Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

First of all, I'm really nervous. This is my first attempt at writing a Sherlolly fanfic, and the reason is that I read "The hound of the Baskervilles" when I was 11 years old (now I'm 32...), and so Sherlock Holmes is not a temporary crush: he's been part of my cultural baggage since I was very young, and trying to write something with Sherlock as a main character is very difficult, not only because of the complexity of the character, but also because there's also the fear of not being able to do justice to such a literature's icon that I've loved for 21 years. Fortunately I remembered that I've already written another fanfic based on another book I love, "Little women", and that ( and the support on Tumblr where I posted a preview) gave me the strength I needed. So without further delay, here's the first chapter of two (or maybe three,I haven't decided yet). The title is from a song that I love, "Don't you want me" by Human League, a 80's band.

Don't you want me ?

Don't you want me baby?
Don't you want me - oh?. . .
Don't you want me baby?
Don't you want me - oh?. . .

Don't you want me – Human League

John Watson entered the morgue, searching for his flatmate and best friend, Sherlock Holmes. He mouthed a silent "Hello" to Molly Hooper, who was speaking on the phone in her office, and approached the consulting detective, who was currently sitting at the microscope, a frown on his usually stoic face.

"How is the bacteria culture going ? Any improvement ?" John asked gingerly. Since Sherlock's resurrection, John had put his foot down: no more rotten body parts in the fridge, no more strange and inflatable experiments on the kitchen table or on the countertops if Sherlock wanted to conduct another study on decomposing eye balls, he could seek asylum at St. Barts.
Molly- always the gentle and pliable one- had agreed to save some space in for Sherlock's researches in one of the laboratories at the hospital, and curiously the man-child didn't throw a tantrum; he silently shrugged, and stopped to bring home severed fingers,but not before he forced his blogger to transport the human head and the foot that were already at home, back to the hospital. Since that moment, six months ago, Sherlock started to spend more time at St. Barts; when there were no cases or simply when he was too bored to shoot at the smiling face on the wall, John and Greg Lestrade were sure to find him there, sitting in silence in front of a microscope or dissecting some necrotic tissue near Molly.

Molly Hooper's behavior towards Sherlock Holmes had tremendously changed after his return to the land of the living. She was always polite, and a little emotional; but what really impressed John, was that she had started to treat Sherlock like she did with everyone else. She didn't stammer anymore; she didn't let him manipulate her emotions, and the blushing when Sherlock was near her was almost non-existent. John Watson was certainly not Sherlock Holmes, but he could see that finally Dr. Molly Hooper was overcoming her crush for the man who had broken her heart too many times with his indifference and harsh words; John's worry was that the egocentric young man in question wasn't ready to accept an assertive Molly.

Lost in his thoughts, John didn't notice Sherlock glaring at him, his lips a thin line.

"Anyway, did you receive a phone call from Lestrade yet ? Because I was think-"

"Oh, just shut up, John!" Sherlock cut him off. " I'm not interested in your plans for lunch with Miss Morstan, or in your choice of wallpaper for that flat you assume I don't even know about...I'm burdened with a lot of work, so do us both a favor and go to your soon-to-be wife immediately !"

John started to reply, when he caught his best friend froze at the sound of feminine laughter coming from the office at the end of the hall. It could it be only Molly, John thought, and then returned his attention to Sherlock and their quarrel. But instead of finding him focused on the petri dish in front of him, Dr. Watson noticed that Sherlock's face was completely turned in the direction of Molly's office, and he was assuming the same distant expression he usually had when he was in his mind palace.

John started to pay attention to the faint voice of the pathologist: he could only catch a few words of Molly's phone conversation, but it was surely enough.

"He's so handsome...can you imagine the stubble on his chin and cheeks on your skin ?" Molly giggled at something the other person on the phone said, and then she continued " I know ! And his hands...the way he twirls his cane...it's a shame he doesn't perform surgery anymore..." .

