Molly Hooper sat on her couch in comfy night clothes. She knew they were hideous but for an occasion like this she really didn't care. She took a sip of red wine then grabbed the gun off the table. It was weird this feeling, like the calm before the storm. She didn't cry or feel anxious. In fact she felt normal. In some ways this was the most normal she ever felt. Days on end she would see suicide victims come into the morgue and they were just poor lost souls while she was the abnormal woman who worked with the dead and loved a sociopath.
She placed the gun in her mouth and laughed a little. Her mouth was too small. Not just her lips as Sherlock had told her once but her actual mouth and she couldn't get the gun comfortably between her teeth. It really was absurd. She was trying to get comfortable before she shot herself and she would probably destroy her face but she was worried about her teeth! Most women who kill themselves liked poison or would just overdose in order to look good in the grave but Molly was no fool. One way or the other she would end up dead and then who cared if she had nice hair or if she wore ugly clothes. In death all was the same.
Part of it was the fact that she wanted to destroy her beauty. She knew she was a pretty girl even if she often felt self-conscious. But that is what they all saw wasn't it. She worked for years to be taken seriously as a woman in a male dominated profession. She was the best and yet it didn't matter. She was still talked down to still brushed off still just little Molly Hooper in the morgue much too pretty to be with the dead all day. And the men she dated, goodness, it was as if she had something on her forehead that said "cheat on me, use me, douchebags accepted here". What was wrong with her?
Then there was Sherlock Holmes. She thought absentmindedly that some might blame him for her death. They would say it was his fault and move on not bothering to see that it was themselves all along that drove her here. It was because of Sherlock though that she had held off for so long. He was cruel yes but he didn't see her as a pretty face but a strong mind. She wasn't his girlfriend as she wanted to be but she was his pathologist which showed her that he stayed for her mind not her body. She knew he would never, could never love her like she did him but the fact that she counted was enough to keep her holding on. Perhaps she should write a note just to let them know what they did. What their furtive glances that weren't so secret and dismissal of her work did. What their comments on how she should dress or work away from the coldness of the morgue or how she had so much more potential did. But she was just so tired of it all. Let them work it out for themselves ,she thought, let them figure out why sweet, cheerful Molly shot right through her vanity into her brain.
The cold pressed against her mouth and the steel tasted vaguely of gunpowder as she reached for the trigger.
"Molly!" a sudden exclamation made her jump just a little gun falling from her grasp to be collected by long thin fingers. She looked up into the face of Sherlock Holmes and reached out quickly for the gun but he held it away a childlike look of confusion and hurt on his face. The moment for her had passed the calm had come and gone and she fell back into the storm again. She placed her head in her hands and wept.
/
Sherlock Holmes was bored in Baker Street now that John was gone to live with his wife. He paced the room for a good two hours just climbing the walls waiting for a case he knew wouldn't come so late at night so finally he grabbed his coat and made out for a place he knew he could find company.
As he neared Molly Hooper's flat he felt a dread settle in the pit of his stomach but he quickly brushed it off. He made his way up the familiar steps and didn't bother to knock as he pulled out his lock picks easily opening the door and cursing Molly for so foolishly leaving the chain off. As soon as he walked in he stopped in his tracks taking everything in. Molly had not noticed him yet. Her back was to him and she sat strangely still. Sherlock approached her quietly the dread growing the closer he got until he saw what turned his stomach. Molly, Molly Hooper, the pathologist, his pathologist had a gun pressed inside her mouth. He shuddered because he knew how this played out he had witnessed it himself several years before on that fateful roof. He wanted to stop her but all he could do was let out a startled, "Molly!"
She started at his voice dropping the gun in the process and that was all the opportunity he needed to grab the gun. She reached out for the gun as soon as she saw it in his hands but he held it out of reach feeling lost as she began to weep. He unloaded the weapon and went to sit down by the sobbing woman not quite sure what to do.
"Sherlock" she asked hysterically, "Why are you here?"
"I don't know." He answered truthfully, "But I am glad I was her otherwise you may have made a stupid mistake."
She didn't answer as another sob racked her body. Awkwardly he put an arm around the woman patting her shoulder.
"Why would you do this?" Sherlock asked disturbed by the predicament he found himself in.
"I just- I just want to be done. I am so tired Sherlock. You are the only one who sees me and I just want someone to see."
"I see you?"
"You see everything. Everyone else sees happy, weird, pretty little Molly Hooper but you don't miss a thing do you?"
"There is always something."
"Yes I suppose so. I am sorry Sherlock. This was stupid. Please leave me to my shame now. I promise not to do anything stupid."
Sherlock regarded the woman for a second before nodding once then standing gliding over to the door and locking it once more slipping the chain on as well.
"You shouldn't try to lie you really are quite horrid at it. Also you should chain your door anyone could get in."
"You realize it is absurd to give me personal safety tips when I just tried to kill myself."
"Not good?"
"No it is fine it's just so you."
Sherlock sat down by Molly again his hands on his knees looking towards the wall.
"How do I fix this?" He asked after a moment of silence.
"Oh Sherlock you can't just fix this, fix me."
He furrowed his eyebrows, "There has to be something I can do."
"No Sherlock I am broken. I can't be fixed. I have been for a while now."
"What stopped you before?"
"I was needed." Molly answered simply.
"You are still needed." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock please just leave me. Just let me go." She pleaded.
"No! Molly," he said turning to her, "I need you. You keep me sane when my mind is bored. You provide a sliver of intelligence in the ignorant masses. John needs you to control me to be a friend to him and his wife. Think of Bart's they need you there. The world is a better place with Molly Hooper why can't your silly little mind get that?"
Molly's eyes shone with tears of a different kind. "I am sorry Sherlock. I don't want to go but I just don't want to live like this." She said through her sobs then added, "But I can try. I suppose I can try."
"Will you talk to someone more um-"
"Comfortable with sentiment?" she suggested.
"Yes."
She laughed really laughed at his discomfort, "Oh goodness! It feels good to laugh I haven't really laughed in ages Sherlock. Yes, I will see someone. I promise."
"Good I am glad you will go willingly."
"Willingly?"
"Obviously even if you said no I wasn't going to leave you like this. I will get you an appointment first thing tomorrow with Dr. Franklin he was my therapist when I was younger and one of the few in the profession I have respect for."
Molly's eyes widened at this.
"Oh don't be so surprised Molly. You must have guessed I do not have a normal mind. It quite worried my parents when I was a child and he was also quite involved after my um- rehab." He said rather quickly.
"Oh I um well, I never knew."
"Yes well," Sherlock paused before putting an arm around the woman and pulling her so she was laying against his chest, "Good night Molly Hooper."
Molly blinked in surprise but pulled her feet up on the couch adjusting to her new pillow as she drifted off to sleep to the tune of his heartbeat and the smell of his skin.
"Good night Sherlock."
She was asleep in an instant and remained against Sherlock all night. The detective on the other hand did not sleep choosing rather to watch over the woman in his arms still lost on how he got here. He knew that there was a long road ahead for Molly Hooper and he thought maybe he would be able to be on that road healing with her.
The next few days rumors spread as they were apt to about the consulting detective insisting on following his pathologist around but neither she nor he paid them any heed. Molly wouldn't tell about that night for years to come to anyone but her therapist and Sherlock would never tell a soul not even John but they both would always remember that the world was a better place with Molly Hooper.