rainbow--letters

[rainbow--letters]

Happy Father’s Day

"So, I have some awful news to tell you."  

Molly Hooper spoke to the granite stone, her right hand pressed flat against its smooth surface.

"They closed down our favourite chippy a month ago."  

The wind picked up lightly, her loose hair whipped furiously across her face.

"I know, I know it's rubbish. You'll hate it even more to know it's going to be turned into one of those new hipster café's that are sprouting up like common weeds across London."  

She laughed a little at the thought of her dad's reaction to their beloved sacred ground being turned into a hippy establishment.

"I won't lie I do love a quirky café, but this is getting ridiculous now."

It was quiet in the cemetery on this summer morning, apart from the sound of a couple of wood pigeons in the neighbouring forest.

"The last time I went was two years ago with Sherlock on a case. We were gathering some evidence from a flat on the same street. I insisted he had to try Bob's Fish & Chips as a fellow lover of all things battered and beige. Even he agreed it was the best fish and chips he had ever had."

She lifted her palm lightly off of the stone and traced the carving of her father's name.

"I think you would have really like him dad. You would have probably tried to punch him once or twice initially. But, I think you would have grown to adore him."

The sound of crunching gravel a few metres away from behind her indicated for her to say her goodbyes.

"Happy Father's Day, dad. I love you always."  

She brought her hand to her lips and kissed the inside of her fingers before resting it back on the stone for a few seconds. Eventually she rose from her kneeling position and turned to the figure behind her.

"Hey."  

She spoke lightly and quietly as she walked towards not just one, but two people waiting for her.

"My apologies about this, I did try my best to keep this one awake but apparently a cemetery isn't an exciting place for a four-month old."  

He gestured to the conked-out babe pressed firmly against his chest.

"I also suspect the fact we all only had about two hours sleep last night due to some teething issues may also be the reason."  

Molly rubbed her palm lightly against the babe's back as he spoke, placing a delicate kiss to the dark wildly curls on top of the babe's head.  

"Or he could be following in his father's footsteps and turning into an insomniatic night owl."  

She turned her affections towards him and stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss to the underside of his strong jaw.

"Used to be a night owl with insomnia. This little one here has definitely made me respect the importance of a quality night's sleep. I am just afraid it is now too late and I will never know what a solid eight hours of sleep will ever feel like."

He spoke quietly, with the slightest hint of drama.

"I may not be able to give you the gift of sleep, but I can certainly promise to keep your stomach full. Come on, we better get to the café, John will be wondering where we are. "

She stepped back as she watched as he carefully walked and lowered the babe down into the pram with all the care of a bomb disposal expert. They both released a breath as the babe stretched and settled without the slightest hint of a murmur. He started to push the pram forward when Molly pulled lightly at the crook of his elbow.

"Happy Father's Day, Sherlock."  

[rainbow--letters]

So what do you do in Naples airport when you have a couple of hours to kill before your flight back to the UK? Well when you see this prompt you stop, buy a pastry and write, write and write.

This is just a snippet. The rest I will write a few thousand feet in the sky. I’ll post the rest on AO3 when I’m back home and in bed... 😴

Oh and thanks for such an awesome prompt guys❤️

Ciao!

—————————

She lay curled under the duvet in a foetal position. The nausea was unrelenting, even now at three in the morning. For the past two days she had been resigned to the living room or Sherlock’s old bedroom; both the closest to a toilet.

The fact it had been six weeks and still no news about Sherlock made her even more anxious. Six weeks since he had turned up in her flat after disappearing for a week at four in the morning.

Unfortunately for her it wasn’t because he wanted to come and make passionate love to her like he usually did. No, a mysterious ally of Moriarty’s not so subtly threatened he would like to chop Molly’s body into pieces and hand deliver each piece to Sherlock every day as payment for what he did to his friend’s empire. Apparently every one of Moriarty’s chums knew the aim of the game was to ‘burn the heart out of Sherlock Holmes’.

Sherlock took this all very seriously. As did Mycroft who was the one who arranged for her to be swept off to their parents house in the Sussex countryside until Sherlock and John could catch the criminal.

