Sherlock had just heard from Molly that she was leaving London. He could still slap himself inwardly for what he had said to her.
The situation was visibly uncomfortable for him and he just had to get out of it. So he left the laboratory but not the building. A bit away from the room, he leaned against a wall and let his thoughts run free.
That's what John meant by too late. Molly would leave London. But why? And why now? Was it because of that phone call? Was it because of what I said?'
He just couldn't explain it.
Sherlock felt a strange sensation in his stomach. Almost like a prick.
He tried once more to analyse everything and go through their last encounters in his thought palace again, to find any clue to their departure. At some point and after countless searches he came to the conclusion that he did not know.
Perhaps he should go back in and talk to her about it?
But what could he say? Should he talk about his feelings? But what were his feelings for her?
Of course, he had said that he loved her but that was only to save her life. Who would have thought that his sister would lead him into such an ambush. He also loved his friend John. At least that's what he said at his wedding. But just like you love your friends. Did he love Molly just that way or did he have other feelings for her? Like romantic feelings?
Then the minutes of that phone call came back to him.
He remembered feeling a slight tingling sensation when Molly said she had always loved him. At that moment he was sure. He wanted to hear those words from her. But he had not expected Molly to ask him to say these words first.
It took him a lot of effort at first, but once the words were out of his mouth he felt relief. And the second time around, it was easier for him to say them and something came to his mind. When Molly finally replied, he felt a strange warmth rising within him and his heart made a slight jump.
Then suddenly it became clear to him. He had feelings for Molly. Those romantic feelings.
Yes, Sherlock Holmes was in love with Molly Hooper. No, he loved her in a romantic way. But now that he finally realised that, she was leaving London. She'd leave her friends. She would leave him.
No, he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't just let her go. But what would that change? Apparently, her decision was made and she was definitely leaving.
At this thought he let his head hang down slightly. Then he slowly straightened up and walked towards the exit.
A short time later he arrived at his temporary home. He opened the door, stepped inside, stripped off his coat and then let himself fall onto the couch.
Not as usual, this time he supported his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.
John had just entered the room with his daughter in his arms when he saw his friend on the couch.
"So you talked to Molly?" he asked. But it sounded more like a statement.
Sherlock raised his head slightly, looked at his friend and then brushed back his curls.
"Did you know she was leaving London?" he asked, slightly reproachful.
John suspected that the conversation would not be easy. He decided to get his daughter out of the "danger zone" and then put her in her play corner. Then he went back to his friend and placed himself on one of the chairs opposite him.
"Molly had told me and Greg on our last visit to the morgue."
"Lestrade, I mean Greg knew about that, too? Oh, of course. He's a friend of hers, isn't he?
Again there was a trace of reproach in his voice.
"And did you explain everything to her? The blond man asked a little later.
"I didn't have to. She had already been able to combine everything correctly. I told you that she would understand."
"Yes, but did you also tell her how you felt about her?"
Sherlock looked at him with eyes wide open. John noticed his friend looking at him.
"Sherlock, I'm not stupid. I see the way you behave around her. And you avoid all contact with her, let alone talking to her. Obviously, you became aware of something during that phone call that you're not yet comfortable with. You said these words a second time. And I know what a true confession of love sounds like. You love her!"
For the second time that day, Sherlock was speechless. But he wasn't really surprised that John had noticed it more than he had himself. After all, he was more of an expert in this field.
He did not really know what to say. Instead, he just rolled his eyes and sighed slightly.
"Did you tell her? You should tell her! So you're gonna do it?"
"Aaargh, John! Can you please be quiet!" cried Sherlock now. He was visibly annoyed by all his questioning.
John then retreated slightly to his seat.
"OK, but I really think you should tell her. Remember what I told you about Irene Adler back then? "And now there's a woman out there who loves you. And she's here. Or are you still seeing that woman? Is it because you won't say anything to Molly?" the blond man continued.
"Jesus Christ, John. No, I'm not seeing that woman. And yes, you're right. I think I love Molly. But how can I tell her that when I've only just realised it myself?! Besides, she'll be out of London soon, and out of my life by then. I think the problem will solve itself," he cried.
Then he got up, got his coat and disappeared into the night.