I always had a great memory. When triggered, most of my memories could easily flow through my mind. Only a few have showed up lately. The first time I met him, how his eyes told a story of his damaged past, his ramblings that confused everyone in the room but still managed to make me smile on a horrid day, all are just some that come to mind. I think it is appropriate that the man who has made my life worth living, and a living hell at the same time is the first chapter of my book of mentalness.

Ever since Sherlock has come into my life I have been a different person. Believe it or not I, Molly Hooper, used to have friends. I used to actually posses a social life, popular, as some may call it. Now reading this one may think this mysterious man called Sherlock had hurt me in some way. Or possibly, the dramatic ones may say he had somehow "ruined" my life. But, my dear readers, he has done the opposite.

The first day I met him I needed to know more. I have to admit, his first appearance was a bit odd. We were in the seventh grade, we had been informed that a new student would be joining us about a week prior to his arrival. When our english teacher first said his name I knew I would have to meet this so called 'Sherlock.'

From the moment he had sat down everyone in the room everyone knew he was different. He was buried in a book, and if that wasn't bad enough, it was a college level textbook. From that day forward he had been given the title of the 'nerd.' At first, I must admit, I was afraid to talk to this boy who was clearly the smartest person in our Jr. High, including the teachers. The reason being I couldn't bear to give up my social standing, which I had work so hard to achieve. But eventually I had to do what my gut had told me, I had to approach the boy called Sherlock.

Every lunch break we had he would sit in the windowsill and read, I had not once seen him eat, which explained his ghastly skinny appearance. As I neared him I noticed that he was quite attractive and would be extremely popular if he were to actually sit down and socialize with others. I had hopped up on the windowsill next to him and welcomed him to our school. He gave me a funny look and got back to reading. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours until he closed his book and asked what I had wanted from him. I wanted to say, "Why do you sit here all alone, don't you want to meet new people? Aren't you sick of being harassed for never talking?," but instead I apologized for interrupting and began to walk away. Before I could completely leave he asked my name. I readily gave it to him. Sherlock Holmes and I were on a first name basis.

The next day I decided to leave my friends for a change and sit with this mysterious Sherlock. When he saw me waiting on the windowsill for him he was taken aback but still sat down next to me. That was when my questioning began.

"What are you reading?"

"Where did you move from?"

"How do you like school so far?"

Unfortunately most of them only got answered with odd looks. But then I got deeper.

"Why don't you ever eat?" I asked, as I waited for him to answer I played with the rubber band around my wrist. His answer astounded me.

"The cafeteria food here consists of ( The name of some sort of chemical that I can't remember for obvious reasons) which commonly causes heart attacks and possible strokes, can't take that risk."

I looked at him, then down at my food, I would be damned if I ever even looked at that food again, neverless eating it. The questioning continued.

"Why do you sit here all alone, there are plenty of tables-"

He cut me off, "Sitting with others causes too many disruptions, I get headaches when trying to read in loud noise."

I blushed, feeling bad for the guy. He didn't look too irritated though. I began to stand up and leave him to finishing his book but he stopped me.

"Molly, I'd rather you stay here, I enjoy the company"

And from that day on I was head over heels in love with Sherlock Holmes.