Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: So, this is gonna be my little Christmas-gift to the Sherlolly-fandom. First chappi is not chrismassi, but the second one will be. Hope you like. And no worries, this time it's NOT a drama. :) Hope you like it and please let me know in case I did something wrong. Help is always appreciated. :)


Sherlock pushed open the doors to the morgue in his usual energetic manner. As soon as he stepped into a room, he owned it. It was not different with this one.

„Molly!" he shouted impatiently. John joined him, also looking around for the small, ordinary pathologist.

„Oh, hello there" a strange man greeted them as he appeared from behind of one of the desks. „You must be Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Hooper asked me to grant you acces to whatever you need. So, what can I do you for, Mr. Holmes? Wanna run some experiments?" he cheerfully asked. He was in his late fourties, chubby, thinning hair, but sparkling blue eyes hidden behind big glasses. Of course, Sherlock had figured out his life story within seconds and was already bored with this man.

„I need Doctor Hooper. Summon her at once. Please", he added after John cleared his throat.

„I'm sorry, but Doctor Hooper quit."

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.

„You must be mistaken. I'm talking of Doctor Molly Hooper", he spoke slowly, hoping that the man's little brain would get it this time.

„I know who you mean. Short, brown long hair, doe eyes and a pretty smile. She's gone. Resigned two weeks ago."

For this, Sherlock Holmes was not prepared. He froze while his advanced mind was processing the information.

John was a bit quicker at this.

„Why did she quit?" he asked, shooting Sherlock a glance.

The stranger just shrugged.

„Was offered a better position as far as I have heard."

„Where would that be?"

„Dunno. I think no one knows where she's off to."

All of a sudden, Sherlock whirled around and stormed out of the morgue. John said his farewell to the man quickly and run after the detective. As he reached him, he was texting. You had to be no genius to know who he was writing to:

I need you. Come to St. Bart's at once – SH

While he stood there, staring down at his mobile, John looked up at him.

„What did you do to her?" he asked accusingly.



Angrily, Sherlock looked up.

„I didn't do anything, John. I am walking on egg shells around her ever since she helped me faking my death. No insults, not even comments on her poor dressing. I was a good boy", he added sarcastically, making air-quotes.

A taxi stopped in front of them and Sherlock climbed inside, John hastily following him. He didn't like to be left behind. No, not at all.

Sherlock gave the cabbie the address. He smirked as he looked out of the window, watching the city pass by.

„Why are you smiling? I assume Molly is still in town?"

„Oh, indeed she is. As coincidence has it she is to leave town today."

Sherlock chuckled and John furrowed his brows.

„How could you possibly know that?"

The locks of Sherlock's black hair bounced as he whirled his head around to stare at him. His clear blue eyes burned inside his not so blue ones and John realized that he was searching for something. After two seconds, he let go.

„All right, I believe you have nothing to do with that little charade she is playing."

„What charade?"

„Isn't it obvious?"

John sighed. If he would have gotten a penny every time Sherlock had asked him that, he would be a wealthy man by now.

„Not to me", he replied like he had done so many times before.

„Oh, come on, John. You know how she is madly in love with me. She wants some attention. Apparently, she thinks that I will chase after her, begging her not to leave me, swear my love to her, that I am nothing without her and all that other bollocks her utterly romantic mind has imagined so many times before."

Sherlock spoke with clear distate in his voice, like he always did when it came to feelings.

„Ehm, Sherlock...whether it is a trick or not...aren't you chasing her right now?"

„But John, we don't want to dissapoint sweet little Molly, do we?"

John crossed his arms before his chest.

„What if it's not a trick? What if she really is leaving?"

„She's not."

„How can you be sure?"

Sherlock just looked at him, cocking an eyebrow.

„Yeah, right. Because you're the smart-ass consulting detective. My fault."

Sherlock grinned and looked out of the window again. It was silent in the cab now and Sherlock's thoughts drifted to Molly. He actually never thought she would be this dramatic. It's been years since she fell for him, he didn't understand why she would do such a thing now, pretending to leave, undoubtingly in the hope to wake some feelings inside of him. If she knew him so well as she thought she did, she should've known that he would look right through it. Pathetic. Very pathetic indeed.