Sherlock escorted her to the car that life changing early morning, her suitcase and rucksack in both of his hands. They were both quiet until Sherlock opened the door for her to get inside. Realising he wasn’t coming with her she launched herself up to meet him in a fierce kiss. They clung to each other for mere seconds before Sherlock retreated and guided her into the back seat.

All she could do was watch through the wing mirror as he blended further into the dark of the early morning as the car accelerated away.

The situation improved slightly over time. She did manage to find herself at the hands of the most loving hosts, Sherlock’s parents were pure inside and out.

She wasn’t allowed to lift a finger, which bothered her to no end until Carlton introduced her to his medical book collection. First edition medical book collection. They were a good distraction for the first few days until the morning she caught herself short by throwing up into Mrs Holmes azaleas.

Pregnant.

Her own medical knowledge and body intuition confirmed it before she was able to sneak off into the village one morning to purchase a test.

Not only was she stuck in this limbo of some sort of witness protection, where she couldn’t go to work, see her friends or go back to her flat without the threat of being drawn and quartered. Now she was twelve weeks pregnant with Sherlock Bloody Holmes’ baby and she had no way of contacting him.

How could it get any worse?

The chime from her phone signified a new email in her inbox. She shuffled onto her side and swung her hand out to see who was emailing at this time of night.

The subject read as the following:

From: theh3artbr3aker@gmail.co.uk

To: Molly.Hooper@gmail.co.uk; theconsultantdetective@gmail.co.uk

Subject: Hide and Seek

The body of the email contained one image of a distant shot of Molly sat on the bench in the Holmes garden, a distant expression on her face. It was taken the same day she had officially found out she was pregnant. A fear overcame her that her recklessness to leave the house could have potentially jeopardised her life.

It was the first line of text, which caused the blood to freeze in her veins and her nausea to vanish.

READY OR NOT HERE I COME.

P.S. SHERLOCK - 🔥💔

She had only glanced over the email once. Barely able to comprehend the fear flowing through her body when her phone hummed in her hand.

It was an unknown number. But she knew the timing was too coincidental for it to be anyone else but him.

“Sherlock.” She whispered breathlessly.

“Molly, I need you to listen to me. In ten minutes time Mycroft will be sending a car. Take only the most urgent of your belongings. After that you will be taken to a helicopter which will take you to an unknown location.” He spoke autonomously. If he was afraid he most definitely wasn’t showing it.

Wait, a helicopter?!

Initially her stomach churned at the thought of a helicopter ride in her current state. Then her brain truly kicked in.

“How have you arranged this so quickly? And who is this monster?” She asked hastily.

“Mycroft likes to be prepared in case things go tits up... I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sorry you have become a part of this. Things are still unclear at the moment. But please understand I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

Or the baby you know nothing about.

“Molly? Are you there?” She hadn’t realised she’d gone quiet for so long. Her mind wandered to the threat of life not just to herself but their unborn child.

“Sherlock I need to tell you something.” The selfish part of her mind took over her.

“Yes?” He asked, his voice seemed nervous.

No. She realised she couldn’t tell him now. It was the completely wrong time, especially when a murderous faceless villain was currently hunting her down. She decided to tell him the only other truth she could tell him right now.

“I love you.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. She breathed a sigh of relief when he returned her gesture and seemed to be satisfied that she was reaffirming her love for him. Besides the last time they had both spoken it a loud was on that day in January. Her secret was still hers alone.

“I love you too.” His voice rolled like silk, comforting her like a blanket.

The line went dead soon after.

Prompt of the day - 5/25/18

Molly discovers she’s pregnant with Sherlock’s child at the worst possible time:  while she’s with his parents, being hidden away, and the two are pretending to be just friends.  Bonus if they figure it out before they’re told!  - @penaltywaltz

[rainbow--letters]

Compromise

Link to the story on AO3 can be found here

“Molly, how much longer is this going to go on for?” Sherlock announced rather loudly.

“Will you be quiet.” She hushed at him through gritted teeth and a serious glare. “Just go to your mind palace, or something.” She sighed.

His hand moved to the inner pocket of his suit jacket to locate his phone.

“Except that.” She hissed.

“Fine. But I’ve already been inside my head for the past however many years this has been going on for.” He slouched further down the wooden bench, creaking noisily as he slid.

“SHHHH.” An old lady in a ridiculous hat poked her head between Molly and himself, although her anger was directed towards Sherlock.

