Well this is my attempt at a Sherlock fic. It feels so clumsy and awkward and honestly I'm not entirely happy with it but I'm doing it anyway. Obviously the writers, if they even ever do introduce the Sherlock character to romance (which seems unlikely, and if so the love interest will probably only exist for one episode), they will be able to do it in a far more sophisticated way than I've done. But that's what makes them the writers I suppose. Anyway, I'm putting far too much pressure on myself for a simple fic. Hope you enjoy!

I disclaim the world of Sherlock Holmes, including Sherlock Holmes himself and the characters John Watson and Molly Hooper.

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But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. - A Scandal in Bohemia

"You know, Sherlock, this is my weekend off. It's six o'clock in the bloody morning." Molly said, trying to keep her tone pleasant.

Truthfully, receiving Holmes' message to meet him at St. Bart's before the sun had even considered rising had, rather than thrill her the way a text from the detective normally might, instead made her feel somewhat bitter towards him. She wasn't sure what exactly was grating at her. It had faded a touch when she'd entered her lab and seen the gash on his left temple, but returned with a vengeance when she realized he wasn't badly injured.

"I knew you'd be awake eventually." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "You're always an early riser."

Molly paused in her actions of disinfecting his wound.

"How-...Lord, why do I even ask?" She sighed, resuming her ablutions with a shake of her head. "You still should've gone to Emerge. They're far better equipped to assess you than I am."

Sherlock made a face at the suggestion, looking over her shoulder.

"They would ask too many...uncomfortable questions. Besides," he gave his best attempt at a coy grin, "I wanted to make sure it was done right. I trust you more than any emergency room doctor."

"Don't." There was more force behind the word than she intended. Molly stilled again, taking a breath to steel herself. "Just...please, it's too early in the morning." She gave him a weak smile.

"Have I said something wrong?"

It was an odd sight, seeing genuine confusion on his face (that is to say as much as Sherlock could express any emotion genuinely). Molly never had done before. Of course she'd never before called him out on this game he played, either. But this time she couldn't help herself. It really was too early in the morning. She simply didn't have the energy to pretend that it was okay for him to be toying with her, to delude herself into believing that one day he might actually mean the words he fed her.

They stared at one another now, Sherlock no doubt trying to deduce from everything at his visual disposal how he could have possibly made an error and Molly having become, as she often did, mesmerized by his eyes. Her hand remained motionless, lightly resting at his forehead.

Sherlock had the most unrelenting, unfaltering, unnerving gaze she'd ever witnessed. She supposed it had something to do with his intellectual prowess. When he was trying to determine how best to attack a problem (which, in the case of their relationship was usually what flirtatious approach would most quickly and effectively persuade her to do what he needed) it seemed his brain couldn't be bothered with such mundane functions as movement and blinking and such. Molly never failed to be rendered speechless by his eyes. They were pale but piercing, ceaselessly analyzing everything about her and not, she felt, in a good way. They left her so she could do little else than giggle and nod during their interactions. She desperately wanted to loathe him for it.

"Molly?" Sherlock spoke gently.

"Yes?" She breathed.

"I thought you might be having a seizure."

The absurdity of his statement broke the spell quite nicely. Molly dropped her hand and moved away.

"No, Sherlock, I'm not. I'm fine."

She looked at her feet and couldn't help but emit a small laugh despite herself. Sherlock continued to appear perplexed.

"Is something funny?"

"No. I just - it's comforting to know that even with such an astute mind, there are still things in this world about which you are...remarkably dim." She chuckled lightly.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side like a dog trying to determine the source of a sound.

"I fear you've just insulted me." He said as though he wasn't sure how he should feel about that.

"It's my turn." She retorted.

It took everything she had not to flinch when Sherlock suddenly and gracefully hopped off the exam table, narrowing his eyes at her. As it was, she took a small step back.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He said.

That couldn't be uncertainty in his voice. Not Sherlock. Molly faltered at first, but felt emboldened by her streak of early morning bravado.

