"What do you mean she doesn't know you?" John and Mary sat awkwardly in 221B watching the great detective Sherlock Holmes stare into space with an altogether vacant look shining in his swirling grey eyes.
"She's deleted me." Sherlock answered the perturbed doctor with a curt manner.
"I thought only you could possibly do that?" Mary chimed in with a somewhat sarcastic tone, she knew what an absolute arse Sherlock had been to the pathologist for almost all the years of their acquaintance.
"Evidently she has developed some sort of mind storage device whilst within her coma, this has obviously been a place where all her important memories have been salvaged, a sort of back up device if you will…" Sherlock trailed off, if Molly had forgotten him she obviously didn't remember all the rude things he had said to her.
Suddenly a rather dangerous look entered Sherlock's eyes, John knew that look, it was one of which no good would come of. "Sherlock, what are you thinking…?"
"John, I can change her opinion of me, I can be kind to her, she won't remember all of those things I said to her before!"
And without anymore consideration Sherlock Holmes had grabbed his signature coat and disappeared into the hallway of 221B, John and Mary just looked at each other, an unfortunate sense of foreboding settling on both of their features.
Molly tossed and turned awkwardly in her dreams, her sleep affected by tall buildings and intermittent scenes of bloodshed, she couldn't remember where these horrible images were from but she knew within her own self that they were real. Always shadows danced within her mind, taunting her with their tall stature and fearsome mannerisms.
Suddenly she was aware of a presence within her room, simply standing and observing her, for some reason she felt unnerved yet not scared, this strange feeling of de ja vue pestered her as she turned to view the person loitering in the corner.
"You again? What do you want this time?"
"Molly, I know you don't remember me, but I want to help you get your memory back." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the woman within the small bed. Gone was the usual doe eyed innocence, replaced by suspicious hostility. He craved for that missing emotion, the love that made Molly Hooper who she was.
"Why would you help me, I don't even know you, let me guess; you think I have something to offer. Well sorry to disappoint but after the few visits I've had from various people it is quite obvious that I don't count for much."
At this Sherlock felt his heart break momentarily at recalling the last situation in which the young woman had uttered that very statement. And for some reason it saddened him. This whole situation had spiralled out of control, this memory restoration was no longer just to solve a case, it was so much more. Sherlock Holmes simply stared at Molly and for the first time tried to categorise what she meant to him. His conclusion was somewhat disturbing to his well constructed sector based mind.
Sherlock Holmes felt his supposed non existent heart clench painfully, he had feelings for Molly Hooper, and he feared that he was too late.