Molly sighed and turned her attention back to the couple at the altar. His eyes roved around the church, observing the ridiculous stained-glass windows and their ridiculous attempt to portray the fictional story of one of the many non-existent Gods this world was full of.

What to do. What to do. What to...

His eyes flittered around trying to find something to distract his idle mind when they settled on Molly. Molly dressed in her deep red, floral kimono maxi dress and her hair pinned into a soft loose bun, the front few strands falling in waves down her face. The lipstick staining her lips, a pantone or two from matching identically with her dress.

He had noted all this before, obviously. She had stepped out of her bedroom as he waited by her breakfast bar earlier that morning. He was finishing the fastening of his cufflinks onto the crisp white shirt, which contrasted against the darkness of the navy, three piece suit he wore. The image of her as she floated by him to put on her heels she had left by the door, caused him to double take. She was gesturing to something behind him, he realised after staring at her like a gormless idiot for a few moments she was asking him to pass her phone over. Instead he told her she looked beautiful. She truly did. She smiled at him sheepishly, unsure. He kissed her softly to reaffirm his point. She was very efficient when it came to distracting him.

Much like he was now.

He blinked rapidly, coming back to the present. His eyes still fixed on the woman beside him. Her hands restless in her lap as she twisted and pulled at her fingers. She was nervous, she had been for the past few days before the event. Apparently, their first official outing as a couple was a 'big deal', especially when the paparazzi caught knowledge of it to Molly's horror. An 'unknown' source had confirmed they were attending a close friend's wedding. Sherlock figured it out in all of twenty seconds. The maid of honour of course. She was one of the only ones armed with the intel of their attendance, besides the bride and groom, as she was responsible for the seating plan. Tweets and Facebook posts fantasizing about surgically enhanced breasts identified the motive for that tip off to the press.

Molly had expressed her fears to him as they lay in bed the previous evening. How she didn't want to ruin Meena's big day, with photographers desperate for a shot of them both together, everybody talking about the two of them. To have her photo printed in paper and online for thousands to see and judge. He told her bluntly that people who read or were associated with any of the media who posted those photos were not worth a millisecond of her thoughts. He didn't choose to be with her because Dave, who lives in Dagenham with his wife and three children, thought her tits looked good. He clearly said the right thing because she proceeded to give him some rather good oral sex.

She was still wringing her hands when his thoughts focused back to the present again. He thought about repeating the Dave from Dagenham comment to her again, especially with her reaction to it last night but he didn't think Molly would appreciate it at this moment... Instead he reached his own hand into her lap and took her hand in his own.

She glanced up at him, her expression was still anxious and distant. Even her obvious annoyance at his earlier behaviour didn’t affect the beauty she radiated. She squeezed his hand tightly, before lifting his hand out of her lap. Her arms remained folded for the rest of the ceremony.

-----------------------

The tables were now deserted of all dinner ware, replaced by bottles and glasses full of alcohol. The DJ was in full swing, although by the looks of the empty dance floor and full tables it would be around ten minutes before the liquid courage kicked in.

“I knew it would be lamb.” Sherlock attempted his own version of small talk. Molly had barely spoken a word to him since they had left the church.

“Hmm?” Molly shook herself from her day dream, where she was watching the two young flower girls dance wildly to some 'shake it' song on the vacant dance floor.

“The main course. Meena’s father is from a certain part of India that sees lamb as a delicacy. Hence the lamb shanks and what a beautiful touch served in a cardamom and aromatic herb sauce.” His voice elevated over the deafening sound of the disco.

“Or you could have seen it on the invite requesting our meal choices.” She wasn't impressed by his efforts, he could tell.

“Feels more satisfying knowing I deduced it.” He replied smugly, his arm stretched to rest on the back of her chair but she was on her feet before he could touch her skin.

“Right, well now that I know you’ve stalked my friend's family history and who knows what else, I’m going to go and get us a drink. Same again?” She was being short with him, but then his patience hadn’t particularly been enduring throughout the day either. He never was a fan of weddings.

“Not stalking, deducing. And yes.” She walked off without barely a glance towards him, although he watched her all the way to the bar, a frustrated expression crossed his face.

“So, Sherlock.” His blue orbs glanced away from the bar to the red, blotchy face of Mike.

