Hi Dears, here is another little story. This will be only a few chapters long. My only wish is that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it.

Happy new year, Lanceletta

On a cold winter afternoon

Molly was nervously fidgeting with the big yellow button of dark brown winter coat as she was waiting for someone to open the door of 221B Baker Street. This late winter evening the streets of London were still crowded and busy despite the chilly weather. Molly pulled upper the pink-black striped scarf under her chin. She tried to force a smile, or at least an easy expression but the muscles of her face insisted to keep the slightly worried and upset position reflecting the state of her heart.

She was so lost in her thoughts about her prepared speech that when the door suddenly opened up revealing a very dishevelled Sherlock Holmes she took a sharp intake of breath in surprise.

The man's annoyed expression first went into a confused one through something... something what was definitely close to a languorous smile.

'Molly, what are you doing here?' Sherlock stood still in the doorway as he burst it out. He seemed to block the entrance, holding the door tightly ajar. He looked perfection. His fresh white shirt with its sleeves turned up was just as tight as it should have been, his hair was freshly washed, and slightly dump and his searching eyes, while he was waiting for the answer simply captivated every thought of Molly's. However the scent flooding out from inside was so unusual. Yes. It was basil and thyme. Just like a fresh, Italian dinner. It wouldn't be so strange if she didn't know for sure that Mrs Hudson had gone to visit her sister in France.

'Can I... come in?' she asked nervously.

'It's not a completely... uhm... suitable time.'

Suddenly Molly realized what kind of situation she put herself into and blushed, feeling the heat rising up from her chest to the top of her head. She quickly snatched her hand to her cheek. Sherlock frowned slightly turning his head.

'Oh, oh. I'm sorry,' she panted. 'I-I am interrupting.'

'What?'

'I'm sorry, I should have known better. Of course, of course.'

'Interrupting what, Molly?' Sherlock's frown deepened and he mentally smacked himself for his suddenly spectacularly poor vocabulary.

'Never mind. Uhm. Huh-huh,' she laughed nervously. 'I can tell you what I want to standing here, anyway, can't I?'

'Molly, wouldn't you...?' Sherloch had a second thought about letting her in, they still could talk in the hallway without going upstairs. He definitely felt his dump hair getting icy.

'No!' Molly almost screamed then cleared her throat and repeated a bit calmer, 'No.'

'O-kay,' Sherlock tilted his head expectantly but the frown remained.

'So,' Molly started with a sigh before straightening her coat followed by a nervous giggling. 'I've been in love with you since the day I met you.' Seeing Sherlock's eyes getting bigger and his mouth slightly open, Molly decided it was better to get over her speech sooner than later. 'And I can't stop doing it. And it hurts, and I am miserable and I can't move on while I have you around. So please, please leave me alone. I mean, could we not meet for a while? It would help, I think, I hope. It helped last time, didn't it?'

As she ended the sentence a female voice called from upstairs. 'Sherlock, who is it?' It sounded so domestic to Molly she felt a sob choking her.

She became pale and her voice got husky and trembling. 'Please, Sherlock do this for me, just let me live, I can't go on like this.' Without waiting any answer she turned on her heels and ran down along the street. Sherlock was just staring at her leaving figure. On one hand he wanted to run after her to say something but on the other hand it clearly would have been the absolute disrespect of her request on leaving her alone. This didn't make any sense. He slowly closed the door and with heavy steps went up the stairs deep in his thoughts.

Three hours earlier

'Bloody hell Sherlock, is it that so hard to pick up your bloody phone or answer a text?' John Watson stormed through the door of his best friend's flat.

