Christmas Confessions
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock :( I own a pretty fucking awesome poster of him above my bed, though...
Alone on Christmas yet again. I hate all of this. I just want to be happy. Sometimes I wonder if people would try to spend time with me if they knew, but they probably would just push me away.
I'm Molly Hooper and I have depression. At least, that is how I mentally introduce myself. I'm too ashamed to tell anyone. Even Sherlock doesn't know (See! I told you I don't count!).
This Christmas has been truly foul. I'm working and having another one of my bad days. I can't control this, no matter how many times I tell myself that "yes, of course I can!" on my good days. I'm so bloody out of control that it makes me wonder if this is what Sherlock feels like when he is bored. There is nothing I can do to fix myself. I've tried medication, I've tried therapy, and I've even tried talking to a friend. Needless to say, I haven't talked to him in some time.
Suddenly, as if out of thin air, my favorite whirlwind is here. "Molly, I would very much like-"
"Sorry, Sherlock. No body parts today, I'm afraid. I know it's Christmas and that's why I'll give you plenty of access tomorrow, but not today. Today I just...I don't bloody know what I'm rambling on about." I let out a sigh, rubbing my eyes.
He looks concerned and I suddenly feel even worse. Is today the day my secret is a secret no longer? God, I hope not. "Are you alright, Molly?" I shake my head, feeling tears leak into my hands. Oh, dear Lord! Don't let this happen in front of him! This is quite possibly, the only person on earth, that has absolutely no idea what depression feels like. "Yes, I can see that now."
"I need you to leave, Sherlock. Please." I notice my hair has curtained my face, only when it is being moved.
"You are crying."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"I can't leave when you are crying."
"You damn well can! I've cried before and I will cry again. They both have something in common. You aren't there. Please go now."
"Why are you crying? Did I do something?"
I laugh (slightly hysterically) at that. "No, this is... nothing. It's just a bad day."
"If you don't tell me what is wrong then I will deduce it." My eyes widen. He has never deduced me other than just a quick once over to make sure I'm not violent or something when we first met.
"You have never deduced me. Don't start now, Sherlock."
"I'm... worried about you?"
"Yes, I can see that. I'll be fine. This happens all the time." I realize my mistake once it's out of my mouth. Suddenly, his cold stare and deducing gaze is solely on me. I've never hated it so much in my life.
"You never said anything to me."
"No, it's not something I can really just tell people, is it? Hello, I'm Molly Hooper! I work in a morgue, umm lesse... I have a cat, depression, and mmm, oh yes! I work with dead people! Where's the closest insane asylum?" I'm frantic and not making any sense, but I really don't care. He needs to know. Know that I'm depressed; not crazy.
"You're not insane. You're just sad."
"What do you know about this?" He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "That's right! You know nothing. You don't know how many times I've wondered if anyone would notice if I just ended it all or, or how many sleepless nights I've had because this stupid voice inside of me is telling me that I'm worthless and before you say anything, the voice is my own because I haven't reached that level of crazy yet!" When my rant finally comes to an end, I'm breathing heavily and Sherlock is openly gaping.
"I didn't say you needed to tell strangers, Molly! Dammit, I said you should've told me!"
"Why should I?!"
He slams his hands down on my desk. "Because I fucking love you, you idiot!" He grabs my face and proceeds to snog me senseless. I'm kissing back with just as much intensity when he pulls away and looks into my eyes. It makes me want to cry.
"I'm sorry... I-I won't be good for you, Sherlock. I have good and bad days and-and the bad days get really bad. I'm on anti-depressants right now and they're not working. I don't know what to do." I begin to sob when he brings me close to him. I'm crying into his lovely coat and soiling his shirt. I feel so horrible. Worse than usual, anyway.
"I won't pretend to understand, but I will be there for you. There is no one better than I that will be able to determine your moods so quickly. I'll know what to do and when."
"You didn't even know I had this until five minutes ago."
"That doesn't matter. I know now and I will never be able to forget." He kisses the top of my head.
"God, Sherlock, I'm so scared. Since I was a girl, I've always just had these bad days. Everything will be going great besides me. I don't want to put you through this. Through me." He pulls away and looks at me. Doesn't say anything, just looks at me.
"I want nothing more than to be put through you. I came here to invite you to Baker Street for Christmas (I talked to Mike and got you off) when you assumed that I was asking for body parts. I wanted to talk to you today."
I stare blankly at him. "Oh."
He kisses me again. "Yes... Oh." He grins before kissing me again. Well, more or less snogging me.
Well, maybe I have depression. Maybe some days Sherlock has to force me out of bed. Maybe there are a few suicide scares, but ultimately Sherlock reads me so well that he knows what to do and when to do it. Things are by no means perfect, but I love him. I love him so deeply and I think he just might love me too. Cue the creepy, mysterious smile that means I know he obviously loves me.
This isn't some stupid fairytale where I finally find my true love and the depression goes away. That's not how it works. But... There are so many happy moments in between the bad days.
END
A/N
Before anyone reviews saying how this is not how depression is, I would just like to say it's often very different for everyone. I struggle with this fucking disease every fucking day. It is frustrating and demanding. It screws with my school work and my friendships. My family and my every day life. I am never in control of it, but writing these help. This story is basically me on a bad day, but I don't have a hot guy like Sherlock to pick up the pieces. Just gotta depend on myself then. I can do that. Anyway, I did not mean to go into such a long rant, but I thought it was important for you guys to know the story before you reviewed. Well, you clearly don't have to review, but it makes me happy :) No pressure though ^_^