Other people would say to visit a therapist, but Sherlock hated them. They didn't care about people, and they didn't really help. If someone goes and talks to a therapist and tells them their grandpa died, what can they do about it? Nothing. But the strange thing was, Sherlock wanted to talk to someone; someone who would listen. Someone nice…

John was in his room gathering things to be washed. He did feel terrible. At first he actually did believe Sherlock was mistaken about him… 'loving' John, but the events of the last week or so showed this really was affecting the detective. He didn't know what to do… yet. But he would think of something; he had to. Sherlock was his best friend, he didn't want to lose him.

Molly was walking down the halls of St. Bart's Hospital. The air was cool, and it smelt like cleaning products and soap. She strode over to a window to perform her everyday' gaze of the outside view before going home', when she saw a familiar figure approaching the building. Tall, slender, long coat swishing behind him; it could only be Sherlock Holmes. But he looked different. There was no confidence in that walk, but the most noticeable thing, was that he was walking alone. Molly went back to the morgue to conduct the last jobs of the day, and to wait for Sherlock to arrive.

Molly heard the doors open and turned to see the man she was expecting. Sherlock's head was bowed as he walked through, and his eyes met Molly. She was no detective, but she could tell Sherlock was sad. He was so sad. Whatever was going on, she wanted to help.

"Sherlock," she greeted him.

"Molly," he sighed.

Molly turned to the detective. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"
"Why must there be something wrong?"

"Sherlock, I have known you for a while now, and this," she gestured at his face. "is not normal. So, why did you come here?"

Sherlock looked away, avoiding Molly's gaze. "I needed to talk to someone. I thought of you."

Molly blushed. "Tell me what's wrong, Sherlock."

"Should we perhaps go somewhere a bit less… morbid?" Sherlock suggested, eyeing the room around them.

"Of course. I'll just get my things."

The café was crowded, which for once, did not bother Sherlock, as it meant that no one else should hear their conversation.

"So what's wrong?" Molly asked, taking a sip of her cappuccino.

"It's… it's John."

Molly's hypothesis was confirmed. "Is he okay?"

"He is; but I'm not. That's the problem, Molly."

"Start from the beginning; tell me what happened."

"I did something so stupid. I walked up to him and I… I told him I loved him."

There was silence. Molly shifted in her seat. Sherlock was becoming more and more uncomfortable.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, I should go." Sherlock quickly got up, and turned for the exit.

"No, wait!" Molly called after him. "What happened next?"

Sherlock turned back around and slowly dropped himself back into the chair opposite Molly.

"He didn't believe me. He said I was confused about my feelings, and that it must have been me mistaking our friendship for love. But I know that's not true." Sherlock hung his head.

"How's John been the last few days?" Molly asked.

"We've barely spoken. But when we have, it's just ended in arguing. I'm trying not to be angry at him, but the anger is always there. I haven't been working on any cases either. I know I should take my mind off things, but I just don't feel like doing anything."

"Oh, Sherlock." Molly placed her hand softly on his.

He stared at it. Surprisingly, he was not bothered by the contact.

"So, Molly… what do I do now?"

"First, you need to clear your anger, then you need to talk to him."

Sherlock pulled a face.

"Sherlock, you must. Just sit down, perhaps like we are now, or not. Tell him you meant what you said the other day. But I'm afraid that may not change the way he feels about you. I'm sorry to say it Sherlock, but it seems as if he doesn't feel about you the way that you do him." Molly smiled sadly.

Sherlock thought about how strange that was, really; when people smiled when they were sad. It was like a terrible fake smile. Like they were trying to make you feel better when really they knew you were doomed.

"I could talk to him too if you like."

Sherlock popped back into reality.

"What?"

"I could talk to him; like we've talked just now. I can see how he feels about all this. It might make things easier for the both of you."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Molly."

"Why not?"

Sherlock struggled for an answer. His head drooped in defeat.

"It'll be okay, Sherlock. I'll see you around." Molly stood up and patted Sherlock's shoulder, before leaving the café.

It'll be okay. It has to be okay.

I must make it okay.