Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination. Or at least…I can only hope.

Summary: Molly Hooper's life can be described in three makeshifts family. The one she lost, the one she left, and the one she found. This story is everything in between, because even sometimes, Molly Hooper is known to be wrong. AU.

A/N: So, if anyone is interested in my excuses, I had family from all over the world over this summer. It's been hectic. Work has been hectic. Life has been hectic, however, this story and all of you, have been on my mind. So, without further adieu, chapter one. Oh. Triggers, there is some violence in this chappie. Not too much, but enough. You know these agencies, they put their agents through the ringer and then some.

Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Apologies for the shoddy writing…but I love you all.

Title is taken from the song Weightless by Courtney Jones. Which may seem kind of ironic given what's going on in the story, but it'll come together. Hopefully. Well, that and the song is kind of what started me writing Sherlolly again. So, thanks Courtney,

Warnings: violence, coarse language, sexual content, murder, espionage, angst, emotional trauma, familial problems, potential PTSD…you know, all that good stuff. Will amend tags whenever something comes up, but that's it for this chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

And frozen in the footsteps untaken (we stand side by side)

Part 1

When she hits the mat with a grunt and strangled yelp, she wonders, not for the first time, what she's doing here. She looks up with blurry eyes, a pounding headache and aching limbs and sees Tom and Mary off to the side, arms crossed over their chests. Mary has a worried look on her face, lips moving, words garbled and Molly struggles to read her lips, desperate to know what she's saying. Tom's silently pleading with her (Tom, she later finds out, is a man of few words but a man of loaded glances) to get up, just get up, Molly. Fight back. Fight.

But Molly isn't a fighter. This life isn't meant for people like her.

(We never wanted this life for you, Molly, her uncle's last words repeat over and over in her head until it's all she dreams about, until it's all she can think of.)

Brown eyes and brown hair fall into her vision. She looks up and sees Janine, sweaty with exertion as she stares blankly down at Molly. "Are you done?" Janine asks her.

Molly knows what Janine wants her to say. She knows what Mary wants her to say. She knows what Tom wants her to say. She even knows what they (those who watch from their spots behind the glass, those who pretend not to be there but are always there, lurking and watching and judging) want her to say.

No, she can hear them in her head, no, I'm not done. They want to see her fight her exhaustion, they want to see her wobble on unsteady feet as she takes her stance and challenges Janine to more fighting. They want to see her strength. They want to see her determination to fight. They want her to show them that she belongs here.

(But that's the thing, Molly doesn't belong here.)

"Yes." She croaks and she averts her eyes from Tom's crestfallen face and Mary's barely noticeable frown and Janine's disappointment. "Enough." She's ashamed of the tears that sting her eyes and the salty path they leave in their wake. "I can't…I can't…don't make me…please. Enough."

Janine nods and stands up, dusting herself off and walks out the door, letting it slam behind her.

Molly lies down on the mat, the coolness soothing to her burning body. She watches as Mary and Tom stand around for a few more moments and tracks as their feet lead them to the door and out of the room and then she realizes she's alone, so she concentrates on her breathing and how harsh her hitched sobs sound in the room.

(We never wanted this life for you, Molly.)

(Molly doesn't belong anywhere. Not anymore.)

It does sometimes occur to her that it is a little sad that her favorite place on earth is the morgue.

Then again, it also, she thinks, explains a lot about her.

It's quiet here; it's her sanctuary, just the sounds of her and her tools echoing in the empty basement. She can be alone with her thoughts here. She loves it here.

She rolls the body and slab into the drawer, shutting the door behind the deceased old man (he died of old age, a man who saw enough of life to die with a smile on his face) and leaning against the cold metal. It feels nice, against her warm skin and she sighs, watching her breath fog up the little space she takes up and wipes at it, erasing any sign of her momentary weakness.

Turning around, she walks towards the double doors, pushing them open with her shoulder and stripping off her bloodied gloves and gown, discarding them in the bin. She scrubs clean, going through the routine in her head, staring out the window, her eyes on her empty and bare morgue.

It's meticulously clean. It's hers. Her place of sanctuary.

As she dries herself off, she leans against the sink, hands gripping the edge and stares out the window, taking deep breath after deep breath and when her chest doesn't hurt as much as it has in the past few days, when she feels like she can walk without tears stinging her eyes, she leaves the morgue behind, turning off the lights and making her way out of the basement of Bart's.