“I hope you’re treating our Molly well.” He winked and Sherlock blinked in confusion.

“As opposed to treating her badly? I accidentally bruised her left hip during one of our sexual explorations the other week. You’re not suggesting I’m abusive are you.” Mike’s face grew redder and his wife shuffled awkwardly beside him, both averted their gaze.

“No, Sherlock. That was what I most definitely was not saying. I just meant, well she seems a lot happier other these past few months. Very happy. I hope you both are.” He laughed for some strange reason and Sherlock furrowed his brow at Mike’s words.

He looked towards Molly at the bar. She was stood side on speaking to another work colleague, her expression light and her face seemed full with the smile she wore. A smile he realised he had been longing for her to give him all day.

“Yes.” He replied simply, he held the ‘s’ slightly longer than intended his mind focused on her frame.

“Good. Because I’d quite like to be invited to yours when the time comes.” Sherlock spun his head back to Mike.

“My what?” Why did this man always speak in riddles.

“Your wedding of course.” He laughed but Sherlock failed to understand the joke.

“But we aren’t engaged.” Sherlock states blankly.

“Surely, you intend to propose to her at some point?” Mike questioned, and Sherlock dreaded what was to come next. He’d already had this conversation with his mother, which ended in a blazing row.

“Hardly.” He announced, his head turned up to the ceiling.

“Oh.” Both the Stamford’s replied in unison.

“Wedding’s are a waste of time, money and paper. Nobody needs to be married in the 21st century. Anybody can open a shared bank account these days without a marriage certificate.” He sounded scripted, as if he had spoken those lines many times over.

“They are also the biggest type of romantic commitment you can make to one another.” Mike's wife argued back.

“Weddings are essentially no different to business contracts. Molly and I, do not intend to exchange such contracts. ” He yawned purposefully, indicating he was bored of the subject.

“Are you sure Molly agrees with you on this?” Mike’s wife questioned him further, her eyes sad and pitying.

“I don’t assume, I deduct.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Molly clearly loves you. I think rather than using your superhero powers Mike has told me all about, you should probably ask her.” Sherlock felt the lump in his throat form instantly.

“Well, we all have different perceptions of love I suppose. Wouldn’t do us all to be the same now would it!” Mike thankfully concluded, drawing the heated debate to a close. “But you know if it does happen then save us two seats.”

“If what happens?” A familiar voice called from behind them. Molly stood positively radiant behind him. Her hands full with a flute of prosecco and a glass of scotch. Her smile was nowhere to be seen, instead her features were plastered with an annoyed expression.

“Oh, Nothing-“

“Our wedding.”

Mike and Sherlock replied at the same time.

“Oh. I see.” The glasses were immediately deposited on the table. She almost collapsed into the chair, her hands clasped tightly.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up Mike.” She joked, but her face didn’t seem to match the light heartedness of her comment.

“I already explained the pointlessness of the conversation.” Sherlock spoke proudly.

“Brilliant. I love it when you tell people how great it is that Molly Hooper will never be the bride.” She rolled her eyes and took a sizeable swig from her flute. Sherlock seemed to get a niggling feeling that something was not quite right. The Stamford’s looked away awkwardly, registering the annoyance of Molly’s mood. Then the music changed and Mrs Stamford was on her feet very quickly and dragging Molly to the dance floor.

Sherlock watched from the safety of the table as Molly attempted to dance rather badly to the beat. He recognised the song from one Molly had on her Spotify playlist. Beyanca was it? The information was irrelevant. She looked happy for the first time properly that night. A part of him longing for her to show him the same happiness she shared with her friends.

---------

Sherlock wasn’t the greatest when it came to understanding human behaviour. But he knew when he was being avoided. And Molly was most definitely avoiding him. Since she had been whisked away to the dance floor she had failed to return to the table. That was forty-seven minutes ago. He’d took to responding to a couple of emails during her absence when he looked up to try and find her.

It was much darker now. The room illuminated by disorientating coloured disco lights. Despite this obstacle, Sherlock knew she wasn’t on the dance floor. A quick glance behind him. Or at the bar.

If he could track down some of the countries most infamous criminals he should have no issue locating a tipsy Molly Hooper. He excused himself from the embarrassingly drunk Stamford’s who were all over each other like a pair of teenagers. He instantly appreciated the quietness of the large corridor as he exited the main hall of festivities and stood to consider his next move.

