Below lies a weird little tale I wrote for SammyKatz who sent me the following: When Sherlock is looking for Molly, he confesses to himself that Molly can disappear even from him. She has startled him. Will you write about that happening?

I'm not sure if this is what you were hoping for. It certainly went in a bit of a different direction than I thought it would. Let me know what you think. - CG

Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein do not belong to me, I barely had control of the story itself. No copyright infringement intended.

Have you ever wanted to disappear?

She never thought of herself as anything special. Maybe that had helped. She had always hung near the edges of groups, listening and watching but not really participating. She was awkward and intelligent and just didn't know how to interact. Anything she said would cause sharp looks aimed in her direction. People didn't like to be reminded of their own inferiority. So she just remained on the outskirts, looking in, never looked at. And she wished so hard that she could simply disappear. It had been an accident, the first time. But in time, by sheer force of will, she perfected a skill so many fairy stories featured. They started not just looking past her, but looking through her. Molly Hooper, the invisible girl.

Have you ever wanted to read minds?

His approach to the world was so very different. Everything about him was startling and unique. In a world of dull minds, his shone with brilliance for all to see. He too had his fair share of adversaries, trying to label him as an outsider. But he didn't care whether they were intimidated by him. He spent time perfecting a skill of his own, observation and deduction. Over time, he read people and situations with ease, exposing everything. At times it was as if he could read thoughts. No one escaped his ability and sharp words flowed just as quickly from his mouth as from his detractors. The truth often stung, but who was he to care what the world thought. He forced them to take notice. Sherlock Holmes, impossible to ignore.

-x-x-x-x-

Three years and six months ago

Molly was always very careful not to disappear too abruptly to keep people from suspecting. It made her mother very alarmed the one time she had done it during an argument, trying to hide from her anger. But that had been years ago and she had convinced her mother that it had been a trick of the light. Her father had been much more observant and had known her secret from the very beginning. She missed having him to confide in, to remind her that she wasn't a freak. He had been so proud of her, of her 'gift.' Molly hated that she had used it to secretly watch over her father as he lay dying in hospital. But she had known that he was too prideful to confess how much he was hurting if anyone was watching. She quietly observed what he needed and then alerted the doctors.

She was doing the same thing tonight. Secretly watching Sherlock in the lab. Molly had done it hundreds of times. At first she'd wanted to make him see her but eventually she discovered that he couldn't. Her gift was a curse. But it did mean she could be there with him, whether he wanted her or not. Tonight she noticed he kept stealing sad glances towards John. Something was wrong, she could feel the tension. And his face, he never looked so broken. He only let the mask slip when he wasn't being watched. He was just like her father had been. She forced herself to remain visible and joined them in the lab. She had to make Sherlock understand, she could help him in ways he couldn't imagine.

"You're a bit like my dad," she began.

-x-x-x-x-

Four years earlier

Sherlock first met her as part of a case. He had worked on several for the Yard by this time, but this was the first involving a murder. The others had been odd cases of missing persons, theft or blackmail. This was new and wonderfully exciting. So many new pieces of information, so many intricate things. Using his skills on a dead body was thrilling because he had the opportunity to study without any movement or change. Everything about the corpse just sat there waiting for him to view it, to catalog it, to understand it. He hardly took any note of the pathologist. She simply blended into the background. It would be a week before he felt the need to actually address her.

"Dr. Hooper, run a toxicology panel on this body being sure to look for organic poisons, specifically plant based ones," Sherlock commanded rather than requested. He then took his first real look at the woman. There seemed to be nothing spectacular about her. Average in every way. The only thing of note was that she seemed visibly shaken by his direct acknowledgement of her.

"Oh, uhm, yes of course," Molly stuttered, "I was planning on requesting that one, but knowing to narrow it to plant toxins will make it faster. Th-thank you, Mr. Holmes." She ducked her head to turn and leave quickly.

"Mr. Holmes is my detestable older brother, call me Sherlock," he informed her, letting his gaze drop back to the work in front of him. There was nothing more interesting about her. She would be a useful assistant in the lab as long as she kept quiet.

