A/N: For Jade, who just joined the Sherlock fandom, like me. Have some Sherlolly. :) Sorry for shittiness. I have no idea what I was writing. Bear in mind that this is a one shot, so uncheck the story alert box under the review section.
Disclaimer: I totally own Sherlock. Along with all the whales and potatoes and waffles and bananas in the world. (I wish.)
molly.
He is Sherlock Holmes, with his high cheekbones, long pale fingers, his coat collar turned up and the same scarf around his neck. He is mesmerizing yet potentially dangerous, he is insensitive, and he has never really cared for anyone, not really. He is cold and harsh and he thinks that love is a dangerous disadvantage.
She is Irene Adler, with a figure to die for, wide playful eyes, a grin dancing on her lips, and black locks of hair that cascades down her shoulders in waves. She is gorgeous and amazing and she's absolutely brilliant, her intellect, her spider's web spun with deceptions and lies. And she is the only woman to ever come so close to Sherlock's level.
You are nothing like either of them; you are simple and innocent. You may deal with dead bodies daily but inside you're still unstable and an emotional wreck. You don't solve criminal cases or get involved in kidnapping and you're most certainly not the type to go running around with Sherlock on his crazy adventures.
You are insignificant and you don't count, but that's all right.
You meet someone you're sure hasn't dawdled in the tangled line of criminal organization (Jim from IT, or so he said.) He's caring, he's nice, he's someone who doesn't make snide comments about you, someone better matched for you.
You get over Sherlock with his sea-green eyes, the way you get butterflies in your stomach when he's around you, the way your breath catches when he stares at you.
You can be selfless and sacrifice everything for him but eventually it will come down to nothing.
Because in the end, if you tell him you love him, he will never say it back.
sherlock.
She walks in when you're halfway observing a sample under the microscope. You catch her staring from across the room but you don't return her smile.
You are aware of her feelings, of course. You are aware of the way she stares at you when she thinks you're not looking, her dilated pupils, nervous hands. The tiniest details about her forming a larger picture.
You don't take much notice when she does that, walk over and try to talk to you.
She approaches you.
You don't mean to do it, but your cutting icy darkness makes the glow fade from her.
She turns away in tears - she's such a sentimental, fragile being - and promises to stop clinging to you.
You don't take much notice of her, but when she's gone the difference is infinite.
Secretly, you observe her, watching her sunny personality brighten up another person's day, and you suddenly remember how it used to be you in the centre of her light, how you've missed it, missed its warmth. She's keeping her distance and you suddenly realize you don't like this game very much anymore and you want it to stop, just stop.
She still talks to you, tries to act normally around you, and it's obvious she still loves you even though she's trying to move on.
You miss her too, but you don't tell her that.
So later, when she's finally found a better man, someone who makes her eyes shine and her cheeks flush, it's your turn to keep your distance.
It's not that she's not worthy of you.
It's that she deserves better.
A/N: I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a review. Thanks!