When I had first met him, we were so young. So innocent. So naive. So blissfully unaware of the monsters we would one day become.
He was beautiful. A strange way to describe a young man, but his boyish slightly famine features clashed so violently with striking sharp cheekbones and icy pale blue eyes. As he walked into the class room I felt my heart fluter as a rosy pink blush settled upon my face and neck. Unfortunately for me my blush would not be leaving anytime soon as he took his seat next to me.
My stomach lurched, as my mouth decided before my brain to begin a conversation with the boy sitting next to me.
"He-hello. I'm Molly. Molly Hooper. Its my first day here. What's your name?" I studered out.
Coolly he turned his head, eyed me once over, gave a slight, barely there smirk and turned back to the front of the class. "Obviously your new."
"Ex-excuse me? How is it obvious" I questioned back to the stoic boy.
"Three reasons. One: Your uniform is new. First time waring it. No one buys a new uniform mid way through the school year."
"So, I could have just needed a new one."
"Well its possible, but doubtful. Also, three: your the first one to class, suggesting you don't have friends here."
"Could just be anti social" I counter. He smirks, "well your talking to me. Which brings me to three: your talking to me. People that go to school here don't talk to me." I raise an eyebrow questioningly only to be ignored as the rest of the class filters in.
The period was spent with sneaking glances from both myself and the curious boy, both intrigued by each other.
Me by his assessment of my being new to the school, and him by the fact that I had yet to scurry across the room away from him.
As the bell rang I pact my things into my leather satchel and the mysterious boy pact his in to one as well.
"Sherlock." He said. "What?" I sqweaked.
"My name. Its Sherlock Holmes." He gave a slight smile.
.some of the students who had yet to rush out the door to lunch had stopped to watch the freak and the new girl speak. It was judgment time. Her peers would ultmitly decide her caste in the school. Who would she be. Accepted, well liked. Or an out casted freak.
"Well Sherlock, sense we both seem to be loners, would you mind if we had lunch together" I mumbled rather quickly preparing myself for denile.
"Sure." Was his reply, and I felt a weight lifted from my chest.
We walked from the class room out to the foot ball field, were we climbed the bleachers and took a seat.
Sherlock pulled out a pack of marblo reds and lit one between his lips and offered one to me. I accepted it.
At 16 this would be my first cigarette. I was a pivotal moment for me. Till now I had been good molly. Sweet molly. Lovely molly. Adored by many friends and family. Molly who never touched drugs, alcohol, much less cigarettes.
But Molly needed, craved even, change. When my parents passed away last moth in a car accident leaving me with my wealthy, but every elderly, grand parents, I thought that change would be a new school.
A place were i was no longer seen as "poor sweet molly who lost her parents". Oh what I would find was not the school its self but a ceirtan boy who gave me my first cigarette. The peculiar Sherlock Holmes, whom I figure a cigarette would not be my only first with.
He lit my cig and i inhaled the musky smoke, reveling in the burn fallowed by a dizzy rush to to the head. Exhaling I coughed a bit and sherlock passed me a bottle of water. "First time?" he smirked.
I took a sip and smiled meekly the mumbled "of many."
