A/N: Your reviews most definitely made my day! Thank you all so much. Please check your inbox in case you haven't, I have replied to your reviews. And to those who reviewed anonymously - thank you very much.

It's funny, though, that when I woke up this morning, I found a post-it note on the kitchen table from my aunt. It certainly gave me inspiration to write this one down. Enjoy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock, sadly.

The next day, John went down the stairs in his pajama bottoms and a white v-neck shirt, only to find the living room empty. He scratched his head as he yawned, wondering all the while where Sherlock could've gone. He proceeded to the kitchen to turn on the kettle when he noticed an orange rectangle-shaped post-it attached to it. Slightly confused but definitely curious, he removed the post-it and was very surprised to find the kettle still hot - he felt the heat radiate his skin upon removing the piece of paper. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked down at the spidery handwriting of his friend - only to feel his face soften once he read the message.

Went to St. Bart's. Boiled some hot water for you. Be back in the afternoon. SH

He felt his chest go warm, and the doctor couldn't help the wide grin that escaped his handsome features. He then kept the post-it inside his pajama pocket, and moved about to prepare his tea. When he turned to sit down on the kitchen stool, he was once again rendered surprised to find toast and the morning paper on top of the kitchen table. Actually, he surveyed his surroundings and noticed that Sherlock moved some of his chemistry equipment out of the way to give some space. Feeling himself blush at his friend's odd but much-appreciated display of humanity, John sat down on the stool, setting his blue mug down.

He opened the morning paper, and as he reached out for the toast, he felt instead of heard the rustle of paper underneath it. Intrigued this time, he looked down and couldn't help the laugh that erupted out of his chest as he saw another post-it note attached underneath the warm bread. He removed the pink circle-shaped post-it as he once again read the short message his eccentric flatmate wrote.

Bread's expired for a day, but I toasted it enough to kill the bacteria. SH

Closing his eyes and shaking his head in amusement, John kept the second note inside his pocket before he took a small bite. Chewing it slowly, he found that his flatmate made sure it was toasted well, but not exactly burnt. Thank God for that, he thought. Finishing the rest of his breakfast and folding the newspaper, John placed the dishes in the sink and washed it. Then he went upstairs to his room to grab his towel before going back down to take a shower.

Last night's game of Cluedo was intense. He and Sherlock played for hours and, to the doctor's amusement, he found himself enjoying it. They played several rounds, and each round Sherlock beat him gleefully. When they were on their eight round, John managed to beat him by luck, which resulted to Sherlock beating him mercilessly for the next five rounds.

Chuckling fondly at the memory, John entered the bathroom and quickly stripped naked. He had work at ten o'clock today, and since it was only half past eight, he decided to take his time with his showering. He turned on the shower, and while waiting for the water to become hot, he moved to the sink to brush his teeth.

But before he could grab his toothbrush from the holder, he looked up and was then taken aback to find another post-it attached to the mirror. But this time, it was the skull-shaped post-it note. He reached out to detach the white piece of paper, and as he looked down to read the inscription written, John felt his heart skip a beat as a loving smile caressed his features.

Thank you for last night. I had fun. Have a good day. SH

And let's just say that John Watson's Friday morning has been made.

At St. Bart's Hospital, Sherlock was currently doing an experiment involving pig's blood. He has been there since morning, and now that it's well past lunchtime, he could feel his stomach churn in hunger. Unable to concentrate on his work, he moved away from the microscope in agitation, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his face with his hands to clear away the dizziness he suddenly felt. The last time he remembered eating a decent meal was four days ago, and he knew his flatmate wouldn't like it in the least bit.

Smirking at the thought of John, the detective wondered what his friend's reaction was to the post-its he left. He could care less for the breakfast he prepared for him, but it's John we're talking about and he knew that the doctor would appreciate it nonetheless. After all, it is the thought that counts. Sighing in frustration when his stomach growled in protest again, he looked down and sneered.

"Shut up," he muttered darkly.

He reached for his coat pocket to send Molly a text to bring him coffee (black, two sugars), when he felt a piece of paper before he retrieved his phone. Furrowing his eyebrows, he took it out and was surprised to find himself surprised at the yellow square-shaped post-it note attached to the screen of his iPhone 4S. Removing it, he read the message his best friend wrote down and couldn't help the wide smile that escaped his succulent cupid-bow lips.

I don't know when and where you'll read this, but please eat, Sherlock. It's been days. John

Shaking his head, he distinctly heard the door open and turned around to find Molly carrying a black mug. Ah, his coffee, then. Looks like Molly has read his mind - but that is highly impossible. Nobody could read his mind. Well, maybe except John.

"Ah, Molly, thank you," Sherlock said, smiling wanly at the petite woman.

Molly blushed but smiled nonetheless. She placed down the mug at the table where it was safe from harm, and said, "You're welcome."

"What's that?" She added as an afterthought, finally spotting the post-it note in Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked down and quickly hid the note in the breast pocket of his purple shirt before taking a sip of his coffee (not perfectly made compared to John's, he thought).

"Just a note," he said idly, turning his back on Molly as he went back to his experiment.

He failed to see the small frown that escaped Molly's pretty face before she masked it with her usual cheerful persona.

"Oh, okay," she said in her small voice. Then, gathering all the courage she could muster, added, "You should tell him, you know."

At this, Sherlock snapped his head up from the microscope, regarding Molly with a calculating look.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said airily. But he heard her the first time, and couldn't help the sudden skip of his heart beat at what she said.

Molly swallowed and repeated in a stronger voice, looking at Sherlock in the eyes to let him know that she's sincere in what she was going to say.

"I said that you should tell him," she repeated.

"Tell who what?" the consulting detective asked, pretending to sound dumb.

Frowning, Molly shuffled her feet.

"Please don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you," she said in a half-pleading, half-stern voice.

Shell-shocked at this sudden display of bluntness, Sherlock felt his mouth open a bit.

"I-" he began but was immediately cut off.

"John, Sherlock," Molly uttered, more resolutely this time. "Tell him you care about him before it's too late."

"Too late for what, exactly?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. This is wrong - shouldn't it be her asking the dull questions, and not him? "Molly, what are you talking about?"

Blushing, Molly took a step back before replying, "It's a woman's intuition. I notice the way you look at John when you think no one is looking. And it's alright to care, Sherlock. It's not a disadvantage, it's an opportunity. For you, anyway."

She was silent for a while, Sherlock still looking at her with that calculating and half-exasperated look. "All I'm saying is that... it's totally alright to feel. To care. Because... because you have to know, Sherlock; you have to know that John would sacrifice everything for you. Even if it's his happiness he's sacrificing. Because, well, he cares about you. More than you'll ever know."

And with that said, Molly Hooper exhaled in relief - as if a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders - and then quickly left the laboratory to leave Sherlock to his own thoughts.

What the bloody hell brought that on? he asked himself.

But little did he know of what was to happen in the next couple of days.

Please let me know what you think. I look forward to it. Next chapter will be up either tonight or tomorrow. :)