An Unlikely Distraction
Chapter 1: Open Your Eyes
Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xxx
Molly's body went hot, then cold, before a blush spread across her face.
"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always..." Her voice trailed off in mortification and humiliation. Around her, Lestrade, Watson, Mrs Hudson and John's teacher girlfriend Jeanette openly cringed, angry at Sherlock for upsetting Molly and hoping against hope that she would be okay, in time.
Molly ran away from 221B Baker Street, hard though it was in a tight dress and heels, but she could not stand to be in front of those scrutinous ice blue eyes anymore. So smug, so calculating and oh so unfeeling. She heard cries from John telling her to come back, and that Sherlock was sorry, but she rushed on, intent on being as far away as possible from the clueless consulting detective. She did not want Sherlock to see her cry.
Sherlock lay awake that night thinking about a woman. But it wasn't the woman that everybody thought it was, Irene Adler, but someone else altogether. The light to Adler's dark, the sun to her shade. The innocent, friendly, eager to please pathologist Molly Hooper. Truth be told, he was much more comfortable thinking about Adler than he was about Molly Hooper, because Irene Adler provided a sense of intellectual equality, brain stimulation and over-zealous CSI agents on the make. Thinking about Molly made him regretful, sad and uncomfortable. Her face as she resigned herself to the fact that her present was to be scorned, not appreciated. Her sadness as he mocked her mouth and breasts, and the cry of distress as she fled from his flat made for some very unsettling bedtime thoughts.
John's face as he had come back in from trying to convince Molly to come back had been something to behold. He didn't look disappointed, annoyed or even affronted, he just looked furious as all get out.
"How could you be so cruel Sherlock? How could you not know, with all your genius and intellect, that the present was heartfelt and FOR YOU?"
The room was silent, Sherlock's unfamiliar shame and everybody's discomfort the elephant in the room.
"She's run off, on her own, two days before Christmas, in tears, because you couldn't take a day off. Not once. You're a disgrace Sherlock. Admit it." With that, Dr John Watson stalked from the room, door slammed behind him, leaving a crowd of confused guests to make their ways home and a reluctant host to sit and stare at the walls and wonder why everybody else was so harsh.
Molly lay in bed, the tears of shame and unrequited love now just hiccups of sadness and fatigue. She knew that he was aloof, probably asexual and married to his work, but she did not realise that her body parts were targets of his derision. Her brain played, over and over again, his amusement as he wondered which man in London was the apple of her eye, small breasted, big mouthed Molly Hooper. The shame was too much to bear. Molly closed her eyes.
Someone was knocking at her door, but her brain would not tell her whether it was real or a dream. Molly chose to ignore it, thinking her brain must be playing tricks on her, and it was all part of her dream. The knocking continued, and Molly was forced to sit up, and look at her clock. 3.30AM. Eurgh, she thought, climbing out of her double bed, and shuffling to her apartment door. She was too dazed to take in the tall, slim frame, the ice blue eyes, the unruly black curls and the great overcoat, but when her brain finally caught up with her eyes, her breath caught in her throat, and her mouth went dry.
