Hello my fellow Sherlollians!

Thanks for more reviews, they always make my day a dream come true because I love your reactions ^.^

Anywhoooo, i'm going to jump straight into it, sorry for any grammatical mistakes because I do check but I don't always see if you know what I mean xD

DISCLAIMER:

Hudson: *brews some tea* why must we ALWAYS give a disclaimer? Do we really need one?

Me: Yes. Because if I don't, Lestrade will take me in...

Sherlock: He wouldn't even notice...

Molly: *kicks his foot* Shhh... This is her story, let her do what she wants.

Sherlock: *sighs, but blushes a little*

Anderson: *pops in and wheezes because OTP feels*

NOTE: for a really good song, listen to Arrival of the Birds/Transformation by The Cinematic Orchestra™ it's amazing! Please give it a listen!

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It was the day after what had happened, and poor Molly Hooper hadn't slept a wink.

A week passed, and Sherlock's routine followed like this.

He would awaken, and greet Molly with a small nod.

He would read a newspaper, and Molly would ask

"Any news on my father?"

Sherlock would answer back.

"Nothing yet."

He would then lounge on his favorite chair, and pluck his violin.

"Any cases today?" She would ask, sitting at a chair inspecting over some books he had brought in for "no particular reason".

"No, but I will get to it soon, Ms. Hooper."

It would follow with him laying flat on his back on the couch, and Molly would pace the floor with the book in her delicate fingers, Sherlock's slender ones perched beneath his chin.

"This is a grand story. Why did you pick this one?" She would interrogate.

Sherlock would open an eye, inspect the cover, and then shrug.

"I deduced that you would like the main character." He would answer. Or sometimes he would reply with "I deduced the story would be to your liking."

Molly would blush, and continue reading.

It would follow with lunch, for which Molly would sigh and stay as silent as the dust settling around the room.

Sherlock would always sit across from her, and inspect her as she didn't touch her food.

He would ask...

"What kinds of stories do you enjoy?"

And she would always answer

"Adventures." Or "Romances." Or even "Mysteries."

And the silence would remain.

And afterwords would be a series of a few cases, for which Molly would sit and read or listen a little.

But in the end, he never left the flat.

And to end the day, Molly would walk to her room, but before entering, she would turn her head and see the man at the window, silently gazing off into the moonlight, watching candles flicker in the distance. She would gently call out.

"Will you solve my case tomorrow like you do with all those other clients?"

And Sherlock would say.

"Possibly." And leave it at that.

Today, Molly started off the day with an old book she had already finished since her first week here.

Sherlock starts it off by watching.

"Which book is that?" He asks, and Molly looks up from her other reality.

"Oh... Um... Sleeping Beauty."

Sherlock nods, and watches her go back to reading, pupils dilated.

"What... What is that one about, particularly?" He asks, and Molly once again looks up with her large eyes widened, lips parted as she tried to comprehend the real world again.

"Um... A princess who goes under a sleeping spell. Her true love awakens her with true loves kiss..." She says sentimentally, and Sherlock squints.

"Really?... How do you think that is possible?"

Molly shrugs as she walks a few steps around, reading away.

"Magic... True love is the most powerful thing in the world, you know."

"Psh..." Sherlock disregards that, and Molly responded with

"Please argue that with me."

Sherlock stands and gently takes the book, reading a few lines as he strides around the room, Molly following closely to read over his shoulder.

"True loves kiss..." He murmurs, and Molly nods.

"It was the only way to break the curse!"

Sherlock uttered a few other things like

"Love... For babies... Hmm..."

Molly grabbed the book back and placed it under her arm.

"Well... If will just treat my love of reading like scraps of trash than I think I will just read in my room!" She yells, and stomps away to her room like she said.

Sherlock followed, and Molly turned to him with an annoyed look.

"I am not treating your love of reading like trash, I am simply trying to hold a conversation with you."

Molly sighs, and looks down at her book, running her thumb over the title.

"Why do you not believe in true love?"

She asks, and Sherlock runs a hand over the back of his neck.

"Because I have not felt it..."

Molly looks up from under her eyelashes and frowns a little.

"I am sorry... Here." She hands him her book, and he takes it as if it were a bomb, cautiously, and with aquamarine eyes begging for an explanation.

"Why?"

Molly smiles and dusts off the cover.

"You'd enjoy it."

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That night, as Molly went to bed, she saw Sherlock sitting in his chair with a candle beside him.

He was reading.

Reading the book she gave him!

He was lost in it, completely and utterly lost as he read.

Nodding, crossing his arms...

He eventually looked up to see Molly staring.

She smiled, and he returned it, and with that she left him to fall deep into the darkness of her dreams.

Sherlock looks to the window, and shook his head as he whispered a name, a name to which he never thought he'd be saying goodnight to...

"Molly Hooper... Goodnight, Ms. Molly Hooper..."

Molly hadn't heard this, but as she sat in bed with another book which had "mysteriously shown up" in the flat, she looked to the door, for which behind it lay the man she was now staying with.

"Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes..."

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Moriarty and Moran sat in the pub.

Moriarty and Moran both sit at their usual tables, sipping their beers.

The town had been spreading rumors that Molly had disappeared like her father, perhaps with him, and that some curse is plaguing her family. And of coarse there were other mad theories...

The bookkeeper, who hadn't died but was close to it, tried to pipe them all down and tell them the truth.

But lies spread faster than truths because truths are innocent and lies are not.

And unfortunately crazy rumors and gossip plagued the town ten times worse than it had the first time.

Moriarty smirks as he overhears one speaking of how Molly ran away with a man.

"What loony people we live near... Even more loony than you, Moriarty." Moran hiccuped, which earned him a slap on the face.

"Shut up! Listen... We both know Molly did not do that. I mean... She is more innocent than even the babies of this town."

Moran nods, and agrees with a swig of his alcohol.

"Now... We both know Mr. Dove, the mad bookkeeper is telling the truth... But we cannot leave."

Moran hiccups, and hazily asks.

"But why?"

Moriarty smacks his head.

"We cannot. So. We need to lure her here... Somehow... In some way..."

Moran once more hiccups, and shrugs.

"Lure that... Person... Man... Mad man... Here."

Moriarty sighs and shakes his head.

"How?"

Moran thinks, for a few moments, before exclaiming drunkenly

"Murder!"

Moriarty throws his own whiskey onto Moran, for whom licks his lips and mouth thirstily, ignoring the slight burn.

"Hmm... Perhaps..."

Moran shrugs.

"I am gonna... Go have another..."

As Moran stumbles to the bar, Moriarty chuckles.

"Hmm... Perhaps... Not now... But eventually... And soon..." He whispers to himself.

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