"Hello, Sherlock!"

"Ah, Molly, take a seat."

"But why do you-"

"Sit."

Molly obeyed the detective who paced back and forth across the creaky wooden flooring.

"What are you-"

"Shhh…"

"Why?"

"I'm thinking."

Molly sat in silence as she watched Sherlock. It took five minutes of pacing before he broke the silence.

"John," He began, "how is he?" His beautiful eyes showed concern.

"John? But you haven't asked about John since-"

"Molly, answer the question instead of stating the obvious." He sighed, becoming impatient.

"S-Sorry." She looked down as she sensed the detective's frustration.

"I've trusted you with my life and you've helped me with my 'suicide'. Don't take my frustration personally. I owe you a lot, don't think I'd ever hurt you intentionally."

She smiled, looking into his ice blue eyes that were now melting at the thought of the army doctor. He continued to pace.

"Tell me about John."

"He's not doing too well, I'm afraid."

Sherlock's head snapped towards Molly. "Really?" his face revealed nothing but sadness, despite the fact that he needed John to be upset so Sherlock knew that he was still heartbroken. Molly nodded in response to the detective, remembering the doctor's tear stained face when she entered his flat.

He ran over towards the brown haired woman, crouching down in front of the armchair to meet her height. His eyes were now filled with hope, "is he in a relationship at the moment?"

"No, he hasn't been in one for years," she paused, thinking back to John's most recent relationship. "In fact he hasn't been in one since Christmas a few years ago, but his girlfriend broke up with him then because he was paying too much attention to you." A smile grew across Sherlock's face and his eyes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree. He kissed Molly's forehead in joy, causing her to blush a deep shade of crimson. "Brilliant!" He cried, "Oh, Molly! This is perfect!" The detective jumped to his feet and grabbed his coat before darting out of the house, leaving a rather astonished and confused Molly sitting in his armchair, processing how differently the dark haired man acted.

Sherlock ran down the pavement, using his signature scarf to hide his pale face from the public. Should he walk or should he take a taxi? No, he should walk, taking a taxi would mean too much time with the same person and so there is a possibility of them realising who he is, if he walked however, he could quickly walk past people and never see them again; a very small risk of being discovered there. What's more, Sherlock can plan how he will greet John, because it will be a longer journey. As the man walked down the street, questions began to flood his mind; questions which he couldn't really answer: How will John react to Sherlock coming back? Would he be happy or angry? Sherlock couldn't stand the thought of his doctor getting angry with him, should he even go? Or will he settle for seeing him through a window in 221B from afar? "No, I have to see him," Sherlock concluded "I love him…" He got goose bumps every time he thought or said that, he had only realised it that day, but it was the best thing that had happened to him. It brought warmth inside of him. He saw love as a disadvantage, despite that, he had never been happier; he was on a natural high. He had to confess his love to his doctor. He needed John Watson. Sherlock had a spring in his step, causing his inky curls to bounce freely around his face. He didn't care; the man was in love. Making his way to Baker Street, the man stopped in his tracks. Right in front of him was a shop; a flower shop. He entered it with a giant smile on his face. "Get me the biggest bouquet of red roses you have."

After a long walk, he made it to 221B Baker Street. It brought back so many memories; he smiled knowing he was going to make more. After knocking on the door, he felt extremely nauseated. Dizziness started to take over him from the anticipation of seeing John. The detective was bought back to reality when he heard a scream. "Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson cried as she opened the front door, turning as white as a ghost. The man put his finger over his mouth, signalling for her to be quiet and ran into the flat before anyone could see him. The poor woman was trembling as she stumbled up the stairs to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa. "I can't explain this at the moment, Mrs Hudson."

"Y-Y-You're alive…"

"Yes, yes I am. I'm so sorry" He stood up and pulled the woman into a hug, as she began to cry from both shock and happiness.

"Why would you do such a thing?" She sobbed.

"If Moriarty's assassins didn't see me jump, you, John and Molly would have been killed." He whispered, tears flooding his eyes and threatening to spill.

"I'm so glad you're back, Sherlock… I'm so glad you're back" She wept.

"So am I." Sherlock smiled, picking up a bouquet of lilies from the coffee table and giving them to her.

"Wha-What are these for?" She smiled through her teary eyes.

"Do you really expect me to return empty handed?" He chuckled.

"I wasn't expecting you to return at all! How…how did you survive?"

"It's a bit too complex to go into at the moment, I'll just say I had a bit of help from Molly" He smiled. "Where's John?" The detective asked, picking up the roses from the table.

"Oh he's gone out." The landlady replied, wiping her tears away with a tissue.

"Do you know when he will be back?"

"No, not really, he seemed quite upset so I assume he's gone for a walk, bless him, he told me about how I'm such a lovely person and gave me a big hug. The poor thing must be suffering" She gave the detective a weak smile "I'll just put these lilies in some water, thank you very much Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson then walked out of the flat, admiring the flowers.

Sherlock walked around the flat, inhaling the familiar scent of 221B. He walked over to his violin and started to play it, admiring the music he was making in his favourite place: 221B. He was home. A big grin came across his face as he walked over to his chair, violin still in hand. The detective sat down and played songs on the violin beautifully, loving the fact that his chair was comfortable; unlike his old one in that horrid abandoned house. Suddenly, something caught Sherlock's eye, something that made his heart sink, his stomach drop and his delicate violin crash to the floor. They were on John's armchair, quite a few of them, little envelopes with thin black ribbon tied around them. Each one addressed to different people: Mrs Hudson, Molly, Greg, his friends from his workplace and even Sherlock. Suddenly, Sherlock felt nauseous as he picked up the envelope addressed to him. He knew exactly what they were. "Shit" He whispered as he started to panic and his heart began to beat out of his chest. He grabbed his coat and scarf before running out of the flat. "Mrs Hudson I'm going out!" He cried before opening the front door and catching a taxi. "There's only one place John will be…" Sherlock realised as he jumped into the taxi…