That feeling when writing brings you into this strange state of odd hyperfocus to the point where your whole being more or less gets filled with the emotions and the mood you have in mind for the scene you’re writing, even if you end up not even describing said mood.
Another clue that Molly is John in the “I love you” scene: she wears the stripped jumper she was wearing in TEH as she played John during Sherlock’s case. “You’re not John, you’re you” was followed by Sherlock calling Molly John throughout the entire deduction scene.
The coffin was for John, the deductions apply to him -> short size, no close family, “I love you”.
The I love you scene is about John & Sherlock: it shows John’s worries about Sherlock’s potential love: “I am not an experiment”, “You’re my friend”.
It also prepares the actual scene of the confession/declaration of love : Sherlock will have to say it first, it will be in a seemingly life-threatening situation (actual Three-Garridebs?), John will answer right away and will pour his heart out, literally wearing his heart (=phone) on his sleeve.
Except that the actual I love you scene will feel right, not like this very awkward and forced scene. John & Sherlock’s declaration of love will not be destructive, it will save the life (and their hearts).
It will repair the wrongs and heal the wounds. For the characters, but also for the audience, particularly LGBTQ+ viewers. (Hopefully, Molly will have the I love you she deserves too, from a character who actually loves her -> Greg?)
Okay but I’m laughing so hard because I’m just imagining a sportarobbie college au and Robbie always comes to class exhausted and one day Sportacus asks how he manages to stay afloat and Robbie just looks at him with bloodshot eyes and whispers “I run on coffee, Red Bull, and SPITE.”
I don’t miss the anxiety and panic and deep sadness of unrequited love, but… it was nice, sometimes. Really nice. When it wasn’t excruciatingly painful, it felt amazing to have feelings for somebody.
The electric jolts from brief, accidental touches. The sensation of looking into a spotlight when we made eye contact. The way everything about her was fascinating, even things I had found uninteresting before. That was really something.
Yeah, sure, she did eventually tell me she thought of me as a little brother, but the *hoping* before then was sometimes wonderful. We stole ice cream and kayaked into the sunset. She ‘borrowed’ the golf cart and raced it around camp while I hung on for dear life. We dragged mattresses out into the field and slept side-by-side under the stars. I snuck out of my cabin after curfew and she brought me absolutely divine fried chicken.
It did suck to find out that she’d never even considered it, but… man… it was incredibly exhilarating to think that we were flirting.