"Come now, Sherlock." It almost felt good to be the one patronizing him for a change. "The most insulting thing is you believe me stupid enough not to realize how you manipulate me. You think I don't recognize your false flattery for what it is? Then how you take it away just to keep me on my toes? You use me, Sherlock. And I suppose you're right. I really am stupid, because I see it happening and still go along with it."

She said the last part more to herself than to him. None of it was said with malice, but rather with a resigned melancholy. It had taken a five a.m. wake up call to make her face up to her suspicion that he had little to no respect for her and probably always would. Perhaps that was what was bothering her; a newfound acceptance that Sherlock saw her as nothing more than a puppet. To him she was a means to an end and nothing would ever change that.

A sudden uneasiness pulled her from this reverie. Sherlock was quiet. Too quiet, she realized. Normally, when he wasn't on a silence binge, he had something to say about everything if not simply rattling off a stream of consciousness. But now, she noticed, he was standing wordlessly, watching her with an unreadable expression. Not wanting to give herself time to regret her words, Molly decided to change the subject.

"I'll go find some medical tape, you need something to hold the cut together." She turned to leave.

"Molly." Sherlock finally spoke.

There was a foreign quality to his voice that caused Molly, against her better judgement, to pause. She reluctantly faced him again.

"Yes?"

"...I'm sorry."

His words were startling, not just for their implication but for the fact that Molly detected only complete sincerity from him.

Still, she wouldn't let herself forget whom she was dealing with. She forced herself to remain unphased.

"Are you?" She asked flatly. "Excuse me."

She made to leave again. And again she was stopped, this time by Sherlock's hand. He gripped her firmly by the arm and pulled her back towards him, their hands at his chest. For an instant, she thought he might actually harm her somehow and real fear shot through her.

"Sherlock!" Molly sputtered.

It was all she got out before his lips were on hers. For all his intensity it was a remarkably gentle kiss, though it still left her breathless. She wondered where he had learned to do it so well as she'd never seen him with anyone in a romantic capacity before. Then again, this was Sherlock, a man who would never settle for doing anything half-heartedly.

Random musings aside, for that brief moment the angels sang, the stars aligned and all was right in the world.

Then Sherlock broke the kiss and harsh reality wormed its way back in. Molly stood frozen in his arms as her head cleared.

"What the hell was that?" She gasped eventually.

"I said I was sorry but you didn't believe me." Sherlock replied, low and quiet.

"So the only logical alternative was to kiss me?" Molly scoffed at him.

"Logic had little to do with it."

What was he playing at? Molly wanted to believe him, to believe that he had kissed her because he had truly felt the desire to. He didn't appear to be leading her on. However, this was Sherlock and past experience reminded her that he was very skilled at emulating real emotion without feeling it, though granted he was usually more transparent about it with her. Molly's mind raced until finally she pushed him away, shouting,

"Dammit!"

She took a few steadying breaths, pinching her brow.

"Sherlock, I swear if this is some ploy of yours to stay in my good graces just so you can keep using m-"

Sherlock emitted a guttural growl of frustration and once more interrupted her with a kiss. This one had more force behind it, causing her to stumble a bit. But same as before, she began to melt against him. It wasn't fair that everything about him made Molly weak. She was practically helpless when it came to Sherlock. He always knew just what to say and do to keep her baited. He was just like that bastard Jim. And Jim had turned out to be...

A sudden mixture of hatred and panic hit her like cold water, making her jerk away.

"Stop it!" She smacked Sherlock on the head without thinking, regrettably on the same side as his wound.

Sherlock swore in pain, holding a hand over the cut. Molly had her own hand over her mouth, shocked by her actions. Once Sherlock had recovered she asked,

"Are you all right?"

"What do you think?" He snapped at her.

She ignored the clipped reply, more scared by what she knew she had to do now than by his anger. She shut her eyes against tears threatening to fall.

"Sherlock, listen to me. I will do what ever you want, yeah? What ever you need here - a body, a lab test, anything - I will do all I can to help you get it." A tear drop finally escaped. "But I beg of you; stop using my feelings for you against me. No more lies, no more false compliments. Just leave me alone."

She didn't want to see his reaction or lack there of. More importantly, she didn't want him to see her break. Molly made a hasty exit.