so I've been trying to write this story for quite some time. It was always in my head in one form or another. Molly Hooper is a goddess and my spirit animal and she just won't leave me alone. So I am going to keep writing about her.

hope you enjoy :) r&r if you can.

I.

There are certain people in this world with whom you know, as soon as you meet them, you will never be able to interact on a normal level. They are too detached from your universe. Too different. Their mere presence alienates you.

This was the case with the new pathologist, Doctor Molly Hooper.

Sherlock Holmes felt in her company the same kind of unpleasant chill he experienced whenever Mycroft Holmes happened to visit.

He could not explain it. The only thing those two shared in common was the letter "M". So really, there was no logical reason for Sherlock to feel this way.

But he did.

"Don't worry, Mr. Holmes. You'll figure it out soon enough. You always do."

She was eating a sandwich, sitting at the desk behind him, reading what appeared to be another tacky historical romance. And she was smiling in that far-off way of hers that meant her mind was elsewhere.

Her mind was always elsewhere.

Sherlock frowned, wrinkling his nose.

"There's no need for your input, Doctor Hooper," he replied coolly, trying not to look up from his current experiment.

She simply shrugged her shoulders and continued eating happily.

That was another thing. Nothing ever fazed her. Molly Hooper was the most cheerful, optimistic and happy-go-lucky pathologist, nay, human being, he had ever met.

For weeks on end, whenever he was on a break from the cases, he watched for a change in her mood, a ripple of something new in her expression. It was a meaningless occupation he indulged in from time to time.

The analysis had not proven very comprehensive. The only thing he could discern for sure was that Molly Hooper did get sad sometimes, but the only indication of that were slowness in movement and an imperceptible shadow around her eyes.

Other than that, she was her usual indefatigable, chipper self.

Today made no exception.

"Could you stop chewing? You are distracting me," he said at one point, barely able to contain a sigh. The research was going nowhere. And the room felt too small with her in there as well.

Molly looked up from the novel, crumbs falling off her lower lip. She smiled and stuffed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth.

"I'm going to go get some coffee. Want some?"

"Black. Two sugars."

"Righto. Black, two sugars, coming right up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She had a habit of talking silly nonsense like that. No matter how many times he'd told her to cease, she just kept at it.

Nearly an hour passed and neither Doctor Hooper, nor the coffee made any appearance.

Sherlock continued his work, but at the back of his head he felt a nagging issue pestering him. Where was she? Had she completely forgotten about him (and his coffee)?

He stopped for a moment and looked around the laboratory.

No, she was nowhere in sight. He thought he might have accidentally missed her, being so engrossed in his research as he was.

He sighed. She was like a child. She had probably forgotten all about him. She was prone to doing that, which was an unusual experience for him, since all his life people had revolved around him and not the other way around.

Five minutes later, the doors banged open and Molly Hooper finally came in, balancing two heavy bags in her hands.

Sherlock, decidedly cross with her, did not wish to give her the satisfaction of knowing he had actually bothered about her absence, so he stubbornly kept his eyes on the Petri dish, refusing to even acknowledge her presence.

He could hear Molly's soft steps across the room.

She dumped one bag on the desk and the other one on the chair next to him.

"So I went to get drinks, but then I thought, we're going to be here a while so I might as well get some food too. Yours is Chinese takeout. Mine's unhealthy junk food. But look! Coffee!"

With that, she cheerfully placed a tall cup with the words "ONLY CONS. DETECTIVE IN THE WORLD" scribbled in red marker right under his nose.

"They didn't have enough space to write CONSULTING, I'm afraid."

Sherlock looked up angrily.

"You spent an hour on a hunt for food?"

Molly chuckled, looking down. "Okay, guilty as charged. I chatted up with Stamford on the way back. He is thinking of finding you a flat mate, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock did not know what made him angrier; the fact that she was talking about his own affairs as if it was common knowledge or the way she called him Mr. Holmes.

No, it was the cup. He had never seen anything more ridiculous.

"What sort of nonsense is this? Remove this cup instantly and find me a decent one if you wish to be of actual service. And get rid of the food, too. I have no need for it and it's starting to develop a smell. Also, Stamford has no business discussing my personal concerns with a fellow Doctor."

"Ah, we could swap, but I had them write GREATEST PATHOLOGIST ALIVE on mine," Molly replied, showing him her own cup. "See?"

Sherlock drew a tired breath and turned away from her.

"Never mind. Just let me work in peace. We will sort out this mess later."

Three hours later, they were sitting in Molly's office and Sherlock was pecking at his food while typing on his laptop furiously. He stopped to take a sip of coffee, but resumed his speed, scowling at the writing on the cup.

Molly was standing right across from him, eating and filling out a study case.

Her phone suddenly buzzed.

She looked up and grinned.

"Stamford texted me. Said he found you a potential roomie already. He's meeting up with him tomorrow."

Sherlock groaned.

"I thought I told you that's none of your business. And why is Stamford texting you with such information?"

"Well, because he made me the offer too."

Sherlock looked up from his laptop.

"He what?!"

"He asked me whether I'd be interested. Told me you were the right sort of chap and wouldn't care if you lived with a man or a woman. I said it would be nice but I had to decline."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, as if what she had just told him had not processed entirely.

"Um, it's not personal, Mr. Holmes. But I barely know you and I like my apartment just fine."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, for God's Sake, stop calling me that! It's Sherlock. And I would rather live in that broom cupboard down the hall than share a living space with an obese cat and her rather dense owner."

"How did you know about my –"

"Please."

"He's only a bit chubby. Oh wait! You haven't seen him."

She suddenly lunged across her desk, shoving her phone in Sherlock's face.

"His name's Toby. I found him in an alley one night. Isn't he adorable?"

Sherlock didn't manage to push her hand away quick enough and he was graced with the sight of a rotund furry ball in the middle of several blankets on an unkempt bed. The sight was hardly a pleasant one.

"Charming," he muttered.

Molly grinned and sat back in her chair, flipping through photos of her beloved cat.

Sherlock could only roll his eyes dramatically.

They both returned to their individual tasks eventually, but the phone kept buzzing from time to time, eliciting disgruntled noises from The Only Consulting Detective In The World.

"Molly," she mumbled, shutting off her phone.

Sherlock peered at her from the corner of his eye.

"You told me to call you Sherlock. You can call me Molly."