“Ah shit.”

A familiar voice echoed from the left of him. He rounded the corner to find her sat alone on the third step of the grand staircase. She appeared to be trying to unstrap her shoes but was failing miserably. He walked over to her and bent down onto his knees in front of her. His hands covered her own at her feet, gently pushing them aside. She accepted his assistance slouching back onto her elbows, he could feel her watching him.

“I told you to wear your flats. But I’ve seen a basket of flip flops by the entrance to the hall aptly named ‘the real dancing shoes’ so at least there’s a back up plan.” He smiled up at her to be met by a pair of sad brown eyes and a matching frown. “You’re upset with me.” He spoke as he looped the strap from around the back of her slender ankles.

“You here on your knees, taking off my shoes, is the closest I’m ever going to get to a marriage proposal isn’t it.” He paused briefly at her words, his fingers poised against the skin on her lower calf. He quickly proceeded on with his task, his head lowered staring intently at her feet.

“Molly, I-“ His voice quivered slightly.

“Last night when I told you why I was nervous, I didn't tell you everything." They looked at each other then, and for the first time in their relationship, Sherlock felt apprehensive for the words about to leave her mouth. "I was nervous, yes, but I am also jealous of Meena. I know it isn’t fair because when I accepted this relationship I knew marriage was going to be the compromise. I thought I could get over that. I genuinely thought that having you was enough.” The shoe slid off of her foot and to the floor with a thud. Sherlock continued on with the other shoe. “And then today happened and when I watched Meena marrying and committing herself to her best friend, I just felt so frustrated and confused that it would never be me.” She was upset. Sherlock detected it in her voice and it made him feel guilty that all along he had unknowingly been the source of her distress.

“I’m not angry at you Sherlock. I knew what I was giving up to be with you. You’ve come along way from the man you used to be and I’m so proud of you. Proud that you opened yourself up to me.” She exhaled in long breaths. The tears now threatening to fall from her eyes.

“But you’re not happy. And now we are in a situation where you want me to give you the one thing you have always wanted.” He spoke in a sombre tone. The mood turned tense once more. He watched as Molly sat there looking so sad and so deeply beautiful.

“Sherlock, it’s fine. I'm just drunk. Just forget it, forget I said anything.” She moved to stand but Sherlock’s hands pushed her thighs firmly, she dropped unsteadily back to the carpeted stairs.

“When we first committed to each other. We had a conversation about compromise. Well more of a you taught me how to try to be good at it.” She smiled and Sherlock’s heart increased by at least another ten beats per minute. “We agreed if someone cooked dinner, or bought in my instance, then the other had to tidy up. Whoever used the last of the milk had to replace it. If I wanted access to some body parts then it would cost me, well a demonstration of my sexual prowess.” She rolled her tear filled eyes and swatted his chest. “We had all these conversations about the little things, but we never spoke about the big ones. You made the assumption coming into this relationship I will never propose to you. I will admit my thoughts on matrimony are not conventional and I most definitely don’t agree with the pompousness of it. But Molly Hooper...” His finger delicately lifted her chin to his eye level. She closed her eyes and gulped hard. “I lied too. Well, to Mike and his wife. They asked if I knew you were okay with the idea of us never eloping. I told them I deduced it from you, because in reality I didn’t want to accept what I always knew. That this…” His eyes rolled in an upward arch at the surroundings. “A wedding. Is what you have always wanted.” The hands on her thighs tightened their grip. “And Molly, if it takes tens of thousands of pounds, a room full of insufferable family members and a ring to make you happy, well then I suppose I can compromise on this one thing for you.” She met his eyes, her own wide and bright with a hope he had not seen before. Then her lips crashed against his own for a hungry kiss.

“You do know it’s rude to propose at someone else’s wedding.” She whispered against his lips.

“I’ve just asked for your hand in marriage and now you’re critiquing me?” He pulled his head back slightly and raised his right brow high.

“I’ll give you a six for the proposal. The romantic gesture was perfect. Major criticisms were most definitely timing and the lack of a ring.” She held his gaze, her right forefinger absentmindedly rubbed the length of her ring finger on her left hand.

