Rose

"He's the most intellectual, wise, charasmatic and moral person in the universe, and they're putting him in a box?"

"It's the Pandorica, Sherlock. Not a box."

"But even so, who would want to cease the existence of the most brilliant man in the universe, when they know he'll always be better?"

I paused before I replied to this, as I knew it would start a conversation that had we continued to plod along normally, would go unsaid. The truth was, knowing that the only love that went unrequited was mine, was a classic example of loves keen sting and I hated it. I wanted him to speak to me, even if it was about Molly.

"...Moriarty." I said, inhaling and exhaling deeply, feeling the cool oxygen penetrate my body and force its way down to my lungs. I saw sadness in Sherlock's grey eyes. He turned the telly off and looked at me properly. If we were going to be serious, it would start now. My head gave a slight pang of ache, but I pushed it away, adjusting the head bandage Mrs Hudson had forced upon me.

"I wanted to tell you, John. You must believe that." His eyes were pleading with me, but they didn't have to.

"I do. I've always believed in you, even after you were- gone" I choked the last word out after several stuttered attempts.

Sherlock's face was monotonous. He was trying to formulate the right words in his head, analysing every word I had just said to conjure the perfect response. But this talk was heading in one direction: emotions. I know it wasn't his strong suit, but I liked to think I remind he was human, and if I couldn't have him in any other way; I would always, always act as the best friend that he needed.

"John, I- I needed Molly, to avoid actually dying." was all he could come up with. There it was, another pang of jealousy and sadness hit me. I couldn't bring up words, so I just nodded firmly. I wished there was still tea in my mug so I could feel less exposed, my face was on full display and there was no way of hiding what I was feeling. Sherlock seemed to have acknowledged this but didn't give me the privacy that I desired, instead he analysed my face and I could see him finally reach a conclusion of what to say. He cleared his throat and spoke with sincerity, so I wouldn't dare question him.

"I don't love her John."

I had never felt so confused. My brain seemed to thrash about all different theories and thoughts at the same time, preventing me to single any of them out and follow them up. I was completely lost, tiredness withering me, pain seething from my swelling and aches brimming from my heart. He didn't love her, and yet I still felt all that pain. His eyes were filled with tears, and I hadn't seen such expression since the horrific day that I lost him. I turned to face him properly and he had done the same. I bit my lip slightly, to prevent myself from releasing a torrent of rushed feelings.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" He asked kindly, trying his best to summon a small but sad smile.

I shook my head, laughing a little shakily out of uncomfortableness. I clenched my hands into fists repeatedly.

"She's Martha."

I couldn't help myself, the laughter just forced itself out of me. "You what?" I said, trying to stop the giggles.

"She's Martha Jones! " He was trying to be serious but my reaction was making him laugh too "John, listen to me!" I cradled my stomach as I laughed heartily into it. "What, what's so funny?"

"I just can't believe the comparisons you're making! Who's Mycroft? The Master." I continued laughing, I couldn't stop it, it was taking over me and Sherlock tried to calm me down with pleas to "shut up" or "let him finish". I finally calmed myself (well to some extent) and gestured for him to continue.

"You're Rose." His voice was vulnerable and childish, his eyes looked scared but had a glitter of hope in them and I had never seen him like this before. Which was strange, given the dialogue he was saying, but it made it all the more special. Sherlock, in his own odd way, was trying to express himself. It made butterflies in my stomach flutter, making me forget about all my other troubles and focus entirely on him. Since I was relishing in such a strange, but heartfelt statement, he continued:

"You're the person who changed me for the better. Even though I deny my human side, you constantly bring it out in me. No matter how much I try to deny you, or push away these emotions, you stir them within me. It killed me to be seperated from you John, and no other will ever match you." A small tear slid down his cheek at that point, and my body mimicked. In perfect unison, we both extended a hand and took the other. He took my pulse and I did the same; accelerated heartbeats. Sherlock waited for a few moments and acknowledged it too. We then looked at each other again, directly. His eyes were bright and he was smiling, it infected me. I took his hand properly and squeezed it, a gesture which he repeated. His eyes, still with their childish appearance, looked playful.

He whispered to me softly and winked: "Bad Wolf."