Sorry for the delay in updating but I've been extremely sick for the past week and whenever I wasn't trying to get schoolwork done or mixing medications I was kind of drifting in and out of consciousness (sleep). But, I'm mostly better now so here's chapter three!

Apologies for any mistakes...and, thanks for reading!

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Only three weeks had passed since John's chance encounter with Sherlock Holmes at that crime scene, and already he was starting to feel like he was losing his mind. When he walked down the crowded streets of London he saw him everywhere. He was every man who happened to be wearing a trench coat, and he was every person with curly dark hair. John found himself comparing the face of every stranger to that of Sherlock's, and any man with pale skin instantly transformed into Sherlock's likeness in John's mind. Even as he walked through the halls of St. Bart's on his way to clock out for the day, John could've sworn he saw Sherlock walk into a patient's room several meters away. With his shoulders slumped he continued on, picking up his pace as to not be late for his date with Mary.

He saw Molly on his way out of the building, and had every intention of simply waving and walking by, but when he saw her facial expression contort into one of worry he found himself rushing over to her.

"Is everything alright Molly?" She made a strange face and nodded.

"I'm fine. Is everything alright with you?"

"What do you mean?" Molly smiled, and somehow managed to get a sentence out through her nervous tittering.

"Well you look like you've just left a funeral." John's eyes widened and his lips pursed as he stared at Molly, who simply stared back, the smile now dissolving from her features. Molly placed a comforting hand on his upper arm and tilted her head. "You know, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. You know that right?"

"Of course I do, but I'm fine, Molly." John hoped Molly would buy into his lie, but the look she gave him showed that she wasn't. This confused John greatly, because he had always considered himself to be rather adept at keeping his true emotions hidden. Molly took in a breath and stared up at John with big brown eyes full of concern.

"John, I know you better then you'd think, and I know something's bothering you." She took a cautious step forward as she talked. "Is there something going on with Mary?" John shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, not her." He noticed the slight raising of Molly's eyebrows, and mentally cursed at his slip-up. "Nor is it any...other woman, by the way." He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers while trying to avoid Molly's scrutinizing gaze.

"So you're having problems with...a man..." John heard no judgement in her voice, only confusion, but still he felt uneasy.

"Not necessarily having problems. You see-" John shut his mouth, deciding not to finish his sentence for fear that it would reveal his previous associations with Sherlock Holmes, something he had successfully managed to keep a secret. Not even Mary knew that they'd ever spoken and Mike only thought they'd talked that one time at the crime scene. Unfortunately, there wasn't really a way for John to end this conversation quickly and on a good note without at least mentioning him. With a sigh of resignation, John shrugged and stared into Molly's wondering eyes.

"You see, a little while ago I met this man, and..." He took in a breath and glanced past Molly's head, searching for the right words to say. "Have you ever met someone who's so...captivating, that you find yourself just...thinking about them after they've gone? Like, though they've sort of left your life they haven't left your mind?" Molly nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Of course. Out of sight doesn't always mean out of mind."

"Exactly!" John exclaimed, placing a hand on Molly's shoulder. He smiled at her, and she returned the gesture. "It's so relieving to find someone who understands. I mean, I've only seen Sherlock twice and-"

"Sherlock?" Molly asked, cutting John off with a puzzled expression on her face. "Do you mean Sherlock Holmes?" John immediately bit his lip and stared wide-eyed at her.

"I don't suppose there's any way you could forget I said that name."

"Not really, no. But I won't ever bring him up." The corner of Molly's eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled at John. "Promise." John smiled back, and gave Molly's shoulder a small squeeze.

"Thanks. I've uh, got to go. I'm supposed to be meeting Mary for dinner in less than ten minutes." Molly grabbed a clip board from off of a nearby counter and began looking over it.

"Well you better get going." John nodded and gave her shoulder a light pat before turning and leaving the hospital. He sent a text to Mary while he was in the cab apologizing for being late and promising to make up for it later. He was just receiving her reply text when he walked into the restaurant. He saw her sitting alone at a table near the front, and felt his heart skip a beat, as it always did when he laid eyes on the gorgeous blonde. He casually strolled over and plopped down across from her, giving her a warm smile as he did so.

"Hello there," he said, "I think you just texted me but I didn't read it yet." Mary's eyes had yet to leave the menu she was holding with perfectly manicured hands, but John could see the smirk on her face as she answered him.

"Oh, it was nothing important. Just, you can make up for being late by paying the check." John chuckled as he picked up his own menu.

"I was already planning on doing that, you know." The conversation flowed from there, and as usual, it came naturally and was lighthearted. An entire hour had passed before John realized he had yet to remove his coat. He did so as he listened to Mary tell him a story she had been told earlier that day concerning a relative of hers who had gone to visit America, bought a lottery ticket, and won. Apparently they were dividing half of their earnings between their favourite family members, and Mary was one of them.

