Lifting Weights
Molly was exhausted, she had spent so many nights recently tossing and turning, her thoughts filled with one person only. Sherlock Holmes. She had to tell him how she felt, she loved him so much to keep it buried inside any more would just be torture. There was no other way to achieve peace of mind.
As she dressed that day for work she thought of how she would tell him. He was THE Sherlock Holmes, how did one say anything to that man? The thought worried her. She had never been the most social person. She was awkward and had no idea how to talk to men let alone him.
She dressed nicely that day, classic beige trousers, a lot cut white scoop top and heels. Black leather heels. She put make up on, not that it would make any difference. However she felt powerful as she walked out of her flat. She felt like she could achieve anything that day. No longer would she let Sherlock Holmes flirt his way into her lab. He was going to know how she felt and he would be put in his place.
The day was a drab typical English day. Rain sheeting down, the only thing protecting was her hood.
Whilst most of the people she passed looked miserable at the prospect of another mundane day in the office Molly was positively glowing. Never in her life had she felt so in control. She was always letting men use her for their own personal gain. Moriarty for one. He had never cared for her, only used her to get to Sherlock. That had hurt. The day she found out who he really was. She just wanted a man to want her for her. Molly knew that Sherlock didn't care for, only her lab but once she had told him how she felt then that would change. The weight would be lifted and she could start laying down the law.
Molly strode in to St. Bart's a confident look clouding her features. She walked into her lab shrugging her coat of and switching it for her white lab coat. As sure as day he was sat there.
He was sat there looking as devastatingly handsome as he usually did focused on the task in front of him.
"Sherlock," she said. It was not a question but a statement, a recognition that he was there.
"Molly," he mumbled in response.
"Get out," she ordered. He looked up shocked.
"What?" He asked in astonishment.
"I said get out," she repeated speaking every word slowly and deliberately.
"What did I do?"
"You cant work here any more Sherlock. I love you and to have you here every single day reminding me of what I will never have is too painful so please, get out," she explained.
He slowly climbed out of his seat, shrugged his coat on and made to leave. He didn't leave though. He stopped just short of the door and turned to face Molly.
"Why cant you have me?" he asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" She practically shrieked.
"Not to me."
"You don't care for me. I don't count." He shook his head in understanding.
"You're wrong though," he told her gently.
"What?"
"You're wrong you have always counted. You will always count. I do care for you, more than I have wanted to admit."
She looked at him in absolute confusion. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes care for her? Care for silly, awkward Molly Hooper? It simply wasn't possible.
It was while in this reverie Sherlock crossed the room to her. He took her in, enveloping her in his arms. He pressed his red, perfect lips to her small mouth. She let out a sigh of delight.
"Molly I don't know if I am capable of love, but please give me a chance?" he pleased breaking the soft, perfect kiss.
"Always," she breathed pressing her lips to his once more.
A/N
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