How I Met Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock and Molly
{SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick?
MOLLY (smiling awkwardly at him): It wasn’t working for me.
SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.} Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Pink
Only Sherlock Holmes would think I was offering to make him coffee, I meant go out into the outdoors and have coffee in a coffee shop! As a date possibly…well that doesn’t matter now anyway. He thinks he has to tell me how he takes his coffee; I’ve known him since university for god sakes. It has always been black with two sugars. He hasn’t changed since I’ve known him, always arrogant and clever basically he is a smart arse but he is clueless he is doing it. I mean I’m used to it, I always internally laugh when others look shocked.
I didn’t meet Sherlock until half way through my first year at university. I had seen him before but it was about January when we had our first confrontation. He studied Chemistry and I studied bio-chemistry so we shared a couple of lectures but that is not how we met. I used to get bullied a lot at school and bitched about at university it was because I was the small faced, quiet girl with no friends, I guess nothing has changed. But Sherlock, he was the closest thing I had to a friend.
It was the night before my mock exam, so the first exam I ever did at university and I was nervous. I went down to the library to get in some last minute revision because my roommate was driving me up the wall with her “boy troubles”, it was so infuriating. The library was busy, lots of people working or pretending to be working. I tried to sit in my usual spot but there were a bunch of snobby girls there and they didn’t let me sit. So I sat on the next table in a dark corner next to a mysterious boy. It was the tall, lean, dark curly haired boy who was in a couple of my lectures with the cheekbones…i.e. Sherlock.
He wasn’t revising like I thought he was, he was reading murder mystery books. He had a huge pile. When I sat down the bitches behind me started to whisper, obviously something about me and Sherlock lifts his head up from his book and tutted at the girls’ actions. He looked back down at his book and turned a page, “Do they do that a lot?” He asked which snapped my attention to him. His voice was low and hoarse and could melt my heart.
“Yes, I am used to it though.” I replied, I don’t want sympathy but I am one for the truth. He turned his attention away from his book and looked at me in the eyes; they were so blue with a hint of green and possibly gold. Then he started to study the rest of me, I started to squirm I barely knew him. Then he glared at the girls, I thought it was him standing up for me but I was wrong.
“Trivial.” He stated.
“W-w-what?” I asked, confused.
“Gossiping, bitching whatever you personally call it. It is trivial.” He replied and I sat there blanked faced. Obviously I know Sherlock properly now but then I had no idea what he was like. He looked back down at his book and continued. “True minds leave all trivial things behind. The brain is what counts.” I knew he meant himself, Mr True Minds sounded so conceited but I was drawn to him for some reason. There was something mysterious about him.
After a couple of weeks I worked out that he goes to the library every night at seven o’clock without fail. He always sits in the same spot. I sound like a stalker but there was something about him that interested me. At first I would just stand round the side of the book shelf and occasionally peer round to see what he was doing but he was always reading murder mysteries or other detective stories. When I gained some courage, which took a couple of weeks, I would sit at a table quite far from him but so I could see what he was doing. He would just read, but never finished a book. He got about half way but then would shut it dramatically and make a pile of books that he didn’t finish. He gradually read less and less chapters of a book before shutting it.
But there was one visit to the library when we finally had a proper conversation. He listened. He doesn’t do that much anymore. I walked in clutching a huge pile of books to return and one of the bitches who had fake blonde hair and fake nails and everything about her was fake, tripped me over, on purpose. Books went flying everywhere, I was so embarrassed. Sherlock immediately got up and strolled over to me and asked if I was okay before turning to the girls and intimidatingly hushing, “You should be ashamed of yourselves! Someone could have got badly hurt!” He picked up my pile of books which I had just been frantically shoving together and put them on the table. He then did the most extraordinary thing ever, for Sherlock anyway. He outstretched his hand to help me up, I accepted and his large hand swallowed up my small one, his fingers even reaching my wrist.
