A/N: Thank you again for the new reviews/favorites/follows. It really keeps me going. I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much as of lately. I've been writing my own original high school novel, and I'm also taking a winter college course, so I pretty much have my hands full. No worries, though, I will get through this story.

Reviews make me happy, please don't hesitate to give out constructive criticism!

Chapter 4- High On Life

Sherlock felt a tingling sensation throughout his body, and he did not like it. He didn't like it because he looked so unsure, and like Eurus had said, he wasn't used to being unsure. He was sitting on his bed but felt as if he was floating on a cloud, while the tingling sensation continued to soar through him. This wasn't like drugs or anything like that... it was unnatural, for him. It could be a drug, but he knew it wasn't.

A rustling sound came from outside, startling him. The sound is getting closer and closer before he realized the source of the noise. A woman — without a face, but with a small build — had climbed into his flat via a window. Sherlock blinked at the faceless woman, he would argue and say it would be impossible for her to climb with the number of stories high... but he couldn't.

Suddenly, the woman draped herself in front of Sherlock. She pressed her hands against his bare chest, as she began to kiss his neck tenderly. Sherlock, shocked at first, eventually gave into it. Closing his eyes in pleasure as she began to work her way up, starting from kissing his neck, to his cheeks, to his eyes, and eventually — her lips — connecting with his.

The sensation was odd... but he found out soon enough that he did like it. He began to kiss her back just as tenderly, if not more so. When they pulled away to breathe, he opened his eyes. He smiled at who it was. Her hair in a brown mid-ponytail, wearing a white t-shirt with black sweats instead of her usual lab coat. She smiled back at him, her brown eyes gazing lovingly at his.

"Hi," the woman finally said, with the shyness that she used to have. But times have changed.

This was a different sort of thrill. Sherlock liked it. "Molly Hooper..." Molly put her finger to Sherlock's lips, her way of telling him to be quiet as she removed it so she could kiss those warm lips again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Sherlock found himself embracing her as he supported her back while she kissed him, and he reciprocated with passion. His delicate hands move up—running his hands through her hair. When they let go, and finally look at each other.

"Sherlock?"

Funnily enough, that wasn't Molly's voice, however, her lips continued to move. "Sherlock?"

What on earth was happening?

"Sherlock!"

Finally, Sherlock woke up, alarmed and unaware of his surroundings. "What?"

"Sherlock..." The voice repeated again, a little softer. Sherlock finally looked at the person who had said this, which was his best friend, John Watson, who was now looking at him in concern. "Sherlock, you've fallen asleep. It looked like you were dreaming, are you alright?"

Dreaming?

Oh... Was that what that was?

Sherlock looked around. He was on the couch, he must've fallen asleep... He was at 221b Baker Street. Everything was normal. Or was it? Oh god...

"I don't have dreams," Sherlock snapped coldly, finally get up from the couch. John sighed as he watched him. Sherlock took notice. "Why are you still here?"

"I went to see Molly Hooper," John said casually.

Sherlock's heart nearly stopped.

Shit.

"Anything interesting?" pressed Sherlock, though he sounded as if everything about Molly Hooper was mundane and dull, except this dream proved she was anything but. He still doesn't know what possessed him to have such a dream. God, these things were so bloody complicated. Does John know about the dream? Oh god, maybe he was becoming better at his deduction.

"She's alright. But..." Ah, of course, he wasn't becoming better. Sherlock should've known better. "You need to apologize to her," John said seriously. Sherlock glared at him yet said nothing. "I mean it, Sherlock. Don't act like this isn't bothering you."

"It isn't," Sherlock insisted harshly, though he knew he was right. Damn it, maybe he was doing better. Or he wasn't. He was? Oh god, he needed to stop flip-flopping. He hadn't been this way up until that blasted phone call. John could only stare at him doubtfully. "What?! It isn't."

"...You were mumbling Molly's name in your sleep."

Double shit.

Sherlock waved it off carelessly. "No I wasn't, don't be ridiculous."

So in the dream, they kissed, but they didn't kiss in real life, but what does it mean? Obviously it means he was thinking about her, and he was determined to not be thinking of her, but why did he continue to think about her? Frankly, she didn't even want to be around him. She made that evidently clear when she slapped him.

"Either way, you should apologize, it's the right thing to do..."

So maybe they didn't need to kiss in reality.

"...Molly has been by your side for too long, and you're just going to let her get away?"

