A/N: Soppy Sunday that's all I'm saying.

"So she knew you were leaving?"

"Yes."

"You talked to her then?"

"Several times."

"And?"

"She seems to have borrowed your vocabulary, John."

"Really?"

"To the point of banning me from Bart's."

"Which is why we're sneaking in the back?"

"If that answers your original question, then yes."

"So…you fancy her?"

"No."

"Right…"

"I love her."

"Oh my God. Wow. Sorry? What?"

"Do keep up."

John gaped as Sherlock strode ahead of him through the hallways of St Bart's. The consulting detective's head soon whirling around until he too stopped in his stride. "What?"

With raised brows John tried to calmly speak. "Umm - what do you mean keep up? You've never once - not once - just - is this real?" he said before he hissed, "This isn't one of your bloody tricks is it? Since I'll beat you to a bloody pulp right now if it is."

Sherlock raised a brow. "No," he said with a sigh, as he began to walk again. "Why on earth would I pretend to be in love?"

He still hadn't moved from the spot. "Janine? Ring any bell?"

Again Sherlock stopped. "Oh - that - that was months ago John."

John snorted. "Not according to every tabloid out there."

"Well, if you hadn't gotten married they would still be speculating about us, hardly my fault," said Sherlock smirking.

"Sherlock - there isn't - we're not being filmed are we? You're not trying to trick Moriarty or something?" said John seriously.

Sherlock's amusement faltered, a furrow growing in his brows instead, as he said rather sincerely. "I can't trick him John - he knows."

John blinked.

Unfurling his scarf from his neck Sherlock spat out, "I wasn't the only one who pretended to be dead and as we now know how he did it - he probably already knows how I - asked for help."

"You've - all this time-," said John baffled, a grin starting to appear on his face.

Sherlock smiled briefly. "There are certain downsides with playing dead - people move on."

"But she knew, didn't she? She knew you weren't dead?"

"Yes…."

"Right," said John with a nod. "Right."

Both of them headed for the lifts - a moment of silence descending over them as they entered.

"What are you going to do then?" asked John after a few seconds.

"About what?"

"About Molly," said John with gritted teeth.

"First I need her to forgive me."

"Probably a good idea, yeah."

"She is aware of my feelings, however."

"But she still thinks you're a dick?" said John as the doors to the lift opened and they stepped out.

"Oh yes."

"Wow - she's really angry then?"

Sherlock frowned slightly. "I think me shooting someone added more fuel to the flame than one would believe, even if my intentions were honourable."

"Not everyone sees honour in murder."

Sherlock smirked at him. "No, though maybe it would have been different if I was in uniform."

John laughed. "Wow, you in love, properly this time - you know when you and Janine were at it I was a bit put off actually, but you and Molly - it sounds rather nice."

"I think so too," said Sherlock.

They were closing in on the lab and John noticed his friend was looking surprisingly anxious.

"I'll talk you up," he said with a chuckle.

Sherlock stopped in his stride staring at him. "Sorry?"

"I'll tell her why-,"

"No-,"

"Why-,"

"John - your history with women isn't entirely encouraging."

"And yours is? Jesus - Sherlock - I was trying to be-,"

"Helpful, yes - well then don't talk," said Sherlock who walked again, soon heading through the door to the lab, while John followed after him wanting to protest. He regretted his decision immediately, since he could see on Molly's face that she was the opposite of pleased.

"You're not supposed to be here," she bit out.

"Is Arthur still keeping guard? Easily distracted isn't he? Anyway I let myself in," said Sherlock. "Thought you might like the company of me and John."

Molly smiled at him apologetically, before casting a dark look at Sherlock.

John suddenly understood why he was really there.

"What are you working on?" said Sherlock after a minute of silence.

Molly paused at her work to look up at him. "Can't you deduce it? Or do you want me to drop everything like always?" she said in a bright voice, which did not sound at all happy.

"I was - um -," Sherlock blinked.

"Okay?" said Molly with raised brows.

"- trying to - err - chat-," Sherlock finally said clearing his throat soundly.

John suddenly realized he didn't want to be anywhere else but there. Crossing his arms over his chest he heard Molly sigh, soon returning to her work clearly not wanting to have a 'chat'.

"Isn't that what people do?" asked Sherlock after another minute of silence.

John was torn between saying something and not saying something. To be honest he wanted to see Sherlock dig his own grave, especially when the man's blue eyes flitted over to him desperately like he should salvage the situation. Oh no he was going to keep his mouth shut.

"People yes, but you're not people," said Molly, "Excuse me I've got work to do." Snapping her gloves off she picked up a folder and walked out of the lab without looking back at Sherlock, giving John only a brief nod and smile at her exit.

Sherlock's eyes were glued on the door that had smacked shut, blinking furiously.

"That went-," began John, trying not to laugh.

"Don't," said Sherlock with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm glad I could help," said John grinning.

When 'Arthur' the security guard did escort them out however, John did actually pity Sherlock a bit.

Mary laughed. "Serves him right, really. If there's someone who should be cross at him it's her."

He could only agree really, though he began pursing his lips.

"Oh God," groaned Mary, "He's got a plan, hasn't he?"

Her eyes darted towards the door where Sam stood, file in his hand, a sense of urgency about him, while she tried to finish up the phone call, phone pressed up to her ear with her shoulder, as her hands typed quickly on the keyboard. Multi-tasking, they should give her an award – "- I remember – oh – that's how you want to play it then, Morgan? Well - piss off!"

