Stay Molly, please.
Okay I should update my other story but I'm writing this. I've been watching lots Sherlock and Molly fan made videos on YouTube and I couldn't keep it in anymore. I had to write a sherolly. So here you go.
Stay Molly, please.
"Sentiment is just a chemical defect found in the losing side", Sherlock always believed in this famous quote of his. Feelings was just a waste of time. Slowing down the process of his brain, what he defined as a hard driver. And he would store only useful things, really useful things. There was no single room in the brain of his for affection. Even the Woman, she only stayed in his mind palace for a short period of time and he deleted her from his hard driver. He only kept this small space in his head where he would respect her intelligent.
There were few people he would let to live in his mind palace. The few people he cared about in his life. John his best friend, Mrs. Hudson his lovely landlady, and Mycroft, he respected him even though they had this brother to brother competition going on between them.
It was obvious for everybody. The first people who would be in danger were these people. He faked his death to save them.
He didn't believe in love, sentimental, affection. He was cold around people, men, and women. He has been told multiple times that he was a machine, a heartless man, and a sociopath.
It was true, when he was around others however, every time he stepped in Bart's laboratory his world would turn upside down. Every time he was around this special pathologist his shields somehow would go down.
The ID card attached on left side of her chest over the laboratory coat she wore said, Dr. Hooper, pathologist in morgue. An ordinary woman working in the cold morgue who happened to give him body parts and stay over her shifts to help him in some of his cases.
To him she wasn't just Dr. Hooper from morgue, for Sherlock Holmes she was Molly, his only pathologist. He had mentioned it to Lestrade several times.
'Send the samples to laboratory my pathologist will take a look at them,'
'My pathologist and I will work on it,'
The other time Lestrade asked him if he could send some reports and samples to a guy who happened to work as well in morgue instead of sending them to Molly because she wasn't available at the time. And Sherlock's answer was a simple but honest sentence.
'No, I only trust my pathologist,'
And it was true he only trusted her- Nobody else. She was the only one who saw his pain, his sadness. The only one who saw him. The only one he ran to and asked for help to fake his death. And heaven knows when he said you count, Molly Hooper, his words were honest and true, deep from his heart. He rarely confessed he cared for people. And for Molly Hooper it was something more. Her roots were deep in his heart. She was even in his mind palace!
Sherlock's feelings toward his pathologist were honest but confused, that was why he was always acting like an ass before her. He paid a close attention to his pathologist. He observed every little change in her appearance. He stored only useful things in his mind palace. And Molly Hooper was important, useful.
The little moment they had brought joy to Sherlock. He wasn't a man to smile and when he did his lips would just curve up a little. But when he smiled to his pathologist, the smile was real, joyful, and it reached his eyes. Not many people have seen his smiles but his pathologist.
Tonight at 22:30 Molly Hooper would catch a train to somewhere far from London. Possibly because he was acting like a d*ck in front of her. Because the bloody Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure out his feelings. His pathologist was getting out of his hands.
22:28, she possibly was in her train ready to go. He wanted his pathologist by his side. Sherlock took his phone out of his pocket and typed with hope.
Stay, Molly.
Please.
SH.
And everybody knows he doesn't say, please to everyone.
Hope you enjoyed. I might write a sequel to this story.