Four

For a long few minutes, the two best friends sat in silence, across from each other in the Watsons' sitting room. Sherlock looked like a lost little boy, and John looked like a parent who desperately didn't want to say the wrong thing or let their child down.

Finally, it was Sherlock who spoke first, more to himself than to John: "This wasn't supposed to happen."

John sighed and shook his head. "It's never supposed to happen, be it dying young or cancer taking a body over. It's never fair and it's never pretty –"

"Not what I meant, John." At the look his best friend gave him, Sherlock back-tracked. "Of course you're right, I'm not disputing that, but I was speaking of something else…"

"What, then?"

Sherlock gulped and looked at his lap. "Molly…she was never supposed to…"

He stopped talking, and John really didn't know what he was trying to say. "To what, Sherlock? Talk to me. You've never been afraid to say whatever you want to say to me, so don't start now. We're not going anywhere."

The detective looked at his friend, and knew he was speaking the truth. So he had no choice but to speak the truth in return – a truth he knew that his best friend would be disappointed by.

"She was never supposed to be…to be more than…my pathologist."

During this statement, his voice had gone from quiet to almost silent, but John caught every word. And yes, what he heard disappointed him a great deal. At the same time, he was not surprised; he knew better than a lot of people the lengths to which Sherlock went to in trying to make himself a machine rather than a human being. How many times had he seen Sherlock trying to make sure that Molly became no more than another lab tool for him to use? Ignoring or rejecting her advances, his clever and subtle insults to her looks and apparel, outing her boyfriend Jim to her (though he'd turned out to be something much worse), advising Molly not to try and have any more romantic relationships, and of course that horrible Christmas party spoke for itself.

At the great, sad sigh that John heaved upon hearing this statement, Sherlock spoke again, his tone louder and almost pleading: "But John, it was never my intention to cause her pain! That was never my objective, and I never imagined that her feelings could run so deeply for me."

"Not until the Christmas party, you mean," John said, nodding. "You really didn't think she had more than a crush before then? Or did you just not let yourself consider that possibility?"

The good doctor kept his tone calm rather than angry, understanding rather than accusatory. So Sherlock was able to answer him after a moment of contemplation. "I don't know…perhaps both…"

John nodded. "Your beliefs about sentiment and emotions certainly haven't done you any favors in this situation."

Sherlock turned an almost agonized look on his best friend. "You see, John? You see why I never let myself consider the possibility of her feeling more for me than mere infatuation for so long? There was no logical reason to at all! How could someone so good, so loving, so understanding…feel that way for me? A man who's caused her nothing but grief and pain?"

Any remnants of the anger John held disappeared upon hearing this and seeing how truly lost Sherlock looked. He chose each of his words carefully and deliberately, knowing just how important it was to get things right now.

"Sherlock, I won't ever deny that you can be a real asshole and a prick. There are even times when I believe what you try so hard to perpetuate: that you're a high-functioning sociopath. But those moments never last, and those moments aren't what matter to me. If it were, you wouldn't still be my friend, let alone my daughter's godfather. What matters to me is that you have gone, and will go, to the greatest of lengths for those who you care about. The Fall, my wedding, last Christmas, they've all proved that and they still prove that. That's what matters to me, and that's what matters to Molly."

Sherlock looked back down at his lap. "You mean mattered, John. She wants nothing to do with me anymore."

After a moment, John gripped Sherlock's shoulder, causing the taller man to meet his gaze again. "Sherlock…she came to us, to you," said John. "She could have gone straight to Lestrade, who'd help her in a heartbeat, or to Mycroft, since they've been on friendly terms – or, as friendly as Mycroft is capable of being – since the Fall. Hell, any private investigator in the city could have tracked him down within a day, since Tom's not a criminal mastermind. But she didn't, did she? Even in her anger, and her hurt, her betrayal and broken trust, she came to you."

"Why?" breathed Sherlock, and John could see that he really had no clue as to the answer. Under better circumstances he would have laughed or given a smug grin. But now he only gave a small smile.

"Because Molly Hooper isn't the kind of person to give up on those she loves," he said. "She never gave up on Tom, and she will stay by his side for as long as he has left, because she truly loves him. Now, even though she doesn't love you in the same way she once did, there's still love there. She may not be able to trust you, but she wants to be able to again someday. I don't think she's consciously aware of this, but it's there in her actions, Sherlock."

The detective suddenly got up and paced the length of the room. He stopped by the window, his hands behind his back in his standard posture, but John wasn't fooled. He got up from his chair, walked over to Sherlock, and stood beside him. This closer proximity allowed him to hear Sherlock's next words, again spoken more to himself than to John:

"She always helps me…even now, she always helps me…and she always sees me…"

Relieved that Sherlock seemed to at least be beginning to understand, John allowed himself another small smile. "Yeah, she does. And that's why she loved you, why she still cares about you, and why she hasn't completely given up on you. But don't think for a second that can't happen, Sherlock. Even as strong and forgiving as Molly is, a human being can only take so much pain and hurt from another person."

