pagedancer87 on tumblr said:Prompt Request: Sherlock in his mind palace as Molly's ex-boyfriends tell him about all the signs Molly might be losing interest resulting in paranoid/jealous!Lock and Sherlock going to great lengths to secure his pathologist's affection.

And I said: Sorry it's taken me so long with this prompt, but I've been struggling with it a bit and had to tweak it a bit before I was happy with it. My original idea was pretty dark – Sherlock was going to be the one behind the Moriarty broadcast, all so he could manipulate Molly into moving in with him – but I decided to go with something a bit less…extreme, lol. Hope you like it!

Part 1 - Don't Listen to the Voices in Your Head

She doesn't fawn over you as much as she used to. Or at all, actually.

She told Lestrade she'd moved on.

She wouldn't go on any more cases with you, and she turned you down for chips even though you know how much she loves them.

She slapped you silly for going on drugs even though it was only for a case.

She got engaged, for God's sake, how much more proof do you need?!

The chorus of voices in his head was about to drive him mad, especially because he knew they were right, every single one of them. Dave the endocrinologist, Gary the stockbroker, what's-his-face the anesthesiologist, Tom the idiot…Even Jim Moriarty, whom she'd tried to claim hadn't been an actual ex-boyfriend. Which was patently false, since Sherlock knew damn well that she'd had sex with him on that third and final date, even though he'd never called her on it. Of course, he could understand her reasoning; who wanted to be known as the ex-girlfriend of a psychopathic murderer?

He winced a bit as he heard his own voice join the chorus inside his mind palace: For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all attempts at a future relationship, Molly.

Oh, yes, brilliant, that; why not just throw her into the arms of the nearest available male and have done with it? He shuddered at the thought, especially since the literal nearest available male had been John Watson. What a disaster that would have been!

She's barely spoken to you since you were discharged from hospital.

Ah, the ever-helpful James Moriarty. Bastard never did know when to…

"…shut up," he muttered aloud.

"I haven't actually said anything, you twat."

Sherlock's eyes popped open and zeroed in on the speaker: John, of course. Loyal, resourceful, currently aggravated John. "Then you were thinking too loudly," Sherlock replied, letting his head fall onto the back of his chair and shutting his eyes.

"Sherlock, you asked me to come over because you said you needed to talk to me about something." John's voice was filled with the exaggerated patience that meant he'd actually reached the end of his. "I've been here for half an hour while you stared off into space and said absolutely nothing. If you just called me over to hand you your mobile or something idiotic like that, so help me I'll…"

"You'll what?" Sherlock cut him off irritably. "You'll leave? No you won't, you're too curious, you want to know why I actually did ask you to come over."

"And that's because….?" John let his voice trail off suggestively.

Suddenly the chair was too confining; Sherlock bounced to his feet and began nervously (no, not nervously, he wasn't nervous, he was just…full of excess energy, that was all) pacing the sitting room. "Molly Hooper's not in love with me anymore," he blurted out, which was NOT what he'd planned to say at all, bugger it!

He risked a glance at John and saw him staring at him. "Okay," his friend said slowly. "And this is a problem…why? She's still your friend, right?"

"Yes, of course she is," Sherlock snapped, feeling his irritation rise at John's lack of understanding. For God's sake, the so-called 'fairer sex' was supposed to be the other man's area of expertise!

"So, what, you'd rather she was a blushing, stammering mess around you? You want her to go back to being someone you can walk all over?" John's temper was clearly rising. "Because if that's the case, Sherlock, then you're a bigger ass than I ever thought you were. That woman saved your life! Is this because she slapped you silly? Because you really, truly deserved it, and if you ask me, she should have slapped you again when you made that nasty crack about her engagement being over!"

Instead of being angry or giving John his patented 'don't be an idiot' look, Sherlock found himself staring at him in admiration. "John, you're a genius! Of course she's not in love with me any longer, why should she be when I've given her no clue that her feelings weren't entirely unreciprocated? When I've reverted to bad habits and allowed my glee at her finally dumping Meat Dagger to show instead of being sympathetic and understanding?" He smacked himself in the forehead while John continued to stare at him, apparently too befuddled by the flurry of words pouring from Sherlock's mouth to even try to think of stopping him. "Mycroft's right, I am the stupid one, not that I'll ever tell him that – and don't you do it, either," he added, stopping his manic pacing and spinning round to point an accusing finger at John. Who continued to stare at him.

