touched his hand. He then touched hers. That might be it, I guess.

'Elevated. Your pupils dilated.'

This is right – every time Irene is highly interested in something or someone, her pupils dilate.

'I imagine John thinks love's a mystery to me but Mrs Watson once told me that the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive. When we first met – Irene, do you remember?, it was at school's fest last year – you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait – how true of you: look at me, look at Molly. The combination to your locker – your mother's Christian Dior measurements... but this... this is far more intimate – this is your heart and you should never let it rule your head.'

I like when Sherlock talks this way – makes me admire him even more. Complicated and intriguing.

'You could have chosen any random number and walked out today with everything you've worked for... but you just couldn't resist it, could you? Hiding behind Molly and making your guilt seem smaller – a genius thought, Ms Adler, a genius but unsuccessful thought. I've always assumed love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.'

Love? What is he talking about?

'Everything I said,' Irene's voice is broken and shallow, 'It's not real. I was just playing a small game.'

'I know,' Sherlock starts confidently pressing the buttons. All three of us knew – if he is about to get it wrong, the diary would block itself never to be opened again, 'And this is just losing.'

He presses the last button.

'Molly, call the principal.'

I run as fast as I can. When we get back, Sherlock and Irene are still facing each other. He is showing her the diary's screen and she is crying.

The principal ruffles Sherlock's head and takes the electronic diary. He seems pleased. Sherlock did it this time too.

'Irene Adler. In my office. Now.'

Sniffling, Irene walks down the corridor, in front of the principal. Sherlock looks at me and I smile.

'Thank you, Molly Hooper.'

'For what?'

'For the help.'

'I didn't do anything.'

He takes my diary out of his pocket. I gasp.

'I like your front page, though,' he smiles and I blush. He hands it back, 'Thank God, Irene likes it too.'

'Wait! This was the password?'

I open my diary and point the front page at him. In a moment of lightening, I have scribbled down a clever thought. I did not have the money for an electronic diary but I saw those had passwords. So I made myself a fake one – written down at the front page of my diary. I am Sher-locked it said.

'You are wrong, you know?'

'Sorry?'

'You've always counted and I've always trusted you,' he stretches his hand, 'Come. We've got a dead bird to dissect. You are a pathologist after all, aren't you?'