After eating his scone, and commenting on the stupidity of the TV reporters, Sherlock Holmes stepped outside of flat 221B to get the morning newspaper. He won't admit it, but he was slightly surprised to see a cup of coffee from Molly. Black, with two sugars. He actually smiled, genuinely. Of course, when he chose to smile, his landlady Ms. Hudson was watching the consulting detective. 'Oh yes, Molly dropped this off! I asked her if she wanted to stay, but she just looked at the door and ran off. Said something about a date at two. That isn't for three hours." The gears in Mrs. Hudson's brain began to turn.
"You did something to her didn't you!"
But Mr. Holmes wasn't listening. All the color dropped from his face. His trademark scarf and coat seem to choke him. Molly on a date? Preposterous. He had estimated that she would have a silly crush on him for another four months, or, at least three. "She does deserve more than this, Sherlock."
The voice was the landlady's, but his flatmate's. "Do you even know what the note said?" Sherlock never actually read the note. Ms. Hudson had interrupted him.
John handed him the note, and he read it.
Dear Sherlock,
I know you will deduce this note and find it that I'm lying. So I will go ahead and tell the truth. I care about you, and I always will. But I know that you don't. Care about me that is. I may not be as observational you, but I can see that.
Love,
Molly Hooper
John handed Sherlock his coffee. The doctor sighed and said, "I think it would be best if you don't insult her anymore."