He glanced to the side, a used party popper cast aside on the floor. He picked it up and snapped the gold ribbon from the head. He delicately wrapped it into a tight knot onto her ring finger.

“I can’t do much about the timing aspect, but does this improve the score?” She stayed quiet as he affixed the band, her eyes watched in astonishment.

“Most definitely.” She kissed him hard. Her fingers curled possessively around the back of his neck, her other hand slid into his shirt between the space of his second and third button, her nails roamed over his chest. Sherlock recognised these signs instantly and dragged her up to him. His lips were upon hers in moments again.

“The room key-“ She spoke breathlessly between kisses as his left handed fisted into her hair.

“is still on the-“ the right roamed down and lifted her dress up past her hips on one side, squeezing her left bum cheek.

“tableahhhh.” Before venturing to the inner part of her thigh just where it was softest and a favourite trigger point of his Molly’s.

“I’m not going to be able to make it back to our room.” His voice rumbled and his eyes glowed devilishly as he dragged her further away from the festivities. His sentence was a statement and Molly followed him willingly.

“But where-“ he cut her sentence short with a chaste kiss.

“Do you know me at all?” He grinned at her wickedly. “I already checked the floorpan of the building before we got here in case of this exact predicament. Or the best exit points in case of emergencies.” She giggled so deliciously it intoxicated him into a further frenzy as took her by the hand.

He stopped at the second door on the left and removed a key he most definitely should not have access to from his pocket. Molly rolled her eyes, her hands still weaving their way around his torso. The knob turned as he pushed her into the dark cupboard. He quickly followed her in, slamming the door behind him. He lifted her onto an empty shelf, their touches feverish. He heard soft thuds as Molly’s hands reached out to grab onto something for support, crisp white linens falling to the floor around them.

-----------------------

The dance floor was positively heaving when they returned ten minutes later. Seemingly their lack of presence gone unnoticed. Molly made a beeline straight for Meena who was dancing with a small group of girls. He headed to the bar for much needed refreshments.

“Now, we’ve ‘ad a boogie. Let’s ‘av some romantic ballads for all the couple’s out there. This is a wedding after all!” The DJ’s voice came muffled and northern over the microphone.

The upbeat, pop song faded out as Sherlock's drinks were served. Sherlock recognised the song as the intro started. Can’t take my eyes off you, by Andy Williams. Surprisingly, a song he knew well going back to his university days when the rugby boys would sing their own crude version to any beautiful girl who walked by them on their weekly social outing.

Sherlock watched on as Molly hugged Meena, before the newly betrothed woman was whisked off her feet by her new husband. Molly moved to the side of the dance floor and clapped the happy couple. Sherlock paid the bar man, took a deep gulp and placed the drinks back onto their table, but he had no intention of taking a seat. He walked straight up and behind Molly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She turned in his arms, her eyes wide with shock.

“Are you lost, Sir?” She mocked him. Her arms looped around his neck as they started to sway.

“On the contrary. I think I’ve found exactly where I need to be.” Her deep brown eyes softened in the disco lights, he pulled her closer his mouth by her ear. “Although, there will most definitely not be a DJ from Leeds, with a DUI, living in a two bed terrace with four husky’s at our wedding.” He felt her stiffen slightly and he pulled back to study her face. “I was thinking more of a string quartet?” He continued, but her face still remained glazed.

“You really are serious? About us, and a wedding?” She eyed him hesitantly he felt a little unnerved.

“I thought my intention was clear?” He removed her left hand from his neck, holding it up in the space between them. The cheap gold ribbon still remained fastened to her finger. He kissed her finger softly, their eye contact never faltered. “Though I do plan on getting you something a little more…” he pinched her ring finger between his thumb and forefinger “permanent.” He was rewarded with a smile as they both closed the space between them. The side of their heads pressed together as he inhaled her scent, traces of his own smell mingled with her own from their lustful encounter and he suddenly felt quite possessive of the woman in his arms.

They danced in circles to the rhythm, when Sherlock’s attention was briefly diverted. He looked up to see Mike waving furiously at him from a few metres away, his head peering over the shoulder of his wife. Once Mike knew he had Sherlock’s attention he pointed to Molly’s hand atop of Sherlock’s shoulder, clearly signalling to the gimmicky band around her finger. He nodded once at him with a reassured smile, and Mike beamed back at him clenching his hand into a tight fist as a gesture of triumph.I’ll watch out for our invitation in the post. He mouthed out before turning his attention back to his wife. Speaking of wives… Sherlock looked back down at the woman in his arms, her head tucked into his neck.

