*waves and smiles* Well hello! Long time no- oh wait, never mind. Not long time anything haha! More like, very surprisingly short time! So yeah, it's hard to predict when this will happen, but by chance I got really caught up in this chapter and it came flying right out of my head real quick like. I have to say I had a pretty fun time coming up with this chapter and getting it all down in writing. I do so hope you enjoy reading it. ;)

A few days went by since Sherlock's strange and sudden proclamation to John. He hadn't said much more than that in the moment, and John had left the conversation feeling a bit confused. He wondered why exactly Sherlock had bothered to tell him something like that at all and found it interesting that Sherlock would even pick up on such a thing. It was a bit surprising that Sherlock would be that in tune to the feelings of this woman if he indeed was as indifferent as he claimed.

Sherlock had claimed his indifference that day when John questioned him. He was rather blasé about the whole thing. He was free to admit that Molly seemed to love him, but he brushed off any questions about how this affected him. According to Sherlock, they worked well together and thus it was important for him to be in tune to exactly how she felt about him. It seemed a logical explanation at the time.

But despite his logic, Sherlock couldn't quite get Dr. Hooper out of his mind. He spent the next few days attempting to repress the memories of that recent night spent at her flat. There really wasn't much practical use for some of the details that he kept recalling, but that didn't seem to stop them from popping up.

He was almost certain she washed with Pears soap, and yet he could still detect some of the trademark scents of the hospital where she lived almost half her life. To him it wasn't unappealing, and he'd awoken pleasantly to the same mixed scent which naturally clung to her bed linens. He also knew now how her fingers felt against his bare skin. He could recall how her pupils dilated when looking up at him in the dim lighting of her little bedroom. He was unsure though, of whether it had more to do with the lighting or of his being the focus of her gaze. He recalled how she looked in the morning, bustling about the kitchen with her hair only half pinned up as she insisted on fixing some coffee. She was clearly a little nervous as she gave him a cup and sat down across from him at the little table. He remembered how her cheeks had flushed even when she sweetly asked how his arm was feeling as Toby wound around his feet and batted at his shoe laces. The entire scene and all of its memories were awfully…domestic.

Sherlock had concluded that it was probably best in the future if he vacated the flat before she was up and about. There was no reason to involve himself in and disturb her morning routine. Why complicate things? He thought things didn't have to become complicated...he was sure of it.

But of course that was largely due to the fact that he was ignoring some of the vital details. He was completely ignoring the way that he felt. It didn't take long though, for something very unexpected to force him into being a bit more honest with himself...

Sherlock stood frozen in the hospital hallway, his eyes glued to the two people who were six or seven meters away. He didn't dare move, no matter how much he wanted to rush to her.

Professor Moriarty held Molly's arm tight with one hand and pressed the barrel of a pistol into her side with the other. Her wrists were tightly tied behind her back and she looked at him with eyes full of fear.

"Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said clicking his tongue and shaking his head slowly. "Did you truly believe yourself to be smarter than me? Did both of you think I was foolish enough to forget about her?"

Sherlock kept his face as expressionless as possible. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said evenly.

Moriarty laughed. "I may have walked away before, but don't think I forgot how she behaved." He turned to Molly and spoke the words closer to her face. "You refused to help me, didn't you? I wonder why…was it really because you didn't know anything about the great Sherlock Holmes?" He looked back up at Sherlock as he went on. "Or was it because you're in love with him?"

Molly remained silent and wouldn't look at either man.

"And I wonder how Mr. Holmes truly feels about you." He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged in a convincingly casual way. "She is nothing to me," he answered instantly.

"Hm," Moriarty said with a nod and then looked to Molly again. "A bit disappointing for you, is it not? You have my deepest sympathies."

"It seems pointless to involve her in our dispute. Your business is with me," Sherlock said firmly. "She is nobody, knows nothing, and is meaningless to me. There is no purpose to her being here at all."

Moriarty slowly bobbed his head back and forth for a moment as he mulled over those words.

"Do you know, Mr. Holmes…I think you're quite right. There likely isn't any purpose to her being here."

Something in his eyes made Sherlock's blood run cold. For some reason, Molly chose that moment to finally looked directly at Sherlock and find her voice.

"Mr. Holmes…please," she said in a shaky whisper.

Moriarty continued on. "Seeing as she's no use to me, and she's also no use to you…I would say it is indeed time for her to…go."

