CHAPTER 1

Sherlock watched her from afar, his eyes intent on making himself nonexistent. Molly Hooper; a seemingly innocent, intelligent, clumsy pathologist, but Sherlock had started to believe she was so much more than she allowed the detective to see. Molly now sat on a bench near a massive oak that spread widely over her, covering her like an umbrella. She seemed...lonely. Yes, he knew she was much more then what he'd originally thought. He just needed to solve the puzzle that was Molly Hooper.

Sherlock felt a cold dot fall onto his nose and looked up to see that the dim blue sky was now an astonishing shade purple with streaks of pink and flurries fluttering about. He stared for a minute before remembering what he was doing here, before the snowfall had begun. Molly.

Sherlock brought his attention back to his quirky pathologist's distant figure and she was off. Wait, what? His pathologist? Sherlock shook the thought away and stored it away in his mind palace. Not bothering to over think a plan, Sherlock directed himself to Molly's side as he ran from behind a shrub.

"Molly!" he called. Although it was out of his routine to see Molly outside of work, or occasionally special events, today was different. This occasion was something Sherlock had thought over countless time. He needed to tell her how he...felt.

Sherlock bit his tongue as the word crossed his mind. Yes, he was not very familiar with emotions, but Molly had changed his mind on the subject. After spending more and more time with her after his fall he had forced himself to consider the facts that were explained by John and Mary; He may be in love with Molly Hooper. He also had to consider, that maybe, sentiment was not a chemical defect, but fortitude.

The young woman turned to face him as he called her name again.

"Molly Hooper!" He took a moment to catch his breath when he finally reached her. "Hello" he waved tiredly, placing his hands back on his knees as he stuck his head between his long legs.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked concerned. Her hair was out in waves, and she wore a bright red beanie that matched her oversized jumper. Her tight jeans were ragged, and her tall, fitted boots reached an inch above her knees and matched her eyes almost exactly.

"You look" Sherlock decided to look her over once more "well." He was disappointed that that was the best compliment he could muster up. Molly looked, well, different. Her clothing was much more fashionable than her normal attire. She usually wore dull khakis and ill patterned jumpers. Did Sherlock really make her that self conscious? Maybe she felt better because no one would be there to tell her that she was trying to "compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts." Sherlock shuddered at the horrid Christmas memory. He could feel the guilt rising in his throat.

Sherlock's disturbing thoughts were interrupted when she spoke.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" She asked, gently. Sherlock smiled and lifted his head from between his knees, brushing the light snow from his coat. "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock seemed almost offended. Molly's face was clear from what she called on her blog Sherlockian Syndrome. Her cheeks were not bright pink from constant blushing, her pupils weren't dilated, she wasn't stuttering, nor were her fingers fiddling with her jumper. She was normal. The normal Molly Hooper. The Molly Hooper Sherlock had never seen before. Yes, she had improved greatly by having to spend more time with him after his death. He stayed at her flat when he had nowhere else, but she still had the signs when he would brush against her for mere seconds, or maybe say something with a deep tone of voice. Maybe John was right. Maybe Molly Hooper, was trying, and achieving her goal of getting over him. Maybe his emotions kicked in too late. Maybe he had already lost his Molly. Maybe she was no longer his.

Before Sherlock could get his thoughts under control and try not to zone out again, Molly had already turned to leave. Before he could lose her for good, he caught her shoulders and pulled her to face him. "Molly, would you like to come over to my flat?" He blurted and Molly gave a confused look.

"Um, excuse me? Sherlock, are you sure you didn't hit your head on the pavement back there?" she pointed to a small park rounded with sidewalks. "Have you been drinking? Please don't tell me you are back on some sort of dr-"

"No! I'm not!" Sherlock reassured her as he shook her shoulders gently. "I want you to come. Isn't that what friends do? They come over to each other flats and do things. What things would you like to do Molly?" Sherlock questioned. He really should have done some more research on friendships on John's laptop before stalking Molly. He only had the information he had inherited from memories with John. Most of them involved things Sherlock enjoyed, since John had accepted the fact that he wouldn't change long ago.

Molly took Sherlock's hands and placed them onto his chest before letting go. He could tell she was trying hard to keep her distance. "Sherlock, I'm not mad. I told you before, Tom was a bloody git. I would have never thought he was another one of Moriarty's gunmen. I guess I have a thing for serial killers and their associates." Or, you still have a thing for me. I am not a serial killer; therefore, they are not strictly your type Sherlock thought aggressively.

"It has been quite clear that I am forgiven." Sherlock said as Molly began to turn back to her path. "Am I really that inhumane?" Molly looked at him and nodded in response. "Molly, please just come with me. I just want to be a friend." Molly stopped in her tracks before they had even started. "I know I have been a complete arse to you for as long as I have known you, but I'm still learning to love. I have only begun. I still stumble at the sight of emotion, but I do not believe love is a complete defect anymore. Not since you. Please, Molly Hooper, prove me wrong."

Molly stood still. Sherlock could see she was bewildered by the speech. She stayed like so for a few minutes and then slowly pivoted to his direction. "Why now? When did I start to count?" She began "Sherlock, please don't do this. Don't pull me back down into that deep, dark hole again. I have accepted the fact that you will never change. Not for me. Not for anyone."

Sherlock held her hands and looked her in the eyes. "You're wrong you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." With that, Sherlock kissed Molly's cheek.