Her name is Molly Hooper. She works at a morgue, and is infatuated with Sherlock Holmes. She's only 5'7, and has light brown hair. She has chocolate brown eyes, and freckles are barley visible on her cheeks. She had a soft smile-not the huge, beaming type, more of the soft type, the kind, that when she sent it at you, it was like being tenderly hugged. She was a bit timid, but once you got to know her, she could be talkative. She was beautiful, in her own way, and she never seemed lonely, and heaven forbid broken.

That's the thing about Molly Hooper. She can hide everything, just by putting a tender look on her features. She never talked much about boyfriends, or family, but she never seemed lonely.

No one would know, that when Molly Hooper was twenty-two, she attempted suicide. She knew how to do it, since she was working in medical fields. She knew how to cut just right, so that she'd bleed out quickly. Molly was found by her father, who called the ambulance.

Molly had always regretted that he had to find her. It wasn't easy on their already strained relationship, and she had never meant for him to find her. She had hoped that maybe some of the university employees would find her-but unfortunatley, her father stopped by to try to talk to her. After her recovery, she didn't talk to him until he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He had died just five days later, and she didn't ever get the chance to apologize-to tell him what she hadn't shared with him.

Molly had started working at the mourge right after her father died-and that's when Sherlock Holmes came in. As soon as he walked in, she could see someone like her. He was lonley inside, even if the outside didn't show it. It did take a while-but she found out he was a drug addict, and that he was put in rehab after his own attempted suicide. And for once, Molly Hooper wasn't so alone.

It didn't take long for Molly to see that Sherlock didn't feel the same way about her, and once again, Molly Hooper was alone.

She remembered the hurt she had felt when the words, "I don't count," Were blurted out of her mouth. She knew she didn't count. She never counted.

She remembered watching him fall, and to see the pain on John's face at the funeral. A hurt that clearly said-"You don't count. You're Molly Hooper, and you don't count. It doesn't matter if I still have you."

She remembered the pain she had felt when she watched Sherlock brush out of her house-no longer having a need for her. "You don't count Molly Hooper-I only needed you once."

She closed her eyes, and glanced down at the street beneath her. It was fitting, dying where Sherlock had "died". She wondered if he would think it was ironic. Would he even care?

She closed her eyes, and jumped.

Molly Hooper. The girl who always counted.