Fic idea was brought to me by Lasergirl77. I am excited for this challenge, it's my first time period fic. So, hm, little background tidbits tat help, that i may not mention: the year is 1895, because what other year would I pick? ;) um, Molly is an assistant to the undertaker, even if she does all the work, just because women weren't really allowed those professional titles yet. Um...Sherlock is, well, Sherlock...with a minor character change, that being he superbly wants Molly. Lol. Of course. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it.

I do not own any of the characters in this story, all places are either invented by the creators or are real places, none of which I own. Basically, it boils down to I'm just writing a fanfiction.

Enjoy!

Years and Tears

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They had been betrothed since she was fifteen. Molly hadn't even met her future husband until she turned eighteen, and even then, it was a brief moment. Yes, he was tall and fairly handsome. Yes, he was a lord. And yes, he was one of the most successful young noblemen in all of London. But no, Molly did not love him, and no, she did not want to marry him. She loved another.

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Molly Hooper, a rather peculiar young lady, would much rather have filled her time with books, and studying the twists and turns of human muscles, organs, and veins. It was not, however, proper for a young lady to think on such gruesome things, and her mother scolded her constantly for choosing to become the assistant to the town's undertaker, Michael Stamford. Ah, her mother. Or rather, stepmother. Molly had never particularly warmed to the woman, even when her father first introduced them. Her mother had died giving birth to her would-be younger brother, George. Sadly, they had lost them both. She was close to her father, being his only family left. That is, until he brought her home from a trip across the country.

Molly's new mother was a snobbish lady, consorting with the highest of aristocrats in all of London. She insisted on dressing Molly in the finest gowns and dresses, despite the young girl's protests. It was on her fifteenth birthday that Molly was told she was to marry Lord Augustus Houghton. This young noble was nine years her senior, and was already deemed one of the most successful and celebrated young earls of this great time. He owned several acres of land, all tilled and tended to by the vast amount of workers he employed. Molly hadn't reacted well.

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''But I don't want to marry anyone! I want to attend university, I want to study pathology!" Young Molly stomped her foot in front of her stepmother, who looked up, smiling in deflection at the staring people. She tugged her stepdaughter away to a corner by the crux of her arm, and sneered at her disapprovingly.

''Molly, how many times must we go over this? You are not attending university! You are not studying up on the dead! You are a young lady, a lady of propriety, of whom a young earl and his father have agreed would make a suitable wife. Show some respect!" She whispered venomously. Molly crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back at the stout woman before her. Her father was suddenly by her side, asking what the matter was.

''Oh, Papa! I don't want to get married! Please say I don't have to!" Molly cried into his chest. Her father gave his wife a pointed look, as if to say, 'you couldn't have waited?' He chuckled and pulled Molly away.

''Oh, my dear. It's not for awhile anyway. Who knows, maybe you'll have changed your mind by then. Lord Houghton is a very kind and successful young man. You'll warm up to him when the time comes.'' Her father gave her a kind smile, and Molly tried her best to return it. He soon escorted her stepmother away to dance, leaving a bitter Molly to sulk in the corner.

''You know, it's relatively odd for the birthday girl to be sitting in the corner at her own party.'' Molly was startled by a low voice. She looked up, to see a tall, pale, and relatively lanky boy leaning against the wall. He didn't look at her, but his eyes instead flitted around the room at the many people dancing. His eyes burned with a sapphiric emerald color she was sure she'd never seen before, a curiosity lurking behind them with each passing glance. Then, his sights set to her. Molly nearly gasped as those blue orbs stared into hers.

''Y..yes well..the party isn't really for me anyway. My stepmother loves societal events.'' Molly stuttered at first, before she explained. She shrugged with a slight smile, to which the boy grinned in return. They stood, not saying a word, just watching the people. All was peaceful, until a loud voice called from across the room.

''Sherlock! Sherlock, dear, we're leaving!" The voice of a lovely woman called from the doorway. Sherlock looked over, meeting her gaze. He nodded, before peeling himself away from the wall.

''Happy birthday, Miss Hooper.'' He turns to Molly, and bows in a swift, robotic trained fashion. Molly nods her head in response, and he walks away. 'His name is Sherlock.' Molly thought to herself, a brief smile on her face. She then wondered who this mysterious, and quite dashing boy was.

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Sherlock was not like most other young men his age. While most of the other boys at school were interested in playing cricket or rugby, Sherlock was becoming a man of science and he didn't seem to care, or understand the need for trivial things like sports, friends, or girls. That was, until that night. His parents had dragged him to this party, while he would rather be at home, or better still, alone at school in his dorm. He had observed the attendants to within an inch of writing their biographies, when his eyes cast onto her. She was sweetness itself, pale skin and rosy cheeks shining in a lovely contrast to the dark blue gown she wore. The neckline swooped down, exposing a large portion of her alabaster skin for him to relish in. Petite sleeves had capped her tiny shoulders, and her delicate arms held themselves close to her frame. Sherlock had berated himself for staring so long.'Girls are far too distracting.' The logical side of his brain professed. Yet, he soon found his feet carrying him to where she sat in the corner. Her brown hair was curled into large rings, which were held up with a large comb. The young man didn't have the first clue as to how he would approach her. Apparently, sarcastic remarks were his method. They hadn't said much in exchange, which he felt was probably for the best. He simply enjoyed sharing the same oxygen as her, until he was finally pulled away by his mother's insistence. He had turned, with every intention of asking her first name. He had already known her surname was 'Hooper', given the home they were in, and the fact that the party was for her. However, when his icy eyes met her warm, chocolate browns, his brain shorted out. He found himself bowing in a very gentlemanly way, before he left her side. It was the most regrettable move on his part, and he decided it was best to erase the fleeting exchange between them.

He had successfully deleted her smile, her eyes, her beautiful voice, her existence, from his mind. For all of three years.

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Well, there you have it. Chapter 1. I finally am to a place in writing this where I can comfortably post at least the first part. Anyway, it won't be updated too frequently, maybe once a week or so. Anyway, keep in mind that this is a teenage Sherlock we are dealing with, he is still growing into himself. ;) So, what do you think?