A/N: This is my first Sherlock Fanfiction! It's about Molly because I love Molly 3 Hope you like, please review, and there will probably be more chapters to come. Maybe.

For Molly, everything about him was an enigma. From the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones to the way he'd turn up his collar to the wind and cold London had to offer. He was an enigma that Molly wished to unravel, a great denouement in her life which her numb, raw fingers could not possibly pick undone; but Molly Hooper could do nothing but keep trying.

Molly smiled sadly against the cool metal handle of her umbrella, which she spun idly around and around, her fingers transforming it into a beautiful pink merry-go-round. It reminded her of the fair she'd been to once or twice- the candy floss and the colours, lights, and laughter- even through the drab and melancholy atmosphere of rain pouring down in large sheets. The pounding of rain on umbrella served as a drumbeat as Molly hummed a little tune, thinking to herself.

A black vehicle sliced through the puddles of rain, and Molly extended an arm and waved, calling for it though her attempts were rendered futile thanks to the thundering rain. Her intent was understood, however, and the car slowed and pulled up by her side. Shaking and closing her umbrella, Molly pulled open the door of the car and ducked inside.

"Hey, Jim." She said warmly, a hint or weariness creeping into her voice. "Thanks for the ride."

"Raining like mad out there, isn't it?" Jim gave a small laugh. "That's London for you, I suppose." His voice was oddly musical, yet discordant. Molly didn't completely dislike it; it made a change from the low, emotionless monotone she was so used to from him. Sherlock. "You alright, Molly? You're very.. quiet."

"Yeah- I mean no, nothing. It's nothing! Just thinking!" Molly stammered, turning red. Jim had this way of reducing her to this, to this vulnerable and exposed child. It wasn't his fault, Molly told herself, palms curling and squeezing into fists. It was nobody's fault but her own, she was simply... weak. Jim was nice. Nice.

Jim clucked sympathetically, as he adjusted the gear stick. "Rough day at work? Who is it that you work with... Sherry, was it?" The key was turned in the ignition, and Molly felt the engine hum into life around her and she smiled, clicking the seat belt into place. She clutched the umbrella to herself, nervously playing with the cord that extended from the handle. "Sherlock," Molly corrected. Perhaps a little to quickly. Sensing this, her cheeks grew warm and probably turned as red as a spring rose.

Jim gave an understanding smile, revealing all of his teeth. "You're cute when you're embarrassed. Now, this Sherly... he's treating you okay, right?"

Molly gave a nervous giggle. "Y- yes, of course he is."

Jim patted her arm as the car rounded a corner. "Good, because if he wasn't treating you well I'd have to come in and talk to him myself." He was silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. Molly was not foolish; Jim was smart, perhaps as smart as Sherlock and certainly smarter than his job in IT gave him credit for. Molly could not even guess what people like Jim and Sherlock were thinking. "He's much more... less cold now." Molly ventured after a while. "He's met this friend, John Watson..."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "I'd like to meet him. Perhaps I can stop by your lab tomorrow?"

"You'd like to meet John?" Molly frowned. John was nice, of course, but he wasn't Sherlock. He couldn't deduce everything about somebody's life simply by looking at them. Molly was prepared to bet that nobody else could quite do what Sherlock could do.

"No, Sherlock."

Sherlock was special. Molly sighed, and as the car drew to a halt she gathered her coat and bag and opened the door. The weather had granted them a brief respite from the continuous downpour, but Molly doubted it would last long. "See ya, Molly. "

"Thanks, see ya." The car drove off, but Molly didn't watch it go. Instead she exhaled, glanced up at the grey skies above, and walked towards her apartment door. She'd never be special enough for someone like Sherlock. Once she'd thought that nobody could ever be special enough for him- that was before John had come. Molly shoved her key into the lock with perhaps more force than was necessary. Someday, maybe Sherlock would see that she was special too.

Molly Hooper could do nothing but pray.