Molly approached him.

"are you okay?" She asked.

Sherlock looked at her but she continued talking before he could answer.

"don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.

Sherlock answered.

"You can see me."

Molly smiled a little.

"I don't count."

For the first time since he knew her, Sherlock looked at her. Really looking. Molly was the type to go by unnoticed, even by the most observant man on earth. And he saw now his mistake, the damaged he had done. Molly, even if pathetically in love with him, had always been hiding underneath a layer of shyness and detachment. Since she had begun working at the morgue and Sherlock had used his charm to get whatever he wanted out of Molly, she always seemed to treat the dead with the same nonchalance he himself did.

But now, as she pronounced the words 'I don't count,' Sherlock was able to see beyond the layers and disguises, beyond the concealment of her disappointed gaze. Molly Hopper was a broken glass, and now that it had shattered into small pieces, Sherlock could see it all. He could see the pain he had inflicted on her, and what appalled him the most was how blind he had been to not have noticed it before.

He wished it would be just that easy to change her mind and tell her otherwise, but the words got stuck on his throat, like they always did in situations like this.

As Molly turned around, as if none of it had the slightest importance, he made a promise to himself. One day he would make Molly see how much she counted. For him, at least. One day he would make Molly know that she had no reasons to look sad when no one else could see her. Yes. One day.