While Sherlock was lost in his musings, John watched him out of the corner of his eyes. Sherlock tried to look relaxed, but his hands were made into fists in his lap and his brows were furrowed. John smiled inwardly. Ever since Sherlock had risen from the dead, his behaviour towards Molly had changed. As he understood, Molly was the one who had made this whole 'faking-his-death'-thing possible. He had to be grateful for that and he indeed was. Of course Sherlock never had said it to her, still was as arrogant as ever around her, but more then just a few times had John caught him looking at Molly in a very different way when she was not seeing it. In fact, his eyes lingered upon her very often and he initiated conversations, even though he didn't want something from her. John was quite sure Sherlock had some feelings for the sweet pathologist, but even after two years after the fall had passed, he still wouldn't admit it to himself. John wasn't even sure that Sherlock understood that he was feeling for her, just as he hadn't understood his feelings for Irene Adler...


The cab came to a halt and Sherlock jumped out, leaving John behind to pay the cabbie. Just as he was about to ring the bell, a man stepped out of the building, leaving the door open. Sherlock smirked and went in, followed by John. They went upstairs until they reached the third floor. The door to the apartment was ajar and Sherlock decided to go right in. He wanted to call out to her, but just then she came out of the room to his right, carrying a box in her hands. She disappeared into the left room, oblivious to him standing in the narrow hallway. Even though he saw her for only two seconds, Sherlock noted everything about her:
Silky hair pulled up to a lose bun, wearing surprisingly tight jeans and a green sweater, way too big for her. He assumed that it once belonged to a man, a former lover or, more likely, her late father.

Impatiently, Sherlock followed her into the left room...and froze again as he watched Molly sit on the ground, sealing the box with some tape. Despite herself, the box, some wrapping material and few personal items, the room was completely empty. No furniture, no lamps, nothing.

„Don't you think it's a bit too much?"

Molly shrieked. She whirled around and fell back on her bum when she saw him standing in her living room. John was standing in the doorway, giving her a little wave.

„Wha...What are you doing here?" she stammered, her cheeks flushing.

„You obviously wanted me to come. Why else would you clear out your apartment? It's a bit extreme, don't you think? Never thought you'd go that far."

Molly just looked at him, still flushed, brows furrowed.

„I don't know what you're talking about."

Sherlock paced through the square room with his hands crossed on his back, looking at the pastel-blue colored walls, the light carpet, eggshell, admiring the small fireplace and finally looking out of the window.

„I never thought you were the one for games, Molly. I'm surprised."

She still looked confused, finally looking at John for some answers. The blonde man sighed and leaned against the door frame.

„He thinks you pretend to move to get his attention", he mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

Molly blushed even more, turned around and finished wrapping the box. Then she stood up, box in her hands. She closed her eyes, begging for inner strenght before she turned around again. She looked at Sherlock, who was still standing with the back to her, facing the window. John saw the look on her face and his heart tightened. This was not a game, he realised as he watched Molly taking in Sherlock's frame, clearly trying to remember every little detail. He pushed away from the doorframe.

„Sherlock", he tried to warn his friend. But, like almost every time, Sherlock ignored him.

He turned around, smiling triumphantly at Molly as if to say: 'Looked right through you. This was quite pathetic.'

Molly's eyes watered and John could see the hurt on her face. She knew him even longer than himself, of course she understood that look on his face, too.

„Goodbye, Sherlock", she whispered and started to walk towards the door.

„Now, now, Molly. Already giving up? Try to convince me. I'm sure you made up a what you think is a believable story for me to buy. You want to play, then let's play."

Molly froze and John, standing so close to her in the hallway, noticed how she flinched slighty. Sherlock was throwing daggers at her heart and hit.

Slowly, she turned around, biting back tears.

„I'm not playing a game, Sherlock. If you'd know me as well as you think you do, you'd know that I would never do this to anyone. Now, if you'll excuse me..." her voice started trembling, „I have to leave. I don't like driving in the dark."

She whirled around again and left. They heard her footsteps on the stairs. John looked expactently at Sherlock, but he just stood there.

