Note from the author: Hello! The prompt was: Molly has a secret addiction. One day Sherlock finds her out. It was given to me by someone on Tumblr. I thought about this prompt for a while, and yesterday I went to a concert and heard a song that helped me decide what her addiction would be. I'd never heard that song before, but it inspired me when the singer sang it at the concert. I hope you like it.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always…" Molly Hooper muttered as she tried to hold herself together. Somehow he had managed to humiliate her in front everyone she knew again. She did her best not to look at him, it would only take one good look to cause her tears to fall and she told herself that she had to maintain some amount of dignity for the rest of the party.

Sherlock Holmes' face changed from judgmental to embarrassed in a matter of seconds after reading the label on the present. At first, he was not sure what to do next. He knew what he had done was wrong, but how could he possibly make it better?

"I am sorry. Forgive me." Sherlock said quickly, hoping it would fix what he had done, but her expression did not change.

She still refused to look at him, so he stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was something that he only did for Mrs. Hudson, but he figured Molly would appreciate it. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Then his phone went off, and the pathologist's face turned as red as the wrapping paper on Sherlock's gift.

"Ah! No, that wasn't- I- I didn't…" She panicked, but Sherlock cut off her stuttering, "It was me."

Everyone was confused.

"My phone." He corrected before spinning around and wandering off to look into it.

It was quick, but when he returned Molly was gone. She left the gifts for everyone and even forgot her coat, so she was obviously in a hurry to get out of the flat.

He expected John to approach him and give him a piece of his mind, but it was actually Lestrade who came to chew him out.

"You know, you've been a real arse tonight." He remarked casually before taking a sip of his drink.

The consulting detective barely acknowledged his friend's comment, he had heard it at least a million times before, but Greg went on, "She has hard time around Christmas. Now, it's not my place to say, but I'm a bit worried about her tonight, actually."

Sherlock finally glanced in his direction, "Why should you be worried?" His brow arched curiously, and Lestrade simply shrugged, "Like I said, not really my place to say. I'd go to her place tonight myself, but I've got plans after this."

"And you are suggesting that I return her coat thereby checking on her for some reason you won't tell me about? Why would I do that?" Sherlock questioned with an annoyed tone in his voice.

Lestrade shrugged once more, taking another drink, "It's the proper thing to do, and because your curious now." He placed his glass on the table and waved to John and Mrs. Hudson, "Goodnight everyone. I must be going."

Originally, Sherlock planned to stay home and ignore the things his friend had said to him, but after everyone else had left, he found himself pacing the floor. "Why should people be concerned for Molly tonight?" He thought aloud. John, who was cleaning up after the party, said that he didn't know and before he could ask why Sherlock bolted for the door.

"I'm going out." He announced, picking up Molly's coat on his way through the door.

John was utterly confused, but even he could not control where that man went.

Sherlock caught a cab, gave the cabbie Molly's address, and then spent the whole ride trying to remember everything he knew about Molly Hooper the pathologist.

She obviously had some kind of crush on him. He knew she liked cats, she even owned one named Toby. He also knew that she was an excellent pathologist, the only one he would work with. Her sense of humor was a bit darker than of that normal person, but she found herself rather funny. Other than that small bit of information, he slowly came to the realization that he did not have very much data on her in his palace.

"We're here, sir." The cabbie grumbled, he had said it many times before.

Sherlock's eyes opened, he tossed money towards the man in the front seat, and slipped out of the cab without another word.

He walked into the building and easily found her flat.

It took a moment to convince himself to knock on the door. Am I actually doing this? He thought to himself.

Molly's voice called out something from inside the flat, and soon she swung the door open.

She was no longer wearing the dress from earlier, and she looked like herself again; those ridiculous earrings were gone as well. Her hair was pulled up as usual and she had taken off her makeup, it was a good thing she had too, because her cheeks were stained with tears.

"Oh," she slurred, "it's you."

He glanced past her, into the flat and saw a nearly empty bottle.

