Chapter 14

The surgery consultation took about two hours, and John was just on his way to the elevators when he was stopped by one of the nurses who had a note.

Now the doctor was fairly certain that Mycroft had a protective detail shadowing his little brother, but that didn't stop his worry when he read the note from Sherlock informing him that he had relocated to the hospital cafeteria. Naturally he quickened his pace as he pointed his feet in the specified direction.

With genial nods at nurses and staff who wished him a good evening, he wound his way through the tables of the cafeteria searching for his flatmate. He pulled up short when he finally spied him way in the back, with his head down on his crossed arms as though he was taking a nap. Infront of Sherlock was an empty pie plate and two empty cartons of milk.

The doctor took the chair opposite, and lowered himself quietly into the seat to take stock of the situation.

'Are you finished?' came the gentle inquiry, indicating that Sherlock was not sleeping.

'Did you eat an entire pie?' John instead asked with understandable incredulity.

'It was good pie,' Sherlock rumbled mutinously at him.

The doctor's eyes narrowed when he observed how Sherlock's carefully groomed hair, was now stuck up in their usual wild, fluffy display.

'What happened?'

Sherlock ignored him. It was almost like old times again.

'Sherlock, look at me when I am speaking to you!' John scolded, crossing his arms with the stubborn intention to sit there in silence until his flat mate sat up. He was not in the mood to be toyed with. Their situation was already difficult without Sherlock keeping secrets from him. John felt a sudden pang when his mind flashed back to a half naked Sherlock standing in the Palace, bawling at his brother that a mystery at both ends was just too much work.

However, a few minutes passed before the recovering detective in front of him reluctantly sat back, stiff as the proverbial board. His hands were clasped on the table before him; knuckles showing white.

John resisted the urge to reach over and tilt Sherlock's face to the light, because something about his color was definitely off.

'What happened?' he asked again, gentling his voice, 'No matter what it is, you can confide in me.'

Sherlock skewered him with a flat expression.

'I won't laugh, no matter how embarrassing,' John reassured him in a whisper, leaning forward to close the large gap between them.

The detective nodded curtly but wouldn't quite meet his gaze, 'I know that, but you already admitted that you don't know Molly that well, so a discussion would be pointless.'

Molly?!

John bit his lip in concern but what Sherlock has said was true enough. However, there was more than way to skin a cat, as they say. 'I don't know her, but I know you.'

Again the other man favoured him with a blank expression.

'Did you quarrel?'

The slight enlargement of Sherlock's pupils then, gave him away.

'You can say you are sorry, you know,' John counselled softly, 'she cares for you a lot.'

'I did apologise,' Sherlock shouted crossly, 'it was accepted, we shook hands and the matter is over!'

A sudden silence fell in the void making them realise how loud that last sentence was. Both of them glanced around to check that no one was eavesdropping.

Now that whatever it was, was out in the open, Sherlock seemed to relax a bit more and leaned forward to be closer, indicating his willingness to discuss.

'She looks at me a lot,' he revealed eventually as he creased the edges of his empty pie tin with his long fingers.

'Is that what started the quarrel?' John pushed tentatively, as nothing else seemed forthcoming.

Sherlock glared across at him as if he was the most idiotic man in London.

'Of course not!' he snapped,'it was an observation not a criticism. I just find it astounding that a person's entire parasympathetic nervous system readjusts to my proximity. What? Why do look at me like that? Don't you find that amazing?!'

John bit his lip again so he wouldn't laugh. 'Quite, even though I have never heard it phrased like that. Don't leave me in suspense here. I would know what caused your quarrel.'

Sherlock tsked under his breath as the memory came forward. Molly had been concerned by some test results.

The recovering detective had eventually come out of her office and had started to slowly explore the lab, which was decorated with many curious specimens in jars; fingers, eyeballs, bone fragments etc. He was pleased when she encouraged him to shake them if he so desired, which was quite fun. It had been so much fun in fact, that he had not noticed when she stopped turning the pages of her forensic report. She kindly explained when he inquired that she did not think the evidence fit the conclusions drawn.

He had promptly pulled up a steel stool to have a listen. This was apparently though the wrong thing to do.

Sherlock didn't like how hard he had to work to coax the alternative explanations out of her. She seemed almost afraid? embarrassed? to put forward her thoughts. But after some doing and with a full blast of puppy dog eyes, she finally opened up.

