Hurt

Author: AbbyGibbs

Disclaimers: Everything belongs to the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat Mark Gatiss.

Pairing: Sherlock/Molly. Sort of, I think

Rating: T (+13 to as always to be on the safe side, isn't it?)

Spoilers: None

Summary: Molly is desperate, she loves him so much that it hurts. It hurts so much that he does what he does without even thinking.

Author's note: I'm a newbie here, and I feel, like I'm about to jump of a cliff here. But I love the show and I felt I had to try and write something about it, I would like to apologize in advance if anyone has already though of this idea for a story, but on the hand, nobody writes the same way, right? Anyway, I just hope from the bottom of my heart that this won't be too bad. And hope you'll read it and enjoy it, at least, a little bit.

Thank you to Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and all them member of the cast and crew for making "Sherlock" such a delight to watch.

And lastly, I would like to say a big thank you to MrsMCrieff without whom, I probably never would have written this.

Feedbacks: well, I'd love them, of course – who wouldn't? But please, only if you respect my work because it takes a lot of time and energy to get a story together. I love writing; I wouldn't allow anyone to discourage me from doing so, never. I don't have any problems at all with readers who choose not to go for this, but I decidedly do with those who write disrespectful mails just because they didn't get the ending they would have wanted. If you want to tell me what I might have done better within the story I made up, you're always very welcome to let me know. But if your only concern is to rant about it, then please, do it in private, okay? Thank you.

Chapter 1

Molly was slowly waking up, she felt horrible, she'd had only a short night sleep. She couldn't help but think of him, yet again. It was like she couldn't do otherwise, for some dumb reason, though he didn't deserve it. He was so, selfish and self-centered most of the time, obnoxious, arrogant… but the thing was, he was so much more, he had a brilliant mind, wonderful detecting skills, he could be nice when he wanted; the last one didn't happen very often, unfortunately, but it did happen. Sherlock Holmes was also a very tall and elegant man, a real pleasure to look at.

If only… if only, he could see her, the way she saw him.

Loving someone who doesn't love you back is like sitting on an emotional rollercoaster. One moment, you're happy because he smiles at you and the next, you're crying your eyes out because he ignores you on purpose and when he finally deigns to talk to you, he's rude. Molly knew she should be used to it by now and, in a way she was, but she still felt a pang of hurt each time. He often acted with her as if she was just an instrument that stood there; that he could use whenever it pleased him. For god's sake, he treated his violin with more care.

She knew she had to get up, she needed to get ready for work, but for some reason, she wasn't looking forward to it. Well actually she knew why… Sherlock would probably breeze in as if he owned the place, like he always did and he would expect her to do whatever was needed for him. Maybe to carry out one of his experiments that would, in the end, allow him to solve a case. Well today, Molly decided, she wouldn't help him.

She pushed the covers off her legs and got out of bed. The first thing she did was feed her cat, Toby, before heading to the bathroom to take a well needed morning shower. She hoped it would help her clear her head of thoughts of Sherlock, then she would make herself a nice cup of tea before heading to Bart's. Well, the shower only served her to clean her but didn't do anything to help her to get rid of her thoughts about the only Consulting Detective in England.

Molly fished for a towel, and wrapped herself in it. She then took a second one, and dried her hair roughly. Using the hair dryer would have to wait, right now she desperately needed a cup of tea. As she made her way to the kitchen she wondered briefly what this new day would bring her. What kind of people would end up on her autopsy table? As she put on her kettle. and as she waited for the water to boil she walked toward the only window that gave light into her small living-room.

Great, it was raining. Oh well, it's a perfect match for the way I feel. Molly thought to herself. The clouds seemed to have settled right above the city, it added an aura of mystery to it, and she found herself loving it.

She sighed heavily and turned her attention back to the kettle, and saw that the water was boiling. A few moments later and Molly was holding the tea cup in both hands, enjoying the warmth it provided her. In times like these, she felt a bit of an ugly duckling. Not that she really had any problem finding someone to be with; she wasn't exactly a virgin after all, but she hadn't really made love with any of them… no, she'd had sex with them. Love never came into the equation. It was impossible for love to be a part of the equation because there was only one man she would ever love. No matter how hard she tried to deny it to herself, or to anyone else that man's name was Sherlock Holmes. The problem though was that that love was a one-way street.

And yet, her heart didn't seem to want to give up. No matter what she did or said to try and convince herself that she should move on, her heart didn't want to hear it. It only seemed to beat for the man who played his violin from time to time and lived in 221B Baker Street.

What was there left to do? She couldn't avoid him for the rest of her life, could she? Molly had toyed with the idea of leaving, but she couldn't afford it, and anyway she didn't want to. She wasn't the kind to run away from her problems, she never had and certainly wasn't about to start now.

Maybe if she tried to confront him; he might brush her off or even reject her, maybe find her ridiculous even, though Molly Hooper wasn't sure she would be able to endure that, but on the other hand she couldn't stay like this. It wasn't healthy. As she gave it some more thought, she decided, that confrontation would be the best way. After all, she had already slapped him across the face more than once. A smile found its way to her lips at the thought.

She had a feeling that the hard way would be the best way for her to approach Sherlock. That way he might understand something. The truth was she loved him too much and for her own sake she had to do something,

And as much as she wanted to, Molly realized she couldn't give up on him, because if she did, it would feel like she would be giving up on herself as well; giving up on them, and that was something she wasn't ready to do, not just yet.

Molly brought her cup of tea to her lips, surprised to find it was empty. When had she drunk it? She wondered briefly.

She placed the empty mug on the table and her head fill with thoughts on how she would confront Sherlock. Finally, she rushed into the bathroom to dry her hair as she realized with horror how late it already was. If she didn't get a move on she would miss her train and be late for work.