Looking back over her shoulder she spoke again, "O-okay, Sherlock. And I suppose you can call me Molly." He didn't reply. She allowed herself to nervously wink out of existence and stand there one came to bother her in the morgue and her regular shy demeanor meant she was unseen, even when not trying to be. It was a comfortable life, if a bit boring. Until Sherlock Holmes. The way he spoke to her and how intensely he looked at her. She knew that if anyone could see her, it would be him. But right now, she had a test to run.

-x-x-x-x-

Today

The scene was already buzzing with activity. Gradually they made their way over to join the cluster of investigators and technicians around the body. There was also a crowd of curious onlookers starting to gather at the yellow tape barriers, regardless of the cold and misting rain. This kind of thing always happened with public access crime scenes. They could cordon off a large area but they couldn't shut down the whole river bank. Sherlock brushed passed the gawkers haughtily and Molly trailed along behind him, barely noticed.

"Wh-what am I lo-lo-looking for, Sh-Sherlock?" Molly's stutter worsened as she shivered in the cold. Slowly she picked her way down the embankment trying not to slip on the wet ground.

Sherlock looked over at her briefly, "Anything out of the ordinary." He spoke as if it that made everything clear. It didn't.

Molly shook her head and burrowed further into her ridiculously over-sized windbreaker with "FORENSICS" emblazoned on the back. The stupid jacket was a size too big and the sleeves kept getting in her way, but at least it kept her fingers warm. She'd never needed to wear the jacket before because she was never actually at crime scenes. It just languished in her locker as proof she had completed the course in field investigating techniques. However, after that one summer course, during which it had been too warm for a jacket, Molly knew she was better suited for lab work. Always had been, always would be. But for some reason, Sherlock felt that she would be useful at this particular scene.

"Ri-right now the only th-thing out of the o-o-ordinary is that I'm h-here instead of Jo-Jo-John," she muttered under her breath. It was cold and damp and getting dark. What could she possibly find in these conditions that she wouldn't be able to find once the body got back to the morgue? She had no idea.

"I need you, Molly. This isn't that bad."

"F-Fine."

"Here, look here."

Peering around the edges of the body she saw nothing particularly noteworthy. It was only a matter of time before Sherlock saw whatever it was he was looking for and they could leave. She just had to wait it out as Sherlock circled the body and crouched down. He looked to be absorbed in the situation. Sure enough, he started to follow a trail of some kind and wandered off toward the crowd. His head snapped up and he surveyed the bystanders.

"Lestrade! Sergeant Donovan! Quickly!" he bellowed.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement. A man in a blue cap and glasses wearing a dark jacket started to sprint away from the scene. Someone screamed and Sherlock tackled the man before he got away. People started running in all directions and Molly decided she'd had more than enough excitement. She watched as the runaway suspect was handcuffed and Sherlock rambled away to Lestrade. Drifting into invisibility she chuckled to herself as she left the scene. She'd just go back to the morgue to receive the body. Like always, Sherlock didn't need her here anymore. For thirty minutes, no one noticed she was gone.

Pulling on his gloves, Sherlock spoke, "It seems you were correct, Molly. The perpetrator was foolish enough to return to the scene of the crime making this a pitifully easy one to close. You were not needed here after all."

"Who are you talking to?" Anderson questioned, fully prepared to believe the man had finally snapped and was talking to himself.

"Dr. Hooper of course." Sherlock was genuinely surprised the man could dress himself he was so slow sometimes.

Anderson sneered at him, "She isn't here."

"Where is she?" Sherlock snapped at the man. "She did not just disappear."

"How should I know, I'm not her keeper," the man retorted, finishing stowing his gear and stalking away from Sherlock.

Sherlock scanned the crowd looking for Molly. He finally caught sight of the yellow lettering of her jacket hunched over next to one of the police vehicles. He walked over and touched her shoulder.

"You really should not wander off like that, Molly. Especially not when the killer was one of the bystanders."

The woman in the jacket looked up at him, "Excuse you?"

Sherlock blinked. That wasn't Molly, it was a dark haired technician he'd never seen before. Where was his pathologist? He realized that she had done it again, she had vanished from right under his nose.

-x-x-x-x-

One month ago

"No, I am not starting the rumor mill again," John protested. "You've only recently been resurrected and I'm enjoying not being hounded by reporters again."

