Sometimes I just wanna tell you I love you

Love.

Sherlock was sent deep in thought because of the word John had just uttered while talking on the phone. He and Mary sarted saying the 'L' word a few weeks earlier and he had already gotten used to it. But right now, it seemed different. Ever since the moment with the mouse-like pathologist occurred – when he stupidly tried to kiss her – he started hearing this suspicious word even more often than regularly.

"Hey, guys, you can come in now," Molly said as her head popped out of the door inviting Sherlock and John in. John gestured he'll be right there, still talking on the phone. Sherlock stood up, pushing away his mixed feelings and entered the room.

"So, what do you ... Are you shaking?" Sherlock deducted as soon as he transferred his look from the body to Molly. Molly bit her lip and stood more steadily on her ground.

"No, I'm not," she said and wondered what was wrong with her. She was perfectly okay with hiding her oblivious feelings, but since last week ... Let's just say she was feeling it all more intensively than before. "Um, miss Jones was found dead this morning. There are no signs of foul play on her body, though the apartment looked like two people were fighting. Maybe you would be able to see more than we can."

"How did she die?" Sherlock asked, feeling silly to even ask that. He moved closer to the victim and saw a nasty wound on her temple.

"Well, died from the hit right here," Molly said and her hand trembled under his look as he watched her point to the wound on her head. "She was supposed to hit her head on the coffee table, there was a blood stain on it, but – and this was why I insisted to get you ..."

"You insisted?" Sherlock questioned with a raised eyebrow and Molly visibly blushed. Way to choose the wrong words, Molly, she thought to herself.

"Um, no, I just ... Asked Lestrade to call you, because I ... Um, I noticed that the wound doesn't fit the sharp edge of that table," she stuttered. Sherlock found her embarrassed, shy and a little scared mixture of feelings on her face and in her voice ridiculously adorable. Now more than ever.

What is happening to you? he asked himself, but couldn't find the logical answer to it.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "It was made with something that has a rounded edge."

"A baseball key, maybe," Molly guessed and Sherlock nodded. She continued with a new-found confidence, shocked with herself that she could talk to Sherlock in such way. "The victim had one – she got it as a gift from her brother, but she had it more as a decoration than anything else. There was no blood on it, but ... There was no dust on it either. Since miss Jones even forgot it was here, it seemed to me the murderer had to wipe it up clean and put the body besides the coffee table and smudged the blood over the corner so it would look like an accident."

"That was amazing," Sherlock said. He was astonished by her incredible deduction and tried to catch all the gleam in her eyes and all of the blush on her cheeks as he complimented her. "Did they check the baseball key for traces of blood?"

"No," Molly said. "Do you really think that they would believe a girl who cuts open post-mortems?"

"I think they should believe you," Sherlock decided to be on her side with this, even though there was no one in the morgue to object her theory. "Is there anything else remarkable on the body."

"No, not really," Molly shrugged. "As I said, no signs of foul play, which was also why no one listened to me. I could barely convince Lestrade to call for you, so you could decide if it's worth further investigating or not."

"I think it is," Sherlock said and started heading for the door. The slip of his tongue, when he expressed his true amazement, was enough of embarrassment for one day. "And I think people should learn to listen to your voice more often."

"My voice?" Molly squeaked.

Sherlock almost hit himself.

"I meant what you had to say," he corrected his earlier sentence. "People should listen to what you had to say."

"Well, some of us don't have the confidence to express what we think like you do," Molly smiled. Her whole body screamed love, but Sherlock for once couldn't make this deduction. He was more puzzled by his own feelings which he still couldn't define.

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper," he said, still loving the sound of her full name and Molly had to grip the counter beside her, so she wouldn't fall to the floor because of the sweet way her name sounded in his deep voice.

Sherlock went out and heard John finally say goodbye to his girlfriend.

"Okay, bye, Mary," he said lovingly. "I love you. See you tonight."

Sherlock glanced back inside to the morgue through the window on the door. He saw Molly talking with one of her colleagues. She saw him and managed to send a quick smile towards him before replying to her colleague. Sherlock subconsciously smiled back, though she couldn't see him any more and he was left to his thoughts and realizations.

Love.

Was this it?

(A/N: okay, this one was a bit longer than the others, but then again, it was worth it, I think. R&R, pretty please! :P)