The change in her being had been so dramatic that Sherlock couldn't remember why he thought she was so plain to look at before. Indeed, the more he kept silent, the more her courage seemed to grow, and the more animated her manner became.

'So...' John prodded as the story seemed to falter again. He sensed they were getting close to the part where the quarrel began. The doctor had been quite happy by what he had heard so far, and he was glad that Sherlock had such a good evening in one of his favorite places in all of London. 'What next? Did you figure out what the problem was with the test results?'

'No, she did...' Sherlock muttered, looking down in a shifty way.

The right answer had come to her in a sudden rush of inspiration and with a shout of triumph, she twirled around and jumped into his arms.

'...and then I kissed her.'

'WHAT!' Where?!'

'In autopsy'

'No, I meant on the cheek or on the mouth?'

Sherlock turned white and then bright red in shame at the horror on the other man's face, 'on the mouth.'

'Christ!' John hissed out without thinking, putting Sherlock further on the defensive.

'Christ?! That's your only response?! the detective snarled back, as he thumped the table hard with his clenched fist, 'what the bloody hell does that mean?! What's so wrong with a kiss?! I will have you know that I am a fantastic kisser! Fan-frigging-tastic!'

Oh boy.

Jon blew out an exasperated breath. 'Sorry, I was just surprised.'

'You're not the only one,' Sherlock mumbled petulantly, his anger rapidly fading like a popped balloon, 'she slapped me.'

The two men slouched low on their chairs, staring at each other. John really had no idea how to begin.

'Not good?'

The doctor sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, 'No, not good but not terrible either. You are not yourself Sherlock, so you need to be careful in your relations with others. I know you know that she has a crush on you, but you don't reciprocate those feelings. It's not decent to lead someone on...unless...'

And here John gave him such a piercing look that it made him fidget with the pie tin again.

John had said that he, Sherlock was guarded when it came to matters of the heart. In his present state he didn't know what to think. Perhaps he should confine himself to the flat until he came to his senses. It had eviscerated him to the core when he heard Molly crying in her office. He had then descended to a new level of pain when, on trying the door handle, only to realise she had locked him out. He hadn't thought she would react like that since she was so attracted him. She adored him, a blind man could see that and he...

Sherlock mentally sighed to himself when he couldn't finish his sentence. She had every right to be angry. Although her romantic feelings were not returned, she still loved him enough to risk herself by offering her friendship, and because of that decision he was one of the few men in the world who could hurt her so deeply.

'Why, Sherlock?' John asked curiously, breaking into his bleak mental wanderings, 'why did you kiss her? Did a memory come back? Out of all the women you know, you do try to go out of your way to be more or less decent to Molly...on occasion. Do you feel some ...tenderness for her? You can trust me with your secrets.'

Various replies pinged around in Sherlock's curly head but there was just one which sounded the loudest, albeit the dumbest reason he had ever heard. He truly hoped John would not laugh. He leaned forward and the doctor eagerly copied him.

'She was just so brilliant, John,' he whispered pathetically, as if begging the other man to understand.

The doctor opened his mouth and after a moment closed it. He then repeated the action, much to the detective's annoyance.

'Are you quite sure we are best friends, John?!' he snorted nastily, irritated by the lack of help he was receiving. John held up a hand to reassure him that he was actively thinking, but this time he couldn't stop the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

Sherlock frowned darkly down at him with murder in his eyes.

'Well, you really, really, really, enjoy "brilliance",' John finally replied with an impish twinkle, 'so your explanation is not as out there as you may think.'

Sherlock was still frowning but he felt a sweeping sensation of ease at his friend's words. Did that mean Molly might understand, eventually?

'I made her cry, John' he confessed, to which the doctor nodded in resignation; the smile fading from his lips. John didn't need need anyone to tell him that Molly's feelings ran deep for his friend.

'Perhaps we should avoid autopsy for now, as cowardly as that sounds,' Sherlock suggested in a brittle tone of voice.

'It's not cowardly,' John disagreed as he rose to his feet. 'until you are yourself, you are bound to muck up here and there. Your friends will forgive you, Molly will forgive you. Where to now? You can pick.'

Sherlock patted his slightly bulging waistline. 'I think I need to jog off this pie. Let us visit the gymnasium.'

Distracted by Sherlock's unusual desire to jog, John led the way. He therefore missed the moment when the detective turned back, casting a regretful eye at the elevators, before following him out into the street.