Bang.

The gun went off and Sherlock was shocked at the feeling that a hole had been ripped through his own side even as he watched Molly slip from Moriarty's grasp and crumple to the ground. It was as if he saw it all in slow motion, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't manage to make his feet move. He watched it all, powerless to do anything. All he could do was stand there and scream her name…

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Are you all right?!"

Sherlock sat up in Molly's little bed, wide eyed and gasping for breath. He looked at her like she was a ghost, and she stared back at him with eyes almost as wild.

"What's wrong? I heard you crying out! You were...calling my name." She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and now that he'd sat up their faces were not very far apart.

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep breath, relieved and grateful that what he'd just seen and experienced had actually been a dream.

He didn't really answer her questions or explain himself. He simply reached up and cradled her face in his hands, his fingers reaching back into the softness of her hair. He was still breathing hard as he spoke.

"You are not meaningless," he said, almost in a growl. "You mean more to me than you know. You have always meant something to me! All I wanted to do was to protect you, I swear it!"

"Shh, it's all right," she said gently and wrapped her cool hands around his wrists. "It's just a dream. I'm perfectly safe."

Sherlock slowly shook his head. His eyes traversed her face, barely visible in the darkened room. "But what if a day comes when it isn't a dream? What if I can't save you?"

Molly's face was so strangely peaceful. She didn't look concerned at all. She was the calm water below the surface and he was the storm raging above it.

She moved her thumbs gently over his hands. "What if it's my job to save you?" she whispered. She took one of her hands away from his wrist and brought it up to his face. She gently caressed his cheek and then let her thumb drift over to trace his bottom lip.

He felt his head spinning as if he were drunk, but was also suddenly struck with an intense clarity and focus. His singular focus…was her.

She barely had time to move her thumb out of the way before he leaned forward to crash his lips into hers. His mouth opened, eager to taste hers as he felt her arms slide around his neck.

He quickly realized that there was something strange about this kiss. He could hear her breathing and sighs and feel her arms holding him and the warmth that coursed through his body, but he felt as though his lips and tongue were almost…numb. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how passionately he kissed her, something was muted. He became more frustrated with each passing second, and finally hooked an arm around her waist to drag her onto the bed along with him.

Sherlock hovered over her and continued trying to kiss her as best he could. He finally groaned in frustration and lifted his face a couple of inches to look down at her.

"Why can't I do this? Why?!" he asked through gritted teeth.

Molly stared up at him in adoration, still looking perfectly content and calm. She stroked his face again. "You can. You can kiss me any time you want. You just have to try."

"I am," he said in a defeated tone as he moved his hand to firmly grasp her waist, desperately trying to show her how badly he wanted this.

Molly chuckled lightly. "No you aren't. You haven't yet tried at all, not really."

Sherlock's expression fell and things felt a little foggier as he spoke again in a whisper. "I'm still dreaming." His fingers dug harder into her waist, now afraid of this moment inevitably slipping away.

She didn't respond to that statement, not surprisingly. Molly simply grasped his face, dragging him down again. "Please kiss me…please, Sherlock..."

Sherlock tried. He kissed her with everything he had in him, till he thought it might hurt. He held her so tight he was afraid she might just break. And yet he still only felt a mere hint of the connection of his mouth to hers.

He persisted in kissing her as long as he could, till the scene became hazy and every sense of the moment began to fade and slip through his fingers. And soon, he couldn't feel her at all anymore…

Sherlock sat up in bed for what felt like the second time. But this time, as he desperately looked around and sucked as much air into his lungs as possible, he found himself to be at home in his own bed at Baker Street.

He squeezed his eyes shut to block the sun streaming in through the drapes as he wiped at the sweat on his brow. When he opened his eyes again and his respirations finally slowed, he actually felt his cheeks heat up and a wave of embarrassment hit him as some of the details of the dream replayed in his mind.

Sherlock leaned his elbows on his elevated knees and rested his forehead on his palms. His head was pounding. Perhaps it was best to get up and try to clear his mind a bit. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and grabbed his dressing gown to throw on as he stood up.

He marched out of the bedroom and down the hall. John was in the living room reading the paper and Mrs. Hudson was making some tea and toast for the men. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, are you quite all right? You look as if you've not had much sleep," the landlady said in a motherly tone.

Sherlock did little more than grunt in reply. He walked past her and took a seat in his chair with a sigh.