„Molly's right, Sherlock. She's not the girl to toy with someone's emotion."

Sherlock just snorted and walked over to the fire place. He had noticed a red photo album on the shelf. He flipped the lid open. The hideous picture with the deerstalker was on the first page, followed by many more of him.

„Ah, her fanalbum", he said sarcastically and John stepped next to him, having a look.

„Yes. And she's leaving it behind. Sherlock, you have to talk to her, or she'll be gone forever."

„Don't be ridiculous. She's wanted me to find this. She is waiting downstairs for me to run after her. Just have a look."

John sighed but stepped over to the window, anyway.

„Uhm...Sherlock...she's putting the box into a car. Which is filled with more boxes. Since when does Molly own a car? Sherlock!" John called him again and the tall man rolled his eyes but joined him, looking down.

„Oh, that foolish woman. How far does she want to go with this nonesense?"

Sherlock whirled around, his coat billowing as he stormed out of the flat. John sighed once more. Just as he was about to follow, he decided to grab the photo album and put it inside of his jacket.

As Sherlock reached Molly, she was loading the box into the boot of a silver colored Vauxhal.

„You rented a car?" Sherlock asked mockingly and heard Molly sigh.

„No, Sherlock. I bought a car."

She slammed the lit of the boot shut angrily and pulled the keys out of the pocket of her jeans. Sherlock had checked the licence plates, searching for a sign to prove that this car was a rental. But he found no proof to that, in fact, the car looked brandnew.

„You are leaving", he stated, the facts finally sinking in.

Molly had already opened the door and was about to climb into the car as she stopped. She sighed again and turned around to face him once more.

„Yes, I am."

They looked at each other, his expression first confused, than quickly changing to angry. Her own anger subsided.

„You wanted to leave without saying goodbye", Sherlock said, his voice trembling with anger.

Molly looked down.

„Yes...I just couldn't."

„Why?" he demanded to know.

Molly closed her eyes.

„You know why." Her voice was merely a whisper.

„No, I don't. If you would really feel some sentiment for me, consider me as a friend as you said, you would say goodbye. Therefore I conclude that you don't consider us friends."

Her head jerked up, tears swiming in her eyes again. John sighed, standing by the door to her building, watching everything. He really should have bought him that book about women.

„How can you say that to me after all I have done for you", Molly whispered, her voice trembling.

„And what exactly would that be?" Sherlock barked and John would have liked to shut him up by kicking his butt.

Molly gasped and looked at him, not believing what she just heard.

„I risked my career for you! I lied to everyone, let them suffer, even though I knew the truth! And you never, ever thanked me for doing it!" she exclaimed.

„Ah, so this is what this is all about. This was two years ago, Molly. But if it means so much to you, I officially thank you for your help. Are you happy now?!"

Molly shook her head, fighting with tears.

„No, Sherlock, I'm not happy. I have been miserable for the past seven years, ever since I first laid eyes on you."

There, she had said it. Even though her heart was pounding so loud in her chest that she could hardly hear her own, trembling voice. She looked up at him, into those beautiful blue-green eyes. She remembered the first time she had seen him, the first time she had looked into those angelic eyes. Since then, she had been in love with him. Since then, she had given him her heart even though she knew he hadn't wanted it. And he never would.

„Now you're accusing me of making you miserable? Ah, that's just precious, Molly. Really."

Sherlock was gesturing angrily and Molly took a deep breath.

Don't cry in front of him. Don't cry in front of him. Please, dear God, let me have at least my dignity.

„I'm not accusing you of anything. It's not your fault that I am in love with you."

Sherlock stopped dead and looked down at her. She just admitted that she was in love with him. Of course he had known, but she had never said it. And now she didn't even seem to be aware of it.

„If it is anyone's fault, it's my own. I knew that you are way out of my league, that you weren't interested at all. And why would you?" she laughed bitterly and Sherlock clenched his fists.

„I knew very well that you only flirted with my when you wanted me to do something for you. But I let you. God, I wanted you to use me. If you just gave me a little smile, even though I knew it was fake, I was thrilled. And now, you don't even let me have this. You don't even want to use me anymore, treating me indifferently like I am anybody. Finally, my heart closed the gap on my mind and realised that I mean nothing to you."

