Sherlock looked worried for a moment. He didn't know what John was planning to do, and he thought that maybe he was still mad at him and wanted to get back for embarrassing him in front of his friends. He gave John his lost child look and then his hands clasped together.

"Why? Where are we going?"

John smirked. He probably thought that he was in trouble, because he usually was. But this time, it wasn't the case.

"Don't take me to Mycroft, please. I'll behave this time, and I'll stay in the bedroom until you come back, I promise."

John frowned. He wasn't this harsh in keeping Sherlock hidden from the world was he? He thought he was doing the detective a favor but it seemed like he only made things worse. But instead of getting mad at Sherlock, he simply smiled and shook his head. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and then made him look John in the eyes so he knew that Sherlock was listening.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to take you back to Mycroft, okay? I will never abandon you at Mycroft's house no matter how bad you get or if the situation becomes too overwhelming, because that's not what friends do to each other."

Sherlock seemed to take this is in as John watched his eyes wander away and then slowly meeting his again as if it sunk in. John felt the pressure of Sherlock's hand closing in on his own and the pad of his thumb rubbing against the coarse skin of John's own hand. Sherlock's smooth lips stretched into a smile that displayed that he believed in John, that he was starting to trust him.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do Sherlock, I wouldn't have put up with you for this long if I didn't feel this way."

He saw a bit of white flash as Sherlock's grin grew a bit wider. He knew that Sherlock hated his smile, but he only really let John see it and it made John tingle all over. As stressful as this was, John needed to see that Sherlock would be okay with staying with him until he got his memory back;if he got his memory back. He tried not to let those thoughts make their way into his head, but as hard as he fought, they always seemed to win. The closest he's ever been to a person having Amnesia is when Harry got a little bit too wasted and John had to help her back into her flat and had to break up the brewing argument that she and Clara had whenever she saw John carting her drunk wife into their shared room. John understood that she was upset, but she could at least wait until she was sober enough to stand on her feet without falling down. This was different. At least Harry would wake up the next morning and have a vague recollection of what happened the night before, whereas Sherlock couldn't even do that much sometimes. He would forget John's name at times, and not to mention those headaches he would have when he woke up. How painful it must be for him to remember. The only memory he can seem to scrounge up is the most terrifying of them all, and the last thing he experienced before having his brain erase all of his thoughts. Did Sherlock still have his mind palace? Did he know how to do deductions? What was going on in that mind, the one that used to be swarming with information and mental recollections, now vacant and empty, with only scraps of what remained.

He can't think too hard about it, he would start to sulk, and then he would get depressed, and neither him or Sherlock needed that. Not when there was so much going on.

Wait a minute, something was happening. He and Sherlock were but an inch away from each other. John could feel the lukewarm breath that came from the other blowing on his mouth and for some strange reason, he liked it. His breath didn't stink, it never did, and if it did have some sort of scent with it, it was usually what he ate last, or his tea, and when John woke up particularly early, it would be tinged with the minty aroma of his toothpaste. John felt his body heating up with a hidden passion he didn't even know he was capable of feeling. Sherlock was staring at him with those grey eyes that looked so cold but held so much warmth behind them that only John could see. Everybody saw the cold, calculating, rude Consulting detective, but John knew better. John knew that the icy heart that he had would melt for not just anybody, but for him. Then the way Sherlock's mouth curved when he smiled, so soft and plump, it was as if his mouth was designed for smiles. John felt himself slowly moving in, while Sherlock did nothing. Before John moved any closer, they heard knocking.

John was grateful for it. He didn't know what he was doing, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to go through with it. It would be wrong to take advantage of Sherlock when he was like this. He doesn't even know John, and if he were to finish his act, Sherlock would be confused, probably upset, and John might lose him forever.

"Yoo-hoo!"

None other than Mrs. Hudson. John never understood her logic. She wanted them to get together, but she always interrupted the times that they were so close to granting her wish. However, John didn't care if she interrupted their moment, it was awkward, well, for him, anyway. Sherlock looked as if he didn't know John was even moving in to kiss him, that was good.

"Is that Mrs. Hudson?"

John nodded. Ever since she saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, alive and...partially well, she got her thoughts together and started coming up more often than before, she would take care of Sherlock when John went out to work, and she would make the tea and the food. John even came upstairs one day and saw that they were both watching TV in the living room. Sherlock would ask her questions and she would answer them. Pretty soon, things seemed semi-normal, Mrs. Hudson got her boys back, even though one of them was slightly broken. Sherlock seemed to like her company as well, even if he couldn't find the exact reason why.

He walked over to the door and opened it. Mrs. Hudson had her usual smile on her face when she saw both of them. She had a tray of tea in her hands and walked inside and set them on the table and then walked over to where Sherlock was seated.

"What's going on?"

John was the one who responded.

"We're going out, go on Sherlock, get dressed."