That was fine.

Really.

"...Oh and another thing; please be mindful of the fact that other people have feelings. I would've thought you realized that when we were in Sherrinford... but apparently you haven't learned, or you wouldn't be acting this way..."

It didn't bother him.

...Not at all.

"...Please, for the love of God, Sherlock. Molly is human, just like you — yes, Sherlock, even you're human, no matter how much you deny it — and she's always been there for you before, and I know you care about her... so don't throw this all away..."

Sherlock snorted at his thoughts. Sentiment...

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?" Sherlock woke up from his thoughts, now noticing that John had been trying to speak to him. John facepalmed as he began to pace around the flat. Sherlock was getting dizzy watching him. "I mean it, Sherlock. Make this right."

Make this right, John had said. John was right. Sherlock knew he should make this right; he had hurt her. Unintentionally, but he nonetheless did. He had to apologize at least. Also, though he refused to admit it aloud, he missed her. Why did he miss her? Because he was human, which was another thing he refused to admit out loud. Another thing was - and maybe he would admit this aloud one day - he felt unnaturally guilty for it.

Also, he needed to understand this dream he had which involved Molly. Why didn't she have a face at first? And why and - more importantly - how did it turn out to be Molly?

But most of all, he did truly miss her.

He missed the way she'd stroll into the lab, with that lab coat of hers and wondering whether or not she'd put on lipstick. (She wasn't wearing lipstick before...) He missed the way she smiled at him, he never knew a smile could really make someone's day, and without her smile, Sherlock felt somewhat incomplete, that he really couldn't go on with his work unless he saw that smile of hers. On those occasions, he'd usually smile back at her, and when he did, her eyes would light up. He missed the way she asked if she wanted coffee - she was so infuriatingly polite, but lovely nonetheless - and he would ask for coffee (black, two sugars, please) and later on when their friendship developed, they did have coffee together.

Thinking about all of this, Sherlock did have the intention of going to apologize to Molly. He was going to go to her flat tonight.

...He would go tomorrow.

His head hurt.

Sherlock collapsed back on the couch. "I'll go apologize to her tomorrow, at St. Barts..." And maybe there was hope.

He had another dream.

Another. Bloody. Dream.

This time, however, it seemed more real. Not to mention, it was more explicit.

It was about Molly Hooper.

Again.

...God fucking damn it.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty in the morning. He sighed in annoyance; he might as well get ready to go. He had a lot to do today, and apologizing to Molly Hooper happened to be one of them.

Ugh. He was awful with apologies. Most of the time they were meaningless, but this had to be full of meaning. Molly would never be friends with him again unless she felt he meant it. That's just who Molly was. That's exactly what happened at Sherrinford. (Say it like you mean it) Now, it was harder, because it was going to be in person.

Just when he thought his day - which technically didn't start yet - couldn't get any worse, his phone begins to ring. The caller ID? Mycroft Holmes.

Fuck it all.

Nonetheless, Sherlock answers: "Brother mine, this better be good."

"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

Beat.

Not good.

"What business is that of yours?" Sherlock snapped irritably, not bothering to ask how he found out. John probably mentioned it to him. This just wasn't a great start to the day.

"Dr. Watson says you've been mumbling in your sleep," Mycroft said over the phone. Sherlock gritted his teeth in anger. John bloody mentioned it to him. Of course. He could hear the condescension in his older brother's voice. The rat bastard. "Miss Hooper's name, apparently."

Fucking hell John. You couldn't not tell Mycroft this? "He's full of rubbish. You know I don't have sentiment..."

"But you do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

The bickering between the two brothers fell, the only sound that could be heard was Sherlock's angry breathing.

"Your subconscious is trying to tell you something," Mycroft continued. "You miss her."

"Piss off, Mycroft."

"Let me take a guess... are these dreams," Mycroft paused, hesitating for only a second. "...intimate?"

"I said piss off!" Sherlock roared, only confirming his brother's point. He hung up the phone in a rage. His brother was an arse. Sherlock began to pace back and forth in a rage.

"Arrogant arsehole, minor government official prick-"

"A fight with your brother?" A new voice entered Sherlock's room, revealing John. "This early?"

Sherlock did not want to see John right now. "You told him?"

John's face faltered only slightly. "I was worried. I know you're not normally all sunshine and rainbows..." Sherlock snorted as John continued. "...but this is different."

"How so?"

