AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this, the reviewers and the people that favourited this first fic. Love ya!
Forgiven
Molly stood in the morgue once again; the body of Sherlock Holmes lain down in front of her. How could she lie to everyone about his death if she couldn't even handle looking at his fake body? She would lie to Greg, Anderson, even to herself. But worst of all, she would be lying to John. That was something she didn't want to see. He broke down outside the hospital, and it would only get worse. Two years was what Sherlock had said to her, two years of watching a grown man live without his best friend, two years of living a lie. She could have said no, and yet she didn't. Molly Hooper would do anything for that man, the one person who'd never let her deny him. She had done so many favours for him. Why? Because you, she thought, always loved him. You need a backbone.
She felt the back of her head burning as if someone was staring at her. She knew who it was just by hearing nothing. It was the man in front of her, and the man behind her in the doorway.
"Thank you, Molly," he said, grimly. "I will never be able to repay you for this."
She turned around to look at the dark-haired man in the long coat. "Yes you can!" she snapped. "I have done everything for you, out of the good of my own heart, and now you're expecting me to lie to your best friend!" She threw a nearby test tube just to the right of his head and continued: "I am not shallow, Sherlock! I know you think I'm boring, but believe me, I am not who you think I am. I am not the simple Molly Hooper you expect me to be, not the sweet little smart girl who lets everyone just walk over her, especially you! I chose Tom to make you jealous. I dressed up last Christmas because it might make you notice me. But no! I am still only an ornament to you; an extra. You even thought I loved you! You were wrong, Sherlock. I never loved you. I can't love anyone. I have even less of a heart than you do; and the last thing you asked of me only proves it."
The hurt in Sherlock's eyes was obvious to anyone, as was the sadness in his voice. "Molly, you don't-"
"No Sherlock," she replied, "I do understand. You're the one everyone falls for; pale skin, dark hair, eyes that seem to change colour. That's what you want: the attention you never got when you were a boy. Not only am I a good actress, but a smart one, too."
"Molly, I love you. I always have and I always will," said the detective, stopping the woman in her tracks. She looked confused, so he continued. "I've wanted to say that for so long," he walked forwards and hugged her.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, whispering. "I am so, so sorry. Please, just, just forgive me. Please, Sherlock."
"You are forgiven. You will always be forgiven."