„I was trying to be nice, to be civil", Sherlock snarled.

„I know."

She looked up at him.

„But I want more than civilness, Sherlock. I always will. And this is why I have to go. I have to get away from all of this. I can't cry myself to sleep every night about a man that hardly knows I'm alive."

„I know you're alive, Molly. I am here, am I not? You are behaving irrationally", Sherlock said impatiently. Molly shook her head again.

„No, I'm not."

Then she looked at him again, raising her hand, pausing, and finally letting it rest on his cheek. A small, sad smile was on her face as she caressed his skin. It was only a second before she dropped her hand, but Sherlock could still feel the warmth of her soft hand on his cheek when it was gone.

„Take care, Sherlock."

She waved goodbye to John before she turned around to climb into the car. Sherlock grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

„Molly" he said, almost breathlessly, his insides in uproar. He didn't understand. All the things she had said, her touch...it was too much. He couldn't handle it. He felt so many things at once he didn't understand, he couldn't focus.

„Please don't", Molly begged desperately as he pulled her closer to him, the first tears falling from her eyes.

He breathed her name again and she closed her eyes and defensively pressed her hands against his chest while shaking her head. Being so close to him, feeling his warmth and smelling his scent made her dizzy. She tried to get free but his grip around her upper arm was tight. She felt his eyes on her but she knew she musn't look up or she would lose the strength that was left in her.

„Let me go, Sherlock. Please. I beg you. Please...I can't..." she sobbed.

Sherlock couldn't let her go. He felt like he had felt years ago in Devon after seeing that hound. He had lost control of himself and he didn't know what to do.

„Sherlock. Let go of her."

Suddenly John was there, laying an arm around him, gently pulling him away from her. Sherlock finally let go and Molly jumped into the car and without another look, she drove off. They watched until she turned around a corner and was out of sight. John still had his arm around his friend, looking up at him.

„Molly left, John", Sherlock said in a toneless voice.

„Yes, she did."

„She left me."

There was a hint of hurt in his voice. John had never seen that look on his face. He looked...lost, confused.

„Let's go home, Sherlock."

And that is what they did.


As soon as they arrived at 221b Baker Street, Sherlock disappeared into his room and started to play his violin. John called Stamford, the only person who popped into his mind who might know where she went.

„Hey Mike. Listen, do you know where Molly is off to?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the line.

„No, John. I don't. And even if I did...I wouldn't tell you."

„Why is that?"

„Because I know Molly wouldn't want him to know."

John paused and listened to the violin for a few seconds.

„Was she really that unhappy?"

„I think so."

„But she never...I mean...it never showed."

Mike sighed.

„I know, right? That's the tragedy. Sherlock sees every little detail but he didn't notice how Molly slowly died inside."

„Dear Lord, did she say that?"

„Oh, no, no. The only thing she said to me when she quit was that she couldn't take it anymore, needed a change of scenery and stuff like that. Never mentioned his name, but she didn't need to."

John sighed.

„Listen, I'm sorry. But maybe it's for the best. Molly needs to get over him. Poor girl has taken enough crap from him, don't you think? Was about time that she realizes that he doesn't feel love like a normal person."

John looked at the door to his room, hearing the sad melody Sherlock was playing.

„I am not so sure about that."

„What do you mean?"

„Nothing. Gotta go. Thanks for the input. Bye."

And he hung up, sighing loudly as he pocketed his phone. There were many crappy days to come. A hung-up Sherlock was even worse than the 'normal' one.


Surprisingly enough, Sherlock was his old arrogant self the next day. He never spoke of Molly again. They went back to their cases and Sherlock was fully concentrated, briliant as always. He introduced himself properly to the new pathologist, who was co-operative enough. He granted him just as much access as Molly had, without the 'special favors'. But Sherlock apparently could do without them. John tried to talk about Molly a few times, but Sherlock shook him off briefly. So he gave up. He knew that Sherlock didn't like to share his feelings.

Alone protects me, he once had told him. Maybe he still thought like that, even though he knew for sure now that there was a woman out there who loved him in spite of his many flaws...