Sherlock stood up and walked out of the room and into his own. When John was sure that the younger man wouldn't be able to hear them, he started speaking to his landlady in a lower tone.

"I'm taking him out today. I'm taking him to Barts, and maybe even Lestrade's crime scene. I just want to see if he would be able to remember something, even if it's just for a second. He needs to remember. I can't watch him go on like this anymore."

She placed a hand on her chest and nodded in sympathetic agreement.

"I'm still not too sure about the whole thing, but you care for him most and if you think this will work, then who am I to argue?"

"Thank you. It's good to know that somebody agrees with what I'm doing. What with the elder Holmes constantly hounding me and not being afraid to pick up the phone in order to make sure things are going his way."

She waved her hand at him dismissively.

"Oh, rubbish. I'm sure he's hard on you because he worries about Sherlock like you do. Like we all do. But you especially."

John had to ask for further explanation.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do I really have to explain it to you?"

"I guess so."

She chuckled.

"Everybody knows that he's your Sherlock, and your his John."

'My Sherlock?'

John wanted to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Sherlock's sudden appearance. He was staring at the both of them, fully dressed in his usual garb; black trousers, and the purple shirt the both of them loved so much, followed by his also pricey shoes. Sometimes John had the notion that Sherlock had more money than he let on. I mean, look at his brother, and it's quite clear that they grew up in a posh, luxurious house, fit with the wealthy parents that probably spoiled their children to death, judging by how demanding Sherlock is and how upset he gets when he doesn't get what he wants. Hell, Mycroft was the same too. But he could be wrong. Maybe the Holmes children were spoiled because that's the only way their parents would show them affection. He can picture the boys surrounded by their gifts and other items, but not receiving the proper parental love that most children would get.

"I'm ready, John."

John responded in a curt nod and got his coat from his room. When he made his way back downstairs, he gave one last look to Sherlock and then another hopeful glance to Mrs. Hudson who was still standing there. He opened the front door for Sherlock to leave out of and then followed behind him. When they got outside, John hailed a taxi for the both of them and let Sherlock in first.

"Where are we heading today, sir?"

John answered, "Barts hospital."

Molly was working in the morgue today, like most days. They walked in on her filling out paperwork for a body that found its way to the hospital. She turned around when she heard John's audible gulp. Her mouth curved into a smile at the sight of the company he brought.

"Hey, John!"

And her eyes passed over to Sherlock who was more interested in surveying the area. She still wasn't sure about how she was supposed to be feeling about his return, what with the way that he showed back up into her life was so sudden and abrupt. She knew that he wasn't dead, but still, she never figured that he would reappear without a single memory of her, or any of his friends for that matter. John noticed that she was staring at Sherlock, and he forgotten to tell her why they were even there.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock's head snapped towards John's.

"Yes, John?"

John gestured towards Molly.

"Sherlock, this is Molly Hooper."

Sherlock gave a curteous smile and extended his hand out towards her.

"Hello."

She took it hesitantly and the shake was just a whole lot of awkward. She looked up at him and smiled, hoping that if there was some bit of Sherlock still in there, he would come out and comment on how small her mouth was, or how he wasn't in favor with how her hair was parted. Something, anything. She wanted her sociopath back.

"I remember you."

Her eyes lit up at the sentence.

"You do, really?"

Sherlock nodded.

"You were there at the pub, when I was talking to Lestrade."

Just like that, her the light in her eyes faded. He really couldn't remember her.

"Yes, yes, that was me."

John had to intervene, this shouldn't be Molly's problem, it wasn't her fault he was like this. It wasn't anybody's. Everything they do now should be towards helping Sherlock return to being that arsehole they all love and know. He walked over to the pair and rested a hand on Sherlock's back.

"Hey, Sherlock, go and check some of that stuff out over there."

Sherlock's eyes became half-lidded when he looked at John, maybe even dreamy. Molly's brows furrowed as she noticed the change in Sherlock's expression. John noticed too and gave Sherlock another pat on the back and said, "Quickly."

Sherlock nodded and smiled.

"Okay, John."

He walked over to the table that was filled with chemicals and tools that he would...should know how to use. Maybe it will help him jog his memory just a bit.

John turned to face Molly, and he knew he had some explaining to do.

"Look, I should've texted you and told you why I was coming, but this is for Sherlock's good. He and I both want him to remember. He asked me."

"I guessed that much."

John nodded. Good.

"So I see Cupid's arrow has struck somebody."

It was John's turn to glare.

"Huh?"

She smirked.

"You don't see it? Sherlock's attitude change around you, I mean."

John still looked confused.

"No."

She was oddly entertained by this.

"Well it's just...nothing, never mind. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon."

John was thrown off by the comment and stared at her for a few more minutes before turning and heading off to Sherlock's direction. All the while, Molly was standing next to her body and smiling to herself.