Sherlock thinks back on his recent interactions with friends and family. Spoilers for S3E1. Takes places just after parting ways with Molly. Companion piece to Something's Different. Enjoy!
So much going round inside his head he couldn't even sit still. He chose instead to pace round his apartment with his chips, nibbling them but not tasting them, his mind elsewhere.
He'd feel deserted if not for the simple fact that he himself had been a deserter, leaving his best friend and Mrs. Hudson to grieve for two years over his supposed death. Had that small matter not occurred, however, he'd feel quite deserted. Lonely, even. Yes, lonely. Now that he knew what that felt like, he threw that word around in his mind palace quite a lot. Being virtually alone for two years, isolated from loved ones, loved ones who thought you were dead … yes, it tended to make one feel quite lonely. A lot. Perhaps he'd become sensitive. Now that he'd felt the warmth of friendship again, being by himself felt dismal, cold. Even though John was still angry, just being in the same city as his friend was nearly satisfaction enough.
Getting to know these feelings of loneliness, knowing what it was to be truly alone, made it irresistible to goad his brother. Sherlock had been like him once; distant, aloof, almost unfeeling. Not knowing what it was to have something so dear and not realize it until it was gone. To have affection for a goldfish, as Mycroft put it. Or … several goldfish.
Sherlock briefly and with a small tinge of embarrassment remembered that awkward hug Lestrade had graced him with, and the surge of affection he experienced upon realizing that he had, in his own way, missed the detective inspector.
And then there was Molly. Ah, Molly Hooper. He'd surprised her in the staff locker room at St. Bart's and was greeted with the tiniest, knowing smile, a little nod, and a small, "You're back, then?" They'd exchanged little more than pleasantries and he'd been meaning to ask her to lunch when he saw that damn diamond ring on her finger. He'd watched her twist it anxiously around her slim finger as she spoke, and he deduced that she was probably on her way to meet the fiancé for lunch. He'd let her go.
Sherlock had felt the change in himself while he was away, but he wasn't ready for the change in everyone else. While he was taking down Moriarty's network, keeping everyone he held dear safe and alive, they'd moved on without him. John, who thought he was dead, had found this Mary woman, and Molly, who had known he was alive and well … had found herself someone else to direct her affections toward. While Sherlock had never truly entertained the thought of seeking out anything romantic with Molly Hooper, the knowledge that she was now engaged to another man made him absurdly jealous. Irrationally jealous. But he owed it to her to leave her alone, after all she'd done for him. Even if his congratulations felt like acid bubbling over in his mouth.
It had been difficult, he had to admit. Kissing her on her cheek seemed so tame. After everything that had happened, Molly deserved one good, long, lingering snog, and Sherlock had no idea if it was just this bizarrely intense jealousy over that damn ring or if he really had just missed her, but at the time he'd been more than willing to give her just what she deserved.
Downstairs there was a knock on the door and Sherlock nearly sighed in relief. Finally someone had come to call, and he could stave off this depressing loneliness for a while longer. Maybe by then John will have come around and forgiven him.