Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters, yet.
I stumbled through all the daily motions of life, not really seeing or feeling anything. It wasn't the hardest thing I had ever done because I was a rather good actress. Years of having to act like I was okay had made me good at pretending. That all changed when I was near Sherlock, though.
"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before," Sherlock had interrupted me in the middle of my clumsy attempt to ask him out.
" I, uh, I refreshed it a bit," was my stupid response.
Just the memory of that incident pains me. I could see in his eyes the indifference he felt towards me. It was almost like I could hear his thoughts, "Little Mousy Molly still thinks she can get my attention", complete with a very Sherlock sigh. The worst part was that, even after that, I still didn't have the strength to get over him and move on with my life. I still clung to the hope that we could at least be friends.
If someone saw how I acted around Sherlock, they would think that I was just a shy woman with a schoolgirl crush. In fact, some of my best friends still thought it was just a little crush that I should just get past. But it wasn't a crush, it was so much more than that.
A schoolgirl crush would require me to fawn over him all the time, which I most definitely did not do. It may not seem very believable, but it was the absolute truth. I was a strong woman who had a lot more on her plate than just some sociopathic man-child. I had work, studies, a social life, and my family to deal with. Although, that last one didn't apply much anymore, considering that most of my family was dead by now.
'Molls, you've got to stay cheery.' I told myself, seeing as no one else had much comfort to give me.
'Oh, goody. Now, I am being bitter.' Ugh, life was just too difficult nowadays. Everything was being piled on top of me, slowly suffocating me. Soon, all that would be left of me would be a pile of crushed bones. Okay, I really need to see a therapist. It was pretty obvious that I'd taken some crazy pills recently. I mean, how else could you explain my odd behavior?
'Well, it is most likely a direct result of your rather atrocious eating habits as seen by your loss of weight, coupled with your tendency to go out of your way to comfort others causing you to lose valuable sleep.' Sherlock's voice chimed through my head.
Yep, definitely going crazy. So, time to get a therapist then. It was pretty likely that the hospital would pay for one to go along with my other health bills, but then Stamford would find out. He would get pretty worried about me. Hm, so is it worth it? 'Nah.'
Okay, let's get back to the topic on hand. No, I do not have a schoolgirl crush, or any other type of crush, on Sherlock. In fact, my feelings for him were stronger than just a simple crush. It was, and yes, this is kind of cheesy; a complete love for everything he does. And 'everything' does include his manipulative tendencies.
At the end of the day, loving Sherlock was tiring, painful, and pretty much useless, but I couldn't just stop myself from doing it. He wasn't perfect, or kind, or even considerate about my feelings, but he made me feel alive. When he burst into the morgue, I felt as if I wasn't just "that mousy pathologist" anymore. I became Molly Hooper, Sherlock's pathologist and his friend.
So yes, loving him came with too many burdens to count. It caused me to have to wake up early just to put on makeup, in case he came to the morgue. It made me stay up late, looking in the mirror at all the flaws he saw when he looked at me. Loving him made me spend every night curled up in a ball, crying. It turned me into a nervous wreck when he walked, or rather burst, into the morgue, but it was so worth it. The feeling of life that sparked in my stomach when I caught sight of his mop of black hair made all the pain worth it.
Yet, maybe I would have been better off not knowing him. Because now all those burdens I had felt ever since falling in love with him seemed like feathers compared to what I was feeling. Now I had to see things that made me long for the biting words Sherlock used to give me. My days became full of grieving people, extraordinary people, who did not deserve this pain.
A landlady who had lost her son would come to comfort me, yet we would end up crying in each others arms.
A detective inspector who felt the weight of the world on his shoulders would catch my eye during an autopsy, forcing me to see the worlds of pain in his eyes.
The British government, sitting in his car, telling me that everything was going as planned. Yet the fear he felt was easy to see, fear for his little brother.
And the most depressing of all, a soldier who was broken beyond repair. A strong man, who was once again drowning in grief caused by the most brutal loss he had ever felt.
All these people, and many more, were upset, because of me. I know it is all my fault. Every tear that fell from their eyes, all the pain they felt, and all the suffering that is yet to come, is all my fault. 'Little Mousy Molly' had decided to play with the devil, and this was the result. All these wonderful people, shattered beyond belief. It was all because of one fall.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading my story. This is my first fanfic in the Sherkock fandom and I hope that you enjoyed it. Please review because I would like to know what you thought of it!
I would like to thank MorbidbyDefault for all her help on this story. I couldn't have done it without her.