A/N: Thanks again to all the lovely people out there for reading / favouriting / commenting. All your encouragement keeps me going. You are the best!
Thank you to ML for beta-ing this. Not only is it great for me to have a native speaker look over it, but also to have a boyfriend who supports me in everything I do. I love you!
The Man who Knew Too Much
"There is no point in using the word 'impossible' to describe something that has clearly happened."
― Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
John could not concentrate on the files he was supposed to be looking through, not when peculiar things were happening right in front of his nose. Had he not seen them with his own eyes, he would not have believed them true himself.
How often had Sherlock said to him that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? And however improbable it may be, there seemed only one explanation for Sherlock's behaviour: the consulting detective felt something for his pathologist, Molly Hooper. The question was: what exactly did he feel? And was it real, or another cruel trick of his best friend? Would he dare to stoop so low?
It all began when John had come home from Oxford. He had gone to St. Bart's because he knew Sherlock was there and wanted to see how the case was going. Just as he had been about to round the corner to enter the lab, the voices of the pathologist and the consulting detective had made him stop dead in his tracks. He had not meant to eavesdrop, but the opportunity had been too good to resist.
Molly was sitting at a table, filling out some report while Sherlock sat at "his" microscope. But instead of looking into it, he watched the pathologist.
She seemed oblivious to his staring and jumped when Sherlock spoke, "If you had one wish, what would it be? And don't say something dull like peace on earth or to alleviate world hunger. It needs to be something purely selfish."
Slowly the pathologist lowered her pen and turned around to face the consulting detective with raised eyebrows.
John could hardly blame her. Sherlock's unusual question had made his eyebrows wander towards his hairline as well.
Sherlock didn't react at all. He just kept looking at her with an emotionless stare.
Molly cocked her head to the side and regarded the consulting detective, as if figuring out whether he was being serious.
When he didn't react, she answered, "My dad to be alive."
"No."
Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back into her seat, "What do you mean by `no`?"
Sherlock didn't take his eyes off her when he replied, "You loved him, and still miss him, but you've made your peace with his demise."
There was a small pause and then he continued, "No, you'd wish for us to be happily married with children."
Now John was worried for a moment. Would Sherlock's harsh statement make Molly cry or slap the detective? But nothing of the sort happened.
Instead Molly said in a calm voice, "You made it clear what you think about the concept of marriage at John's wedding, and you don't want children."
"But you do."
Molly shrugged and let her hands fall to her side.
Now Molly's calm reaction seemed to intrigue the consulting detective, for his eyes widened fractionally, and he leaned forward a bit.
"You would give that up?"
"That's what you do when in a relationship," she said, sounding a tad too careless.
"I thought being in a relationship was about compromise."
"Well, one can hardly compromise on topics like marriage and children, can they?"
"Maybe get a dog instead?" A crooked smile formed on Molly's face and then she turned back around and resumed her paper work.
Sherlock stared at her back for a while before returning to his own work.
That had been a few days ago and since then John Watson had watched Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper work in tandem. Sure they had always worked well together (as well as one could work with the likes of Sherlock), but it was different now, John could feel it. He just didn't know how to talk to Sherlock about it.
"God, will you finally just open your mouth and ask me what you want to ask? I cannot work when you make so much noise!"
Sherlock growled and turned away from the microscope to look at his best friend. It seemed John didn't need to think about how to bring it up anymore...
John looked up from the files he had been pretending to study and stated, "You and Molly work well together."
Sherlock seemed quite annoyed with John for stating the obvious, "Obviously. That is why I refuse to work with anyone else."
"No, everyone else apart from Molly Hooper refuses to work with you, because you are a git."
When Sherlock's only reply was to give his best friend an irritated look, John continued, "Love is a scary thing. Only people you love can truly hurt you – it makes you vulnerable and takes a lot of courage to love unconditionally."
A wrinkle formed between Sherlock's eyebrows and John knew that his best friend didn't at alllike what he was implying. So he knew he had only a few moments to say what he wanted, before Sherlock would shut down completely and retreat into his mind palace.
So John cleared his throat and went on, "I have seen you and Molly interact in the past couple of days, and..." He took a small pause before he continued, "... and... stop being so nice to her, Sherlock. It's cruel."
There was a dangerous glimmer in Sherlock's eyes. "First I am cruel because I'm not nice to her and now I'm cruel because I am nice to her? Make up your mind, John!"
John sighed. "You are more than nice. If you weren't… you, I'd say you were interested in her."
Sherlock crossed his arm in front of his chest.
"And how did you deduce that?" he asked in a mocking tone.
John didn't let Sherlock's mockery distract him. He knew his best friend well enough to ignore it. "You seek her company, you look at her when you think no one can see you, you guide her through the door, you seek physical contact…"
Sherlock interrupted him, "I'm working with her."
Now it was John's turn to mock his best friend, "You never seek physical contact when we work together."
There was a small pause, as the consulting detective had no comeback, which annoyed him greatly. Therefore John couldn't help it and tease his friend a bit more, "I see. It's a touchy subject. No pun intended."
When Sherlock glared at him, John raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Finally Sherlock explained himself, "Of course I treat her differently; she's a woman. Manners demand that I hold open the door for her and guide her through."
John raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about manners?"
Again Sherlock glared at him. John took the opportunity to carry on saying what he hoped to get through his best friend's thick skull, "I'm just saying… the signs you are giving her… she could get the wrong impression. Don't give her hope where there is none."
Sherlock looked taken aback. "Molly knows me. She knows that I am married to my work."
"Do you know that as well?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sherlock hated it when John had that knowing tone. And he hated it even more that he lacked a logical defence.
Instead of answering Sherlock's question, the former army doctor said, "Molly told me about the stakeout."
Sherlock seemed oblivious to what John was implying. "You should follow her example. She brought coffee and scones."
"Sounds more like a date than a stakeout to me."
Once again Sherlock glared at his best friend and then said, "Now, John, the fair sex is your department."
With that he turned around and looked into his microscope again.
John sighed deeply; this conversation had not gone at all like he had planned. While he was still debating whether it was helpful or completely useless to try to get his point across one more time, Sherlock's eyes widened. He looked up from his microscope and stared ahead with a look that was a mixture of surprise, intrigue and annoyance. John had never seen this particular look on the detective's face, and so was quite intrigued himself.
"What is it, Sherlock?"
But his friend ignored him.
Instead the detective said to himself, "I should have seen it. I was supposed to see it. Damn it!"
With that he grabbed his coat and scarf and left without a single word, leaving John Watson behind as if he was not even there.
