A/N: Hey guys this is just going to be a short 2 chapter fic. Hope you all enjoy reading it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

PHASE I

A woman with short, black hair and glasses sat opposite Sherlock, who was tied to a chair. She stared at him with a clipboard in her hand, studying him like a hawk.

"How are you feeling, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock didn't reply her. The mere presence of her sent a wave of nausea through his body and he wished that there was a bin nearby for him to retch into.

"Still not talking? Don't worry, the sodium penthanol will loosen your tongue soon enough."

Truth serum. Of course. Typical.

Sherlock wanted to snap at her, to make a witty reply like how people would expect him to, but his head felt oddly light and blank.

They sat staring at each other for another few minutes, and Sherlock felt the substance doing its job in his body, gradually making him more relaxed and comfortable.

"Now, let's try again, shall we? How are you feeling?"

He didn't want to reply. Honestly, he didn't. Who was she to ask nosy questions? But he felt so free and peaceful now, so why not?

"I'm alright."

"Really? Because from what I've read about you, you don't seem to be alright."

"What have you read about me?"

"That you refuse to eat until you're on the verge of collapsing. You spend your days locked in your room. That you reject cases. And if you do accept them, you take an oddly long time to solve them."

"Maybe it's because they are difficult to solve."

The woman smiled at him. "Oh I doubt that, Mr Holmes."

She arranged her clipboard more comfortably on her lap before looking at him again. "What changed?"

"You're the psychiatrist. You tell me."

"Ok, I will tell you," she said, gazing at him intently. "Molly Hooper."

Sherlock's entire body froze and he felt a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed hard.

"What about her?"

"Don't play games, Mr Holmes. You know what."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Come on, Mr Holmes. You're worrying your brother like that. That's why he sent me, see?"

"Mycroft can go fuck himself," Sherlock scowled.

"Ah…the use of vulgarities. Another thing to add to the growing list of un-Sherlock things that you've been doing recently."

Sherlock glared at her, furious at himself for letting that slip. Fucking sodium penthanol.

"Molly Hooper," the woman repeated.

"What about her?"

The woman sighed. "Still uncooperative are we? Tell me what she is to you, Mr Holmes."

"She's nothing to me."

The woman quirked an eyebrow. "Really? That's not what I think."

"What do you think then? You're being extremely tiresome. Get to the point and stop wasting my time," he snapped.

The woman ignored his rudeness. "You've spent an awful lot of time with her the last few months."

"So? She is a pathologist at Bart's. I see her regularly since I use the labs there."

"She comes over to your flat at night."

"Yes, she personally sends the body parts that I request for my experiments. She sneaks them out for me."

The woman gave him a smile full of pity, making him feel sick to his stomach. He was tempted to reach out and wipe that annoying smile off her pale face, but his fucking bonds were holding him to the chair.

"You were photographed getting coffee with her multiple times."

"She gets coffee for me all the time. I thought that it would be civil to repay her. I'm under the impression that that's what normal people do."

"Oh yes, of course. But you were also seen holding her hand on the streets after getting coffee. Most people don't do that if they're not close."

"She walks very slowly compared to me so I usually hold her hand to make her match my stride. I must have wanted to get back to Bart's quickly to continue my experiments."

"You were holding her hand every time you two were pictured together, Mr Holmes."

"I have many experiments."

The woman frowned, deciding that he was going to be difficult nut to crack. "Ok, let's not talk about Molly Hooper anymore. Let's talk about your choice of clothing. Why don't you wear your Belstaff coat anymore? You used to wear it all the time."

"I've been feeling very warm recently."

"It's winter now, Mr Holmes."

"The presence of snow does not mean that I can't feel warm."

"No," she agreed. "But it's come to my attention that Miss Hooper was the last one to wear your coat before you stopped wearing it three months ago."

"I thought we weren't talking about her anymore."

"I've changed my mind. I'm the doctor and I'm in charge."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and the woman just smiled. He fucking hated that smile.

"You don't have any evidence that she was the last one to wear my coat."

"Oh, but I do."

Sherlock stared at her.

"John Watson told me."

Sherlock had an overwhelming urge to strangle his friend. But something told him that it wasn't his fault. He was probably subjected to a dose of sodium penthanol as well.

"John can be unreliable at times."

"Your landlady corroborated that fact too."

"That John can be unreliable?"

"Mr Holmes," the woman said warningly. "You know I'm talking about Miss Hooper wearing your coat. Both of them saw her wearing it. More than once too."

Sherlock looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling very tired. The truth serum was making him slightly giddy. He just wanted to get back to Baker Street and lock himself in his room. Maybe he would compose a concerto.