I sat opposite him and he picked up his book again and began to read, but then sighed before putting the book down and turning his full attention to me. “Why don’t they like you?” He bluntly said.
“I have done no wrong apart from being here in the first place.” He furrowed his eyebrows and brought his hands up to rest under his chin. “They don’t like me because I am not pretty like them. I am plain, small faced and unlikable.” I stopped myself before going any further in my rant.
“Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models.” He rushed, like it is something that just came out. “So those ‘bitches’ as I have heard you call them on many occasions under your breath, had role models who were probably all fake, Botox injected women with too much money for their own good.” I chuckled; he made me feel better about myself. “I don’t know who these role models would be but that’s just me.”
“Why are you so out of touch with the world?” I muttered.
“I don’t know. My brother is worse if that is even possible.” He grinned sarcastically like he was remembering something about his brother; I didn’t even know he had a brother. “My brother, Mycroft is older than me. Works for the government now, he will go far.” It was like he read my mind. “Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” He held his hand out for me to shake.
“Molly Hooper.” I shake his hand and he shows a genuine smile. Odd names, Sherlock and Mycroft I thought. “Can I ask you something?” I ask and he nods, “Why do you never finish the books?” He rolled his eyes like I was stupid or something and I felt offended but now I know it is just him and his pig-headed personality.
“I solve the cases, these are fictional but in my spare time I solve real cases. To be honest I think I’d rather do that than become a chemist.” He answers and clasps his hands together loudly, “But the knowledge is always good.” I nodded, I had no idea what he was going on about but I liked to hear him talk. I realised I was staring and shook my head to get rid of any thoughts which caused the bitches to laugh. “Ignore them.” Sherlock states, “You are pretty Molly Hooper.” He smiled and I felt myself blushing. “There!” He exclaimed whilst pointing at my face.
“W-w-what?” I stammered.
“I knew it, you have some sentimental attraction to me.” I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off. “Would you like me to explain?” I nod, god I must have looked like a nodding dog. “Your pupils dilate, your breathing pattern quickens and your cheeks turn a rosy pink colour when you see me. You have been watching me for weeks but you have been too nervous to come over. When I helped you up just a moment ago you pulse quickened.” I was shocked, embarrassed and a lot of other things. “You are right though. I have to pursue my ‘dreams’ as ordinary people would say. Thank you Molly Hooper.”
With that he was gone. I didn’t see him again, he just cleared off. I felt alone but pleased that I changed someone’s life. I meant something. When I finished university I began work at Bart’s Morgue. A year into my work I saw Sherlock again, he was now a consulting detective apparently, he only came in occasionally though. He now comes in more regularly. I thought he didn’t remember me until one day I was asked to clean up the lab which he was working in. I was collecting up all the test tubes when, “Molly could you pass me the sodium chloride solution?” He asked. I looked at him in shock and in awe. He remembered me. “Of course I remember you Miss Hooper! Now please the solution.” I passed him the solution.
“Still reading minds I see.” I joked under my breath, I was just so pleased to see him.
“It is called deducing. I just deducted.” He stated and then silence flooded the room. He had turned into a bigger arrogant arsehole.
I have just finished making Mr True Minds coffee, yes I still call him that in my head. I rub off the lip stick that I put on earlier to impress him and carry the mug into the lab. In there with him is Mike Stamford, who teaches here and this other guy with a walking stick. “Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.” He says, it still makes me blush whenever he says my name. He passes a phone to the man with the walking stick and retrieves the mug from my hand, looking at me intently, briefly. “What happened to the lipstick?” He inquires as he begins to back away. I smile awkwardly.
“It wasn’t working for me.” I mean I can’t tell him the truth, he probably knows that I’m lying being Sherlock Holmes.
“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.” He walks away from me but as I leave the lab he turns back and winks without anyone else in the room noticing. He is just kidding, an inside joke. I have an inside joke with Sherlock Holmes.