A/N: OK, it's another little Sherlolly one-shot! Not a very happy one—but I do love my sad, angsty little pieces. I hope you all enjoy it! It's sort of how I imagine Molly and Sherlock first meeting…or one of the ways they could have met. Fun to think about! For all those who love Molly with a bit of spunk, this probably isn't for you. ;) The spunk will come later—just read my other fics! And for now, if it isn't too much trouble, read and review this one? Thanks a million! :)

The first time she saw him, it was a Wednesday. An ordinary Wednesday.

The morgue was quiet. She was quiet. It was alright that way.

Then suddenly, the door swung open, and a blast of cold December air flashed in. She didn't know, then, that it heralded fate.

And how could she?

It was just a chill.

He came after it.

She had thought that the air was cold, but it wasn't. Not compared to the ice-man before her, with his steely, frigid, piercing blue eyes and chiseled features and his Belstaff coat that cloaked him like raven's wings.

"You're Molly Hooper."

It hadn't been a question, and that was rather a good thing, because if it had been she would have stuttered like the idiot she had quickly become.

His voice—his voice wasn't icy at all, it was rich and deep and warm, like a bow running over the very lowest strings of the cello, and yet it suited him. Warmth and chill and mystery in one man.

The first time she saw him, she barely said a word. In fact, she didn't say anything, just squeaked like a frightened mouse.

Molly the mouse.

She knew he'd never notice her.

And when he looked at her, he didn't. Just looked. Past her. Above her. Through her.

Never at her, or into her.

She gave him what he was looking for. A few bodies. Oh, how morbid that sounded! But no, she hadn't really given them to him—just let him see. So that he could do—whatever it was he did, with a little glass whose magnification could not increase the already paramount perceptiveness of his eyes.

He was gone after that. No thanks, no farewell.

Why should he bid farewell to a mouse?

The first time she saw him, she was quite afraid she'd lost her wits, her composure, her ability to speak.

She already knew she'd lost her heart.