A/N: Molly Hooper is so presh and Louise Brealey, the actress who plays her, is equally as perfect. I actually like to believe that Molly gives herself pep talks when she wakes up in the morning to get through the day. :T In this story, instead of having Molly talk to herself to make her feel better, it's surprise!Ten doing it.
When I was outlining this, it featured Eleven, but since I've already done so many fics with Eleven, I decided to go with Ten. Of course, I had to redo some parts of the story to fit Ten in there.
Pairings: one-sided Sherlock/Molly, 10th Doctor/Molly
She was staying late at the morgue. Again. Sherlock had told her to examine a few samples from a recent suicide, in which Sherlock believed that it may not be a suicide after all, and more like a murder that simply looked like a suicide. It had always been like this for the past few days now. It hasn't been too long, but it was getting exhausting. Molly would have plans to go home and take a hot bath, but now that had been ruined as she would arrive home after a long day and rest for the remainder of the evening.
Sure, she would disobey Sherlock, but she would do it anyway. At some other time, eventually. She couldn't say 'no' to him, partially because of her child-like infatuation with him. Molly Hooper wasn't the type to stand up for herself, and she liked to please others. Though, it's such a mundane thing. She was always being told to do something, always completing these little tasks that anybody can do. Was this all she's worth? Being told to do things by her superiors?
It made her feel useless. Like she couldn't achieve anything higher than this. She was so normal. There hasn't been anything in her 30-something years of living. She was always the bright one at school, but settled for something like this. Useless Molly Hooper, that's what she was. So useless; only doing things that others didn't want to perform without having any say about it. Had she really been reduced to this? She could be so much better.
Molly's head swirled with these negative feelings as she continued with her work. The light was hurting her eyes. It's a little past 9 PM and she just wanted to go home. John had gone back to his flat, but Sherlock decided to stay. He was waiting for her with the results. He was in another room, reading numerous files in hopes to find something that was related to the victim.
She's already shrugged out of her coat, revealing her thick sweater. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Molly took a look at the blood sample through the microscope. She had already made sure the blood belonged to the deceased - Jacob Manning, age 39, death through hanging himself in his bedroom - but now all she's doing was checking for anything suspicious. She hadn't done any of the other tests, such as checking for anything drug-related. Molly flipped her hair out of the way, pushing it back with the process, and took a long look at the sample. Nothing out of the norm.
The woman leaned back on her chair as she jotted down notes on a small notepad for Sherlock to look over when she was done or whenever Sherlock came in to see how she was doing. With a rub at her eyes, she looked around the empty room. It was just her. The loneliness was unnerving. Still, Molly toyed with the hem of her sweater before continuing with her work. "You're just being taken advantage of, Molly." She told herself in a strict tone, a speck of frustration getting to her when she realized that Sherlock could do this on his own, but insisted on her doing it. Her frustrated expression shifted into a depressed one. He's making you do this because he knows you've got nothing better to do. You're not worth anything to him but this. Molly had a frown on her face and it hardened as she repeats the sentence in her head. She knew that it's true.
She was trying hard not to cry. Her face grew red as she struggled to retain her composure. Scrunching her nose as she sniffled, the lonely woman checked at the blood again. She was beginning to press her attention on her work. That was what most people did whenever they're feeling negative: they work harder. Still nothing but redness. She leaned against the chair's back again and let out a heavy sigh. Her bottom lip twitched as the previous thought rammed itself to her mind over and over again. Like an angry man trying to get the door to open by flying himself at the structure until successful.
Molly sat there in the chair, unproductive, for a good half an hour until the door bursted open. She lazily brought her head to the location of the door, half-dreading, half-hoping that it would be Sherlock. It wasn't. The person that pushed the door open was wearing a brown suit with matching trousers. Red shoes and a red tie over his cotton white dress shirt. He had a ridiculously large grin on his face, crows' feet appeared at the outer edges of his eyes. Wild brown hair grew on his head. Molly had never seen him in her life. "Um, hello."
"Hi!" He brought his hand up and waved it, to which Molly did the same weakly. "I'm John Smith. Your pal, Sherlock Holmes, he sent me to help you with… whatever you're doing! What are you doing, may I ask?" The man recognized as John strolled over to Molly and looked at the microscope in giddy interest. He moved his head to the side and then down, repeating the process until he took the microscope away from Molly and examined the blood sample through the eyepiece. John rested his hand on the neck of the tool and turned the fine adjustment knob for a clearer look. "Can't see a darn thing! Nothing really funky going on with this guy's system, ah?"
