"You. Sit. Now." Mary commanded, taking Molly's coat as the pathologist flopped down onto the couch in the sitting room of the cozy flat. "I want to hear absolutely everything, and don't you dare leave one single thing out!" She gushed excitedly as John sat himself down in the armchair opposite.

The doctor sighed, deep creases forming in his forehead. "I still can't believe he was completely civil. This is Sherlock we're talking about, after all."

"I assure you, John, he really was wonderful! Kind, chivalrous - he even saved my life!" Molly swooned dramatically as Mary's eyes widened.

"Molly Hooper, you tell us what happened right this instant!" She demanded, sitting down next to the pathologist.

Molly laughed. "Fine, fine!" And the pathologist began to tell her story of the afternoon, John giving her only half of his attention.

Sure, he was surprised that Sherlock hadn't done something wrong. Of course, he was shocked by his chivalry. However, he was mostly interested in Molly herself. Somehow, the pathologist seemed... different. He couldn't quite find words to describe why, but he knew it had to do with Sherlock. Molly was filled with energy, bursting with excitement, and more outgoing than the doctor had ever seen her, which only made him smile wider every time she looked at him. John knew she loved the detective and he hoped to God Sherlock did, too, but the mere thought filled him with dread. Now, after observing Molly, he saw more than ever the damage that one tiny, misplaced word could do. As the pathologist stood to demonstrate her fall in the morgue, he glanced at Mary, and found the same concern in her eyes.

Bzzzt.

He had to make sure Sherlock knew what was at stake. Making up his mind, John decided to pay the detective another visit tomorrow morning to set him straight. He was too terrified of what his flatmate might do to Molly - and, in turn, what she might do to him.

Bzzzt.

Only when Molly had physically dropped John's mobile into his open lap did the doctor notice the incoming text message.

I need you. SH

He rolled his eyes. Leave it to Sherlock to call him out on a case at eight o'clock in the evening.

Alright, I'm on my way. What's the address? JW

John stood up and grabbed his coat, slipping it on as he apologized, "Sorry, duty calls!" Molly and Mary simply smiled at him, waving him away as the pathologist resumed her monologue.

Baker Street. SH

John frowned. Baker Street? Had Lestrade come to him? If New Scotland Yard was there, that meant Anderson and maybe even Donovan. His heart rate doubled.

Please, try not to kill anyone. JW

He slid into a cab and gave the driver the address.

This isn't a case, John. SH

John froze. If this wasn't a case, then what was it?

If you're out of milk, go get some yourself. You are perfectly capable of getting to the nearest Tesco. JW

Mrs. Hudson has already brought some up. Can't you get here any faster? SH

The soldier stared out of the window. His cab was five minutes from Sherlock's flat, five minutes away from what John prayed was a bored detective and nothing more.

Traffic. Do I need to call Mycroft? JW

I'm fine, the flat is fine, Mrs. Hudson is fine. Don't tip the driver, he's already a minute and a half late, even with traffic. SH

The cab slowed to a stop, and John absently tossed the driver a few pounds before rushing through the entryway, up the seventeen stairs, and into 221B.

Sure enough, there was Sherlock, very much alive and unharmed, lounging on the couch in his dressing gown while plucking at his violin.

"You have no case, plenty of groceries, and the flat is still standing. Why am I here, exactly?" John sounded somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"Molly." The detective sighed, standing up and walking over to the window.

"Molly?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, John, it's tedious." Sherlock picked out a sour note. "Yes, Molly."

"What about her?" John sat down in his chair.

"She went to visit you." The detective's tone was flat.

"Yes. She had nothing but nice things to say about you," added the doctor quickly.

Silence.

"She talks about you like you're the only thing that matters to her," he said softly. "You get that, right? I mean, you understand how much you mean to her? And how much she means to you?"

There was a long pause. Then, suddenly, Sherlock whirled to face John. "That is not why I asked you here," he replied stiffly. "I requested your presence because I am in need of your assistance regarding a particular matter that has come to my attention as of late."

"You have Mycroft for these things, Sherlock. I'm sure he can help you better than I can," John raised an eyebrow.

"It has come to my attention that I have taken Miss Hooper for granted on multiple occasions," The detective began to pace, continuing as if he hadn't heard John's comment at all.

"More like every damn day," the doctor muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Sherlock wince.

"Therefore, I have constructed a means of apologizing to her, and I would appreciate any thoughts you cared to offer on the subject," he went on. "And I thought, if you weren't doing anything tomorrow, you might wish to help me."

John's jaw hit the floor. Here was Sherlock, calm as could be, wanting to apologize to Molly? And even better yet, asking for help in doing so? John's help?

"Do close your mouth, John, it's very unbecoming," Sherlock said in disgust.

The soldier straightened, returning his jaw to its original position. "Alright, you git, what do you have so far?"

ooooo

Just a bit of suspense - I promise, next chapter will be out by the weekend!

Reviews are greatly appreciated - thank you to my lovely readers!

~London Belle