Note: Sorry for the late update, I had some very busy days. Thank you so much for the alerts and also the favourites so early on. This chapter is rather short, it's got a tiny bit of Sherlock/Molly interaction. Hope to be able to write the next one soon. Enjoy and review!

Shortly after settling into his room, John received a text message from Sherlock telling him to stop by his room at 11 pm, he needed someone to listen to his thoughts. I really am just a fancy replacement for the skull, aren't I? John asked himself. He probably got himself one of me because I also make tea.

The late hour came and John stepped out of his room, into the dark hallway, to knock on his friend's door. No one answered. Weird. He knocked again, louder this time. Nothing. A little concerned, John pushed against the door to find it open and entered slowly. Ready to punch an intruder, he found Sherlock half-sitting on his bed, his head resting on his arm, sleeping. He looked so peaceful and made funny little noises when exhaling. Regretting he had to do this, John quietly walked over to the bed and shook Sherlock's shoulder slightly.

"No, I don't…. wait!... Molly!" with that, Sherlock woke suddenly, sat up straight and looked into John's surprised eyes. The smaller man jerked his head and a grin started to grow on his face. For the first time since he knew Sherlock, he looked deeply embarrassed. It seemed like he wanted to vanish immediately.

"Erm… did I just…?"

"Yup, you did!" John could not, for the love of god, conceal his delight at his companion's embarrassment.

"I didn't…, I mean. Dreams can be weird, you know. I cannot recall…."

"Look, Sherlock. You've got a choice. Either you talk to me about why you seem to have some issues with Molly or you don't. Be aware that only in the former case I will act as if this never happened," John explained calmly.

Sherlock watched him with a tormented expression. "Right," he said, "well, it is nothing grave. But, you know, usually I do not dream. And in the rare occasions in which I do so, it involves chemical reactions, notes for the violin, or possible scenarios for a perfect murder (just to let you know, so far my mind hasn't mastered this task). I never dream of humans, not alive ones. And especially not humans I know." There, he paused, seemingly without reason. John watched him silently, signalling him to continue. "Last night, though, I suddenly dreamed of Dr Molly Hooper and I don't know why. And, just now, as you witnessed, it happened again. I cannot make sense of it and that frustrates me."

"You're panicking because you dream of people you know?"

"Well, I wouldn't say 'panicking'… It bothers me a lot not to know the reason for my mind's preoccupation with Molly. It's a mystery in my own head. Therefore, I started to investigate and think about it."

"What happened in your dream?"

"Not much. I stood in a plain room. It was big and the walls were painted white. No furniture was inside. There were no doors or windows but still it was lit brightly. Molly was standing there with me, a few feet away. She looked as if she was in pain even though I could not see any obvious injuries. All of a sudden, a door appeared behind her. It opened and it was almost as if she was pulled out by something. She didn't say anything but reached out for me to help her. I tried but couldn't move. In the last moment before she was dragged out of the door she suddenly smiled at me. I felt helpless and sad but also angry. That's when I woke up." Sherlock looked at John, clearly puzzled.

"Okay. And you are sure that you cannot find some meaning in that dream?" John asked, looking unbelieving.

"Of course not, it doesn't make any logical sense."

"Well, that does prove that your otherwise flawless mind has some blank spots." John struggled. How could he put this delicately and in a way that would not unsettle nor disgruntle Sherlock? His friend watched him expectantly.

"I think, Sherlock, that you are afraid of losing Molly." The dark haired man immediately looked angry. "John, please."

"Will you here me out? We both know that you care for Molly, even though you don't show it. You have grown to like her. But, more importantly, you have grown to like the affection she seems to harbour for you." Of course, John wouldn't be so stupid as to suggest that Sherlock also hosted affections towards the pathologist. "Plus, she has had to endure immense emotional pain when she was used by Moriarty in this cruel way. You feel responsible for that. When she wasn't as admiring as usual yesterday in the lab and you found out about this man she had been on the phone with, the possibility of her actually moving on occurred to you. You don't like change. You're afraid that Molly stops being your friend if her crush on you wears out."

Sherlock looked plain and didn't react for a while. Then, he quietly said, "well, I really do not like change that much." John's other remarks and implications were not annotated in the slightest.

"Oh, Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "Molly will still be your friend when she has a boyfriend. She honestly likes you. Can't you just be happy for her starting to get something like a life? Also, you will not lose your brilliance if you let people know you care about them. Look, I'm not saying, you should storm into the morgue, grab her buttocks and take her away to Vegas." He did not add even though sometimes I think you may want to. That would clearly exceed the demand for his advice. It was surprising enough that Sherlock even talked to him about it at all. Well, he was more on the listening side of this conversation. "It would suffice to just tell her that you do not, in fact, despise her. Is that too much? Will it influence your work or cause any inconvenience?" John's face had become red by now.

"I don't think so", Sherlock shyly admitted.

He grabbed his mobile again and reluctantly typed in another message. John peaked over at him, satisfied with himself. With that, the topic seemed to be out of the way for Sherlock. He walked over to where John was sitting now, holding out the photos he had taken in the funeral home.

"See that?" Naturally, John didn't. "The imprints. First of all, there were none that belong to an elderly man. Thus, it is highly unlikely that the late Ed Gilligan left his coffin on his own accord. The fear of Zombies walking the streets of Leeds is banned." Was he actually joking? "In fact, Ed Gilligan has not left his coffin at all. None of the bodies did."

"What?"

_.:0:._

It had been another long working day for Molly. After Sherlock and John had left, there were five bodies brought down to the morgue. Car accident, rather ugly. She didn't have the time to think about Sherlock and his general arseness (yes, she decided, that was a word!). Also, he had said things like that often enough for her to develop some kind of shield. Of course, it hurt. But she had to admit that he was not saying things she didn't already know to be true. This last remark had just been enough to push her over the edge. Come to think of it I actually have to thank him some time. He helped me get on with my life today. She felt proud of herself decided not to care about Sherlock for the time being.

Now, she was lazily lying back in her big armchair and enjoying a glass of red wine. Slowly, the familiar anxiety she always felt before first dates crept into her mind. She was really looking forward to having dinner with David but she was also still the self-conscious mousy girl she had been in eighth grade.

A beep sounded and ended her reverie. Molly looked at her phone.

I am truly sorry. – SH

She was not angry with Sherlock anymore. She wasn't even quite sure if she had been particularly angry right after he had said it. Angry was the wrong word. She had clearly been disappointed but that was a frequent feeling when dealing with Sherlock. Molly appreciated his apology. Maybe, he is human after all?, she thought. It was a nice gesture (and not very Sherlock), but it did not make her feel all wobbly again, as nice words from Sherlock tended to. Huh, interesting!