(It's a little sad but it says so much about her, that her favorite place is where she's always so alone.)

"You're supposed to be a Hooper." Janine says to her when Molly creeps into the room they share.

"Janine, stop." Mary interjects.

"I am a Hooper." Molly tells her, already wary of this conversation. Her body still hurts from earlier in the day and she's one blink away from drowning in her own tears and all she wants to do is sleep and wake up from this nightmare.

"I grew up with stories about the Hooper's. They're worshipped here. Every person here wants to be like them. They are our examples. They left behind a legacy."

They led a double life, Molly knows now. A life, they blissfully kept her unaware of. A life, she didn't even know existed until the last member of her family was killed and suddenly, she's here, trying to prove herself to people she doesn't know. She would be lying though, if she wasn't trying to prove herself to the three people who have come to count. The three people who were thrust upon her without care and who have somehow managed to mean something to her.

Which is why, at Janine's words, Molly sucks in a deep breath, because she can hear the unspoken words, she can hear what Janine doesn't say, what Mary doesn't say, what Tom likely won't even let himself think about, you don't belong here. You're not one of us. You never will be.

And that, Molly knows, is the saddest part of all, because now, she doesn't know where she belongs. She doesn't know who she is. Doesn't know who her family is (was.)

"No." Molly replies and she's shocked at how hollow her voice sounds, how hoarse and tight her throat becomes as she climbs into bed, pulling the covers to her chin and turning her back to Janine and Mary. "They just left me behind."

She decides against the tube and walks home.

The weather is starting to get colder and she pulls her jacket tighter against her as she pushes her way through the crowd.

By the time she finally reaches her flat, her cheeks are stinging and her hands are numb as she fumbles with the keys and let's herself in, taking the stairs one at a time. She has the key in the keyhole when she tilts her head back and sighs. It's the sudden shift in the atmosphere; the barely noticeable creaks coming from within her flat that she knows he's there. She's tempted to take her key, shove it back in her pocket and walk out the front door. She doesn't want to see him. Not now.

(Not ever, maybe.)

But her legs are aching and her back hurts and she's so bloody tired that she tells herself she can deal with Sherlock bloody Holmes and everything that comes along with him.

She opens the door and closes it shut again, bolting the lock out of habit.

She narrows her eyes at Toby, who is sitting next to Sherlock, his tail swishing, and eyes staring up at in wonderment. Traitor, she wants to say, but she can't, because Toby took a liking to Sherlock from the first time he stayed with her.

(She closes her eyes at the sudden onslaught of emotion and pain that rushes through her body and suddenly she remembers nights where it was just the two of them and the semblance, the maybe beginning of something more. She remembers the way her heart swelled and then shattered simultaneously. If there was something Sherlock Holmes excelled at, it was breaking Molly Hooper's heart.)

She leaves him to his mind palace as she takes off her coat and puts the kettle on, desperate for some tea.

She grabs her cup and goes into her sitting room, settling herself on the couch across from him. Her heart beats faster when she studies his curls and his cupid's bow and the way his fingers, long and lean, are steepled underneath his chin and the way his pants bunch around his knees and the heady scent of his cologne and her knees become weak, so she sets the cup down before she spills on herself.

"Is everything alright?" She asks him hesitantly as she watches him come out of his mind palace.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen." He mutters, his green-blue eyes flitting to hers. Molly feels her breath catch in her throat and she's unsure if it's from the intensity of his stare or from the name that makes the hair on her body stand on edge. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to. It's something they used to do, at the beginning. He would say something, coming out of his mind palace and he and Molly would mull over it and she always, always, tried her hardest to help him.

Her stomach sinks and she frantically runs through her head wondering if she gave away any clue. No. No. She was careful. She is careful. She keeps her face blank, void of any expression, just like she was taught all those years ago. "Haven't heard of him." A heartbeat goes by. "Is he…is he one of your cases?"

He murmurs something that she doesn't catch, his eyes still trained on her and she sits immobilized, recognizing any movement right now to be the wrong one.

After a few moments, he blinks, and she watches as he retreats back into his mind palace.

(Sometimes, she wonders what he sees and does and who plays a prominent part in his elusive mind palace. But she doesn't ask, mostly because she's terrified that his answer won't include her.)

She doesn't realize she's fallen asleep until she wakes up.

She's still on the couch, but with a throw over her and in her daze she sees Tom lounging on the couch, the telly on some crime show and she vaguely hears Tom snort his incredulity. Toby is nowhere to be found.