The sight in front of him was incredible. The usually dark, messy and chaotic flat in its own specific order was one cheerful, pink, flowery redolent mass now. For a brief moment he expected Sherlock jumping out of his room in a light pink tutu with daisies in his hair. He shrugged off the wildly vivid image and headed in to find his friend. The whole room was coved with leaf of roses, pink and white, fluffy toy puppies were occupying the mantelpiece, the kitchen table and even Billy, the scull had one peeking out of his left eyehole. As he stepped closer to the desk he noticed about a dozen different bouquets of flowers each with a piece of paper on it. He stepped closer to examine them. On each sheet there were the names and the meanings of the flowers the bouquets contained. John grimaced as he lifted up a brand new - the price was still on - dark pink lacy bra with a matching tong from the trophy's antler above the desk.

After this intriguing exploration he finally found Sherlock lying on the coach in his dressing gown with his face down, his arm hanging from the coach and absently fidgeting with one of the opened bottles of perfume lying about.

'It's case related, I suppose?' He cleared his throat but his friend's only answer was a loud growl. 'Or are you planning to change your profile and open the most fluffy and cheesy romantic gift shop in London?'

'Very funny John,' Sherlock huffed as he slightly turned his head. 'Your sense of humour has definitely improved. Oh, wait. It hasn't.'

John remained untouched by Sherlock's mocking tone and continued to walk towards his armchair. He comfortably sat down right after he carefully placed aside a packet of brochures for teenagers about safe sex.

'So?' He sighed examining his manicure pretending to be utterly bored.

Sherlock's answer was again a growl only this time it was a bit more miserable. John was waiting patiently toll the detective finally huffed and sat up ruffling his messy hair.

'Sooo...' Sherlock cleared his throat finding the old carpet's slightly visible pattern unbelievably interesting. When he lifted his gaze he saw his friend grinning like an idiot, not even trying to hide it.

'I'm glad you enjoy yourself,' Sherlock muttered ironically.

'Khm...I'm sorry. I'm listening.' John cleared his throat trying to straighten his expression but shamelessly failed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You are quite delighted with yourself, aren't you?'

'Oh, yes, very much. I've always said that one day I would see you miserably in love and then you would beg me for share my wide and multilevel knowledge. So yes, I'm bloody delighted.' John grinned wider with his eyebrows practically disappearing under his hair.

'I'm not begging,' Sherlock sulked but turned his attention towards his friend fully in the hope of gaining some useful information.

John sighed tapping his fingers on his chair's arm, pursing his lips looking everywhere in the room but his friend. Sherlock eyed John annoyed, huffing, twisting and turning in his seat.

'You just have to ask, you know.'

'Right,' Sherlock barked. 'Right.' With a sigh he closed his eyes and started. 'What one should do if one decides that they are not completely satisfied with the easy acquaintances with someone and one desires some kind of shift in the relationship.'

'You want to go out with someone?'

'I always knew that you were bright, John.' Sherlock murmured mockingly, looking down, dropping his head between his shoulders, so clearly to hide his embarrassment that John had to grin.

'So, who is it?' John asked innocently.

Sherlock shot up his head with narrowed eyes and a grimace. 'Oh please, like you didn't know.'

'So it's Molly, then?'

'Of course it's Molly. Do you know any other female who can tolerate me for more than ten minutes? Except your wife and Mrs Hudson, for obvious reasons. '

'Well, there's is Janine...' John suppressed a snort.

Sherlock huffed. 'She surely would free me some quite precious body parts if I ever tried ask her out. Not that I ever would get into myself something so tedious like playing domestic with her.'

That was it, despite John's best will laughter burst out from him.

'What?' Sherlock frowned clearly annoyed.

'Huh, sorry.' The doctor tried to catch his breath. 'It's just...huh...you were so stunning playing the attentive boyfriend, and yet so convincing. That was so not like you. God, I had to pick up my jaw from the floor.'

Sherlock frowned at his friend certainly not joining in his laughter. John couldn't have been more surprised when he saw Sherlock's expression becoming from angry to pained then to absolutely sorrowful. That moment the doctor's good mood disappeared and compunction took its place. He cleared his throat.

'Khm...Sorry. You are serious about this, aren't you?'

Sherlock looked straight into his friend's eyes. 'I couldn't be more serious, John.'