Sometimes I swear you make me sick

"John!"

John Watson looked up from his newspaper, only to see his best friend and flatmate in the worst state in which he has ever seen him.

"What happened to you?" he asked more pale than usual Sherlock in his pajamas and a robe.

"I'm afraid I'm sick, John," Sherlock stated. "I need you to tell me what sickness got to my system."

"I'm sure it's just a cold or a fever, Sherlock, no need to worry about it," John said, his eyes traveling back to the column he was reading. "A flu in the worst case, but that's highly doubtful."

"No, I've checked my symptoms for those and for more diseases," Sherlock whined and dramatically dropped himself on the couch across from John's armchair. "Nothing seems to fit!"

"Don't be so dramatic, I'm sure it's nothing serious," John sighed and put away his newspaper. He knew he won't get any time for himself until Sherlock will be satisfied. "Now, tell me, what's wrong?"

"Everything!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Well, that helps a lot," John muttered under his breath and tried to calm himself. "Can you be more specific?"

"Well, my head already hurts like hell, my stomach is doing these strange movements, that aren't all that bad, but it could be a start of something bigger, and I keep having these hallucinations in my head!" Sherlock said, clearly unhappy with his state. "Thank Lord there isn't any fluids coming out from just any end of my body!"

"Wait, you said hallucinations," John seemed confused. "What kinds of hallucinations?"

"They aren't much, but ... Things appear in my mind, like short films or memories, and sometimes I have a feeling someone is here when they're not," Sherlock tried to explain. John raised one of his eyebrows and tried to think of any kind of hallucinations that could fit his description.

"And what exactly happens in them?" he asked. "Is there any specific person in them or is there something strange going on in them?"

"What are you, my psychologist?" Sherlock snapped.

"No, but I'm trying to figure out what in the hell is wrong with you!" John snapped back and then sighed, collecting his mind. Sherlock looked a little defensive at the mention of a person, so he tried again. "Is there a person haunting you?"

"Not haunting, more like appearing. And it's ..." Sherlock sighed and lied down, looking at the ceiling. "Molly."

"Molly?" John asked, puzzled by Sherlock's answer.

He half expected him to say Jim Moriarty or Irene Alder, but ... Molly?

"Molly Hooper?" John still tried to clarify.

"Yes, John, Molly Hooper, what other Molly do we know of?" Sherlock snapped and sat up, finally opening up. "She is ... everywhere, John. Sitting on my bed, bringing me coffee, showing me a body in the morgue, helping me with an experiment, kissing me ..."

Sherlock shut up immediately, but it was too late. The two words fled through his mouth before he cold stop them.

"Kissing you?" John asked. "You think about Molly Hooper kissing you?"

"I said I was sick, John! Ill mind has their own way of thin..." He was cut off by John, who started laughing heartily. "And what is so funny?"

"Oh, I just figured out your condition," John said.

"And what is it?" Sherlock asked, annoyed because he took so long to tell him and eager to know something he didn't. John picked up his newspaper and stood up, heading to his room.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, like I said before," John said. "In fact you're perfectly healthy ... And human, if you want to know."

He went to his room, trying not to chuckle at his clueless friend.

"Sherlock Holmes," John muttered to himself once he was sure his flatmate couldn't hear him. "You are bloody in love with Molly Hooper."

(A/N: I'm back! Wahahahaha! Sorry, for the 1-week delay, but I'm on vacation at the seaside and there are only two cafes with free wifi here, so I can't post stories as often as I'd like to. But don't worry, I don't need the internet to write ;D there are still a lot of chapters to write for this story and I've already had an inspiration for 2 new stories about Sherlolly :D please, R&R!)