This takes place the night of Molly's wedding.

There was a leak. Something was creeping into Sherlock's mind palace, he could feel it. Feel it? Now that's strange. This invincible had been designed for war. Every room was cold and void of as much emotion as possible. Science and reason took their respective places in the walls like the lining of electric wires. They stimulated the various chambers of the palace, but now something was wrong. The clear white that used to illuminate the spaces turned a duller yellow and began to flicker. Sherlock sensed a weight growing in his chest as he observed the subtle changes taking place. Naturally there were no cleaning closets or generator rooms since the palace could keep order on it's own which left him hopelessly lost. Sherlock's mental self sighed dramatically and began pacing, and practically yanking out his hair in agitation.

"Woof!"

Sherlock abruptly halted and spun around. There at the end of the plain corridor was a brown blob which immediately bestowed a smile on his strained face. Unconsciously his knees started to bend and he leant down and patted his trousers in a familiar calling pattern. A sharp quick whistle blew from his lips and the blob moved. It sprinted by all the scientific rooms leaving a warm trail behind. With this creature came an innocence long forgotten by the consulting detective. Overhead Sherlock failed to notice the flicker of the lights becoming more frequent. Currently there was a forty pound dog on him, planting "kisses" upon his nose and cheeks.

"Red Beard", Sherlock laughed heartily.

The last time he had seen his dog was at the tender age of eleven. This were the dark ages of his adolescence. Although his peers still remained mentally inferior they had grown and surpassed him even then in human emotion. The tormenters of his youth knew exactly where to prod at him to extract the most humiliating reactions. When ever he'd retaliate with an embarrassing deduction of his own the prats would laugh at him. It was only later that he realized they had no idea what he had said to them.

Red Beard had been a constant throughout his whole life. Not even Sherlock's mother and father could penetrate his massive emotional blockade that held in his emotions. Red Beard had been different. He was the only exception to this rule which was why into Red Beard he cried after a particular ruff day of school. Red Beard got Mycroft off his back when he was being condescending, and became the best friend Sherlock had ever had up until John. It was wonderful to see a shadow of his past wandering about through the complex insanity trap that was his brain. The wet kisses suddenly stopped as the pressure on his abdomen receded. Sherlock raised his head to look at Red Beard trotting away.

"Red Beard", he called forcefully. The dog didn't break a stride. Sherlock leapt up and stumbled round the corridor after his friend. Through wings and wings the two traveled. Some of the rooms they happened upon Sherlock hadn't seen in years. Mentally he added them to his lengthy list of priorities.

Eventually the patterns and architecture became un recognizable to him. Read Beard carried on in his confident manner with Sherlock following behind as if the roles were reversed. He stopped to inspect an interesting sculpture of thoughts and was thoroughly immersed in his deducing when he realized that Red Beard had rounded the corner and disappeared. Sherlock left his mental exercise and ventured down the dog's last known where abouts.

The hall was a dead end. At the back of the thin passage was a door. Sherlock cautiously walked over and discovered that it was the front of him and John's flat. The match was exact even down to the angles knocker that Mycroft subconsciously fixed whenever he visited. This door was locked shut. Sherlock was about to turn the knob when it morphed into the black door belonging to Ms. Hudson. On the other side he swore that the sweet aroma of her specialty tea could be smelt. Once again the door changed. This time it was old and regal and could only be described as Mycroft's. Then came Greg's blue and finally a pale yellow colored door with a brass knob. It was Molly's, and unlike the rest her door was slightly ajar.

When Sherlock opened the door a cool breeze hit his face. Laid out before him like a scene in a movie was the exact recreation of that night. The last time he saw Molly. Everything down to the song that was playing as he left was there. It caused a painful tug in his chest as he thought of her. The scene changed to an earlier memory of them together chatting in the morgue over various diseases while cutting up brains. Some blood had gotten on Molly's goggles and Sherlock grabbed a towel and gently cleaned it. His fingers lingered for a few moments and she blushed. He suddenly saw a bit of golden light ruminate from their bodies and emerge as a sphere. It swooped in elegant circles like that of calligraphy before exiting through the crack in the door. Suddenly it hit him.

"Molly", he breathed.

She was what was messing with his palace. The oddness suddenly made sense although he couldn't understand why it affected him so until a sound thump to the back of his head made him turn around to face the angry eyes of John.

"You're upset she's left you tit."

"Upset I'm not upset." Sherlock scoffed at John's frown."I'm happy for her."

"No, no you're not. You were afraid that night to admit your feelings and now she's gone and you miss her."

"He's right Sherlock."

Sherlock spun around at the sound of his brothers voice. He groaned.

"Oh not you too."

"I told you Sherlock caring is not the advantage. Look what it's done here." He gestured with a wide sweep of his umbrella." You're loosing control of your feelings they're all getting out because of her."

"She does NOT control my feelings", Sherlock stated. Mycroft smiled toothily athis baby brother.

"It seems that you've got a choice to make brother mine."

"A choice? What choice?"

John circled round to stand next to Mycroft. "The choice of whether you want to stay away from Molly and hide from your feelings or prove you actually are human and try to win her back because this might be your only chance before she leaves."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's conflicted expression with a hint of pity in those cold eyes." I told you Sherlock don't get involved."

...

Sherlock found himself outside of Molly's door with a key in his hand. The choice of locking her away or setting her free. Sherlock looked around. The feelings he hat bored for Molly were illogical and confusing ones he did not know what to do about. They were causing an overload and he just couldn't handle the sentimentality of it all right now. Shakily he edged his hand towards the lock and placed the key in. He stood there like that for a long time until a small, dainty hand covered his own.

"Woman", he greeted slightly surprised.

She smiled seductively and gently pried Sherlock's fingers from the key still in the lock.

"It's okay", she said in a slightly sad voice," I'll do it."

Sherlock stepped back and watched as she locked the door and offered the key to him. It was all too tempting. Sherlock pulled a mask of indifference over himself as he refused the key dangling between her fingertips.

"Destroy it." Sherlock turned and left the recesses in his mind giving Irene the duty of guard outside of his doors. She watched him leave. Once he disappeared around the corner she clutched the key in her hand before placing it snuggly in her black laced bra. She patted it affectionately before turning to face the empty corridor. Her lips parted into a knowing smile as she mused to herself.

"In case he gets hungry."