A/N: Not much to say about this one except that I really love Molly and she needs to stop falling for homosexual sociopathic maniacs.
Word Count: 591
Pairing(s): onesided!Molly/Sherlock, Sherlock/John
Warning(s): Uh, nothing really. Needless rambling? Fluff? Idk.
Of Love and Reluctant Intuition
Molly never claimed to be good at relationships. As much as she tried, Molly could never achieve any sort of long-term commitment with anyone and God knew her taste in men was severely misguided. But she'd done her research (mostly magazines and romance novels, but never the less) and she knew love when she saw it. Even when she didn't want to.
Especially when she didn't want to.
Yes, love involving Sherlock was bound to be complicated, she knew, but it could at least attempt to be fair. Molly had seen it in herself first, the affliction with Sherlock. How could she not? To Molly, Sherlock was all in all the perfect man – tall, dark, and handsome, incredible smart, worldly and just the right sort of dangerous. If only he would be nicer, she thought, more compassionate. She'll realize later that such a wish meant that Molly could never truly have him, but not for a while. She doted after him with the cruel, patient assurance that Sherlock wouldn't be able to find anyone else. Except that he did.
Meeting John for the first time, Molly had liked him. The doctor was pleasant and considerate and he'd been a soldier, so Molly admired him as a rule. This friendly respect was quickly obliterated, however, in the face of jealousy.
At first, she thought she was being silly. John was fast friends with Sherlock, sure, and Sherlock trusted and cared for John more after a few days of knowing him than he'd cared for her, or anyone, after years. And yeah, sure, John got to see Sherlock in a way Molly never would being his friend and his flat mate, and he understood the detectives in ways that she couldn't hope to. And sure, John got to accompany Sherlock on his adventures and help him with cases.
But John was a man, a straight man, who dated plenty of women and made it clear on a near-daily basis that it Wasn't Like That. So even if John's eyes lit up when Sherlock spoke, even if they held eye contact more than a touch too long each time, even if John's smile was always the widest for Sherlock, even if John had and would risk his life to save Sherlock, even if John got to hold hands with and playfully tussle and have mornings with and sometimes even hug Sherlock, Molly had nothing to worry about. Except that she did.
It took Molly a while, through clouds of denial and the towering walls Sherlock put up around himself to realize that the feeling was mutual. It was there, had always been there, all the signs that Sherlock loved John. At first, Molly convinced herself that it was just because Sherlock hadn't ever had a friend before that he invades John's space incessantly. That his laugh is louder, better, not faked when John is there. That e never flinches away from John's touch and often even welcomes it. That he basks in John's praise far more than he should. That he looks to John for guidance. That he's more considerate with John, more careful with John, treats John like an equal. She tells herself its all just friendship and folly or maybe even an act, a game Sherlock is playing, an experiment. She tells herself John doesn't really matter.
But her denial falters, because she sees his sadness. That quiet mourning when John's gaze is turned elsewhere. And she knows. Because, try as she might, Molly Hooper knows love when she sees it.
Reviews are pretty cool, guys.