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can’t believe it’s been two years since these idiots said they loved each other. happy anniversary, everyone #ilyanniversary2019

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Graphic Depictions of Feelings

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The fall (immediately after sherrinford)

It is a good thing John is standing next to him because one moment his best friend is standing next to him and the next he’s trying to keep Sherlock from crashing to the ground. He manages to keep his torso up as much as possible but Sherlock is as limp as a rag doll.

John curses, presses his fingers to the pulse in Sherlock’s neck and feels the quick, erratic pulse beneath his fingers.

“Sherlock!” John says, “Sherlock!” His friend doesn’t respond but luckily they aren’t exactly short of ambulances and a moment later a couple of EMT’s begin to bring Sherlock around.

The diagnosis is exhaustion, his body struggling under the duress inflicted on it by his sister. Too much too soon for such an extended period of time. Even Holmes’ have limits.

There’s little to be discussed, John clambers into the back of the ambulance and takes Sherlock’s limp unresponsive hand in his. He knows it’s shock, he knows Sherlock’s shrugged off worse but they had been so close to the end, he’d thought they’d won. He closes his eyes and feels every jolt and rattle of the ambulance in his aching bones.

He texts Molly, more out of reflex then anything else, it’s only when the whooshing sound of the text being sent does he remember.

The phone call.

Crap.

But he can’t take it back now. Molly will come or she won’t. Looking at Sherlock’s sparse, exhausted body he hopes that whatever well of compassion molly has hasn’t been drained away.

***

Molly does come, its almost three in the morning and Sherlock is tucked up in bed in a private room; no one tells her she can’t see him even though visiting hours are long over. There was always different rules for the Holmes’

John hugs her for a long time when he sees her; doesn’t explain why just hugs and hugs well past the point of politeness. Molly lets him, he’s obviously been through an ordeal and she doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with whatever horror show has gone on. She’s not even sure she can deal with whatever the phone call was. But Sherlock needs her so here she is.

She sits stiffly in the chair feeling like a disapproving great aunt to a Victorian heroine. She feels as if her bones were made of starch.

Sherlock’s only hooked up to one machine, which molly thinks must be a personal best. He’s in no danger then.

“This isn’t fair,” molly tells the unconscious man in the bed. Even her voice sounds starched. God.

“How am I supposed to be mad at you when you look like this?” She gestures to his sheet covered body. His suit is hanging over the back of the other chair, knowing how he hates crumpled suits she gets up and folds it neatly, mostly because she can’t look at that gaunt, haunted face and still be mad. And she wants to keep her anger, at least a little longer.

“How many times is this now?” Molly asks. She can’t quite make herself take his hand. She’s not there yet. “Should get you your own private wing, I could get bedside season tickets”

She falls into the chair, so tired suddenly, she almost misses the seat so she has to grab Sherlock’s hand if she wants to keep upright

“I can’t keep doing this Sherlock,” she says the corners of her mouth pulling down in misery. She scrubs her face in abject sorrow.

“You weasled your way out of an explanation again,” she says, half impressed, half annoyed. “You never explain, you just…move on and expect everyone else to as well and I do, Sherlock I have, that crack about my engagement, your total radio silence after…Mary…this Culverton Smith mess,”she gestured again to his body, “whatever the hell this is, it just comes out and you don’t ever say sorry or try to make it better,”

“If I always told you what was going on I wouldn’t need you to trust me,”

Molly gasps, a loud, heaving sigh as she reads back in shock. Sherlock is staring at her, eyes almost black in their too white face.

“Sherlock…” she has no idea how that sentence is supposed to end. Or start.

“You’re right, i owe you a thousand apologies and that’s just from tonight. I never…I couldn’t apologize because I was ashamed, Molly, so ashamed,” he looked bitter, “and because I knew you’d forgive me.”

“I’m that predictable huh?” Molly says. And she sounds bitter too.

“No!,” Sherlock corrects, his voice his hoarse as if he’d been screaming all night. Maybe he had. Molly tries and fails not to be moved.

“You’re that kind and generous”

“I’m not feeling very generous right now,” molly warns and Sherlock nods,

“I know. I know. I want…” his breath is snatched away by a wracking cough so violent it seems to pummel his body. He gets himself under control after a moment.

“What have you done to yourself?” Molly wonders aloud.

“Nothing that I didn’t bring on myself,” Sherlock says. “Molly I…”

She can’t do it, she realizes, she can’t do this right now, it’s too big or she’s too small but all she knows is that she can’t.

She can’t and this time she won’t let him make her.

“You should get some rest,” she says, the skin benath his eyes looks ominously purple and red, like he hadn’t slept in ten years.

He protests but he’s weak and she easily evades him. By the time she pulls the sheet back over his body his arms are limp and his eyes are closed.

She should go, go and not look back, but it was true then and it’s true now and always. She loves him. She can’t leave however much she wants to. So she sighs and sits back down.

Molly…I’m sorry…I…” she glances at his face but he’s asleep, every nerve she has feels rubbed raw. “Molly..” he jerks in his sleep, leg kicking out as if kicking something and molly takes his hand out of reflex, frowning at the abrasions across his knuckles. Had he hit someone? Or something?

“Molly..I love you…I’m sorry!”

Everything in molly feels like it’s holding its breath, every function of her living being held in statis even though she knows biologically it’s not possible. Biologically Sherlock should have died years ago.

