A/N: I haven't written anything for about 3 years now. Seeing the new episode has changed that. My head is brimming with ideas, and this story would not stay in my head. This is my first time writing for the Sherlock series, even though I've followed the show since the first episode. Please enjoy.

I'm not blind, and I'm definitely not stupid. I am highly aware of everyone's reactions to Tom. I knew it would happen, and I was prepared to deal with it. My friends exchanged knowing looks and giggles behind my back. My parents, the only people in my world who didn't know about my crush on Sherlock, welcomed my first "real" boyfriend with open arms. My co-workers rolled their eyes behind Tom's back whenever he came to pick me up from work.

I kept Tom well away from anyone closely tied to Sherlock. During my weekly get-together with Mrs. Hudson, I told her about Tom but never brought him to visit. Detective Inspector Lestrade, I rarely see outside of work, and even if he happened to see Tom waiting in the hall for me, I don't think he ever connected the two of us together. John Watson, I was never close to in the first place. I don't think he knows (or cares? At least not above a general concern for a fellow human being) anything about me, other than I am someone who needs "protecting" from Sherlock.

He didn't realize that nothing protected me from Sherlock – not even my own common sense. But he tried, and I respect him for that. That and the fact that he is the only one besides Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock cares deeply about. It takes a special kind of person to earn Sherlock's love, and I love John for being a true friend to Sherlock.

I was dreading the day that I would introduce Tom to them. The looks, comments and giggles have finally died down now that Tom has been in my life for a year. But it all came up again last night when I brought Tom to the "Welcome Home Sherlock" party.

I know that Tom looks like Sherlock. The curly hair, the high cheekbones, the jacket and scarf that he insists on wearing, even though I've asked him to get rid of them. They remind me of Sherlock, and Tom is nothing like Sherlock.

I admit I was first attracted to Tom because of the resemblance. I'd had a crush on Sherlock for so long that I suppose it was only natural. Honestly, the only resemblance was in their clothes and style but it was something familiar to latch on to. As I began to get to know him, the differences solidified in my mind. I never told him about Sherlock. He didn't need to know. Sherlock was gone, and even though I knew he was still alive, being away from him for so long allowed me the time to sort through my life and realize he would never love me.

The whole process had started earlier, after the infamous Christmas party. He had deduced everything, except the most important thing. That's how far off his radar I was. Ever since that night, I'd been drawing back, examining my heart. The final separation was what did it. I gathered up all my hopes and shattered my own heart. I buried the pieces, and all that remained was our friendship. I would still do anything for him, but I know nothing will ever happen further between us. I grieved, and I healed.

It took six months, and then I met Tom. When we started dating, I was very strict with myself. He resembled Sherlock so much that I had to be sure it was Tom I was falling in love with and not a reincarnation of Sherlock. I was so happy when I realize how different they are.

Tom likes dogs and adores Toby. Sherlock would treat a pet as an inconvenience and a waste of time. After a slight grimace upon first meeting him, Sherlock completely ignored Toby's existence during those few days right after we faked his death that he used my flat as a bolthole. Or whenever he would pop in for a random overnight stay during the month that followed. He never came back after that first month.

Tom follows and is a fan of almost every sport under the sun. Tom even plays football with some of his mates from work in some sort of local league. I think Sherlock is aware of the existence of sports, but if he's deleted information about the solar system he certainly wouldn't keep information about sports.

I can tell Tom all about my life and my day, and he actually pays attention, empathizes and is even able to give me some advice. I'm sure that anything I say unrelated to the current case or body, goes in Sherlock's ear and out the other. Even now, I am picturing the particular way his eyes glaze over slightly, almost imperceptibly, when you talk about things he doesn't care about.

Tom is sweet and constantly apologizes, even when things are not his fault. The only apology I've ever gotten from Sherlock was at Christmas before he kissed me. I wish Tom wouldn't apologize quite so much, but it's coming from a place of love. He loves me and doesn't want to hurt me. His tenderness and thoughtfulness are what made me fall for him in the first place. I am safe and comfortable.

Tom appreciates me.

They are nothing alike, and I was pleased that I'd managed to move on. Until yesterday. Or did it happen earlier, at the first moment when Sherlock appeared behind me at my locker? I think I was fine then. I was happy that he was back. My first thoughts were of Tom, what I should do, what he would uncover. And I was afraid.

I had the next few days off. I got a text from Sherlock asking me to come around to Baker Street. He wanted me to solve crimes with him, to be his stand-in for John. Even though he tried to convince me otherwise, it was pretty obvious. He even called me John a few times! He was so nervous about asking me, and I foolishly thought for a moment he was going to ask me to dinner. Why would I think that? Did I want that? I would have said yes. Friends often have dinner together.

For all that, though, it was an amazing day. I'm used to seeing Sherlock in the morgue or in the lab, or at the very few small social gatherings I've been to at Baker St. I knew his brilliance, I knew his deductions, but I knew him primarily as a scientist. Yesterday, I saw him as a detective. I saw him interact with people, and even if he's not the best at dealing with people (and I'm hardly one to judge), he's more... human... when he's outside the lab/morgue. Most people think he's just an arrogant sod, and a part of him is. There was a moment when the train man's back was turned when he joked with me. We exchanged smiles and silent laughs. Then, as we turned back to the screens, I realized I was in trouble.

The Sherlock I knew, cold and cruel, I had mourned and moved on from. This was a whole new Sherlock, and I found a familiar fluttering in my heart. With a shock of dismay, I realized I hadn't thought of Tom all day!

I decided I needed to know why he asked me to help him today. It was our first, real conversation since he left. I told him I couldn't keep solving cases with him anymore, and he understood. He was sweet and gentle. He thanked me, for the first time in our strange relationship. He laughed and joked with me, and he kissed me.

I shoved all my emotions deep down inside myself, and I came home. Tom greeted me with a kiss, as usual. I cooked him dinner, we took the dog for a walk and watched telly, all as usual. We went to the "Welcome Home" party the next day. Tom was excited to finally meet the great Sherlock Holmes. It was a nice, quiet, party, and I think everyone liked Tom? Once they got over the whole "Molly is dating a lookalike Sherlock" thing. I ignored their looks and behaved as if I didn't see. They don't see Tom as I do, past the surface resemblance and into who he is as a human being. They will, in time.

Part of me wonders why Sherlock hasn't "deduced" Tom. I know he has, but he usually tells the world his deductions. Maybe there's nothing to deduce, or maybe he's learned his lesson and is being kind. I'd rather know because Tom is the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.

It's been one full day since the party. Tom took the day off so we could spend it together. We went shopping, and Tom was patient and helpful. We had lunch out, the waiter spilled water on Tom and Tom apologized for being clumsy. Tom insisted on taking me to see the new romantic comedy, although he knows I prefer action, he was trying to be sweet. We went to the pub for dinner, then took the dog for a walk.

As I'm sitting here writing this (I keep a journal now, not an online blog. It's helpful to get my feelings down on paper, even if I don't want to share with the world.), Tom's dog is chasing Toby around the sitting room. I'd try to stop it, but the dog never listens to me. Eventually, Toby will find a hiding spot, and then we can both have some peace and quiet. The barking is becoming so loud. I miss the quiet.

I am happy with Tom. We are going to have a wonderful, ordinary, peaceful life together. I will not let myself fall for Sherlock again. I can't.