"You know it is," John said, glaring at him.

"Oh piss off," snapped Sherlock, slamming the door in John's face.

John sighed. "Well good morning to you too..."

Molly Hooper wondered how she could be cheery most of the time. Her job consisted of looking at dead bodies, which was god-awful. She didn't have that many friends. Caroline was one of her closest friends, but she had left years ago. Molly had no regrets when it came to Caroline. Mary had been one of her friends, but then she died. She thought Sherlock was one of her friends, but it's possible he never was. John was her only true friend, but still, he had Sherlock. The same goes for Mrs. Hudson, though she wasn't a friend, she was more of a motherly figure.

Yes, she did have a boyfriend. Noah, whom she was incredibly grateful for, but he wasn't a friend.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Would she remain friendless?

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She just could not concentrate on her work.

"Why are you nervous?" Molly didn't even have to turn around. She knew whose voice that belonged to; a voice she wasn't expecting to hear. It was soft, inquisitive, and concerned. She never thought the last word would ever be associated with Sherlock Holmes in regards to her, who was right behind her right now, at this very moment. Molly, nonetheless, turned around, coming face-to-face with her former friend. Or maybe he never was a friend.

"I'm just thinking," she replied softly, her eyes unable to meet his.

If she thought it was difficult to look Sherlock in the eyes, it was a thousand times harder for Sherlock, especially after those two dreams he had. He honestly still couldn't figure out how or why those dreams happened, but he wasn't going to bring it up in front of her. Instead, he tried his best to remain eye contact, while finally saying: "I'm sorry." Molly's eyes snapped up to his abruptly that it nearly threw him off course. She was waiting. She wanted him to say more. Sherlock did so. "I'm sorry for telling you about your relationships. I'm sorry about saying 'I love you.'" Molly felt her stomach sink. "I'm sorry for making you feel like I was manipulating you... because I honestly wasn't. I care about you, Molly. You've always counted."

Molly Hooper always felt that she was unappreciated and it killed her inside.

She was stunned into silence.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, frowning. "What is it?"

She almost couldn't speak.

Now Sherlock was getting worried. "Molly..."

"You know," Molly interrupted, not coldly, but firmly. She continued, holding eye contact fiercely: "I remembered when you told me that I counted. It was right before the fall, and you said you need my help."

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. She wasn't going to forgive him, was she? "Yes, I did... and I'm really grateful."

Molly held her hand up. "The reason why I helped you was not because of some crush, nor it was because I wanted you to like me..." She paused, hesitating for the smallest of seconds. "...but for the fact that you told me that I counted and that I mattered. This really helped our friendship, it's probably why it blossomed so well. That's the reason why I did it, because I thought we were becoming friends."

"We were always friends, Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, and even Molly was taken aback by this sudden emotion. "This doesn't change anything. You've always counted, even when we didn't speak, I still would've protected you all over again if I could."

"Then why..." Molly started off, although she knew the reason why. "...Why did you say that you loved me when you didn't?"

A tense pause.

"On some level," started off Sherlock, not quite knowing what he was saying anymore. "I do love you." That gave Molly chills. "I do care about you in a way, I just... I don't know what's going on, I..." He began to pace erratically. "I thought I was saving you, I..."

"Your sister made you do it. She lied to you." It was out of Molly's mouth before she could stop it. Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at her. Molly looked like the old Molly, caught like a deer in the headlights. It was the epitome of fright.

"...John must've told you," Sherlock said softly, with a sigh. Molly could only nod. Sherlock sighed again and took a seat beside her. "Yes. Yes, she made me do it, but... you have to understand that I really was hurt by this. That I had to hurt you but... I really didn't mean to."

Sherlock Holmes was human and hated to admit it.

"You had no other choice," Molly said, sighing frustratedly. "Look... I'm not going to lie, I'm still angry with what happened the other day but, I forgive you. We should try and be friends again." Molly wondered if she would regret this decision.

Sherlock smiled, actually smiled genuinely, at her. "Thank you."

"I'm still pissed off," Molly reminded her, a glint of anger in her eyes. It was lovely, really.

His smile grew wider. "I understand."

Molly could only stare at Sherlock in awe. She definitely wouldn't regret it.

Damn him. Damn it all.

A/N: This isn't over quite yet! There are definitely more chapters coming up. As I said, this will be Sherlolly. So they're going to end up together soon. Stay tuned, and please review! :)