Molly had always loved boys.

Molly always loved Sherlock. That didn’t change when she met you. You were just Sherlock’s sister, which is fine, of course. It’s not as if she likes girls, so she doesn’t like you. Well, not romantically. You’re a friend. That’s it. A friend who just happens to give her the same butterflies that Sherlock used to whenever you make eye contact with her, such as now, in the morgue.

“Are you alright? Sorry— you were sort of… staring.” She giggles nervously.