BACK WITH ANOTHER SHERLOLLY ONESHOT PEOPLE. I LOVE YOU GUYS.

Mary had to confess, she hadn't thought much of Molly Hooper before they met. And even when they met, there really wasn't much to it. She was simply Sherlock and John's friend who was marrying an absurd doppelganger of Sherlock (John thought she wouldn't notice. But she did).

And it really was not Mary had overlooked Little Miss Hooper. John had barely ever mentioned her; only talking occasionally about Sherlock. Molly had only been a passing character in the grand story John had painted in the year and a half or so of them knowing each other.

"Molly – she was a pathologist at Barts, you know. And she – well, she was a fantastic pathologist. She was also hopelessly in love with Sherlock. Although I think she might have moved on. Haven't really thought about Molly in so long."

And that was all Mary heard about this Molly Hooper. She ought to smack her husband for giving such wonderfully gross understatements.

And then, Molly Hooper had come for her wedding. She was dressed in yellow, and Mary felt mildly uncomfortable about it – why was the woman trying to blend into the surroundings.

After their dance, Mary was chatting in a circle of friends, including Molly Hooper. And she looked around for Sherlock – logical thing to do; one has to keep an eye on Sherlock at all times.

"Where's Sherlock?" asked Mary, looking around.

Molly blushed. "I think he left," she said, eyes downcast.

"I'd have noticed," said Mary, mock indignant.

Molly blushed further. "I don't know – Sherlock is only noticed when he wishes to be. At other times, he can just disappear."

Mary raised her eyebrows.

Molly went as red as a tomato by this time. It was clashing with her yellowness. "I've known him for sometime –" she mumbled.

"How long?" asked Mary.

"Six years," she said going further red. "I had an internship with Barts and was the trainee pathologist when I was twenty four."

"Hmm," said Mary. "Twelve years of study, isn't it, Molly?"

"Yeah," said Molly, feeling a lot more comfortable. "He's been around for quite sometime, you know."

Mary was significantly surprised. For someone to have handled Sherlock Holmes for over six years and be overlooked by Moriarty was strange enough as it is. Mary privately resolved to find Molly out after her honeymoon and confront her about her friendship with Sherlock.

Well, she really didn't know what she was expecting when she called Molly for some shopping and coffee. When Mary called the woman, she appeared to be preoccupied with something. "Oh – um – one second – oh for goodness sake – fuck."

Mary was reasonably surprised to find the small little Molly Hooper swearing.

"Something up?" she asked.

"It's Mr. Robert," said Molly in an annoyed and impatient voice. "He's being a pain in the neck – I'm trying to take out his liver and some sort of medical abnormality has caused a lot more attachments to the stupid thing."

Mary had to pause in whatever she was doing to make sense of what Molly was saying. So that's why Sherlock was friends with her.

"I mean, it's not my fault!" went the woman, heatedly. "Besides, Miss Rose Heather gave me the worst time of my life today – what was she thinking wearing all that makeup which Sherlock just needed analysed? On top of all that, small heart. That requires so much paperwork because now I have to find out what was wrong with her, God."

The girl had a mouth on her, that was for sure.

"Why can't people just stay healthy. Trivial medical abnormalities piss me off, for fuck's sake. It's not even interesting."

Mary started laughing. "What?" said Molly on the phone call, livers and hearts forgotten. "Did I say something wrong? Sherlock says I make morbid jokes."

Mary kept laughing, finally stopping and saying between breaths – "I just understood why Sherlock is friends with you."

Mary could hear the blush spread from the phone. "Oh no," said Molly. "We're not friends. I'm just the pathologist."

"Well, would you like to go for some coffee and shopping anyway? Later this afternoon?"

When they met up, Molly was wearing another hideous jumper, something with bobbles on it. Goodness, thought Mary. "That's a nice jumper," said Mary with a grin.

"Thank – oh. You're joking," Molly blushed. "It's a secret statement," she said suddenly, wickedly. "I am protesting against everything pretty and fashionable. That would even include on Consulting Detective, if you catch my drift."

She immediately went red again and apologized, while Mary snorted through her coffee.

They had some coffee, some crisps, some muffins. Mary paid, and Molly was rueful about it. "So, how was the honeymoon?" asked Molly.

"Oh, you know," said Mary airily. "Romantic. Although John's mildly bad at romantic. I have a feeling Sherlock has had an influence on him."

"Sherlock has an influence on everyone," said Molly.

"Do others have an influence on Sherlock?" asked Mary curiously.

Molly went red again. "On Sherlock? Well, John has always been the biggest influence on Sherlock I have ever seen. Now he's – well, he's kinder, let's say. And Greg, I suppose. Greg kept Sherlock sane when Sherlock was still in his high days. Gave him cases."

Mary looked at the woman thoughtfully. "What about you?" she asked. "You've known him longest."

Molly went completely red. "Well – you see – um. I suppose? But we never got very close. Don't really count that much."

Mary looked at the woman again curiously. She certainly believed her statement, whatever else may be said about her.

When they went shopping, Molly astounded her by buying some more hideous jumpers. Mary, in turn, forced her to buy a pretty new blue dress. "It's not as threatening as red, and blue looks nice on you."

Molly smiled ruefully. It was a nice dress. "Perhaps I'll wear it during work tomorrow. I have lab duty, so, you know."

"Oh, do!" said Mary. "And send a picture!"

It was only later when Mary had a phone call from on Sherlock Holmes – "Mary," he said slowly. "What have you been doing to Molly?" he asked.

"What? Who me? I've done nothing!" said Mary, confused.

"She was wearing a blue dress to work today," said Sherlock darkly. "Why was she doing that? It has you written all over it. It reeks of you."

"Are you saying that you have a problem with your pathologist dressing prettily?" asked Mary evenly.

"What? No! She was hardly looking pretty – perhaps mildly aesthetically pleasing, but it really made the small size of her breasts seem even smaller. And it doesn't suit her legs."

"Then why are you concerned, Sherlock?" a sudden, slow smile spreading all over Mary's face. Oh god, this was good. This was brilliant. But Mary would have to test the theory before she went further. By further, she meant, revealing her theory to John.

"Because everybody else found her aesthetically pleasing as well!" Sherlock exploded.

Mary paused a beat. Sherlock paused a beat. They said nothing. "Goodbye Mary," said Sherlock, promptly cutting the call. Mary had to stuff her face into a pillow to stop herself from waking John up, who really needed an afternoon nap.

It was when she was there for the Triple Slap Molly Hooper Roar that Mary really had to control herself. And yes, that was what she called it in her head. Triple Slap Molly Hooper Roar. It had a nice ring to it.

Whack.

Pause, breath.

Whack.

Pause, breath. Once again, Molly Hooper, thought Mary.

Whack.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry!"

"Sorry that your engagement's off, although I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it," said Molly. "Just stop it."

Mary would have burst with pride, she really would have.

It didn't even take a long time to verify her theory, she later reflected. Because the small amount of resentment Sherlock showed in that moment, and then there was a flash of something in that moment. Mary was an ex-assassin, after all, trained to read people like she could read the morning tabloid on how Mary, John and Sherlock were having a creepy ménage-e-trios.

And it happened again, when Molly came to visit Sherlock after she had shot him. There was a small flash. If Mary hadn't been preoccupied with her crashing marriage, she would have whooped with joy.

Sherlock Holmes was in love with Molly Hooper. What a strange way fate had, didn't it?

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