Slamming the phone on the receiver she gave Sam a small smile, as he raised a brow in surprise. "Your brother?" he said.

"Yes," she groaned, "Try planning a dinner when both your parents hate each other – and your mum's determined to bring her new boyfriend!"

"Ouch," said Sam biting his lip, shuffling slightly on his feet.

"What's wrong then? Is it Peter or Alexander this round?" There was always someone trying to criticize her work, even if she was senior, but she suspected they wanted her job, not that it made it any better to have her abilities questioned.

Sam shook his head slightly. "Actually – there's a man here who wants to see you – well – not any man – Sherlock Holmes." The excitement was palpable in his eyes, while she reclined back in her swivel chair feeling the opposite of pleased by the news.

Meena was a bit surprised to find him of all people showing up at her work. After all it had been months since she'd seen hide or hair of the man. Last she'd heard he'd gotten high and shot someone (the details on the latter were a bit hazy at best). Before that she'd had one phone call with him about him getting his arse out of his head, but apparently he'd decided to keep it there for some time.

"Right…" she began, contemplating putting security on him, as she really didn't want to listen to him considering the amount of angry texts she'd gotten from Molly of late.

There were more than twenty long capitalized rants about how infuriating the consulting detective was. But she suspected her telling Molly that she'd more or less heard him agree that he loved her and had done nothing about it for seven months would frustrate anyone, even Molly who was infuriatingly patient at times.

"You know maybe you can-," 'tell him to bugger off' – but in he strode with his coat and curls, giving Sam an all-too sweet smile making him blush.

"Meena – I hope I haven't interrupted?" he said rather jovially, and she knew immediately he was up to something.

She almost threw her stapler at him. She didn't need Sam to be on his side right now of all things, but it wasn't like he knew. "Sam – can you tell anyone if they call that I'm in a meeting?" she said, as her assistant vacantly stared at Sherlock who was appraising her office.

Sam snapped out of his daze. "Oh – oh right, sorry – umm – I just Mr Holmes? – I just wanted to say that I read your blog and I'm a huge fan. You're really amazing."

Sherlock smiled at him, and soon her assistant walked out the door banging shut behind him - and Sherlock's nice smile dropped.

"Did you really need to do that?" she said frowning.

"Hmm?" said Sherlock who'd clearly disappeared into his own thoughts, his eyes flickering all over her office probably taking in the severely clean desk and the antibacterial wipes she had sat by her computer. "Ah. So you-,"

"No, no deducing. You really don't need to point out what I already know about myself. Just tell me why you are here."

"Fine," he said with a sigh, "I need you to talk with Molly."

"Like you were supposed to do months ago you mean?" she said crossing her arms over her white chiffon blouse.

He tilted his head to the side. "Things got complicated."

"Yeah, I heard you turned murderer," she said.

"That was for a case."

She stiffened in her seat, remembering Molly's own words. "If you'd seen how Molly was when it happened, then you wouldn't be standing there looking so smug."

Sherlock's smile faltered several inches, the usual swagger cut down. "I am here because – I was – am wondering… is she okay?"

Meena blanched.

He looked sincere, though she still narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you asked her?" she said carefully.

"Yes and after fifteen unanswered texts - I thought it best to stop before I would need a diagnosis. Not that I don't have one already," he said with a brief smile.

Staring at him for a few seconds she finally said. "She's a bit of a mess to be honest, but you can see that, can't you?"

"No, when it comes to her – I don't."

It irritated her that she found that sweet, not that she was about to bring forward a box of tissues or start Googling bridesmaid dresses.

"And you want me to sort it out?"

"Would be beneficial," he said, his smugness returning and her own ire rising.

"Between the drugs and the murdering (he rolled his eyes at that) – I don't know how I can help you really," she said earnestly, "Might need more than me saying you're alright over a glass of wine."

"I just need you to convince her to talk to me."

"I don't know," she said with a frown, "It's a bit-,"

"My brother can get you out of that speeding ticket you got last weekend – the one at about 400 pounds?" he said casually knowing he had her. Bastard.

"Friends?" he repeated, watching the brain in the bowl get disintegrated causing a splatter of blood to spread across her goggles.

"Friends," she said with a firm nod, turning the loud machine off making the lab endurable again - some parts of the brain still remained in tact. "So the ban's off."

Grinning he said. "I think I'm much more than your friend."

"Idiot?" she proposed.

"Right," he said slowly, his eyes trained on the brain, before they flitted up on her face. "Why?"

"Why?" she said with a crinkle of her nose. "Because it's too difficult to keep you away."

"So we're not real friends - you're just tolerating my company?" he said unable to shield his irritation.

Molly removed her goggles and leant her still gloved hands on the counter.

"Yes," she said, before she began to clear things off, her disinterest in him apparent.

"What can I do?" he said. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

Her hands stilled briefly, but she soon slipped off the gloves and began to wash them. "Believe what?"

"You know what I mean, as Meena was stupid enough to tell you at the time."

"You weren't."

"I was -," busy he faltered because it wasn't true and it almost seemed like she knew what he was going to say, her brown eyes almost fierce. "I was –," he cleared his throat, "- terrified actually."

"But-,"

"I am terrified that if I make another mistake you'll disappear and I will feel everything I don't want to feel."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No – no it's not – but I would rather risk having one day with you than ignore that I already feel everything."

Water still poured down her hands as she stared at him.

"I love you Molly Hooper - is that so hard to believe?"

Seconds past in a tremendously slow pace, while he waited with bated breath.

"You're – you're still an idiot," she said softly with a tentative smile on her face.

"I know."