“Oh and about your part of the compromise.” He whispered loudly above the music, lifting her from her daze.

“Yes?” She mouthed up at him.

“I get to take you up to our room right now, without saying goodbye to anyone in this hall.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly at his offer.

“Round one wasn't enough for you was it?" She smiled up at him impishly. "Fine. Fetch my bag and a bottle of champagne. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes.” She kissed him deliciously, before she slid out of his arms and out into the hall.

For the first time in his life, Sherlock acknowledged he was a very lucky man indeed.

----------------------

“So, I never did ask what changed your mind?” The voice of Mike Stamford called from behind him.

“Let’s just say I still had a lot to learn about how relationships worked.” Sherlock stood tall from his slouching position on the stone balcony.

“Well I’m glad you did." They both turned at the same time, looking back through the veranda windows to the sight of Molly Hooper being held tightly by Mike's wife. Her fitted ivory lace dress gifted to her from her mother's side of the family. Simple, yet elegant. It complimented its wearer beautifully.

“Guaranteed peace for my time.” Sherlock smirked as he took the glass tumbler from Mike's hands.

“Peace? Surely the great Sherlock Holmes isn’t that deluded? You do know how that worked out for Chamberlain back when he said those words?” Mike laughed and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. “Wait until you’re deciding on the name for your first born. Then you can let me know how the peace thing works out.”

Sherlock almost choked on his scotch.

[rainbow--letters]

One Year On

"In saving my life she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend." - Sherlock Holmes 

He feels the burning flames lick his skin, his eyes shoot open.

The flames are roaring, wood crackling and popping as it crumbles around him in the shell of his childhood home.

There is no escape but he can hear whispering all around him, it sends shivers down his spine.

"I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you."

He spins on the spot, his gaze affixes to the ceiling where the voice came from. Nobody is there.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." He turns again and John is standing there. His legs restrained by shackles and his clothes soaking wet. His finger points accusingly at him.

"John, I didn't know. You have to believe me." Sherlock pleads to his best friend.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." John repeats himself with a look that cuts Sherlock in two.

"John, please-" Sherlock is on his knees.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." Sherlock goes to shout but his words are lost when a wooden beam eventually weakens and drops. John is crushed beneath it and a plume of burning smoke and ash ghost over Sherlock's face, his arms raise to shield himself from the unforgiven heat.  

By the time he brings them back down, John is nowhere to be found.  

A laugh taunts him from behind. He turns to find Eurus, standing in her white clinical robe.  

"Naughty Sherlock, it's your fault she's dead."

In a blink she is pressing into his side her lips almost touch his ear.

"It should have been you, nobody cares about the wonderful Sherlock Holmes."

He moves to swat her like a fly but she is already gone. Suddenly she manifests in another corner of the room.  

She is not alone.  

Red Beard and a young Victor Trevor are sat by her feet.

"It's your fault, Sherlock. You weren't smart enough. You killed them both." Her voice sings songs in a sinister tune.

"N-o." His voice cracks and when her hands touch the top of their heads, they turn to bone.

He lurches forward to reach for them, but the fire blocks his path and just like John they disappear into thin air.  

Suddenly, he hears something call him towards the back wall. As he walks towards it he feels something cool ghost across his face, despite the towering flames.

He presses his body flat against the wall. He can hear something calling from behind, like angels singing. Without a further thought he brings his fist up and starts to pummel the weakened plaster. With each punch the voice grows stronger until his fist breaks through and he feels the flow of water cover his hand.

Eurus appears beside him again, laughing manically in his ear.  

The wall crumbles and within seconds he is met with an almighty force of current as it crashes over him and his sister. But the water does not drown him. It cleanses his skin and bones and when the force slows, he opens his eyes to find Mary standing before him.  

Eurus is gone and the flames are dead.  

Mary moves towards him and she places her hands on his face, his skin feels so alive under her touch.  

"Hope. There is always hope, Sherlock." Her words lull him into a trance and he closes his eyes as he feels a tender kiss to his forehead. It's so vivid he can feel the softness of her lips against his skin.  

