Here, take a short teen!lock story taken from an AU list on Tumblr. The prompt was: "I accidentally took your notebook thinking it was mine and you have really nice handwriting and cute doodles" I went a little overboard, mainly because I love the idea of Molly slowing driving Sherlock insane. Sue me!
It starts, like all interesting things in life do, with a mystery.
Of course, most people wouldn't consider finding an abandoned notebook on a table in the school library intriguing, but Sherlock Holmes is nothing if not most people.
He is perusing the Chemistry section, looking for a particularly rare tome (the librarian tells him it's already been checked out, but one can never be sure), when he sees it. It's nothing special, just a spiral-bound stack of paper with a blue cover, but he can't stop himself from investigating anyway. (He convinces himself it is because cases have been scarce of late.)
His fingers drift over it, and he pauses before opening it to the first page. For all he knows, it could be filled with insipid ramblings or, even worse, poetry. (God, how he loathes the pathetic fools who find such sentimental drivel romantic.)
Still, the notebook presents a bigger puzzle than he's had in weeks, so he throws common sense to the wayside and flips open the cover.
It's worse than he feared. The first page includes a poorly-drawn picture of a kitten, followed by what looks like a diary entry.
Do you believe in love at first sight? There's this boy and I love him. At least, I think I do. I can't stop thinking about him. He's so intelligent it's like he's burning. And he's so cool but not really. And he's fit. Oh, he is really fit. And I can't stop thinking about him.
Sherlock scoffs, and almost turns away, but something pushes him to keep reading. The next few pages are similar, detailing the romantic woes of the mysterious authoress. He almost feels guilty for reading what was obviously meant to be private. Almost.
He halts again, however, when he reaches the seventh page. He finds what appears to be chemistry notes, although he knows that particular topic isn't taught until at least the second year of university. Certainly not in this miserable excuse for an educational institution.
His interest piqued, he continues through the pages, finding himself increasingly more fascinated. So much so, in fact, that he is disappointed when he reaches the last used page with no indication to the girl's identity.
Her insights into his favorite subject are enlightening, and he discovers he agrees with most of her observations. He smirks gleefully when he reads of experiments she has performed, similar in content to his own. Her notes suggest she is especially fond of anatomy, and there are several drawings of the human body's various systems.
Interspersed throughout, he reads her private writings as well, although John's voice in his head chastises him for it. He refuses to acknowledge the clenching in his gut when she mentions her crush. (Mycroft would call it jealousy.)
He has to find her.
XXXXX
He begins with the obvious choice, the only female in his class that has outsmarted him.
Irene is beautiful and intelligent, certainly, but she doesn't quite fit the profile he's conjured in his head for his mystery girl. Her writings imply a lack of self-esteem, a trait that Irene possesses in spades. (He also can't imagine her pining over anyone. Irene always gets exactly what she wants, himself included, once upon a time.)
That doesn't stop him from stealing one of her past exams to compare handwriting, however. He breathes easier when hers doesn't match. One battle of wits with Irene Adler is enough for a lifetime.
XXXXX
Next on his list, of course, is Mary Morstan.
She's bright, witty, and Sherlock enjoys her presence. Unfortunately, she's also been in a romantic relationship with his best mate for the better part of two years.
He's extremely relieved, then, when the handwriting on the love note she sent to John a few weeks ago is not the same as that of the girl he is quickly becoming obsessed with finding.
XXXXX
The pattern continues for the next two weeks. He identifies a potential girl and borrows a writing sample, only to be disappointed when it does not match his girl's.
Sally Donovan. Kitty Riley. Soo Lin Yao. All dead ends that give no clues to the owner of the notebook that is slowly driving him insane.
By the following Monday, he is disheartened, worried he will never discover her identity.
John tells him that he's crazy and should just give it up.
Mary slaps her boyfriend on the back of the head and says that she thinks it's romantic.
Sherlock curses himself for falling into sentiment's clutches over a girl he's never met.
XXXXX
Things always seem to work out at the precise moment we least expect them to.
He trudges into his Chemistry lab that afternoon and slouches down in his chair. A quiet sigh sounds from the back of the room, and he turns his head without thinking.
His gaze passes over the slight brunette almost by accident, reminiscent of his discovery of the notebook. Her hair is pulled back neatly, only a few loose strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her lips, though small, are pursed as she scribbles hastily in her notebook. Her blue notebook.
Warmth floods his chest as he straightens his back, fully taking her in. Molly Hooper, he recalls. Mary's mentioned her once or twice. Their classmates call her 'Morbid Molly' because she would rather read about science and post mortems than mingle with them. Mary has told him that she's nearly as intelligent as he, and equally as socially inept.
At the time, he had waved her off, believing it to be another attempt to set him up. Now, however, he wonders if Miss Morstan is more adept at matchmaking than he realized.
As if sensing his eyes on her, she looks up, gulping and quickly averting her gaze when she catches him staring. Her cheeks flush a brilliant pink, and Sherlock grins to himself as everything becomes clear.
He stands up and strides over to her desk, grabbing her missing notebook as he goes. She timidly lifts her head as his shadow falls over her. She smiles at him nervously.
"I believe this belongs to you, Molly Hooper," he declares, holding out the notebook.
She lets out a quiet "Oh!" as her cheeks redden even further.
To all of my faithful readers: I am currently working on the next chapter of All In! (If anyone even cares about that story.) A small preview of what's to come: Drunk Sherlock and Molly performing experiments and getting increasingly touchy-feely. It's gonna happen.
Please drop a review and let me know what you thought!