Author's Note: My MollyxSherlock feels have taken over me tonight. (Thank you, Reichenbach.) I decided to write this fic (at 3:30am, I don't know why) not because I want Molly and Sherlock to get together (because I don't), but because I can relate to Molly. I really don't get why she's getting hate. I believe everyone's went through a phase in their life where they just wanted to impress and get noticed by someone, but no matter how hard they tried, they would always just be invisible. I feel so sorry for Molly, she's so sweet and I think it's about time she mustered up the courage to tell Sherlock what she feels AND that Sherlock understood. I'm glad that worked out in Reichenbach though *squee* but it's always nice to have the fanfiction world to turn to. …and now I'm rambling. I'll stop talking now. Enjoy!
Molly's been in the bathroom for about 20 minutes now. It took her 4 tries to get her lipstick right. On the first two tries, it was too thick and dark. She couldn't even feel her lips anymore. On the 3rd try, she just got frustrated and got lipstick all over her face. As she washed off her 3rd run, she decided she wouldn't try to impress him anymore. It's never worked anyway. As soon as she thought about heading towards the door and going back to the lab, she found herself putting on a new coat of red lipstick, not too much but not too little this time. Yes, she thought, maybe I'll just try one last time. Maybe he'll notice now.
"Sorry I took so long," she said, a little bit nervously.
He was working on something on the microscope and he didn't even glance up when he said, "It's alright. I didn't notice."
He didn't even look up. Trying to hide her disappointment, she mutters to herself, "Nothing really new then."
"I'm sorry, what's that?" he asks her, still not prying his eyes off his work.
"Nothing. I said nothing," she said.
Molly went to a table far from him. Not too far though, she could still watch him closely. The more she stared at him, giving some bacteria more importance than her. Her fists were clenched, her face was burning up and she was screaming inside. She's always been used to this, being ignored by him. But how much more of it can she take?
She absolutely adored him. He was smart, he was clever. He had a brilliant mind. Things must be pretty weird inside his head, but yes, he was intelligent. Very intelligent. He was also dark and mysterious. Unpredictable, even. He could also read people well. Your life story would unfold with just one look. But, she also hated him. He COULD read everyone… except for her. Well, he doesn't know that. He thinks he knows sweet, little Molly perfectly. She's just another morgue attendant. Loyal and obedient. Always there to help.
But no. Sherlock Holmes was wrong. Very wrong.
He has never acknowledged or appreciated the things Molly has done to impress him. Hours spent picking the right outfit, time spent in front of the mirror putting on make-up, ages spent thinking of conversation-starters… all those gone to waste. He couldn't see how much she cared about him, too. To her, he was everything. To him, she was just a person there to help, with access to exciting dead bodies. He couldn't read how desperate she was, just to have him look at her or talk to her for even just 5 minutes. He has never really noticed her.
Despite all this, Molly hates herself more than she does Sherlock. Why do I love him? Why do I try so hard? she thinks. It's too painful. All his mean comments and actions. She's always made excuses for herself, for him. Sherlock's just really like that. He doesn't realize what he's doing is wrong. Who knows what goes inside that funny head of his? He just doesn't know, that's all. But, now that she's being ignored again for the nth time, she doesn't think she can handle it anymore. With all the strength she can muster, she stands up and talks.
"Actually," she says, clearing her throat, "I did say something."
No, he still doesn't look up. He raises his eyebrows though.
"Sherlock, did you hear me?" she asked him, her voice getting a bit squeaky.
"Mmm," he says, softly, "I heard you perfectly fine, Molly, but really, there's no need to make any conversation. It's alright, I don't want to talk. So please-"
"Well," she says, raising her voice, "What if I want to talk?"
He still does his work on his microscope and says, "Please, Molly, stop. It's better for the both of us. Silence is good."
She ignores him, still trying to construct what she wants to say in her head, and finally she gets out, "Look, Sherlock, just please…"
No, he still doesn't look up.
"GOD DAMN IT, SHERLOCK HOLMES. FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, COULD YOU JUST PLEASE LOOK AT ME WHILE I TALK?" she says, very red and squeaky. It took all her courage to say that. The room falls still and there is tension in the air. She's finally letting out all her anger and frustration, and she just stares at him. For the first time ever, he glances up and looks at her. There is no emotion on his face, but she knows he has his attention now. He doesn't say anything so she does.
"Sherlock, I… I… I look up to you so much, do you know that?" she mumbles, "Everyday, I would be excited to go to Bart's because I knew that you would be there, waiting. Waiting for a new body to show up, something new to work on. With me. Everyday, I would try my hardest to impress you. Everyday, I would follow every order you had, and I would always drop everything just to help you. I know that you wouldn't even really need me, but everyday, I stay."
He looks at her, more confused this time. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but she cuts him off, "No. Let me finish. Everyday, I would try to impress you. Make you notice me. But everyday, you would ignore me. You would always say horrible things, too. Just the other week I bought a fancy dress I thought you might like on me, but you said I looked big in it. The day before that, you asked me to fetch you some of these files and chemicals you needed. I searched high and low for them, and when I finally came back, I saw you were gone. Everyday is like this, Sherlock. I would try my very best to make you notice me, but you ignore me. You put me aside. It's like I'm invisible."
She's fighting back the tears now, her heart hurts and her voice is very high and weird but she still manages to keep talking, "But the worst part of this is that all this time, I've been telling myself that I don't mind. That one day, you would notice me, that you would see me too. But I'm tired of waiting, Sherlock. I know, it's pretty silly. It's obvious. That you don't care. That you don't mind. That you don't see. And even despite that, I would still make an effort. A hopeless and pointless effort. I am so mad at myself, Sherlock. For chasing after you, for even hoping…" and then she laughs at how stupid she is.
"Molly, I…" he says quietly. Nothing else comes.
"No. Because, whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever you say… I will always love you. I will always feel something. And even though you treat me so badly, I wouldn't mind. I would never mind. And you would never see how frustrated I am inside," she says, as the angry tears fall down her face, "But, I see. I see all of this, Sherlock. I just wish I saw and understood it enough to give up and move on."
She runs past him, accidentally bumping him and toppling the microscope over. As she runs out of the room, crying and miserable, not believing she finally said all of that to him, he just watches her. He watches her run, and he hears her angry footsteps and sobbing. He's very confused. Alone was what he always had. He was used to being alone, he preferred it greatly, actually. Never had he imagined he'd be stuck in a situation like this. He has no idea what to do. So he just sits there, trying to get rid of the image of Molly sitting in a corner somewhere, crying and hurt.
For the first time, Sherlock sees and realizes that Molly is gone. Really and truly gone.