Ten simple words had been haunting Sherlock Holmes ever since the Hansel and Gretel case.
Ten unexpected words, from a very unexpected source.
He shut his eyes and leaned back into the sofa cushions, resting the tips of his fingers against his lips in deep thought.
Was he really that distant?
And at the same time... That obvious?
A slight frown shadowed his face as the thought crossed his mind, but John, typing away on his laptop across the room, didn't notice.
Back then—a week ago—Molly had looked him in the eye and said it, completely out of the blue, completely unforeseen.
"You look sad, when you think he can't see you."
It had caught Sherlock off guard, and for once his brilliant brain failed to give him an adequately witty reply, and he had just stood there in front of the microscope, staring at her like a deer in the headlights.
She had gone on, still looking at him. "Are you okay? And... don't just say you are, because I know what that means... Looking sad when you think no one can see you."
At last his self-preserving presence of mind had caught up, and he tilted his head slightly. "You can see me."
Perhaps that might convince her she was imagining it, or at least...
"I don't count."
Sherlock had just continued to stare at her, caught off guard yet again and completely at a loss as to what on earth to say.
"What I'm trying to say is that... If there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean..." Molly had obviously been kicking herself mentally, but Sherlock was too preoccupied trying to process all this to really notice. "I mean... If there's anything you need... it's fine."
"But what can I need from you?"
What can you do that John hasn't already tried?
She had taken a breath and seemed to back off slightly. "Nothing. I don't know. You could… probably say thank you, actually."
Was that what one was supposed to do in that instance?
Was that expected?
Why?
He hadn't asked her for help.
"…Thank you."
"I'm just… going to go and get some crisps, do you want anything?" Molly had brushed past him, trying to be casual again but failing miserably. "It's okay, I know you don't."
"Well actually, maybe I—"
"I know you don't." With that, she had turned and walked out the doors, leaving him standing there blinking in confusion.
Maybe I do need help.
Sherlock was roused from his reverie by John's sudden exclamation of "Oh Jesus..." as he stared at his glowing laptop screen.
The detective raised his head and glanced over at him with mild curiosity. "Hmm?"
John took a moment to respond, shaking his head cynically and letting out a big breath. "This isn't going to end well, Sherlock. All this media attention you've got. The press will turn—they always turn—and they're going to turn on you."
"Don't be silly. I'll be fine."
"Don't just say that!" He shut the laptop and glared at him. "I don't want them spreading any sort of nasty rumors, or… I don't know… something."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't understand. Why does it bother you so much? What they think of me?"
John just stared at him for several moments, with a look that certainly read 'are you kidding me?' but Sherlock couldn't fathom what for.
He'd just asked a simple question.
Which apparently wasn't going to be justified with an answer.
Just how the hell was he supposed to make sense of things if people didn't bloody answer him?