"Morning, Holmes," John said with a little smile, but his expression changed as he looked more carefully at his friend. "I'd have to agree with Mrs. Hudson, you do not look well."

"I am perfectly well," he grumbled. "I had a bit of a…disturbed sleep pattern this morning."

"I'm sure some tea will set things right," Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully as she brought the tray over. "Oh and isn't it wonderful about Dr. Watson and Miss Morstan, Mr. Holmes? I couldn't be more pleased!" She gave John a warm smile as she handed him his cup.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'm very pleased as well. I shall be sorry to leave all of this though," he said with a smile at her in return. "Baker Street has been a wonderful home."

"And we will miss you dreadfully, won't we Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are we quite done with the pleasantries this morning, Mrs. Hudson? I know I've had just about all I can stomach!"

"Oh, you tiresome man!" she said with a giggle and a little slap of his shoulder. She looked at John. "Don't you mind a word he says. He will most certainly miss you!"

Sherlock leaned his head against his palm again as Mrs. Hudson finally exited the room.

Once she was gone, John leaned forward. "Honestly, Holmes, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine, I'm sure. Just a slightly disturbing dream," he muttered without looking up.

"Oh, I see," John said, still looking at him in concern. "Sometimes it helps to describe it aloud."

Sherlock looked up again, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "That seems a bit...unappealing…given the nature of the dream." He looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

John stared back at him for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then suddenly his eyes widened and jaw dropped a bit in recognition. "Oh, ah, well…hm." John leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands in his lap, unclasped them, cleared his throat, and then finally opened his mouth again. "If you are uncomfortable, there's certainly no need to share anything of a…personal nature. The offer stands of course, but no obligation."

Sherlock sighed. Processing information of all kinds was what kept him sane. Usually he was taking information from the outside and depositing it into his mind. But in this case it was as if he needed to extract the information from his mind in order to hopefully sort it out and be free of it. Perhaps the only logical thing was to discuss it.

"I believe, Watson, that I am being unconsciously affected by the recognition of Dr. Hooper's…feelings for me."

John made another expression of shock. "Does this- do you mean- that is…are you saying that Dr. Hooper was present in this dream?"

"Present, and very much actively involved, yes."

John nodded with eyebrows still raised high. "I see. Well, perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

About five minutes later, when Sherlock had finished detailing the dream, John blinked rapidly and rubbed the back of his neck as he experienced some second hand embarrassment. "Well that was…eye opening."

"What I found fascinating," Sherlock said, suddenly looking more alert and animated. "Was the fact that I could feel and experience almost everything in the dream, but my senses seemed to fall short at the actual kiss. I believe it proves a very interesting point about dreaming and the unconscious mind."

"And what is that?"

"What we experience in our dreams is not based on our imagination as some people might believe. The things that we seem to feel, smell, hear and see are based on memories. That has to explain why I couldn't really feel the kiss."

John frowned. "Have you never kissed a woman?"

"Of course I've kissed a woman," he said with a huff, a rare glimpse of his natural male ego showed itself. "But I haven't kissed her. My mind knows the difference!" He tapped the side of his head, looking pleased that he'd worked something out.

John looked a little confused. "And you feel that this is what's notable about the dream? How about the fact that you're afraid something will happen to her? Or that you imagined her coming to comfort you? Or that you ended up kissing her in a bed? Do none of those things strike you as an important messages from your subconscious?"

"What sort of message are you meaning?" Sherlock asked with an air of superiority.

"What about the very words that you said to her in the dream? She means something to you. Please do not try to tell me that those words have nothing to do with reality."

Sherlock shifted in his seat as his eyes roamed the room instead of making eye contact. "Of course she means something. She is a trusted friend and colleague."

John snorted out a laugh and shook his head. "As am I, Holmes! Likely you will be having a similar dream about me any day now, hm?"

Sherlock's mouth contorted in mild disdain as he continued to avoid eye contact.

"In all honesty and sincerity, Holmes," John said, leaning forward. "Why would you not consider courting Dr. Hooper?"

Sherlock chuckled sardonically. "I experience one moment of subconscious physical weakness and you believe that to be the foundation of a marriage? Watson, if I hadn't met Miss Morstan myself and decided on how right she is for you, I would currently be questioning whether you understand what the appropriate reasons for matrimony are!"