"Um, Sherlock," he said after a long moment, "did you just…are you saying you're…"

"In love with Molly Hooper? Yes, of course, I thought it was obvious," was Sherlock's impatient reply. He threw himself into his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face, closing his eyes as he did so. "Now, the question is, what to do to make her fall back in love with me." He cracked one eye open and glared at John. "Off you pop, you're definitely thinking too loudly for me to concentrate, and I'm sure Mary could use some help with little Tara."

He heard John huff as he levered himself out of his chair, listened to the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the flat and headed down the stairs, muttering under his breath and stomping unnecessarily to show his continued annoyance. Which, of course, Sherlock ignored. John wasn't the puzzle that needed solving right now, Molly was.

What could he do to make her fall back in love with him?

The obvious answer was to avoid doing the things that had made her fall out of love with him in the first place: no more drugs, no more fake engagements, even if the case was a 9. Or even a 10. Possibly she might let it slide if were an…no, no, don't go there, no excuses, he told himself sternly. No drugs, no fake engagements – unless the other party was fully aware of the situation.

Hmm, a fake engagement…perhaps he could convince Molly he needed her to act as his fake fiancée for a case? And then subtly show her how much she meant to him, how his feelings for her had undergone a profound change, let her know he loved her?

No, he decided reluctantly, that wouldn't work. She'd think he was just acting, that it was strictly for the case. And God help him if she ever found out that there was no case; the slaps she'd delivered in the path lab would be nothing compared to the fury he'd unleash if she thought he was using her residual feelings for him against her!

So, no fake relationship as a stepping stone to a real relationship, then. What if he actually found someone tolerable enough to date, in an attempt to make her jealous, would that work? No, only if she was actually still in love with him. Which she clearly wasn't.

She's moved on, Sherlock, give it up. She's over you, she's finally wised up and realized she could never love a freak like you.

He scowled as the sneering voices of Molly's gaggle of ex-boyfriends rose up in his mind again. He should have deleted them from his memory years ago, long before they started popping up to offer their unwanted opinions.

Idiots, the lot of them, up to and including Jim Moriarty. If the man had half the brains he'd supposedly been gifted with, he'd never have let Molly go.

Sherlock supposed he should be grateful Moriarty hadn't taken it into his head to really try to romance her – or worse, seduce her over to the dark side. The thought of his sweet Molly corrupted by that madman, gleefully using her skills to wreak havoc on London was…

…actually, kind of sexy in a horrifying, so-glad-it-never-happened kind of way.

His eyes glazed over as an image of Molly, dressed in a skimpy black negligee and wielding a riding crop while he knelt in front of her, hand bound behind his back, rose up in front of his eyes. The things he'd never allowed Irene Adler to do to him (even during their brief liaison in Karachi) were things he could quite happily submit to if Molly Hooper were the one holding the whip.

"Focus," he snapped to himself, shaking his head to clear it of the enticing imagery his imagination had conjured up. He was supposed to be trying to figure out how to get Molly to fall back in love with him, not fantasize about what he'd have her do to him once he achieved that goal!

Hmm, fantasies, perhaps that was the key? Not his, naturally, but perhaps hers? Once upon a time she'd seemed to have a thing for his neck, and he'd caught her looking at his lips more than once. Obviously she was mainly attracted to him for his mind, but there was no point in ignoring the strong physical attraction they had for one another.

By morning he'd outlined what he thought would be a good plan of attack; he jumped in the shower, taking extra care while shaving and fussing with his hair more than usual. He selected his tightest aubergine button-up – even Anderson couldn't miss the way Molly snuck admiring glances at his chest! – and a pair of snug-fitting black trousers.

Twenty minutes later he stepped smartly out the door and hailed a taxi, ready to do whatever it took to win Molly Hooper back.

Next up: Part 2 – Listen to Your Heart Instead

All reviews gratefully and humbly appreciated!