"You forgot your coat." His hand held the coat out to her.

Molly's lips formed a crooked little smile as she took the coat from him then turned around to put it in her closet. On her way across the room, she stumbled and almost fell onto the floor.

Luckily, Sherlock was able to catch her before she hit the ground.

"I'll take that." He stated, taking the coat from her hand. The consulting detective hung it up in the closet and then returned to her side to lead her towards the couch.

She tried to swat his hand away as he guided her, but he was too stubborn and refused to let go.

As she sat down on the couch her hand grabbed the bottle on the coffee table so that she could pour herself another drink.

At first, he had believed that her eyes looked glassy and bloodshot because she had been crying, but now he knew that was not the case. It was obvious that she was very drunk.

Sherlock watched her silently, but when she went to pour another, he took the bottle away. "You shouldn't drink, Molly. It doesn't suit you."

"Then what does suit me Sherlock?" She snapped and stood up, a fresh wave of tears come over her. "I give you lab access, I do everything you ask, I help you when I can, and I put up with everything you say to me. What suits me, Sherlock? Is it when I do my hair a specific way or when I allow you to look over my bodies? Oh no, I didn't mean it like that." She stammered, covering her face with her hands.

Sherlock said nothing. He was not sure what to say, but as his eyes roamed around the flat, he found the information that had been missing from his palace.

There was a very good reason to be worried about Molly Hooper.

"How long?"

"How long what?" She inquired quietly.

"How long have you been an alcoholic, Molly? I know the signs when I see them." He would have started naming them off, but that would only make things worse.

Sherlock could not wrap his mind around this.

"Do you know something?" Molly asked hysterically.

It was a rhetorical question, but she paused as if waiting for his response.

"Six years. Six years I've been sober." Her voice broke, and she had to stop to compose herself again, "Until tonight."

She covered her mouth with her hand as a sob threatened to ripped through her.

"Because of what I said." Sherlock added, his eyes widened in shock.

"Why did you have to say those things?"

Her anger had returned and she jabbed her finger into his chest, causing him to back up.

"We all know you're brilliant, and I know that you don't give a damn about me, but why?"

Now he was backed up against the wall.

Her little hands desperately grabbed onto his coat, "Can't you see I'd do anything for you?" She whispered brokenly.

Sherlock's chest tightened at the scene before him, his lovely little pathologist reduced to this.

All of this was his fault. He broke Molly and all of the strength she had built up over the years.

"I'm sorry, Molly." He said for the second time that night, this time he truly meant it with all his heart, before cautiously wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace.

Molly clung to him despite all the angry screaming she had done only moments ago.

"Did you like your present?" She asked weakly, her voice slightly muffled by his coat.

"Yes." He murmured into her hair, "Thank you for the pocket watch."

Molly smiled softly, "It was my father's."

He stayed with her for the rest of that night because she could not be alone. He learned that Christmas was a hard time because her family lived so far away from London and she got terribly lonely during the holiday.

Sherlock also learned other things about Molly like her favorite colors and what music she enjoyed.

He made room for this information and stocked his mind palace with new things about her.

Everyone her cared about got a decent room, and he decided that she deserved something bigger and better than the closet she had originally claimed.

Weeks later Sherlock and John showed up at Bart's.

Molly had herself under control again, and was even happy to see the pair come for a visit.

"I need to see the man they brought in yesterday." Sherlock said, his eyes glued on his phone.

Molly nodded and scurried off to retrieve the body.

As she was returning John suddenly glanced towards his wrist, "Dammit. I forgot my watch. Anyone got the time?" He glanced around the room for a clock, but he stopped his search when Sherlock pulled something from his pocket.

"It's 1:45." He announced before slipping it back into his pocket.

John's brows furrowed for a moment, and he pointed towards his friend's pocket, "Since when do you carry a pocket watch?"

"It was a gift." Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

He saw Molly smile from across the room, and he could not prevent the small grin that spread across his face.

John was still lost, "Did I miss something?"

Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me. xoxox