I.
'Tell me, Sherlock. Why do you think this is such a brilliant idea? -MH'
'John is suffering from my loss, I'm assuming to a high extent, knowing him. It may traumatize him a bit when I return, but his happiness will restore afterwards. -SH'
It was awhile until Mycroft messaged Sherlock back. It felt to him like twenty minutes, though it was two hours. 'Where are you? -MH' To Sherlock, a question like that wasn't worth answering. Especially if it took two hours, or even twenty minutes to ask. It was a ridiculous question, nonsensical, ludicrous, absurd. Location. Why do people always have to know where someone is? It drove him insane.
He didn't text Mycroft back. He slouched down in the couch and turned on the television. The program was terrible. Everyone yelling about who was the father of this one child, and one of the possible father's had a sex change to female, blah blah. Crap telly. He loved it.
"Sherlock? Would you like one sugar or two?" called the voice from the other room.
Sherlock's eyes stayed locked on the television. Dancing past every pixel, noticing every detail about those on the screen. "Surprise me," he responded. He needed surprises. Everything's been so dull lately.
She came around the corner with two cups of warm tea. She handed Sherlock the blue cup whilst she drank out of the green. He took a sip, then she asked, "...Well?"
He smacked his lips and thought a bit. ".. Two sugars." He looked up and smiled. "Good choice, Molly."
Molly laughed, "I thought you were a 'two sugars' kind of fellow."
He took another drink. "I want to thank you again for letting me stay here for so long."
"Oh, don't you worry. Two years just flew by, yeah?" And Molly cherished every moment of those two years. She sat down next to Sherlock on the couch and took a deep sigh. "S-.. So.. Why'd you leave that comment on John's blog? I thought you wanted to stay.. erm.. what's it called again?"
His face was buried in the cup, eyes back on the television. "Incognito."
"Yeah! Incognito, that. What hapened to that?"
Sherlock's eyes shifted. He was actually pretty torn between going back to John or not. He knew something bad would eventually happen; he didn't know where, or when, or how, but he knew something would happen. He ignored those feelings, though. "I decided it's time to return."
She looked down. "Er.. Why?" A few moments passed, and Sherlock didn't do anything. He just stayed slumped down in the chair, eyes on the telly. ".. I mean, if it's alright if I ask why.. if.. that's okay."
His eyes drifted to Molly's. He sat up straight and said, "Molly. I want to teach you something."
"What's that then?"
"How to notice someone's emotions. It's very useful when trying to solve a case." He looked away from her. "Not just their outer emotion, but their inner emotions. How they're really feeling. Look at me, and tell me what you see."
Molly was a bit confused, but decided to just go with it. "Well.." She looked up and down Sherlock. "You're.. looking.. tired. Which would make sense, because you've been out late almost every night this week. Is that it? Tired?"
He was still, once again. "Look.. closer."
Molly tried. She studied every aspect of Sherlock, from how messed up his hair was, to the angle of his feet. Then she said, "Well... Your hands are a bit shaky. I suppose that means you're worried, or upset. And.. you won't make eye contact. Ah.. Usually I don't make eye contact with someone because I'm upset." She paused for a moment. "You're upset Sherlock. You're really.. really upset."
He looked at her. "Excellent job, Molly. Now, match my emotions with the current situation."
"Okay. Ah.. you're upset.. and," she paused, fitting all the pieces together. ". And you want to see John so you'll stop being upset?"
Sherlock sighed. "I'm not a "feelings" kind of person, Molly. They're useless and they distract humans from the bigger picture." He sipped some tea. "I'm bating in a tub filled with remorse and depression. It needs to stop. So, I'm returning to be rid of these feeling so I can be normal again."
Molly stuttered a bit. "B-.. but I thought you said normal was boring?"
Sherlock clenched his jaw. ".. Has anyone ever told you that you're a really good liar?"
"Yeah." She lightly laughed. "I try not to, but I usually do it when I think it's good. I thought it was good to tell John to forget about you, because I didn't know if you were going to go back to him or not."
He smiled, unconsciously. "No, you did the right thing." Sherlock stoop up, sat his cup down, and walked towards the door.
"Where are you off to?"
He threw on his coat. "It's time to go see my blogger." He silently shut the door behind him.
She laughed and picked up the remote to flip through the TV channels. Molly felt better. She felt better about everything, and she was happy for Sherlock, and for John. She felt that there was actually going to be a happily ever after this time around.
The thing is, Molly was never good at predictions.
II.
John was in a terrible state of mind. He looked at the computer screen over and over.
New Comment: "I miss you too, John. - Sherlock Holmes."
He was so broken. Every feeling was rushing to him at once. Angst, exhilaration, dread, vivacity, heartache. Pure bliss and pure distress dancing together. He could feel his heartbeat increasing, his palms sweating. He wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to run through the streets of London and embrace every soul in happiness.
No. This isn't Sherlock. He thought. Sherlock's dead. he's never coming back. He left you, John. He's dead and he's never, ever, going to come back.
New Comment: "John, you have to let him go. It's for the best. - Molly Hooper"
Let him go, John. You have to. You'll never move on if you don't let him go.
John stood up and went into Sherlock's room for the first time in two years. He slowly opened the door and stood in the frame for awhile. He felt anger. Anger rushed over his entire body. He stumbled over to the dresser and knocked everything off it. Broken glass flooded the floor. He tore down posters, ripped up clothes, and banged his fists agaisnt the walls. John fell onto the bed. He was too weak to do anymore damage. His tears left giant stains of the sheets, and the tears just kept coming. Throughout the entire flat you could hear John sobbing, weeping out Sherlock's name. Thriving pain swept his body as well. He didn't know what to do.
Forget about him. Forget about everything. Forget about all of it.
"Hello, John," he heard from the doorway. He swore to god his heart skipped a beat. He sucked up a couple tears, sat up, and looked at the tall figure in the doorway. They were covered up by the shadows, but you could still see their silhouette.
He swallowed hard before he could speak. "S-... Sherlock?"