She looked so small and fragile in her hospital bed, and he couldn't make sense of it.
He didn't do this; he never did this. Sentiment was the very enemy of reason, something he thought he'd banned from his life a long time ago.
Molly was his friend, that was true; but he wasn't supposed to be so upset that she'd been hurt, wasn't supposed to feel so helpless and somewhat guilty over the tardiness of his own deductions.
He thanked a God he didn't believe in for the happy coincidence of Lestrade being in the right place at the right time; otherwise there would be no Molly Hooper right now, and that was a thought he found unbearable for some reason.
In the end he simply turned on his heels and left. He wasn't quite sure which outcome terrified him the most – being unsure of what was happening, or finding out that he'd been wrong about himself all along.
xxx
He looked up to find John standing in front of him, and frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be with Mary?"
"Mary's perfectly fine. You, on the other hand –"
"I'm fine, John."
"I can tell when you're lying," his friend started, and he scoffed. "All right, not all the time, but still."
Dear old John, always so stubborn and loyal and looking out for the people he cared about. A sigh escaped from his lips, and he shook his head in something close enough to defeat.
"I'm getting emotional," he admitted at last. "A momentary lapse of reason, I presume."
It was John's turn to shake his head now. "You git. You keep trying to convince the world you don't have a heart, but you're only human – and you know it."
"What should I do?" he asked, hating the hint of vulnerability in his tone.
"Sherlock, you're allowed to have feelings. Just give yourself time."
He smiled then, and John smiled back; and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do it after all.