This fic is based upon the song "When I Fall in Love" sung by King Cole (written by Victor Young). I do not own Sherlock or the song. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!
"I can't do it John, I can't fall in love with her," cried Sherlock as he collapsed on his sofa. John rolled his eyes and dragged his chair closer to the sofa. Then he sat down and assumed the stereotypical therapist pose: leaning back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, and one hand lightly resting on his chin.
"And how does that make you feel?" asked Therapist-John. He got exactly the response he was expecting: Sherlock reached over to kick him in the shin, but he dodged the flailing leg just in time. "Okay, okay," John tried again, a little more seriously, "why is this coming up right now? Do you want to fall in love with her?"
Sherlock rolled over and looked John in the eyes. "I didn't used to want to," he said, his eyes filled with truth, "but now, I just...Her skin is so soft."
"Sherlock, it sounds like you are in love with her already..." John said softly.
Sherlock sat up straight and said, "That's the thing, I have all the feelings you're supposed to have but I can't let myself feel them." His eyes clouded over as if he was seeing a memory. John waited patiently. When Sherlock finally emerged from his mind palace, he took a deep breath and began to speak again. "I fell in love once. It was a whirlwind. Her name was Allison. We thought we were so perfect for each other. Then one morning I woke up and I was bored. It was like whatever we had had faded as the sun went down. So I called it off. It broke my heart to break hers. I haven't let myself fall like that since then. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I broke Molly's heart like that."
John's jaw was practically on the floor and he gave no response.
"John," Sherlock snapped his fingers, "having a crisis here."
"Sorry." John's eyes came back into focus and he said, "Wow. Okay, so you love Molly, but you don't want to hurt her?" Sherlock nodded. "Don't you think you've hurt her enough already by pretending you don't care about her at all? And anyway, you've been Molly's friend for seven or eight years and you haven't gotten bored yet. Isn't that enough?"
"You're right." Sherlock said quickly and started to get up.
"Could I have that in writing?" John asked jokingly.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and put on his coat. In his best sarcastic tone he thanked John and then rushed out the front door of 221 B. Once he got into the cab, he realized he had no idea how to tell Molly he loved her and that he should have asked John what to say before he left so abruptly. He swore quietly to himself, but then he started to think about all the things he loved about Molly. He loved her hair. He loved it up and he loved it down. He wanted to run his fingers through it. He loved how hard Molly worked and how good she was at her job. He realized that all he really had to do was say what he really felt. He smirked as he heard John's voice in his head say "Well that won't be hard, you are pretty honest to people all the bloody time."
As the cab pulled up to Molly's flat, he shoved away the jokes and the sarcasm and took a deep breath. He climbed the stairs slowly and knocked on her door. There was a bit of a commotion inside, but soon Molly opened the door, slightly out of breath.
"Oh, hello Sherlock." A breath. "What are you doing here?" Her cheeks were red as she tried to pretend she wasn't wearing a see-through dressing gown with only a few garments vaguely resembling clothing underneath.
"Um I uh, well, I just wanted to, I wanted to thank you for all your hard work this week. You've been a lot of help," said Sherlock attempting to cover and explain himself while simultaneously trying not look down at Molly's half-naked body.
"Molly, come back to bed," called a man's voice from down the hall. She went even redder and she giggled.
"Um, I've got to go, but...thank you for stopping by and I'm happy to help out with your cases." Molly smiled and when Sherlock didn't respond she said, "Goodbye Sherlock," and closed the door.
The detective couldn't move. How could he not have known she was over him? He had always counted on her loving him. It had never occurred to Sherlock that she might move on to some other man. Well, there had been Tom, but he was hardly a man. But this, this wasn't supposed to happen. He supposed another thing he hadn't experienced when he had avoided falling in love was rejection.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he moved from Molly's welcome mat and began to walk home. Sherlock was halfway home when he stopped feeling sad and started feeling what most people would call jealous. Instead he referred to it as 'suspicious'. Who was this man? Was there anything wrong with him? Of course there was. There was something wrong with everyone if you dig deep enough.
Sherlock pulled out his phone and tapped on a name. When the person picked up, the detective said with a grimace, "I need your help."