She sinks back into the couch and falls asleep to the faint, but still there, heady scent of Sherlock's cologne.

When she hits the mat, she lets out a sharp gasp, as pain radiates through her body. She feels the burn of shame and humiliation course through her body and she looks up at Mary and Tom who are standing off to the side, Mary chewing her lip and Tom moving side to side. She cuts her gaze to Janine standing above her, hands on her hips.

Janine sighs and casts a quick look to the mirror, where the people who pretend aren't hovering over them, who aren't there to judge her (them), are standing and watching this catastrophe unfold, before she bends down. "Are you done?"

She doesn't look at Mary and Tom who are still staring at her with worry in their eyes and silently pleading her with to get up, just get up, Molly. Fight. Fight back.

She doesn't look back at the mirror; she refuses to give them any satisfaction.

Instead, she looks at Janine who is staring at her with an expressionless face. She's not a cruel person, Molly knows that, but there is a resentment that runs through her blood when she stares at the brunette.

You're supposed to be a Hooper.

Everyone here wants to be them.

They're our example.

They left behind a legacy.

(You don't belong here. You're not one of us. You never will be.)

But I have nowhere else to go, Molly thinks desperately, I have no one else. Just you.

Molly takes a deep breath, steeling herself for her next move, "no," is all she says and then she leaps forward with a sound caught between a gasp and scream, knocking Janine backwards and sitting on her stomach, hand balled into a fist and she punches her in the nose, on her cheeks, until she hears cracks and until she's yanked off her by thin but strong arms.

Janine is still on the ground, holding her bloodied face, eyes staring at Molly, not with disgust, not with hurt or angry or even with fear, but instead with a glint, an emotion that's akin to fucking finally and it took you long enough but did you have to have a go at my face? And all Molly can do is stare at her hands, still covered with Janine's blood.

Mary helps Janine sit up and the entire room is silent and Molly concentrates on the sounds of all their breaths, in and out. Huff and puff.

"I'm not one of you." Molly says, shrugging Tom's arms from around her. "I'll never be one of you." She pauses and looks up at the mirror before glancing down at Janine and then at Mary and Tom. "I'm a Hooper."

With her body aching and sore, she leaves the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

(We never wanted this life for you, Molly.)

She never wanted this life for herself, either.

The second time she wakes up, it's when the sun is just starting to come up. She can hear the clatter in the kitchen and she gets up, stretches and makes her towards the noise.

Tom has his back to her as he waits for his coffee and toast.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen." Molly says quietly. She can see the muscles tense in his back and he turns around to look at her, eyes desolate and he heaves a sigh. "Is he as bad as I remember him being?"

"Worse." Tom answers her.

"Well then," Molly says, slipping onto a seat at the kitchen table, finger tracing the pattern of the wood, "we have a bit of a problem."

Tom pauses and then nods, hand going to his mobile. "I'll call Mary and Janine."

And just like that, she's sucked back in, as if no time has passed. A hundred things run through her mind and she doesn't know how to even function at the thought of the four of them in one room together, but, she concedes, whether she likes it or not, they are family. They share a bond that is shaky and hostile at best, but it's their bond. It's their unbreakable, unshakeable bond.

They're the only family she ever knew for the better part of her life.

(We never wanted this life for you, Molly.

No. But even when you leave, you never really leave, do you?)

Don't hate Janine too much, there's something to be said about tough love, ya know?

This will be slow coming. I will not abandon this story, even when and if other stories come along, because I love Sherlolly and I love this fandom and I love you guys.

I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this little update! A little more insight into Molly's past and there will be more coming up. Sherlock has made his appearance and he will make more of one in the upcoming chapters. I promise!

HUGE HUGE HUGE SHOUTOUT TO: Livvy22, espee, coolaquariun, coloradoandcolorado1, varjaks, CordeliaC, .jhan, Rocking the Redhead, MegHolmes, whenisayrun, chloeness, iamanasaziana, SherlockSteph, thetamedrose, dayflow, roxyxena007, AdaYuki, lavanyalabelle, Poodle warriors, Mizus, Hazelmist, Keeperofthemoon0, Abbey and shleyam. THANK YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH. LIKE WORDS DON'T EVEN EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU ALL SO SO MUCH. If I missed anyone, please let me know but I hope I got everyone!

Sincerely though, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

MAD LOVE AND RESPECT,

BB