I wrote and posted this a little while back for sincerelydayyy's birthday and I'm just getting around to posting it here... I suck! Big thanks to Miz for betaing for me.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

"I believe that I'm… ill," Sherlock said as he sat across from his best friend.

"Ill? As in…?" the doctor responded.

"As in sickness, John. You're a doctor. This shouldn't be a difficult concept to grasp!"

Calling on his reserve of 'Sherlock patience', John said, "I need to know your symptoms. And frankly, I don't mind helping out but if you really think you're ill, you should see someone else. It's inappropriate for me to be your GP."

"That's ridiculous!"

"No, it's not. Patching you up after a case is one thing, but being your regular physician is something else entirely," John explained.

Sherlock sighed. "Never mind."

"No, tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help or send you to someone who can."

The detective stood up and paced across the room. "I'm not fond of doctors."

John raised an eyebrow which, Sherlock saw when he turned around.

"Oh not you, you're fine. And Molly. She's different, though, I suppose because her patients are already dead. But I do like her. Doctors in general… I've no use for whatsoever."

John took in Sherlock's appearance: he was disheveled, perspiring and had a slight tremor in his hands. "Okay, I'll admit that you do look a little ill. What are your symptoms?"

Sherlock nodded and sat back down. "Sometimes I get a flushed feeling, for no reason at all. Heart palpitations, sweaty palms, dry mouth and an odd tightening in my chest." He looked almost frightened. "I Googled them… I have a heart condition, don't I?"

John tried to put together everything his friend had just told him and come up with at least a general idea of what could be ailing the detective. However only one thing came to mind. "Is there any pattern to the symptoms?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Sometimes it happens at home or at Barts. It's happened at Molly's several times. And once while we were at dinner."

"You went to dinner with Molly?"

"After we finished the Michaelson case. You were celebrating your anniversary," he said the last word with disdain. "She was hungry." He rolled his eyes. "So, what do you think?"

John was still having a hard time believing his ears, so he continued his query. "Do you have any of these problems when you're running around chasing suspects?" he asked even though he hadn't noticed anything himself.

"No."

"This is happening when you're at rest?"

Sherlock nodded, looking anxious. "What John? What's wrong with me?"

"Calm down first of all and answer this: does it only happen when you're around Molly?"

A look of concentration on his face, Sherlock appeared to be searching his mind. Then he stopped and looked up at John. "I'm… not sure."

Well that seems unlikely, John thought. "Think really hard, Sherlock. Is Molly always around when you feel like this?"

Once again Sherlock seemed to focus, even closing his eyes. He needs his bloody mind palace to help him figure out that he fancies a girl, John mused.

Finally, after some time, he focused on John once again. "Yes. She seems to be a factor… most of the time." His last words came out slowly.

John leaned forward. "Okay, so what do you think that means?"

Sherlock drew his hands together underneath his chin. John had seen this at least a hundred times… this was it, he was about to figure out his feelings for Molly Hooper!

"I'm allergic to Molly's perfume," he said smugly. "I knew it! She changed it last month and even though I told her I liked it, which I do - it's soft and understated…"

"NO!" John closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "You're not allergic to… Sherlock you like Molly."

The detective gave John his classic you're an idiot look and said, "Of course I do, John. Everyone likes Molly. She's kind and generous, intelligent and hardworking. She's incredibly forgiving and quite possibly the most patient woman I've ever known." He stood up and paced across the room. "She's loyal and trustworthy and… her eyes… they're not brown exactly." He turned to face John but was focused on some point across the room. "They've got golden flecks in them, if you look closely…" Suddenly he put his hand to his chest. "Oh my God… I'm in love with her!"

John jumped up. "Bingo… wait, love?" He didn't think the stubborn git would get that far in their first conversation.

"Yes, John. Of course… It's so obvious now," he said, a look of awe on his face.

"Well, yes. Everyone else figured it out ages ago."

"What?!"

"Yeah, there's actually a pool." He thought for a moment. "Damnit. I wasn't even close."

"What's wrong with you people?" Sherlock asked. "You were betting about… What date did you have?"

John looked a bit sheepish. "I thought it would take at least another year."

Sherlock shook his head the disappeared to his room for fifteen minutes. John used the time to send some text messages, letting the losers know what had just happened. He'd tell Mary in person. Looking up, he saw his best friend grabbing his Belstaff and heading for the door. Though just minutes before, Sherlock had seemed gravely ill, suddenly he looked fresh and clean. Is he wearing aftershave? "Going to Molly's?" he asked.

"Yes," the detective answered tersely as he walked out the door.

John followed. "I already told everyone who won the pool," he said when they got to the foot of the stairs.

Sherlock whipped around. "You told everyone! Everyone?" He glared down at the shorter man.

"No - no I didn't mean everyone. I misspoke. I'm telling Mary myself and..."

"And?" Sherlock demanded.

"And... Molly'll know soon enough."

"Molly... my Molly was in the pool?!"

"Yes. She must have noticed the symptoms of your 'illness' increasing in severity, because just the other day she changed her slot to this week." Sherlock looked confused. "See, the pool is divided into weekly interv…"

"I don't care about that, you idiot!" he barked as he stormed out the door.

"Right." John followed.

"She won? She won the pool?"

"Yeah. Anderson didn't think it was fair to let her in. Said she had an unfair advantage."

"He's right, of course. Her advantage is that she's intelligent!" He held up his hand to stop a cab.

"Are you angry with her?" John asked.

"No. Why would I be mad at Molly?"

"Oh, good."

"But there will be no betting on any other aspects of our relationship, understand?" Sherlock said as a cab pulled up.

John nodded his head, making a mental note to tell everyone to be careful about the 'when will Sherlock propose?' pool he had been planning once this one was over. "Of course, of course."

"Good." Sherlock straightened his coat and asked, "Now, do I still look ill?"

John shook his head. "You're fine. Don't throw up on her." He smiled.

Sherlock actually looked slightly concerned before he turned and climbed into the cab.

"Lovesick fool," John mumbled as he walked toward the Tube.

Thanks for reading ~Lil~