"Mr Holmes, concentrate please."

"Oh do shut up."

"You know I can't. The faster we finish this, the faster you can go home."

He sighed, knowing that she was right. Maybe he should get this bloody thing over so he could get back. Maybe he would pay Mycroft a visit and give him a punch too. The thought of that was oddly satisfying.

"Let's start again, shall we?" she said, more gentle this time. Sherlock just nodded, too tired to argue anymore.

"Tell me about the coat."

Sherlock closed his eyes, picking the correct file from his mind palace. "Three months ago, she came over to spend the night. We had just done… it and she –"

"You mean sex?" she interrupted.

"Yes," he snapped. "I thought you wanted me to talk."

"I do. Please continue."

"She was feeling cold, so I gave her my coat to wear. She gets cold easily. We fell asleep with her wearing my coat. Not the first time it happened."

There was a long pause.

"And then?" the woman prompted.

Sherlock swallowed again to force the lump in his throat to dissolve. "I woke up the next day to find that she had already left for work. My coat was on the sofa. I was about to go over to Bart's for a new experiment when…"

"When the call came," the woman finished quietly.

"Yes."

"What did the caller say?"

Sherlock remained silent for a long time. He was surprised that the woman didn't urge him to talk. After what seemed like eons, he finally opened his mouth.

"That there had been an explosion at Bart's. Accidental leakage," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Was it?"

"Was it what?"

"An accidental leakage."

"No."

"What was it then?"

"A planned explosion."

"Who planned it?"

"A fan of mine."

"Do you know who he is?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Moran."

"Moran?"

"Moriarty's right hand man. He sent a note after the explosion, saying he'll destroy my heart. Typical drama."

"Did you manage to find him?"

"No, not yet. Didn't Mycroft tell you all of this?"

The woman ignored him. "What else happened?"

"You know the rest!" he snapped.

"I need to hear it from you."

"She's gone. Died in the explosion."

"And yet you still speak about her in the present tense, Mr Holmes. You told me just now that she is a pathologist at Bart's," she quoted.

Of course he did. She was still alive. She was still very much alive in his mind palace. She was still sitting in her room, her light brown hair in a tight ponytail as she looked over some autopsy files. Her warm eyes shining with happiness when she saw him enter her room. Her slim fingers tangled among his curls when she kissed him. Her laughter soft and sweet when he made a funny deduction about someone. Her small hands on his chest when they lay on his bed, absolutely spent after sex.

He suddenly realised that his cheeks were wet.

Oh.

When did he start crying?

Fuck.

"Did you love her?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"No."

The woman sighed. "Why won't you wear your coat anymore, Mr Holmes?"

He drew in a breath to steady his voice. "She was the last one to wear it so it smells of her. I intend to keep it that way."

The woman looked at him pitifully again.

"Stop staring at me like that!" he shouted. The woman looked away, but was unperturbed by his sudden outburst. She merely picked up the syringe beside her and advanced towards him. With an apologetic look, she injected him with another dose of sodium penthanol. Within a few minutes, he felt himself relaxing again.

He never hated Mycroft more than in this moment.

"Did you love her?"

Silence.

"The faster you admit it, the faster you heal, Mr Holmes. That's the whole point of us doing this."

"Yes," he whispered.

"You loved her?"

"That's what I just said. Do try to keep up," he glared at her.

The woman started to scribble some things down on her clipboard. Probably something about him being unable to function like he used to. He didn't give a damn. He just wanted to get back home so that he could retreat to his mind palace and visit Molly again.

The woman finished scribbling and looked at him. "Did she know?"

"Know what?"

"That you loved her."

"No. I never told her."

"Do you regret it?"

Did he? Yes, he supposed he did. He spent many nights wondering why he was stupid enough to have never told her that. She had told him that she loved him thirty-two times. And he? The great Sherlock bloody Holmes? Not one fucking time.

And now she would never know.

A strangled cry suddenly rose from his throat and he was startled by the sheer ugliness of the sound. He attempted to stop the cry but failed miserably.

"I'll take that as a yes then," the woman said.

Sherlock just continued sobbing, not caring about how he must have looked. He wondered how Moran would feel if he saw him right now, unshaven and dressed in his shabby pyjamas, sounding like a wounded animal.

"Don't worry. It's the sodium penthanol. It makes you more emotional."

"Shut up."

The woman finished writing something else before walking out of the room, leaving Sherlock alone with his cries.

Sorry if there were any wrong information about sodium penthanol. As Lestrade would say, "Not my division!"

Please review! :)

Chapter 2 should be up soon.