She simply stared at him without answering. Biting at her bottom lip, Molly moved her hand to nudge at John's, trying to make him let go of the microscope. He obeyed her and released his grip on the microscope. He then stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I don't think so." Her voice had been reduced to a whisper, uncomfortable with this other human in the room. "But I've still got to perform a drug test, so there's that. I'm just double-checking things." Toying with one of the knobs, she looked through the eyepiece, inspecting the victim's blood more. "Did Sherlock say why he wanted you to come here and help me?"
John chuckled lowly and tapped at the rectangular steel table the microscope and everything else were on. "Not really. He just dialed me and sent me here! I'm guessing you're not the fast type, yeah? You like to take your time?" He saw Molly bring her head back a little to nod before going back to work. "Oh, I haven't asked you for your name! Sorry."
This shocked Molly as she retracted her head back to take a long look at John. Something about him was weird. It may be his personality or how he was reacting with her. It could be anything, but Molly knew that there was something strange about him. "I'm Molly. Molly Hooper. Sherlock didn't… say who I was?" Her face dropped greatly, her eyes had shifted down to look at the tiled floor.
He pinched his eyebrows together and John stammered with his response, "No, no! I mean, he didn't say specifically who, but… he just said that you needed me." He broke out a nervous chuckle as he resumed tapping at the table.
Of course Molly knew he was lying. She cleared her throat and raised her voice, replying, "Is he here?" When John shook his head, suggesting that Sherlock had left, her frown deepened, "Oh. I see. He left." He just left me here? To do his work? I thought he was better than that. I thought he… She stopped thinking about Sherlock's departure and made a noise similar to a whimper. "Um, I really should get going, then. I'll continue this in the morning. It's getting late." Molly turned her head to look at the clock, reading 9:48 PM. She slid off the chair and proceeded to gather her things together. After stuffing her things into a tote bag, Molly aimed for the door. "Bye, John." She gave him a small wave and walked out of the room.
The hallways were empty. It felt so weird. Being the only person here - other than John - it was like being in a scene in a horror movie. The female protagonist would walk around idly until she heard something, leading her to believe that something or someone was out there, ready to kill her. The paranoia of the unknown would get to the female protagonist and then at the last moment of her life, she would turn around and the murderer would kill her with something. The idea scared Molly as she began to cautiously walk, trying not to make any noise whatsoever, let it be the tapping of her feet or her clothes making noises. Then, something behind her made a shuffling noise. Molly turned around, a small gasp emitted.
There was nothing behind her. "It could be just John…" She reassured herself as she continued to walk her way around the building. She heard another noise and Molly's heart raced. She gripped her bag tightly and stopped in her tracks. Molly looked around for something. "John, quit it!" She yelled out and the echo of her voice traveled through the hallway.
"John's back at the flat." A voice spoke out behind her. A familiar voice. Smooth and deep. A voice that she loved.
Molly turned around to see a tall figure. Sherlock. "N-No. Um, not your John. The other John. The one that you called to help me with my work." She saw Sherlock give her a slightly confused look. "John Smith. About this tall," she raised her hand up to Sherlock's curls, but her hand didn't reach above his height, "Brown hair, and all that."
"Molly, I haven't called anyone. And if I were to, I wouldn't have called this John person."
"But he said that you did! And he said that you left! He said that you-" She was cut off by Sherlock.
"He lied. Or you're lying. I'll go with the former. By the looks of it, it seems that someone did come into the building. There's a vehicle outside. It could be his." Sherlock noted. He didn't go into details about it and made sure the conversation would be brief. "How are you doing with Jason?"
It took a while for Molly to process everything in her head. John lied to her. But why? I'll talk to him later. Sherlock's here and I'm sure he doesn't want me to leave now. "I haven't really gotten anything done. There's nothing wrong in his blood. That's all I can say about it." She looked down in embarrassment and prepared herself to get insulted by the taller individual.
Sherlock placed a hand on Molly's shoulder and rubbed his thumb at her sweater. "I'm sure you'll find something. You always do. Anyway, it is getting late. I know you're exhausted, so I'll let you go after 20 minutes past 10, all right?" He saw her give a short nod. "Okay. Don't overwork yourself. I'll be in this room if you need me." Sherlock pointed at a lit room, door halfway open. There were files everywhere on a desk.
Molly turned her head to look at the room. He must've been looking for more information about Jason. She brought her head up and smiled softly. With a nervous giggle, Molly brought her hand up to move Sherlock's off her shoulder. His fingers' a little rough. Even though Molly had figured out the texture of his fingers, she wouldn't have guessed that it's due to all the violin playing Sherlock's done at his flat. She never really gotten to know Sherlock except for tiny conversations like this. "All right." Her smile wasn't lively, it was tired. She was exhausted. A pair of forming dark bags appeared.
The black-haired male nodded in return and headed back to the room. Just when Molly twirled around to return to the room where John's in, Sherlock popped his head out and called for her. "You won't be working late for the next week, Molly. You really need the sleep."
