AN: Hello my wonderful peeps! I had sometime off from work and put it to good use. (Plus it provided the perfect excuse to get out of helping with cooking Thanksgiving dinner. To the untrained eye, it looked like I was writing a paper... it was fanfic!)

Thank you for all the support and kind words! I get excited every time I get a notification that someone has favored/followed/ or reviewed. You guys are amazing. Hope you enjoy :)

'Italics'= inner thoughts

Sherlock grunted as he pulled on the wires and tubes attached to his body. Perhaps it was a little immature to turn his back on his friends, but he just needed everyone to shut up and leave him alone… at least for a little while. He could read the questions on John and Greg's faces—and the smug look on Mycroft's as he believed he had figured things out. It was annoying. How was he supposed to explain himself, when he had no idea where to start?

He breathed a little easier when he heard Mycroft retreat. Since childhood, his brother had had the uncanny ability to read his emotions. No one, not even his parents nor his best friend John had been able to do so. Well, no one aside from Molly Hooper. She knew, she always knew; and much to Sherlock's frustration, Molly often knew what he was feeling before he knew it himself. She was definitely Mycroft's superior in that aspect. Sherlock grinned at that.

A few minutes later, he heard Lestrade say his goodbyes. He thought about making some jibe—perhaps call him Gustav? Insult his detective skills?—but reconsidered. The sooner everyone left, the better; he needed to think.

Behind him, Sherlock heard shuffling around. 'I guess John is staying…Great!' he thought sarcastically. Normally it wouldn't bother him to have John around. The man was his best friend, his blogger/assistant, and his unofficial physician; John was used to be around, and more specifically being ignored. However Sherlock knew that this silence was fleeting. Pretty soon John would start asking questions, and it would be unacceptable to not have the answers

It could not have been more than thirty minutes after the others had departed when John began to get restless. The rustling of papers, the scooting of a chair, the toe tapping/finger snapping combination, and the worst of all… the frequent cough that would not dislodge what must have been a small animal of some sort from the back of his throat; each sound was amplified in the stillness of the hospital room.

"For God's sake John, would you be quiet? I thought the point of being in recovery was to rest. How am I supposed to 'heal' with all this noise?" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh come off it! We both know you have no intention of resting." John walked towards the bed. It was time to have the conversation; both men hoping it wouldn't come to this.

"So… are we going to talk about it?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock, who was still facing the wall, shrugged his shoulder. "Talk about what?"

Clearly, this wasn't going to be easy. Sherlock didn't like to talk about his emotions, which was obvious. But it wasn't like John enjoyed having these conversations either. Sometimes you had to charge through it.

John sighed. "Don't do that Sherlock, I'm trying to help you."

It might have been the pleading quality in his voice, but that was enough to make Sherlock peer over his shoulder and look at his friend. Any notions he may have had about being made fun of, dissipated with the emotion on John's face. Throughout this ordeal—whether it happened in reality or not—he had wished that he could talk to John about his feelings for Molly. Now the opportunity was here, and he didn't know where to start. In an effort to not 'give it all away' Sherlock chose to let John 'get the ball rolling' so to speak.

"Alright, what do you want to know?" The consulting detective turned to lie on his back and brought his hands to rest over his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't show, but his hands were excessively sweaty. An emotional man such as John Watson would be sure to ask uncomfortable questions—questions that Sherlock was hesitant to answer—but it was necessary if he wanted to get to the bottom of it all.

His best friend returned to his seat by his bedside. "Okay, question one: how did that thug get the jump on you?"

Sherlock couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Yes he wanted to figure all this out, and he did think better out loud, but he quickly realized in that moment he wasn't ready to talk about Molly just yet. But this, the case, he could talk about that—no problem!

"I don't know, you heard Gale. I must have been distracted. Next question."

The scowl on John face told him that perhaps that his answer was a bit 'not good'. He couldn't help it; sarcastic answers were usually the first to pop into his head in times of stress.

John scowl was replaced with a menacing smile. "Alright, next question. What's going on with you and Molly Hooper?"

'Damn!'

After regaling John with the unpleasant details of his last coherent conversation with Molly—before the attack-turned-to-a-portal-alternate-universe-coma thingy, of course—he waited for the sage advice his friend had to offer.

"Yeah that wasn't good, Sherlock. Not good at all… I mean—Christ!—you know how she feels about you? What you did was cruel."

Sherlock pouted. "I wasn't trying to be cruel."

"No, maybe not on purpose. But what else was she supposed to think, huh?" John dropped his voice, in what Sherlock presumed was supposed to be an imitation of him. "'Oh Molly, I need to drop everything you're doing and come with me to an extravagant party where you will be dressed in an extravagant gown. We will dance all night, I will lavish you with compliments… and touch you, and flirt with you… But don't get the wrong idea; this is not a date!'"

"Well when you put it that way—"

"—and then, what do you do?!" John interrupted Sherlock's admit of defeat. "You make her feel stupid for making the wrong assumption… Assumptions that you perpetrated, mind you!" Sensing that his rage was about to boil over, the doctor took a deep breath and tried another tactic. "Sherlock, she's trying to move on. Molly found someone, fell in love, promised to marry them, and consequently ended it for reasons unknown—though I have a pretty good guess as to why. It didn't work out with Tom, but that doesn't mean that she won't find someone else."

The thought of Molly moving on, finding a man deserving of her love, was painful. Sherlock squirmed in his bed, attempting to play off his discomfort. 'Of course she'll find someone else… I was foolish to think—'

"But—and I can't believe that I am having this discussion with you—but if you have feelings for Molly then you need to tell her before it is too late. No, no—" John sputtered as Sherlock made a face of denial, "—you need to have an actual conversation with her. Not deduce her dates and scare them off, and certainly not lure her out under false pretenses of "a case" just so that you can spend some quality with her. Be a man! If you want to see her outside of the lab just ask."

The contemplative look on Sherlock's face was enough to convince John that his message had been well received. Now, whether or not he would do anything about it was still to be determined. John cleared his throat and began cautiously, "If you ask me—"

"Well I didn't," Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

Dr. Watson glared and continued, "—well in any case, I have known you long enough to know that you are feeling something. Take time and think about it, but seriously think about it—are you prepared to let Molly move on? Or are you willing to do what it takes to be the man Molly needs?"

John collected his belongings and made his way out. He looked back at his friend, who had already entered his mind palace, and smiled.

A quiet "thank you, John" reached John's ears as he opened the door.

"Don't thank me just yet, mate. I've texted Molly… She'll be here within the hour. Laters!"

There was no way of knowing what the future held for the consulting detective, but if it was half the happiness of what he shared with his Mary, then he wished him all the luck in the world.

AN2: I've gone back and re-read this fic and the reviews and noticed that I am entirely too critical of myself, especially when it comes to my writing. I mentioned my OCD-ness so that's a part of it, but it is also tough writing and publishing work where it is susceptible to harsh criticism. I've been fortunate that you lovely folks reading this have been kind and enthusiastic about my story. If not for you guys, I'm pretty sure I would have abandoned this long ago.

I promise to keep writing (when time permits) until the story is finished. I kept saying that there were two chapters left, and that's a lie. The muse keeps taking me in different directions, I can't fight it.

Please tell me what you think of this chapter. Sherlolly will make an appearance in the next chapter... hopefully! ;)

Lots of love- AJ