Well, I am just so insanely happy that so many people are liking this. I realize there may be some issues that may or may not be addressed in the upcoming chapters, but I'm hoping that you will just keep reading and ignore the inconsistencies. lol. I'm not sure if I'm very good at this whole supernatural type of writing, but I'm giving it a go...so thank you for reading and amusing me. :D

By the by, I don't actually own any of the characters or places or things like that. All rights are reserved for Moffat, Gatiss, Sir ACD, Benedict, Loo, and anyone and everyone else involved in the show adaptation of the stories.

That is all.

Chapter Five:

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When news had reached her about just who Jim was, she felt horrible. Humiliated. Mostly, she felt like an idiot for now picking up on it in his scent. She forced herself not to think about hunting him down and making him pay. Making him suffer for using her. Instead, Molly focused on her work. The holidays were swiftly approaching, and with it, a steady stream of autopsies. Mostly just deaths by natural cause, but there were terrible accidents and suicides as well. She understood completely, the loneliness was especially unbearable for her at these times too. One difference; they had an out, she didn't. So, having been fully prepared to spend another holiday season alone, it came as a surprise to her when she received an invitation for a party at Baker Street. It was in John's handwriting, and Molly could safely assume that a certain detective would not be pleased to be hosting the event at all. Nevertheless, she was glad she had been remembered.

Finding the dress had been difficult. Years of being how she was had caused her skin to turn a ghostly hue of almost white. Several of the dresses she tried were the right cut, but the color only brought questions as to her skin pigmentation. 'Can't have him noticing. Not now.' So, when she had finally found the little black ensemble, she was pleased. Molly turned about in the brightly lit changing room, watching as the dress seemed to make her pale limbs beautiful, rather than odd to the eye. She pleasantly took it home, and hung it over her bedroom door. She happily readied for the party, taking careful time to ensure she had done her hair nicely, and that her lips were wearing that shade he liked on her. 'Or seemed to like.' Finally, when she had slipped the gown over her head, letting it cascade over her thin frame, Molly slid her shoes on. The final step was wrapping up in her winter shawl and coat. 'It's supposed to be cold for them. Best not chance it.'

She grabbed his present last, setting it carefully on top of the others in the decorative bag. Giving herself a once over, Molly sighed, and left her small flat to head to 221B.

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She was thankful for the sign on the door. Most of the time, she never went anywhere that wasn't public domain. However, it was extremely rude to infer that the hosts of a party would just allow their guests to stroll in. At least, that's how Molly saw it. So, as she walked up to the steps of 221, she saw a quickly scrawled note, sticking underneath the door knocker. She could hear talking and laughter as she ascended the staircase. At the top, she took a deep breath, and walked into the beautifully lit room.

"Hello everyone." She said as she entered. John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson all greeted her. "Uh, it said on the door just to, just come up." More pleasantries were exchanged, yet she still managed to hear his annoyed tone above it all. She shed her coat, setting the bag of gifts to the side. As John took her coat and shawl, she could feel their eyes fall on her. She heard John's slip of the tongue, as well as Lestrade's oxygen leaving his lungs.

"So, we're having a Christmas drinkies, then?" She looked downcast as Sherlock made a sarcastic remark, before ignoring her in favor of his, or rather John's, laptop. Mrs. Hudson decided to engage in her conversation at least. Molly was thankful for this. Greg asked if she would like a glass of wine, one of the few things anymore that she could enjoy. She nodded and turned to talk to the sweet older lady once more.

"How's the hip?" Mrs. Hudson had answered her with a bit of a joke, so Molly had countered. However, it was only after she had said the words 'postmortem' that she realized the less than morbid crowd surrounding her. She began to apologize, when Sherlock cut her off.

"Don't make jokes, Molly." She muttered a nervous 'sorry', before her attention was brought round to the Detective Inspector. He handed her the glass of wine, and she thanked him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas?" She really was surprised to see him, but was happy to have someone else to keep herself distracted with. Holidays had seemed a difficult time for Greg as well, and Molly was only too pleased to keep him company in years past.

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife, we're back together. It's all sorted." He smiled excitedly. Molly smiled in return, glad to hear that he was happy. Sherlock spoke then, clearly shooting down poor Greg's hopes.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" She had been trying to spare all of them from Sherlock's harshness. She hadn't expected him to turn on her. She shouldn't have been surprised, really.

"Yeah." John answered her.

"Sherlock was complaining. Saying." She caught her slip, knowing he wouldn't appreciate the others knowing about how much emotion he showed when by himself in the lab. John continued.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act, she's off the booze." He replied, giving a hopeful toast. Again, Sherlock dashed his dreams, with a quick 'nope'.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John's voice fired out, bringing Molly to attention. She looked up to see Sherlock staring at her, a snide grin on his face. 'Oh no.'

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." The statement threw her for a loop of confusion, considering he was wrong from the very start.

"What? Sorry, what?" She had stuttered out, before he continued on his terrible rant.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Molly could only stand and attempt to control the creature inside her that was ever whispering, 'come on, put him in his place'. She didn't hear John or Greg trying to come to her rescue, as Sherlock continued, ignoring them both. Instead, her eyes were glued to him as he approached her. His voice callously ripping into her and tearing her apart as he picked up the gift in current scrutiny. She mentally kept her demon at bay as he sliced daggers through her already tattered heart, with his cruel words about her feelings.

