For all that Molly Hooper was in hopeless, unrequited, head-over-heels love with Sherlock Holmes, she was wildly jealous of him sometimes. Not because he was so different from her, but because he was so much the same.
Every personality trait that Molly had been teased about, tormented for, pressured to hide, was something that Sherlock reveled in, was admired for, or got away with. Because he was posh? Striking? Maybe just because he was a man?
Curiosity about life and death, scientific aptitude, social ineptitude, perfectionism, preference for work over romance, desire for closure and justice for her "patients" and their families. Sherlock was even odd-looking in an interesting way, where Molly was just plain and boring to look at.
Molly's widowed father had been the only person in her life who thought those were acceptable. Even her teachers were taken aback by her enthusiasm for science, surprised that a mere girl could have the highest scores in their classes.
Her classmates had taunted her unmercifully, calling her gross and morbid and uppity, until she withdrew into herself and made a mask of smiles and kindness. "Mousy Molly" really was kind and cheerful underneath it all, but not as constantly as she pretended. Once her father died, she tried very hard not to let anyone see her upset. It was one more thing that would be used against her.
Molly knew that some of the others at St. Bart's gossiped about her. She was young for her status, and she was the only person that Sherlock Holmes, "the gorgeous, boffin detective" according to whispers behind her back, wanted to work with. She knew that his attentions were not always a good thing.
But he was one of the few people who paid any attention to her anymore. Even though it was often manipulative or hurtful, it was better than nothing. And it wasn't all bad; they chatted sometimes in between running experiments.
She was happy for him when he found and befriended John Watson. Even "freaks" like Molly and Sherlock needed other people, although Sherlock would never admit that. Too bad it ended up being one more thing for her to be jealous of.
Sherlock had someone who would kill or die for him. Molly had a fake boyfriend who was a psychopathic mass murderer. Her father had always said, "You can't win them all," but Molly wished that she could have won something.
By the time she knew something was wrong, it didn't really hurt to admit that she didn't count. She had known it all along, anyway.
It was kind of Sherlock to disagree with that, but it was for a case, sort of. She knew better.
Two years of lies weren't as easy as Molly had thought they would be. She thought that she had had enough practice with hiding her emotions to keep Sherlock's secret, but she was unable to stop the words running through her mind, "He's not dead, he's not dead. he's not dead..." whenever she saw John or Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. So she stopped seeing them, as much as she could.
Sergeant Sally Donovan came to the morgue more often these days than Greg anyway. Molly wasn't angry with her and she didn't think that Sherlock was either. Sally was doing her job, following her leads. The fact that one of her leads was planted by Moriarty wasn't her fault. Sherlock had been fooled by Moriarty (Jim from I.T.) too.
Tom Collins ("like the drink") is good to Molly; good for her.
He never insults her or her job, never calls her morbid or gross. The fact that he doesn't want to hear the details of her day is not surprising; only one person ever did and he is dead (not dead). He's as cheerful as she pretends to be, wants to know all about her and her life from her own lips. He likes her stories. They make each other laugh, his parents are lovely, and his dog is affectionate.
Still, it's a surprise to Molly when Tom proposes to her. She never thought that anyone would want her that much; she never thought she would be that special to anyone.
She accepts his offer of marriage; hugging her knowledge of his love to her chest sometimes when she feels lonely, or when she remembers Sherlock (not dead. Maybe).
There's a phantom in her mirror (not dead).
Sherlock smiles at her shock.
Their day of solving crimes is nice, almost familiar. It's almost like being in the lab again, the way they move around each other, the way Sherlock calls her John when he's not really paying attention to his surroundings.
Molly squelches that flare of jealousy, ignores Greg's surprise. It's certainly not the first time it's happened.
She wouldn't mind doing this again sometime. It's nice to get away from her own life for a while.
By the end of the day, though, she senses that there's something else; something new in their relationship.