"I promise as soon as I get my share I'll pay you back for everything you've done."

"Don't you dare," John said, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip. Mary drank some of her own, and smiled at him around the rim of the glass.

"Oh John," she said once she swallowed, "you're too good for me." John found himself smiling as he set his glass down on the table, eyes locking with Mary's.

"That's impossible. Nothing's too good for you." Mary gave him a small smile in return, and the evening continued from there without another word about money. After dinner, John walked Mary to her flat, and when he made it back to his own flat, the sun had long been gone from the sky. He fumbled with his keys for a moment in the darkness before managing to open the door. He closed it quietly behind him and turned on the lights, cursing rather loudly when he saw a figure sitting on his couch.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, pulling out his mobile phone to call the police. His hand stilled, however, when he saw just who it was who was perched on his sofa. "...Sherlock?"

"Hello, Doctor Watson," the man said, standing from his seated position and taking several slow steps towards John. His hands were clasped behind his back, his face was stone cold as always, and his tone of voice was nonchalant. "I spoke to Molly today..." His gaze remained fixed on John's still surprised expression and he took another step forward as he spoke. "She said you missed me."

Sherlock ended his sentence with a smirk, which made John quite uncomfortable. He reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt, but it provided no relief from the sudden suffocation he felt subjected to due to the presence of this unexpected guest.

"How the hell did you get inside my flat?"

"Not important." Sherlock began pacing back and forth in front of John, who was staring slack-jawed at him. "What is important, however, is what you'll be cooking for dinner."

"What- dinner?"

"Yes, didn't you hear me?" Sherlock turned his head to look at John, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed. John could only stare back, his feet having been rooted to the ground from the moment he realized Sherlock Holmes was inside his flat. Sherlock stopped pacing and stood directly in front of John, peering down at him as if he were some sort of specimen beneath a microscope that Sherlock was examining. "Are you alright, John? You seem a bit..." Sherlock waved his hands around in the air, using the gesture to take the place of the words he couldn't contrive.

"I'm fine, just... why are you here?" Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"John, you must know I absolutely hate having to repeat myself, but because you seem to be a bit put-off by my presence I'll let this one slip. I told you I spoke to Molly today."

"Yeah, I got that," John mumbled, making a mental note to have a word with Molly the next time he saw her. Sherlock resumed his pacing and kept his eyes focused solely on John, and the image of a panther stalking its prey sprang to the forefront of John's mind. He ignored the strange feeling stirring in his abdomen and kept his voice steady as he continued to speak. "What I don't understand is how you talking to her lead to you breaking into my flat." When Sherlock spoke again his speech was agonizingly slowed, and John felt like a young child who was having difficulty understanding a simple concept, and Sherlock was the poor chap assigned the duty of explaining it to him.

"She said you missed me."

"I wouldn't necessarily put it that way..." John muttered under his breath, though, he had to admit he had missed Sherlock...in a way. Sherlock dismissed his comment with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Well, however you would put it, I must say I felt the same." When he saw the blank look on John's face he sighed and stopped pacing again, his head tilted slightly and a playful smile on his lips. "I missed you too, John."

"What?" John asked a bit louder than he'd meant to. He stared up at Sherlock, who simply stared back with a sly smile that John was starting to think was his signature look. The two of them remained silent for a while, staring at each other, unmoving, and just when John was starting to become restless Sherlock broke the silence with a chuckle and stepped back.

"Come on John," he called over his shoulder as he strolled into the kitchen. "Dinner's not going to cook itself."

"Well I'm sorry to inform you of this Sherlock but, I've already had dinner and I'm quite full."

"Doesn't matter. You're going to have dinner again." By now John had joined Sherlock in the kitchen and leaned against the counter by the sink, watching Sherlock as he rooted through the fridge and various cabinets.

"But why would I have dinner if I'm not hungry?" Sherlock pulled his head out of the cabinet he had previously been exploring and stared at John, his face completely serious.

"Because you'd be having dinner with me." John felt his lips stretch into a wide smile, and the expression was eventually mirrored on Sherlock's face. John pushed himself off of the counter and went to stand beside Sherlock, pulling out various ingredients and spices.

"Alright then," he said, "let's get this dinner started. What are you hungry for?" He turned to Sherlock, who was tapping his chin thoughtfully and scanning over the contents of John's open refrigerator.

"Oh, it's impossible to decide," he finally said, turning to face John with a simper on his face. "You pick."

"You're the one who's gonna eat it," John said, though he reached up to grab a box of lasagna noodles out of the cupboard. "How about we go Italian?" Sherlock responded with a single nod of the head and another small smile.

"Italian sounds great."