Sherlock looked at John with more fear in his eyes than John had seen thus far. "You…I could really lose her, couldn't I? She's always forgiven me before...but perhaps I wrongly assumed that she always would…" An urgency filled his eyes, and in a split second his hands were gripping John's shoulders. "John, tell me what to do. You always know what to do about these things. Please tell me."

It almost frightened John to see Sherlock looking so desperate and frightened. But what it did make him feel was a great and proud relief. So he gently lowered Sherlock's arms and led him back to their respective seats. Once they were settled again, John spoke in that same calm and deliberate tone to his best friend:

"Two things, Sherlock, and neither one of them will be easy for you."

"I don't care, what are they?" Sherlock immediately responded, all of his attention completely focused on John.

"Well, the first thing is a pretty straightforward concept. Molly's going through hell right now, and will be for the foreseeable future, both before and after Tom passes. She's already lost both of her parents, has no siblings or immediate family, so she's going to need us – her circle of friends – more than ever to support her. We need to be whatever she needs us to be. And right now, Sherlock, she wants you to leave her alone. It's actually quite an understandable request."

Sherlock sat up reflexively with indignant fire in his eyes. "John, I've just told you, I have never been intentionally cruel to her!"

"That's not what I meant, Sherlock," John said, holding up a placating hand, his tone still calm and firm. "Just think about this for a second. You've known Molly for a long time –"

"Seven years, two months, and sixteen days."

John raised his eyebrows at that but continued onward. "And in all of that time, she has helped you so many times, from running a test in the lab to saving your bloody life, with no thought to herself at all. But when, in those seven years, two months, and sixteen days, have you returned the favor at all? When have you ever helped her, supported her, did something for her with no ulterior motive? When, Sherlock?"

John sadly expected no response from Sherlock, and sadly he received none – because tragically, there was none to give.

As Sherlock lowered his head, John went on sadly. "It's like she said to us today, Sherlock: not everything revolves around Sherlock Holmes. In order to protect your own heart and keep your cold façade intact, that's how your relationship with her was. But that stops now, Sherlock. You're going to have to give back now. Be there for her and help her, and right now the only way you can do that is to respect her wishes and keep your distance."

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, making his curls appear even more wild and unruly. "For how long?"

John shrugged. "I don't know, Sherlock. That could be a while, but eventually you'll come face to face again. After all, her life will go on after Tom is gone, and your continual presence at Bart's will keep you a part of her life. Knowing her, I'm sure she'll seek you out to talk at least once and see where you two stand with each other. But until then, you'll have to be patient and wait for her to come to you. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded before asking, "So what is the second thing you would have me do now?"

Again, John gripped Sherlock's shoulder, indicating that he wanted the man to meet his eyes again. When he did, the doctor spoke in the most serious of tones: "While you're giving her time and space, you need to do some serious detective work on yourself. Not in your mind, but in your heart. You need to figure out once and for all what you feel for her, what you want from her, and what you're able to give her. It's something you should have done a long time ago, and if you don't do it now, you really will lose her."

Sherlock visibly and audibly gulped; the terror is his eyes at the prospect of this task was crystal clear to Dr. Watson. He could see now that the conversation was over. He'd said everything that needed to be said to Sherlock now, and he knew that there was more than enough for Sherlock to process in his mind and heart. Any more would be too much, and the both of them were exhausted.

So, John rose to his feet and Sherlock rose too. "So, will you take the guest bedroom or am I coming back to Baker Street with you?"

Sherlock heaved a deep sigh and his brow furrowed. "John, I've already told you, I would never insult or hurt Molly like this now, of all times –"

"I know, Sherlock, that's not my reason," said John. "My reason is because you're my best friend, Mary's dear friend, and Emma's godfather. You're my family, as far as I'm concerned, and we're going to be there for you and Molly in equal measure. You're not alone, and you won't be alone through this. It's been a long and hard day for all of us, and the last thing that any of us needs, especially you, is to be alone tonight."

Sherlock almost cracked a smile. "Careful, Doctor, that almost sounds romantic." John gave him a smack to the back of the head. "Ahhh! Sorry, sorry, not what you meant at all, I know."

He rubbed the back of his head, and the two men exchanged a soft laugh. While so many things about this situation were not right, the strong friendship between these two men most certainly was.

"I'll take your guest bedroom," Sherlock said. "Emma's loud awakening will be a good task to take on in the morning."

John chuckled as they began climbing up the stairs. "The missus and I would greatly appreciate a little break."

"Just so long as you two don't celebrate that break being just as noisy, my goddaughter and I will have no problems."

Another smack to the back of Sherlock's head and another shared soft laugh were the last sounds to be heard before the stairway light was turned off.

Soon after, John joined his wife in their bedroom. Mary had tucked a sleeping Emma into her crib in the nursery next door some time ago, and was reading in bed when John joined her. After shutting the door behind him, he began to undress. Which meant that John had convinced Sherlock to take the guest room. Good.

"So?" Mary softly asked, setting her book aside and anxiously sitting up. "How is he doing?"

The good doctor heaved a great, sad sigh and made his accurate diagnosis: "The poor bastard is head over heels in love with her, and I have no idea what he's going to do when he realizes that himself."