"It is not just the dream!" John argued as Sherlock got up to stand by the window. "The dream merely indicates that you unconsciously harbor feelings that I already believed you to have! I told you before, she is practically made for you."

"She would surely be miserable," he said quietly and with just a hint of barely detectable disappointment. The fact that he'd suddenly shifted the issue to whether she would be happy and not whether he was interested was more telling than he realized.

"Would she?" John questioned as he got up to stand nearer to Sherlock by the window. "She's not been scared off yet, and I believe she has already experienced quite a lot of what it means to be a part of your life. A woman like that does not come around every day."

Sherlock said nothing.

"Holmes, did you anticipate that getting a flat mate would result in gaining a best friend?" John asked gently.

Sherlock turned and looked at him for a moment before turning away again and answering. "I didn't assume it would, no."

"Exactly," John said emphatically. "My point is that things do not always go as we assume they will. Sometimes things do actually turn out to be much better than we think. Perhaps you've always believed you can't be with a woman because of the distraction, or perhaps you believe Dr. Hooper would be unhappy with you in the end. But you do not know either of those things conclusively. You just recently told me that you think she is in love with you, so why assume that she would be unhappy? And why should you not consider the possibility that such a relationship could actually do positive things for you, perhaps enhancing your mental abilities and focus?"

"That is still a risk, Watson. If- if I took that risk, I would be gambling with her happiness as well as my own. How could I take the chance to lose that much?" he asked seriously, and again he unwittingly gave John hope that he was actually considering this.

"Well the answer to that is simple, Holmes. It is because the gain is far greater than the risk of loss. And I know you fancy yourself a bit above the rest of us and in a completely separate and unique position. But allow me to tell you that what you are considering, and the chance of gain and loss you are weighing…is nothing short of universal. Everybody contemplates the risks. But most of us just decide not to be unduly afraid of them."

John turned and walked away after a moment of continued silence from his friend. But as he neared the door, Sherlock turned and spoke.

"And what is it that you risk, Watson?" As John turned again, he added more. "What have you decided not to be unduly afraid of?

Sherlock was deadly serious, and John could see that. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. "Perhaps…perhaps I simply know so well what loss is and how easily it can happen. I suppose it frightens me to think of having anything I love…because I know I could lose it." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Sherlock nodded. "And yet, you still want it."

John shrugged. "More than anything."

The detective's eyes roved back and forth, examining things in his mind rather than in the room. He was being forced to weigh decisions and possibilities that he never thought he would.

John stopped again before exiting the room. "Oh and speaking of my impending marriage, I forgot to mention one more thing. Or perhaps you already know this…have you spoken to your brother recently?"

"I have not. Why?"

John's brow furrowed a bit. "Well this may seem odd, but yesterday Mary said she happened upon Mycroft and told him of our engagement, at which time he offered the use of a very exclusive reception venue for us on the evening of our wedding. He insisted that the owner was a friend of his and renting it would be at no cost to any of us, and that he would be pleased to arrange it as his gift. So…it seems this will now be a surprisingly lavish evening affair."

Sherlock's brow crinkled as well. "Mycroft offered this?"

John nodded. "Apparently he is much more a fan of weddings than any of us would have guessed."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed as he also considered the oddity of this information, considering Mycroft was not close to John and barely knew Mary at all. "I suppose we can only conclude that he wanted to ensure his invitation and involvement in the affair."

"Still a bit surprising though," John maintained.

"Well," Sherlock said with a smug little smirk. "He always has been exceedingly fond of wedding cake."

*waves again* Well, hi there. How'd you like that? Did I fool you just a bit hehe? Not gonna lie...I kind of hope I did. I went all Inception style with multiple levels of dreaming up in here LOL! XD Ah, good times. Welp, anyway I think it was actually a positive chapter at the end of the day. I mean, I know that technically Sherlock and Molly didn't interact at all. But there was definitely some progress breaking down those pesky Holmes emotional walls! And just to give you faithful readers a nice glimpse into the near future, there will definitely be a Warstan wedding involving music and dancing and Molly in a drop dead gorgeous gown and plenty of Sherlock making his buffering face because he can't even right now. YAY! :D

As usual, thanks very much to MizJoely for the helpful beta reading she has done. My chapters would be much less enjoyable if they weren't polished up all nicey nice. 3 Thanks to you guys for reading as well and I'd love to hear your thoughts. See you next chappy! ;)