Sherlock finally alludes to her engagement. He looks sad (maybe). Is Sherlock jealous of her? Of her ability to have a romantic relationship? Molly thinks this is the first time she has one up on him, even though she doesn't really want it to be a competition. It's not a competition. Molly has Tom. Sherlock has his work.
Why would Sherlock Holmes ever be jealous of anything to do with Molly Hooper?
Mary Morstan seems like a perfectly lovely woman. Perfectly suited to John Watson; she even likes Sherlock. Molly knows that quality is rare.
She and Tom haven't been around the trio much, but Sherlock has mentioned in passing that he's helping with the wedding planning. Molly thinks that she could use some help herself with her and Tom's wedding, but she says nothing to Sherlock. She doesn't need him to deduce that she's jealous of Mary too.
Sherlock's best man speech is everything that Molly was afraid of. And everything she had hoped he was capable of. Most of all, it was a wholehearted declaration of love for John and Mary. She's glad that he can finally admit it; to them and the assembled guests, but especially to himself.
It doesn't take her long to realize that Tom is not, and never will be, the first person in her life. Sherlock will always take precedence. She would rather spend hours in the lab with him than go home and watch telly with anyone. He is far more interesting.
Molly breaks up with Tom two days after the Watsons' wedding. Even if Tom loved her as much as they loved and were loved, it was unfair to pretend she would ever love him that much.
It's months before Molly sees Sherlock, John, or Mary again.
When John calls her about the drugs test; when Sherlock makes a comment about missing her engagement ring, Molly is so angry that she can barely see straight.
Then Sherlock is shot and Janine, Mary's maid of honor, is running her mouth off to the press (but not quite all the press, Molly subconsciously notes) and it's all too much for her. Her life (morgue mouse) was not supposed to be a bloody soap opera! Oh right, this isn't actually her life.
She is thankful that Greg tells her Sherlock is back in the hospital and on the road to recovery. No one else bothers saying anything to her and she doesn't think that a visit to his room would be well received. She wants to stay out of it anyway; sorry that she broke it off with Tom, sorry that she's alone again, sorry that she can't help anyone in this whole stupid situation. It's all a reminder that her place is on the sidelines, never in the middle of events.
Molly can't help but wish that she were someone's focus (not Tom's) for longer than 5 minutes at a time.
The headlines on the Boxing Day news programmes and papers blared out that press magnate Charles Augustus Magnussen had been killed at his home.
Molly saw and heard them, but paid scant attention. She was on her way to work; the corpses, at least, needed her.
It was the worst day yet in a life full of bad days.
Molly had always been told to be careful what she wished for. She laughed at such sentiments; she never got what she wished for.
There was a first time for everything.
She hadn't even turned the television on. Why was Jim's (Moriarty's) voice on a loop, asking if she missed him?
Greg called her first, then Sherlock. They had seen the video too. It seemed as if Moriarty was back from the dead; Sherlock thought that she was going his first target. He had realized that she really did count, even if she still couldn't believe that. Tom had been the only man in her adult life who had ever put her first.
Didn't it just figure that Moriarty was going to be the one to break that record?
But it still wasn't really about her; it was because she had thrown a monkey-wrench into his plans for Sherlock. Molly was still just a pawn. No reason for delusions of grandeur; or illusions of really meaning anything to anyone.
They had both told her to get to a crowded place, where she could blend in; hide among the masses. She didn't bother arguing, but she didn't obey them either. She was the one being hunted; how could they think that she would put others in danger?
Sherlock barged into the morgue, doors bouncing off the walls. "Molly! I know you're here; you wouldn't hide in a crowd. Please come out."
Molly poked her head around the door, hiding the bone saw behind her back until she saw that it really was Sherlock looking for her.
"Molly." "Sherlock."
"I realized on the way here that you would rather die than let someone else be hurt on your behalf. It's one of the things I love most about you."
Molly's jaw dropped open as Sherlock stepped closer to her, "Sherlock, I -"
He wrapped her in arms and placed on gentle kiss on her hair.
"Shh, Molly. I know."