Obviously Molly was speaking to a friend, and they were both praising the extraordinary qualities of a stranger - John felt a little ashamed, he didn't mean to listen to a private conversation like this. Sherlock was still and silent; John gave him a last look - he knew better than disturbing him while he was lost in the meanders of his mind - and left the morgue. Mary wanted his boyfriend's opinion about the page boys at the wedding, and John Watson was determined to give her a list of reasons of why the idea was completely ridiculous.

Unbeknownst to John Watson, Sherlock was not in his mind palace, nor he had been there for a long time. As he always repeated, John didn't observe; he only saw. His best friend got the wrong impression when he noticed his attention shift from the bacteria when they heard Molly's laugh: actually, Sherlock had paid attention to the pathologist's phone call from the beginning. At first Molly and her friend Julie spoke about banal things like work, and sales at a boutique, and a new nail varnish that apparently Molly was interested in buying, and he didn't give them too much attention; but suddenly Molly's voice changed, and his tone became more confidential, almost sultry. Evidently the new subject really interested the young woman, but she seemed ashamed by that.

"A romantic interest, perhaps..." he deduced. Molly was such a simple object to analyze, with her childish outfits, her pathetic affection for cats, and her fixation with sentiment. When John told him that 221B Baker Street was now off-limits for his experiments, he knew that Molly Hooper would have done everything in her power to give him a little spot in the morgue, and he was not so secretly pleased by that: St. Barts laboratory had more advanced devices, and a highly functional fire system, although he couldn't imagine that the staff would let him conduct his analysis wearing pajamas and a silk dressing-gown...and Dr. Hooper wouldn't shout at him to stop because he was contaminating the air: mousy Molly would just sigh, and return to her work, too shy to complain.

What Sherlock Holmes couldn't predict was that the Molly Hooper who helped him to fake his death, who lied to John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, who cried at his funeral and continued to tell all the journalists that she believed in Sherlock Holmes, was not the same Molly Hooper who welcomed him back to London after 2 years of dismantling Moriarty's web. Molly Hooper 2.0 was still gentle, but determined; quiet, but not submissive; this new woman treated the great Sherlock Holmes like he was another ordinary man.

At first Sherlock had been surprised, then he found her current behavior an affront to his persona; finally, the consulting detective decided that Molly Hooper's change of mind was something worth of a further investigation.

He noticed that she had started to cure her outward appearance: nothing out of ordinary, just more frequent visits to her hairdresser, a touch of blusher on her cheeks, more skirts and less khaki trousers at work. She still remained at the morgue till late if requested, but every friday she carried with her a backpack with an extra set of clothes, to be ready to change for the weekly evening's aperitif with her girlfriends Julie, Adele and Josephine.

The thing that disturbed him more was that those were only the consequences; now the pathologist was more aesthetically attractive, and assertive. But why ? What could cause such a dramatic transformation in her attitude towards him ? Sherlock had returned six months ago, and he still had no answer to his question; but now, for the first time in weeks, he had a lead. Molly Hooper, the docile and sympathetic woman who counted, had a romantic interest. A new romantic interest . A romantic interest that was not Sherlock Holmes.

He knew he should feel relief at his discovery: no more unrequited attentions, no more furtive glances when he was working at the microscope, no more distractions when she stammered and couldn't form a simple sentence when he asked her something. The detective in him felt the familiar sensation of triumph, the same excitement he welcomed every time he solved a puzzle; but at the end, something was still missing. The certainty of his finding didn't leave him satisfied; au contraire, as John Watson would have said, he was really pissed off.

I want to thank all the fellow sherlollians that encouraged me on Tumblr - I'm potemkinx on Tumblr-, Sherlolly is such a wonderful pair and I'm very happy to contribute to the fandom with my silly story ( a spoiler: it's gonna be funnier in the second chapter, I promise !). Let me know your opinions, and thanks for reading !