Sherlock Holmes had recently come to the inevitable conclusion that Dr. Molly Hooper, his pathologist, was avoiding him. It had taken him some time to figure this out, as he was not exactly a social animal, and had completely missed the signs. Molly had been the same as usual in their working relationship. Sherlock would burst into her morgue or lab without warning, demand her immediate and full attention, and then proceed to ignore her as he went about his tasks. Unless he needed her to fetch coffee. Come to think of, he mused, she really hadn't been very good in the coffee department for the past couple of months.

The signs of her growing detachment were all there, but he hadn't really noticed them until recently. She no longer hand delivered body parts to his flat, but insisted that he come to the hospital to pick them up, even making him sign for them! She had turned down his invitation to join him for some chips with a friendly, "Thanks, Sherlock, but I'm not hungry." She never had to actually be hungry before to share some time with him. He asked her to help on a case when John had been otherwise occupied with his newborn daughter, but she had declined, using the flimsy excuse that she was "busy". When he stopped by her flat, she had asked him to leave, as she was going to bed early. He found himself missing the times when they had sat on her couch 'til all hours of the morning watching crap telly.

It wasn't that she had a new boyfriend. Sherlock had warned her on many previous occasions that her taste in companions of the opposite sex left much to be desired. She didn't seem particularly depressed, or overly happy. She just seemed herself. Except for the fact that she was definitely cutting Sherlock Holmes out of her social life. And since Sherlock's social life was limited to begin with, the absence of Molly Hooper was extremely noticeable. The final confirmation of his exile came just this evening. Sherlock had been invited to the Watsons' flat for dinner, and a visit with his goddaughter, Claire, and had fully expected Molly to be there, too, as they often shared these occasions.

"So, John, why is Molly so late?" he asked his host while bouncing the child on his knee.

"Molly's not coming, mate. She was here yesterday. She visits Mary a lot on her days off, so she passed on tonight," John answered, avoiding eye contact.

Sherlock became a little more tense, and consequently bouncing the child a bit more quickly. "John, I have come to believe that Molly is avoiding me."

"Come on, Sherlock. You saw her just two days ago, in the morgue."

The poor child was now looking like a ragdoll, her limbs jiggling willy-nilly as the bouncing grew more and more agitated. "John, the cadaver was friendlier. She barely spoke to me!"

Mary Watson now entered the room, and swooped down to recover her daughter before Sherlock launched her into the chandelier. " You're hardly one to be complaining about people being unfriendly, you prat!"

"Really, Mary, I can be very friendly!" Sherlock now twisted his face into his most insincere and smarmy smile.

"Please don't grin like that Sherlock. You're frightening the baby," Mary said, comforting the now sobbing Claire. "John, you talk to him. Maybe you can explain why normal people can sometimes perceive him as as real bastard!" And with that she took Claire off to change her nappy.

"Well, John, explain why I'm a real bastard!"

"Sherlock, this is hardly new territory. I have certainly explained that you are a bastard on many previous occasions…"

"John…"

"Okay! Okay! After Molly helped you die, she was the only one of us who knew that you were alive. Besides Mycroft, of course. We didn't expect to hear from you. You were dead, for god's sake. But Molly went through her own hell for over two years, and you never contacted her. Not once! She cared so much…"

"I couldn't risk it, John…"

"That's just an excuse, Sherlock. Mycroft would have kept her informed, if you had asked him to. But you didn't. She finally moved on, with Tom…"

"Meat dagger! Ha!"

"Tom! A nice guy. Then you reappear, and he's gone. And everybody starts remarking how changed you are. You seem more gentle, more caring, more NOT Sherlock. And then there's Janine…"

"For a case!"

"And drugs…"

"Same case, as you may recall. Then your wife shot me, remember?"

"No need to remind me, you git. We're still working through that. You know how many times I've washed the dishes just because I was afraid to piss her off? But, I gotta tell you, the bullet damn near killed Molly, as well. At the hospital, she runs into your "fiance", Janine. She reads about your love life in the papers. But she nurses you back to health…"

"She did more than that, John," Sherlock said quietly. "She was in my mind palace. She told me which way to fall, when I was shot. So I wouldn't bleed to death. She slapped me to bring me back, when I thought that I was gone for good…"

"In your mind palace, Sherlock?"

"She's always in there, John. And let me tell you, the slaps there are every bit as hard as they are in real life. Maybe harder."

"So, mate, let me ask you. After everything was over. After Magnuson, after that four minute exile, after the Moriarty hoax, why didn't you speak to her for over two months? You didn't seem to miss her then. So why are you so concerned about her distancing herself now?"

"What makes you think I'm concerned now?"

"You really are a bloody arse, Sherlock. You're worried now because you're beginning to realize she may not always be there. Maybe she doesn't want to be there anymore! Maybe she has finally realized what an arrogant, selfish bastard you are…"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. She's an intelligent woman. She's always known I was an arrogant, selfish bastard. She loved me anyway!"

"I notice you used the past tense, mate. And I think that's what you're really afraid of. That you've waited too long, that you've missed your chance. And maybe you have."

For once in his life Sherlock Holmes looked truly unhappy. "Any suggestions, John?"

"Well, you could skip dinner, kiss your goddaughter goodbye, and get your arse over to Molly's as soon as humanly possible, and beg for her forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for what, exactly?"

"Anything. And everything. I'm sure she's got a whole laundry list of grievances. Just keep nodding your head and apologizing. It always works with Mary."

"Always?"

"Well, she hasn't shot ME, has she!"

"Point taken, John."

"And Sherlock, it wouldn't hurt to stop at Baker Street and change into the purple shirt, if you know what I mean…" But John stopped when he realized he was speaking to empty space as his best friend had already taken his advice and headed out the door.

Molly was sitting on her couch, spooning chocolate ice cream into her mouth and wishing that she had gone over to John and Mary's for dinner. She really was at her breaking point in her campaign to get over the tall detective with the beautiful eyes and the lovely curls. She was never going succeed in that endeavor, she knew that. So she might as well settle for whatever relationship he was willing to offer. Molly was now contemplating a future full of cats and cadavers, with the occasional organ delivery to Baker Street. She let out a heavy sigh as her mobile signalled an incoming text.

SHERLOCK IS ON HIS WAY OVER THERE TO APOLOGIZE - MARY

FOR WHAT? - MOLLY

EVIDENTLY EVERYTHING FROM GLOBAL WARMING TO THE EBOLA OUTBREAK! - MARY

?! - MOLLY

LISTEN TO HIM FOR 30 SECONDS, THEN SNOG HIM SENSELESS. DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY! - MARY

SNOG SHERLOCK?! - MOLLY

START AT SNOGGING. THE REST IS UP TO YOU . - MARY

Molly made a beeline for her bedroom. If she was going to "snog him senseless", she intended to do it in something more alluring than sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt.

The next text didn't arrive for several hours, and it was for John Watson, romantic consultant and best friend.

THANK YOU. THE PURPLE SHIRT DID THE TRICK, ALTHOUGH IT DIDN'T STAY ON FOR LONG. DO YOU KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND A BEST MAN? - SHERLOCK