First of all, I think that this is very important that you should all know that I wrote this chapter, Chapter 11, on the 11th page of my document at 11:11 pm. What a crazy random happenstance! I was extremely excited by this. Also, this is probably one of my favorite chapters. And definitely the longest one so far. So enjoy!

Disclaimed.

Chapter 11

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and Sherlock wouldn't go to sleep. The case had been solved hours ago, but something was still plaguing him. He picked up his violin, composing a long, sad sonata as he played. He became so immersed in the music that he didn't notice the footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Well that's depressing." He looked over and saw John, sitting in his regular chair, wearing a dressing gown and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "The song, I mean. I'm guessing an original?"

He nodded curtly, and walked over to sit on the sofa. Obviously John had decided they were about to have a serious conversation, and he didn't feel like avoiding it this time. It would take far too much effort. He remained silent, however, leaving John to condone his behavior without interruption.

"Mary wanted you out of the wedding." Sherlock looked up in surprise. This was not what he had been expecting. John saw the involuntary flash of pain that crossed his best friend's face and decided to continue. "It took me two full days to convince her not to kick you out for what you said to Molly. However, as the groom, the best man is pretty much the only decision I actually get to make in this whole ordeal, so eventually she caved."

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, too faint for John to make out. He sighed and continued, leaning forward. "Sherlock, when you left, the world changed around us. I couldn't lift myself out of bed for months, and even when I did, it seemed like the world had lost so much of its meaning. It wasn't until I met Mary that things actually started to be okay again. I understand it now, and I don't blame you, but we all went through hell without you."

He stared at Sherlock, refusing to look away even as the man refused to meet his eyes. "And poor Molly suffered the worst of it. Can you imagine what that must've done to her? Molly, with the kindest heart any of us have ever come across, having to see all of us in so much grief and not be able to do anything about it? Having to lie to us constantly and know she was causing us pain every time? Add onto that all the worry she must have been harboring for your safety, especially when the only times she would see you was when you were bleeding out on her sofa."

Sherlock squirmed under John's gaze as he continued. "Molly Hooper was the only one who could help, and she was sworn to secrecy. And she handled it with more grace than anyone I could have ever imagined. She set me and Mary up, you know. And she came over for tea with Mrs. Hudson every Wednesday. Still does, in fact. She even convinced Greg to teach her how to shoot, for God's sake. She's bloody awful, but still. She looked out for all of us. And now when she is finally happy, you go back to treating her the same way you have always treated her. You use her for experiments and body parts, but have you ever actually thanked her? She has done so much for you Sherlock. And she deserves better."

John looked at his flatmate, who had been staring at the ground for the majority of his speech, and waited for him to respond. A solid five minutes passed without a word. The silence was deafening, but the soldier stood his ground. Finally, a strangled whisper escaped Sherlock's lips. "Do you honestly think I don't know?"

He lifted his eyes to meet John's, and John was shocked by what he saw. Sherlock had removed every wall and sat before him, completely vulnerable and wracked with pain. The amount of emotion written all over his face was alarming, especially for someone who preferred to deny the existence of feeling.

Sherlock spoke, his voice cracking on every other syllable until it was strong enough to carry the weight of his emotions. "I know exactly what that was like, John. I experienced all of the pain, the grief, the sorrow that anyone else did. I lived alone, having to justify that I had done the right thing, and knowing that all the suffering any of you experienced was completely and solely my fault. I pulled apart Moriarty's web by myself, because the only people who could possibly help thought I was dead. Molly was my only comfort too. She made me tell her everything, and I trust her more than anyone can possibly know. She fixed me when I was broken."

Sherlock stood, pacing the floor as he spoke in the same way he would if he were solving a case. "I tried to tell her, John. I tried to make her see how important she is. I left her so many clues. The skull, the watch… But it's like she sees, but doesn't observe." John smiled at the use of this phrase, bringing back so many memories. Sherlock turned to face his grinning flatmate and stares at him, asking the one question that has kept him up for weeks on end. "So why am I always hurting her? Why is it that she matters so much, but whenever I am around her I resort to making her unhappy? John, what's wrong with me?"

John's grin grew even wider as he realized what was happening. He chuckled to himself, and Sherlock was instantly infuriated. Sherlock came close and grabbed his flatmate by the shoulders, all but shaking him."What? What can possibly be so funny at a time such as this? John, what is it?"

The doctor looked straight up at the detective and made his diagnosis. "Sherlock Holmes, I do believe you are in love."