"People are going to talk regardless," Sherlock argued, "so you might as well accompany me."

John held firm, "Not this time. It's just surveillance. Go by yourself if you must, but I will not go to dinner with you."

"Fine." Sherlock sulked, nervously tapping on the arms of his chair. Then he sprung up, grabbing his mobile from his desk. "I should have thought of this sooner." He typed out a quick message.

"Who are you going to bully into taking my place?" John asked with interest.

"Molly."

John sighed, "I don't know what she sees in you. Would serve you right if she refuses."

"Oh, but she won't." Sherlock smirked and sure enough, the text alert sound confirmed. Molly would accompany him to dinner that evening. John shook his head.

"You did tell her it was for a case?"

"Of course."

And that was how Molly Hooper found herself tucked into a dark corner booth with Sherlock eavesdropping on three Ukrainian men. She knew she should have stayed home, she knew he only called on her because John had refused. But it was nice to be needed again, watching him back in action, even if it was just cover. Molly ate her food and tried not to think too loudly. She would just stay quiet and watch Sherlock work. He had ordered but only seemed to be moving the food around on the plate. Then, without a word to her, he got up and followed one of the men out the door. At least he had been considerate enough to hide money to cover the bill under his napkin. Shaking her head, Molly collected her bag, paid the check and went home unseen by everyone. Just the way she liked it.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock came back to collect her only to see that she was gone. When had she left? He'd only been outside the restaurant listening to the suspect talk on the phone while having a smoke. She must have walked right past him. How hadn't he seen her? He sees everything. Ah, he had broken his own rule, he hadn't observed. Stupid. Shrugging, Sherlock resumed his surveillance, pleasantly surprised that Molly had not only noticed the money for the bill but had left him a note.

Thanks for dinner. - x Molly

-x-x-x-x-

Later tonight

Sherlock headed back toward his own flat. The case was closed and something new had taken its place in his mind almost immediately. A new puzzle. One John would perhaps title "The Disappearing Doctor." Really, it was unlike Sherlock Holmes to have such a glaring oversight. But this was not the first time Molly had been able to completely escape his notice. The instances spanned years. He remembered the night she'd brought it to his attention, that she saw him but he never saw her. He had been startled by the truth to her statement. At the time he credited his surprise with being utterly engrossed in Moriarty's final problem. Molly had mistakenly assumed that it meant she wasn't important. On the contrary. But then how did he keep overlooking her? Time to find out. He changed directions, heading instead to Barts morgue.

Sitting at her desk, still wrapped in her jacket, Molly was filling out paperwork for the body and sniffling. Sherlock knocked softly on her office door before coming inside. She looked up, nose and cheeks red from the cold of her excursion to the crime scene.

"Oh, did you still need something? I thought once the suspect was taken in, it would be okay for me to come back here with the body." She sniffled again, "Sorry."

"No, you were right to come back," Sherlock stopped. He hated that he was about to admit to having a serious flaw in his methods. Molly was confused and more than a little concerned. At the scene, Sherlock had been acting normal - well normal for him- now he seemed on edge.

"What's wrong?"

He stared intently at her. "How do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" she asked, confusion was clearly evident on her face.

"Seeing what I don't want you to. And disappearing from sight," Sherlock started pacing anxiously. "This is the second case you've accompanied me to and both times you just vanish. It's like you are always in my blind spot."

"Oh, uhm, I don't know. I just try to stay out of your way, it seems to help you work."

"Yes, but it's also incredibly unnerving. And frankly, not very safe." He pinned her with another of his looks. He was desperately trying to read her. It was the only thing he had left, but sitting before him was the same normal, plain pathologist he'd known for years. Nothing was extraordinary. What was he missing?

"It was your idea for me to come to the scene, Sherlock," Molly defended, "I would much rather have stayed here at the lab." For all his claims to be the most observant person on earth, he was just now catching on. Molly wondered if maybe it was time to share her secret. After all, she'd kept his for three years.

"That's not the point. Why can't I seem to keep my eyes on you?"

Molly sighed, it was time. "It's a long story actually. You better have a seat," she began.