A/N: hey guys!
A little background before you start: this is the first Sherlolly I ever wrote! *le gasp* It's from Decmeber, I think. There was a picture of Molly looking out a window on Tumblr and someone commented with something like "I wonder what living with Sherlock has done to her?" or whatever, and that inspired this!
Anyway, I finished it a few days ago, thought you'd like it :)
The two years Sherlock lived with Molly was terrible. The prospect of him there was great… until it happened. For two long, dragging years, she put up with him being bored. The internet couldn't solve it and her many trips to the library was pointless as every day she was forced to go, she had to return all the books that he didn't like or had read, i.e. the entire library. Sherlock had a picky palate as well. She went on two shopping trips a week, once for herself and the other to return things she got for Sherlock and exchange them for the stuff he demanded. It was terrible when he tore his clothes or something shrunk in the dryer. She had to buy things for him at select shops with people who stared at her as if she with suspicion. The task of living with him and looking after him was no longer desired and she was more than thankful when he told her it was time to go.
When Sherlock left the building for the first time, she entered her apartment and began to clean up the remainders of Sherlock's belongings. She opened the fridge and groaned as she saw the heart that sat on a plate. He had begged her to bring home people from work and, like a fool, she had agreed. Her boss appeared to be getting suspicious of the missing organs after an autopsy but nothing was ever said to her. A groan left her lips as she abandoned cleaning the kitchen and continued to his room. Most of it was clean, the odd sock lying around.
You left some things at my place. You should probably get them before you return to John. It's just some socks but they don't match and I'm not going to wear your socks. –MH
She took her time writing it, knowing she'd stumble up and write something stupid. Out of habit from reading Sherlock's texts, she ended with –MH.
To Molly's disappointment, he did not reply or come back.
After a week of not hearing a thing from or about Sherlock or John, she began to miss the man she had been in love with for years. The last two had been an eye opener but nonetheless, she still missed him and she still loved him.
Sherlock, is everything ok? If you don't respond, I'll drop by 221B myself. –MH.
Molly waited with angst by the phone, hoping the beautiful sociopath would answer her texts. With no response, she knew she'd have to take rash measures.
That's why she found herself sitting outside of Mycroft Holmes' office, hearing a large shouting match take place. When the office doors opened, a furious curly haired man appeared, his brother, Mycroft standing tall behind him, a cut on his lip. Molly rose upon seeing the Holmes brothers and she rushed towards them. Sherlock glanced at her and rolled his eyes.
"Sherlock, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!" she exclaimed and he sighed.
"I'm living my life outside of your dingy little flat walls, Molly. And for the record, John doesn't live in 221B anymore, apparently," he grumbled before throwing a look at his brother standing behind him.
"You know what, Sherlock? For such a long time, I've been taking care of all your needs, buying you things, trying to entertain you, and I didn't get a single thank you. And here you are, being rude to me after you squatted in my house for two years! Didn't you think it would be a good idea to keep me in the loop of what is happening to you? You have been ignoring all of my texts and avoiding me! This has gone on for too long! I love you, Sherlock, but you've been nothing but unfriendly to me for years! Guess what? I'm fed up with that! You can't keep doing this to me! It's not fair!" she exploded and slapped the man, startling the few people sitting outside Mycroft Holmes' office.
With that, she stormed out of the building, her infuriation growing with every step she took until, finally, she arrived home. Once the door slammed shut, the tears started. Her back crept slowly down the door until she sat firmly against the ground.
She thought she heard the distinctive ringing of a text but she ignored it. It was likely to be Sherlock telling her to buck up. She decided then and there that she was no longer going to be that little puppy Sherlock thought she was and she wasn't going to be so love sick. She was going to grow up and forget about Sherlock Holmes.
It was a difficult feat however, as after a week, she had relapsed to her old ways of catering to Sherlock's every demand at Bart's. On top of that, he hadn't come to pick up his experiments or his odd socks, and she was still left with the reminder of him lingering.
Why did she have to have such unrequited feelings for Sherlock Holmes? It was causing her nothing but pain; a pain Sherlock was unfamiliar with and, as such, would never understand how she was feeling.
The two years Sherlock lived with Molly was terrible. Sure, he left every now and again to take down a network, but he returned to her flat in London, causing chaos every time he stepped foot in. There was no reason that Molly Hooper should love him; he never showed any interest in her at all. Despite the two hard years of juggling a job and catering to Sherlock Holmes, she was still so in love with him; a love he neither returned nor felt he had the capacity to even feel in the first place. He was the rudest, most inconsiderate person she had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on, but despite it all, she couldn't help but be so desperately in love with him.