Molly's shut her eyes tightly, and tried not to shed a single tear. It took her a moment to realize Sherlock was now on the bed with an arm wrapped securely around her. Sherlock has never touched her before. So, why now? Did he think of her as pathetic and need sympathy? Fire enraged in her and she shot up and stood right in front of him. He remained sitting there, bringing his arm back to his side, with a very confused expression on his face.

"Don't people who care comfort each other?" Sherlock asked, innocently.

"Well," Molly started, "yes. But when did you start to care for me? And I don't want your sympathy, Sherlock."

Sherlock was angry and pulled her back on the bed, and made her stare into his eyes, not letting her look anywhere else.

"Let me tell you something, Molly Hooper. I'm not going to lose you, especially if I can help it."

She had never seen him so passionate about anything..and it looked like he actually meant it. He didn't realize it was an addiction she had since she was younger.

Around the mere age of thirteen, Molly had been teased for being so shy, not pretty, and having no friends. No one wanted to be her friend because she was "weird". Molly didn't like to socialize much, so she would read for hours and hours. She certainly didn't think anything was wrong with that. Then her mother intervened and tried to persuade her to go out with friends, since she started to get worried about her. So, Molly would say she went out with friends to movies when she would go to the bookstore. Books were her only friends. She got nervous when speaking to people and would stutter her words.

The teasing then hadn't bothered her yet. Two years later, she hadn't changed at all. Nothing was very feminine about her. A couple of popular girls passed her in the hallway and shoved her, saying, "Why don't you do us all a favor and just kill yourself?"

All of them laughed. Her little clique and a few others who were listening in. Molly didn't cry, she was strong..until she got home. As soon as the last bell rang, Molly was out the doors and running as fast as she could. Once she reached her home, she ran inside her bathroom and locked the door. She picked up the razor she shaved with and wondered if it would hurt, or help the pain.

She slowly slid the razor across her wrists, only a few droplets appeared of blood. The blood didn't bother her at all, she was actually fascinated. It didn't hurt.. it felt nice. She continued to go deeper, and a bit deeper. Before she knew it, she was bleeding quite a bit. She cleaned her arm and then examined her arm. It had about ten marks, some bigger then others. Molly smiled as she put down the razor and went to her room and started to begin her new book.

"Molly?" Sherlock said cupping her face in his hands, "Please let me help you."

Molly bit her lip, then started speaking softly, "Sherlock, i'm okay. You don't need to worry about me."

He interrupted her and nodded, "I do. So, pack your bags."

Sherlock released his hands from his face and started to get out her suitcase and throwing random assortments of clothes in it.

"Why do I need to pack my bags?" Molly asked, trying to put everything back.

He stopped her and gave her his best smile, "You will be living at 221B."

Hey everyone! I really hope you are still liking this story, I will try and update as fast as I can!

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-LoveIsAFairyTale