He opens his eyes and inhales. 

He is back in Baker Street and realises the kiss against his head wasn't Mary's.

His eyes adjust to see a figure kneeling behind him. His head is in a warm and comforting lap, fingers tentatively caress his sweat stricken scalp.

"Molly." He whispers into the dark of the night.

She responds by lowering her head down to his, their brows touching.  

It's all he needs.

Within moments he drags her down beside him, holding onto her like a life raft. His right arm and leg are strewn over her slim frame, his hand pushes the top of her back closer to him. He absorbs the energy she radiates from her body into his terrorised sole. The shadows ebb away as her light pulses through his veins. He doesn’t realise he is crying until he feels Molly's fingers brush a tear across his sullen cheek bones. She doesn't say anything.

She never does.

Her eyes are level with his own and she is cradling his head in her hands, their noses touching. He embraces the coolness of his skin against where his body is pressing so tightly against her. He knows his skin must be hot and sticky against her own, but she never complains.  

She never does.

It's the height of winter and there is nothing more than a thin sheet on the bed. She knows anything heavier and he will feel suffocated. Especially at this time of year, the demons lurk in the dark and deep forefront of his mind.  

"You're burning up, Sherlock. Let me get you a cool flannel." She whispers as the flat of her palm presses against his forehead.

"No." He grabs her hands in his own before she can move. "I'm fine, just stay here. Please." He is exhausted, but he cannot bare the thought of her leaving him alone right now. Not even for a few seconds. 

She settles beside him once more. He can see she is just as exhausted as he is, but he knows she will not sleep until he is in a peaceful slumber. There is always a chance the demons will reappear, but for as long as he has Molly Hooper by his side it is enough to face the fear night after night if he has to.

They don't wake again until the late morning sun is peaking through the gap in his curtains.

[rainbow--letters]

The second instalment of ‘The Underground’ series. An incident at one of London's busiest stations is about to involve Sherlock Holmes, on a much closer scale than he would ever wish for.

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Load your Oyster cards and prepare yourself for inevitable delays, as I introduce you to my new series 'The Underground'. This collection will feature one-shots of our Consultant Detective and his Pathologist on or around London's infamous public transportation system (usually at Sherlock's despair.)

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One of my all time favourite speeches

middle-earth meme: [1/3 speeches] Sam’s speech

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The Saboteur

"Molly, I need you to calm down."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down right now. I am so close to removing your balls with a scalpel and without anaesthetic!"

"A bit too late for that, Molly. Closing the stable door after the horse has bolt- Blimey! Okay that was a bit not good, I know, but if you could refrain from throwing heavy hardback medical books."

"Could you at least spare me the truth if you're going to act like a complete and utter bastard?"

"Molly, please you need to believe me when I say that I did not sabotage your birth control."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing that is exactly what it looks like."

"Give me one valid reason why I would do such a hideous thing."

"Excuse me? We had a conversation around about four months ago of which I recall you specifically mentioning 'I was the only person you had ever considered sharing your genetic material with.' Does that ring any bells?"

"I was complimenting you."

"By getting me pregnant?"

"Molly, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Well, who else on this planet would have any reason to want me to bring your child into the world?"

"..."

"Sherlock?"

"How far along are you?"

"Eleven weeks, according to the blood test that came back at work this morning. Why?"

"That woman is the devil."

"Sherlock?"

"No wonder Eurus turned out like she did."

"Sherlock, please can you elaborate?"

"My mother."

"Excuse me?"

"I believe my mother intervened in some way during our visit the other month for father's seventieth birthday.”

"Are you trying to tell me your mother may have sabotaged my birth control?"

"No, not maybe, she most definitely did. Tell me when did you realise?"

"It was only two days ago. You know it's not unusual for me to miss a period. But two in a row was too suspicious. The only symptom I have had so far is nausea, which I now recognise as morning sickness. I decided to do a test the other night, actually four tests, whilst you were out on that case with John. I could barely believe it when they all came back positive. I knew I hadn't missed any pills or at least I thought I hadn't which is why I decided to check the packaging and the foil was a fuchsia colour."

"But the foil on your packets is a rose pink... Oh."

"Exactly. I feel so stupid, I should have noticed."

"No, