john/sherlock is my otp, but sherlolly is adorable too.
playlist:
thoughts of flight - edmund
when the sun goes down - arctic monkeys
map of the world - plain white t's
she's hearing voices - bloc party
blood bank - bon iver
bon iver live at AIR studios video
Why She Counted
She was unnoticeable, a wallflower if you will. One didn't look up at her and think that she was worth talking to, that she was interesting in any way. She had been an outsider all her life. People she did see everyday weren't affected by her presence, some even forgot of her existence. She was just always there, plain, inconspicuous and simple.
She was the trodden on sidewalk that kept cities together, the dull paint on the walls that nevertheless gave places a certain light.
As a child and teenager, she had known very few people, and had only had one best friend. His name was John, and he was the closest thing to a friend she could ever hope for. They were both misfits; no one wanted to talk to the pale young boy who had brown curls and eyes that could bore into your soul, nor the girl who's sole material possession was a tattered old, red-headed doll. They shared stories about their funny dreams with the blue police box, stories about their families, books they'd read… They climbed up trees and constructed a tree house where they'd look up and name the constellations together.
3 years, that lasted. 3 years, she blinked, and all of a sudden he was gone.
She knew it had been too good to last, anyway. Life would go on, dull, monotonous, routine. She'd graduate from secondary school, then university, then work at a mortuary for the rest of her life, then retire, then die. An average life for an average person.
Then she met Sherlock Holmes, the sarcastic, narcissistic, irritating git that he was. Then she met Sherlock, someone she felt she had met before, who felt like…
…like home.
Because Sherlock had that same pale skin, the same brown curls, the same introspective eyes. He grew up in Northhampton, and so couldn't have been John, but somehow she knew she had met him before.
She trusted Sherlock with her life, and more than that, her heart - though, of course, he held her heart in low regard. John was his friend, his partner, Mycroft, his brother, Mrs. Hudson, his surrogate caretaker, Greg, his source of cases and therefore, his life. As always, she didn't fit in, but she felt at home with these outcasts, these misfits.
She never knew it, but Sherlock John Holmes would always remember her, even after his parents forced him out of the small town where he had made his first friend, a small, plain-faced, unnoticeable, beautiful girl. Where he had learnt to trust.
And that's exactly why Molly Hooper did count.
She always had - and always would.