"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..." His words had stopped, and Molly could see him finally catching on to the truth behind his deductions. The pity from the others was infiltrating her nose, so heavy she could almost taste it. She bit down the immense urge to bit that flawless neck, show him how small her mouth was. Instead, she opted for a calmer approach.

"You always say such horrible things." Her voice quivered past her lips, the power being withheld leaking out as she spoke. "Every time. Always, always." Molly didn't understand, she really didn't. She had done good, considering her potential for absolute chaos and destruction. She had done right by others, especially him. Yet, she was continuously tormented by him. 'Maybe it's just part of being cursed.' She thought. However, her words in her mind halted as he spoke his aloud.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." Molly watched in utter shock as he leaned toward her, the remorse clearly slapped on his face.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." His silken voice buzzed in her ear, and she found it hard to resist wanting to take him then. 'So conflicting, why is he so difficult?' His kiss burned her icy skin, and Molly could barely react before a luscious moan sounded from, well, not her.

"Ah, no! That wasn't...I didn't..."

"No, it was me." Sherlock answered automatically. She stared in shock, and the irritated look wiped to his features as he spoke the reason. 'My phone', he had said. From there, things had progressed quickly. Sherlock had gone from standing in front of her, to the fireplace across the room, to walking down the hallway to his bedroom. Molly took a large sip of the wine in her hand, and tasted the bitterness slip down her throat. She had decided it was time to leave.

"Molly, please don't go because of him." John had implored her to stay for another drink and presents.

"I'm sorry, I just...I have to go. Merry Christmas, everyone." She had smiled and waved her goodbyes, before John helped her with her coat. She kissed him on the cheek, and was out the door. As soon as she was outside, she breathed out the nerves that had wracked her body. The snow fell silently above her head. She thought about the many times he had insulted her. All the horrible deductions he'd made about her appearance, or choice in men. The anger and animalistic urge bubbled up inside her. She wanted to take him, no, she wanted to torture him. Bleed him dry. Make him beg for forgiveness, for mercy. Molly waited for a moment and took the opportunity of an abandoned Baker Street to let her withheld emotions out. A swift swing with her left hand, and an innocently by-standing bin landed across the street, dented from her palm and rolling on its side. She sighed, feeling slightly better, and began walking to the main road. What she didn't notice was the pair of oceanic eyes following her movements from the window above.

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She had received the call around 3:00 in the morning, which she had been more than fine with taking. 'At least it's something to do.' She told herself. Molly had changed into a comfy, red sweater and slacks. She had no intention of showing off the scratch marks from the alcoholic who used to live in her alleyway. He'd been a bit more sober than she would have liked, and she'd spent nearly thirty minutes disinfecting the abrasions. Molly stood in the morgue, ready and waiting for him to arrive. She somehow knew it would be him. Another posh man had also entered behind him. Molly could smell the similarities in their hair, could see the same nose on their faces. This man was Mycroft Holmes.

"Had her brought here, your home from home." Mycroft had said. Molly wasn't sure that the morgue was where Sherlock spent the most time. She shrugged it off as he spoke.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." He eyed her warily, which caused a tingling uneasiness throughout her own body.

"That's okay," she stated a bit happily, "everyone else was busy with...Christmas." She wondered if she looked as pathetic as she sounded. Glancing up at the Holmes men's faces, Molly confirmed her suspicions.

"The face is a bit...sort of bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." She decided to warn them. She knew Sherlock could handle the grotesque and bloody sight, and she imagined his brother could as well. However, this was simply horrid. Whoever had done this had left the woman with little dignity to spare. Molly had almost wretched at the initial sight. She pulled the sheet back to reveal the battered and disfigured face. She heard Mycroft ask his brother if it was 'her'. He was cut off by the detective's low voice.

"Show me the rest of her." He requested. Molly faltered for a minute, before she obliged. The rest of the body was only injured a bit. Molly couldn't help but wonder who this woman was.

"That's her." He said, before walking away. Her heart sank. 'Oh.' Mycroft thanked her and started to follow his brother.

"Who is she?" She blurted out suddenly. She had to know. "How did Sherlock recognize her from...not her face?" Molly had rephrased her question halfway through, finding the company extremely awkward. He didn't answer her, simply gave a sympathetic grin and left. Molly wasn't sure if she should be thankful or not. She looked down at the body and felt a swell of jealous rage. 'You're lucky, aren't you? You get two things I never will.' Molly thought bitterly, before she immediately felt bad. Jealousy or not, nobody deserved this.

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She had quite unsuccessfully asked Sherlock about 'The Woman', he had dodged her question by asking his own.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm x-raying her possessions?" It had seemed like a logical explanation to her at the time, but his remark had her feeling doubtful.

"We all do silly things." Molly explained, chuckling a bit. 'Like dressing up for a man who couldn't care less.'

"They do, don't they? Very silly." Sherlock had remarked, as if Molly had unlocked some sort of clue to this mysterious phone. He had ranted about the dead woman, and what she was trying to tell him by leaving the phone in his care. However, he had apparently been wrong, as the detective growled in frustration, before walking away. Molly was left to stand alone in the lab, feeling a bit silly herself.

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Ooh, so she DOES have a violent streak...even if she doesn't let anyone see it. :D Hope you liked this chapter. Leave me a review to let me know what you thought. Thanks! LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES AND COOKIES! YEA, COOKIES!