Tears prick at the back of her eyes, and she hastily rubs until it hurts. Hadn’t she cried enough already? Or was there even an ‘enough’ when Sherlock Holmes was concerned.

And because it’s true, because it’s always been true molly sits and waits for the dawn and whatever that brings

[it-is-never-twins-watson]

When you see 'Mycroft Holmes' Umbrella' as a tag in AO3 and you know you've gotta read it.

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“She taught me to be the man she already thought I was.”

- Season 4 summed up in a quote.

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"She taught me to be the man she already thought I was." - Season 4 summed up in a quote.

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You cannot tell me that if Sherlock Holmes wrote his own vows, he wouldn’t end it with “…and when you need anything, anything at all, you have me.”

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Based on this post by @incorrectsherlollyquotes

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Sat right around the corner from St Bart's and want to go an fangirl at a building. Keep having to remind myself that I'm a working professional in this city 😂😂

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ME @ ANYONE

“Sherlock’s second ‘I love you’ is platonic.” Me:

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Sherlock with a sun-kissed glow and a dark shirt does things to me.

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Hola followers. I need some inspo/suggestions - it's gonna sound weird but does anyone associate any specific number combinations with Sherlock and Molly. Let me know what numbers and why!

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Umm... Sherlock, you question why Molly couldn't say those words to you and it was because 'it's true. It's always been true.' And you struggled to say those words too. Why...?

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Read an article about saving Lucifer by adopting him into Arrowverse, probably on Legends. They say because it happened to Constantine, it could happen to Lucifer. I NEED YOU TO SAVE LUCIFER SOMEHOW. I mean the team could be so fly with the Devil added to it. BUT ONLY IF YOU FEATURE CHLOE TOO. There's no Lucifer without Chloe. Transfer to CCPD and SCPD? Omg she could work alongside Joe as his partner! But the other characters of Dan, Maze, Ella, Linda, and Amenadial are golden. We need them too.

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:: IT'S REALLY LONG AND PROBABLY NOT WORTH THE READ BUT HEY IT'S SOMETHING...

*Scotland Yard*

Molly: *looking around* So, what's the occasion?

Greg: *sips his drink* Superintendent Martin's retiring. It's a decent excuse to use up the last of the booze from Christmas.

Molly: *chuckles* Did you like him?

Greg: *nods* Yeah, he knew his job. Better than this idiot that's replacing him.

Molly: *nudges him* You should've gone in for it.

Greg: *smiles* Nah, I'm not experienced enough. That...and a lot of them don't like my, erm...'assistance'.

Molly: *rolls her eyes* Well, that's just silly.

Greg: *shrugs* It is what it is.

-Molly's phone buzzes-

Molly: *sighs* Speak of the devil.

Greg: *frowns* Hmm?

Molly: *reading her phone* Our mutual friend.

Greg: Oh *finishes his drink* what does he want?

Molly: *rolls her eyes* He wants to know where I am, needs my help or something *puts her phone away* well, not tonight. I'm busy *gestures* Fancy a dance?

Greg: *smiles* I'd love to.

LATER

*outside Molly's flat*

Molly: *smiling* I had a lovely time. Thanks for inviting me.

Greg: *chuckles* I should be thanking you. It's...not been easy. And again, I'm sorry about Dixon...once he gets a drink or two in him-

Molly: *waves a hand* Don't apologise *flexes her hand* I don't think he'll be trying that again any time soon.

Greg: Make sure you put that on ice.

Molly: *nods* I will. Good night.

Greg: Good night *leans in*

-Greg's phone starts ringing-

Greg: *shakes his head* Sorry, Molly *answers his phone; annoyed* What?!

Greg: *sighs* I was not, I was saying good night.

Molly: ...

Greg: *pinching the bridge of his nose* Look, you're overreacting *pauses* How do you KNOW about that? I tried to step in but Molly got there first-

Molly: *scowls* I'll see you later, Greg *marches inside*

Greg: *quickly* If I were you, I'd hide, mate. I'll see you tomorrow if you're still alive.

*Molly's flat*

Molly: *enters*

Sherlock: *standing by the window* I can explain...

Molly: *strolls over, grabs his shirt and snogs him*

Sherlock: ...

Sherlock: *swallows* I-I'm glad you understand.

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*221B*

Molly: *crouching on the floor, waving a toy mouse* Come on, Toby. Please come out. This is your new home.

Toby: *hiding in his carrier; swishing his tail*

Sherlock: *reading the paper* Oh, dear. We'll have to get rid of him.

Molly: *sighs* He's just being grumpy. It'll take him a little while to get used to things.

Sherlock: *shrugs* It'll be easier to get rid of him.

Molly: *stands up* And me.

Sherlock: *grumbles*

Molly: *kisses his cheek* I've got to go to work. Try not to kill each other.

Sherlock: *mutters* No promises.

-LATER-

Molly: *enters the flat* Helloooo?

Sherlock: *sleeping on the sofa*

Toby: *curled up on his lap; purring*

Molly: *smiles; takes a photo*

Sherlock: *mumbles* Delete that...

Molly: *sets the picture as her phone's background* Okay.

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Sherlock: and this is why we cant have nice thi-

Molly: *exists*

Sherlock: …i take back everything