6:00 am.

John groaned in annoyance at the sound of his alarm clock. Rolling over, he slowly reached across his nightstand and hit the snooze button. He now lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Was it really time to get up? He checked the clock on his phone just to be sure. Indeed it was. On opening his phone, he found that he had missed two calls. Both were from Molly Hooper.

Surprised, John raised his eyebrows and dialed Molly's number without listening to the messages she had left. After receiving no answer, he checked his voicemail.

"Hey, John, just calling to check in. I know we haven't spoken for a while, and I'm really sorry that we haven't, but I thought I would give you a ring. Also, sorry it's so early, but this is the only time I have today. Anyway, I wanted to say hello and make sure you were alright. I know this day must be hard for you. I can come by your flat if you'd like some company. Okay…well, hopefully I will talk to you some other time. Bye."

On hearing this, a small smile played across John's face. She had always been kind and caring to him. To call on Sherlock's birthday was an unexpected, but certainly appreciated gesture. She had left a second message. John opened it.

"Hey, John, it's me again."

John frowned when he heard her voice shaking, though she was obviously trying to keep it steady.

"Umm…just whenever you get this, could you please call me back? I…I just found something that you'll be interested in. It's a note from Sherlock. I don't know where it came from; I just found it in a pile of all his stuff he left in the hospital. Call me back whenever you can…or you can stop by the lab. You've still got full access. Okay. Thanks. Bye."

John's heart was pounding. A note from Sherlock? This was exactly what he had been hoping for. He still had not been able to touch the detective's things to look for a final message, but he was glad that Molly had. Getting up from the bed, John quickly called the surgery and informed them that he would not be coming in that day.

John was coping. It was Sherlock's second birthday since his passing. The doctor had been absolutely grief-stricken for months, and had even relapsed to his old psychosomatic leg injury. But that was gone now, and he no longer required the assistance of his cane. There were times when John felt guilty that he was leading an almost-normal life with Sherlock gone. He would never have thought it possible back when it had first happened. But somewhere deep down, John knew that Sherlock would not have wanted him to shut down. He would have wanted John to go on and live his life. Of course John would never forget his best friend, nor would a day ever pass that he did not think of him. But instead of the waves of grief this used to cause, most of the time the memories would make John smile, even laugh.

After a quick breakfast, during which he texted Molly and informed her that he was on his way, John hailed a cab and went to the hospital to meet her. Upon entering the lab, he found her standing in a corner, reading what undoubtedly was the note.

"Oh, John…thank you for coming," she said, striding towards him and embracing him. "And I'm sorry for sounding so upset on my message. I hope I didn't upset you too."

"No, no, Molly, it's fine. It's great to see you again. I'm just glad you found it."

"Yeah, me too. Here it is," she said, handing over the paper she was holding. "Are you sure you want to see?"

"Of course. Thanks."

John smirked when he saw that the note was handwritten, in the detective's always beautiful handwriting. What a ridiculous, stuck up prat he was, John thought. The note was addressed to Molly.

Dear Molly,

I have been made aware by John's constant badgering that I have been rude to you many times over the eight years we have worked together. Please accept my full apologies. It was entirely unintentional. It is as John says: though I am a genius, I simply do not often think of how my actions affect those around me. So.

Molly, I am afraid that I will not be seeing you again. So I want you to know what I have never been able to say to you in person. You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen who has any brains at all. I regret that I have not expressed my feelings for you before these last few moments of mine, in which I will not see you. I was afraid of these feelings because I had learned long ago that emotions interfere with logic. But the fact is, I do not care anymore. I love you, Molly Hooper. I always have. And I always will.

Thank you for everything.

-SH

John was in shock. He could not believe that Sherlock, his best friend, had written these words. He had always known that the detective had feelings somewhere inside that ridiculous heart of his, but he never, never, would have thought that he would have written them down and conveyed them to another person. He re-read the letter. Yes, the message was clear. The doctor found his eyes moistening and grumbled in frustration. He didn't want to cry in front of Molly, as she was already upset.

"Idiot," he said thickly. "What a bloody, stupid, ignorant git."

"What?" said Molly, aghast.

John pictured Sherlock blushing again and again as he wrote these words, and smirked. A tear of fondness fell unheeded down his face. "He is a bloody idiot for not saying this to you before." John began to chuckle through his tears, and Molly did the same.

"I suppose you're right," she said. "You know, I liked him for ages. But he was always so rude to me. I just gave up on him after a while. But it turns out that he was human after all."

Tears sprang up in her eyes afresh. "Oh John…I wish it hadn't ended this way. It must be so hard for you. It's just…it's just hard thinking about all the things that could have happened, but didn't. You know, all the good times that never came."

John turned toward her and gently grasped her shoulder. "But remember all the good times that did come. That's the only way I'm getting through. Remember all the stupid things we did, all the cases we solved, and your friendship that lasted for years. Remember what was, and not what could have been. He wouldn't have wanted that."

Taking his hand, Molly replied, "Thank you, John. You're right. We did have some good times, didn't we? All those mad cases he brought in."

"Yeah, we did," John said, a grin spreading across his face. "I'd better get going, Molly. I'll come back and see you sometime."

"Thanks for coming by, John. I really appreciate it. And," she added, "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will. You do the same."

Now back in the flat, John stared at the piles of Sherlock's things. Taking a deep breath, he determined to rifle through the pages, no matter how much strength it took. If Molly could do it, so could he. Unconsciously making two cups of tea, one for himself and one for Sherlock, he picked up the top stack of papers and blew off the dust. The first page was a handwritten note on the same stationary that had been used for the letter to Molly. John unfolded it, his heart pounding.

It was addressed to him.

Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed! Reviews are much appreciated, and any criticism is very helpful.