The Mad Man and Molly

...

She never saw him again. Strange, though later she'd think that maybe, out of the corner of her eye, he'd appeared once or twice and then gone, or that she'd caught the groaning of some strange machine before realising it was something depressingly ordinary.

She never forgot, though. He'd called her important, in his own way, and that made her smile, that some mad man who had to be very clever, and very old, had called her important.

Months went by. Day after day, case after case where Sherlock would stride into the morgue without a care and ask for one thing or another, and she'd give it to him.

Then Christmas had come, and she'd started out by blushing at the fact that she'd even been invited to Sherlock's, and she'd spent hours, days, even, trying to figure out what would be the kind of thing she could wear that would best get his attention. Even for just a moment…

It was snowing, outside, just like it had for the past few years, except unlike those times there wasn't some weird scare on TV. No 'alien' sightings. Molly was glad of it. Maybe, just maybe, this would be something special.

It hadn't been on purpose, that she'd started to think like this. She'd just remembered that man in the bowtie, and the way he'd told her that 'someone' needed her. He hadn't said who, and he hadn't even said his own name, or why that person needed her. Just that they did…

…And then, she'd met Sherlock.

She had attached the idea to the handsome, cold, aloof man as though it were only natural, acting out her own personal fantasy in her everyday life. Like maybe, if she waited long enough, he would become that person who needed her, and he'd see Molly Hooper, woman rather than Molly Hooper, access to the morgue and body parts.

She hadn't meant to fall in love. That had been an accident, completely and utterly out of her own control. She wouldn't take it back, though, not for anything, but it did make life hard.

And now Christmas had come and gone and he'd said such mean things, and she'd tried her best but he still hadn't seen her. He'd noticed her, and seen through to her motives, her reasoning, everything - but not in the right way. He'd apologised, and that had been something, but it was cold.

Sometimes, she wished that she could see what John saw. She knew he was human, it'd be impossible to mistake him for anything less when she'd been around him so long, but sometimes… just sometimes…

After everything that had happened, after everything that had gone wrong that night, she made her way home, hoping that she could just spend the rest of the night safe and warm, with a hot chocolate and something silly on the TV, and pretend not to care. Or maybe she'd cry, without anyone looking, and the next day she'd pretend she was all right.

What she hadn't expected was to see a man walking towards her on the snowy road, wearing a long coat, bandy-legged and, she could say as they walked closer, wearing a bowtie.

It was him. The mad man, the one she'd met before all of the others. Even before Sherlock, and yes, she did put him in with the others, he was definitely mad. Maybe not in the same way, but… mad all the same.

He saw her, and his face lit up, coming toward her with a smile on his face, as though he didn't remember the last time they'd met, or understand what he'd done to her.

"Ah! Molly Hooper! Been a while since I've seen you around! Though, have to say, haven't been back to the hospital so much. Haven't had time, what with… well… everything."

Back? He spoke as though he'd been there far more than just the once. Or had that just been the only time she'd met him there, and he'd gone more times than that?

Either way, Molly put on a smile, and tried to pretend she hadn't been on the verge of tears moments before.

"Erm, yeah. I- a lot's happened, I guess," she says, pushing her bag further up her arm. "What… er, I don't think I caught your name last time…?"

He looked confused. Had she said something wrong? What could she have said wrong?

"I was sure I'd- Oh. Oh… yeah, right. Sorry. Didn't explain that bit to you, did I? I'm the Doctor. Hello!"

He waved a hand at her, wiggling the fingers around in the cold air, and she frowned.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say that you're the Doctor? It's just, there's only been one other person who's ever told me to call them that. And, sorry, but, you don't look a bit like him."

"Well, no, I wouldn't. I've changed since then. I do that. Well, not often. I try not to too often. But, yes! Me again. Remember how we first met? I had to push you out of the way of that Agoraxian battleaxe!"

"I- but- that was you?" He grinned at her. "You… I mean, you don't remember coming into the hospital before that?"

"No… no, should I? No - no, wait, don't tell me. It's possible you saw an earlier version of me, and if you told me, the world might implode. Or explode. One of the two, anyway."

"Just because I…?"

"Well. You're important. I couldn't see it before, but- yeah. Look at you!"

"But I'm… I'm not… important. Well, Sherlock doesn't seem to think so, anyway…"

"Pfah! Well, Sherlock's an idiot! A really clever idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. You, Molly Hooper, are important. And don't let anyone telly you otherwise. Got that?"

She nodded, and he grinned, and she started to, hesitantly, smile back in return.

…

AN: WHOO! Much longer than the last chapters, I think!