Sherlock couldn't see it, but Molly was smiling. Not her tired smile, but a fond smile. She knew he cared about her well-being. Maybe he's not so bad after all. This unrequited love was getting to her.
Returning back to the room, Molly set her bag on the table. She wasn't surprised to see John. In fact, she's angry with him. Downright angry. "John! You lied to me. Sherlock's still here and he didn't call you! So what are you doing here? You're not suppose to be here!"
John gave her a look, an apologetic one. "Sorry, Molly. Really, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for lying to you. I just-just wanted to help, you know? You get that, right? That's why you're here. You want to help Sherlock with this." He ran a hand over his hair, the strands rapidly bounced back to place. "I want to help you with whatever you're doing." He wasn't not lying. John really wanted to help her, but not just with examining Jason's blood or whatever Sherlock sent Molly to do, but something else, too.
Her anger quickly vanished as she heard John apologize. "It's… it's all right." But then she reminded herself of the crime he's done and went back to scolding him, only this time, it's not with anger. "John, you lied to me. Because of this? You're so… so stupid. I would have accepted you with helping me either way. Why'd you lie to me?" Molly took her seat back and brushed a hand over John's arm.
"I don't know. I just… I really don't know. I just thought you wouldn't have agreed, I guess. So I lied into saying that Sherlock sent me. I really don't know him, that Sherlock. Well, not personally. But he's been in the newspapers, so why not?" He broke out another one of his nervous laughs. "And with the whole Sherlock leaving, I thought that you wouldn't have mind if he left. I didn't know you… liked him." He looked at Molly and shared a gaze.
Molly's face turned red. A stranger - and one who lied, no less - knew that she had a crush on Sherlock. Was it that obvious? She broke the held gaze by looking at the floor. "I, uh, do. He's inspirational. He's very clever, but he's also quite mean and demanding sometimes." She fiddled with the bottom of her sweater again, uncomfortable. "And whenever he arrives, it's like he makes everyone feel so normal. I hate it. I hate that he's that way." She realized that she's babbling and Molly sucked in her lips. The embarrassed female took a quick glance up at John before looking back down at the floor.
"But you can't help but love him for that. Sherlock's a genius." John commented and patted Molly's hand that was picking at the bottom of her sweater. He moved her hand to rest on the table, his fingers played with hers. "That's why he's such an arse. Being a genius can do that to someone. They don't care about others sometimes."
"It-It's not just that," Molly paused, "whenever I'm around him - or well, anyone - I always get the feeling I'm not worth anything."
Shocked, John stopped moving his fingers and covered his hand over Molly's, squeezing a little, trying to make her feel easy around him. "But why?" He was trying to reach out to her, wondering if he could make a friend out of Molly Hooper. John sensed Molly's hesitation and he squeezed at her hand more, his thumb stroked over hers twice. "Come on."
Molly stopped hesitating and muttered, "I'm just… me. Molly Hooper. I don't do anything important; I'm just normal. I'm always normal. Other people are so successful or smart or attractive or whatever."
"And why should that make you feel any less?"
"For one, everyone's normal-"
John cut in and quickly commented before Molly could say anything else. "And who cares if that's the case? Just because Sherlock or some fancy-smanshy guy is more successful, more clever, or more pretty, it doesn't matter!" He smiled, hoping that Molly would do the same. She didn't. Yet, he didn't remove the smile from his face. "Who cares if you're normal? And don't say Sherlock. You are so amazing, Molly. Really. I may have just met you, but I'm sure that you've done so many things in your life you're proud of!"
Molly sighed, her eyes focused on her hand covered by John's. "Sherlock, he-"
Again, he cut her off. "Stop it! I said not him! Sherlock's just one person! There's so many other people that think you're great! You name it!"
She bit her lip and refused to answer now. She didn't want to say it. Molly shook her head. She felt John push her hair back and repeated his last sentence, she finally spoke, "Sherlock's always paying attention to everyone but me. It's like I'm not important to him." It hurt her to speak that last sentence. Molly truly believed this to be true. As much as she communicated with him, as much as she tried to impress him, she would just be plain old Molly Hooper, the girl that worked at the morgue. Nothing more, nothing less.
Molly's pessimism troubled John, as it was clearly written on his face. His smile faded and he instantly cracked open a frown. "But Mols, you're important. He acknowledges your support." When Molly interrupted by saying 'You're just saying that, you don't know him', John scoffed. "He'll ask you for a favor. A big one. Not these little pesky ones. He trusts you, Molly. You can't turn him down or shut him out of your life because he's so frustrating sometimes. You only feel unimportant because of this little love thing with him. You've got to be optimistic!" Licking his lips, he continued, "He cares. He needs you to be there for him when nobody else is. From what I've heard, Sherlock Holmes is a man who associates himself with ordinary people, and you, Molly, are so very ordinary."
"That doesn't make me feel better, John." Molly admitted and took her hand away from his. Her hand was warm as her other hand, cold, touched at the skin.
"I wasn't done yet. Ordinary people intrigue him. I don't know why, but it does." He saw Molly give him a look. "Okay, I'm lying about him liking normal people, but… normal people are the best type of people! D'you know why?" Molly shook her head. "It's because they can do extraordinary things. People who are considered famous or great or whatever can do something and get a certain amount of attention for it. As for boring individuals, they can do something and their action will be remembered. Maybe even forever! So when Sherlock asks you for a huge favor, he'll remember it and possibly even treasure that act of kindness. You don't know. Maybe he'll even return it." He shrugged and took her cold hand, and sheeted it with both of his hands.
"You say it like you know he'll do it." Molly smiled a little, mainly at the action. Of course his words of inspiration were helping her to actually be more optimistic about the matter at hand and never belittle herself, but she's tired and she couldn't really listen to what he's got to say. Half of the things John's said had escaped her mind completely.
John shrugged. "I don't. But I can always assume. So what's the lesson here?" Molly responded by saying that she's ordinary. "Well, yes. But something else!" When she says that Sherlock's going to pester her with numerous amounts of tasks and errands, John laughed. "Annnd…?" Molly finally says the answer he was looking for. "Yes, you're important! So very much so! Brilliant, too! Never forget that!" He turned his head to look at the time, reading 10:29 PM. "Oh, man. It sure is late, isn't it? You better go! I better go! Besides, I've got work to do in the morning." He made up an excuse, as usual, and leaned closer to Molly to give her a warm hug and a peck at the cheek. "I'll see you, okay? And never forget. You're important, Molly. I don't care what Sherlock's got to say about you. Actually, he'll just say something rude, but what I've got to say is much more important than him!"
Molly raised her eyebrows in a bit of shock, wondering how big of an ego John had. "I won't forget what you've got to say, John. Really, thank you." John gave her another kiss, this time at the forehead, and she watched him leave. She was alone again. Alone with a blood sample she had been examining for over an hour now. I really haven't gotten much progress done, have I? But I'm so tired. And Sherlock said that I can leave. She yawned and rubbed at her left eye. Molly took her bag with her possessions in it and walked out of the room.
When Molly reached the lit room where Sherlock was at, she knocked at the door. His voice told her to come in. "Hi." She said right after she opened the door and instantly found a bunch of papers on the floor. What a mess. Molly turned her focus back to Sherlock. "I'm leaving now. I've left the room unlocked if you want to check whatever's there. There's a notepad on the desk with all the things I've recorded." She informed him and he just said 'all right.' He didn't look at her, but Molly didn't care. She knew he was busy. She knew that he would be staying up later and maybe he won't even return to the flat until 5 in the morning. "See you in the morning." The two bid farewell and Molly closed the door.
She walked out of the hospital and she heard a strange noise. A wheezing, a whirring of sorts, something almost inhuman. Something like a machine. A weird sort of machine. She looked about the road in search for the source of the noise. And there it was. To her far right, Molly spotted a blue box across the street, fading. "What…?" She said aloud, baffled. Molly shook her head, thinking that it was just her eyes and ears playing tricks on her. The noise stopped and the box disappeared completely.
Molly paced down the sidewalk as she kept her eyes on the road, hoping for a cab to pop up. Another yawn escaped her mouth. "Ah, I'm tired. Really want a cab to come around." She continued walking down the road. The air was chilly. The moon was barely visible and the clouds were covering up the stars. Shivering, Molly wrapped her arms around body. She looked up to the sky, liking the view. Even though the temperature was giving her the worst feeling ever, Molly liked the sight of the sky. She loved the stars.
At the corner of her eye, she could see the same blue box floating in space. Though, instead of questioning it and focusing on the box, Molly dismissed it and went with her initial decision. "It's just my eyes fooling around with me. Just so tired, that's all." She giggled to herself as she resumed to scan across the night sky.
Then, pair of lights approached her. "Hey!" She screamed out and waved one arm. The vehicle stopped and thankfully, it was a cab. "Hey." The female rummaged through her bag for her wallet and grabbed a certain amount of money to give to the cabbie. She got into the back of the vehicle and handed the driver the money. "Other way, please." The driver made a U-turn and drove off. "Hey, um. Do you see that thing in the sky? That box?" She tapped at the window and once at a red light, the driver looked up.
"Yeah, I see it. That blue dot? Doesn't really look like a box. It's a dot, but yeah. I see it." The driver stepped on the gas pedal when the light turned green.
Molly continued to look at the sky. Maybe her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, maybe it was something real. Something out of this world.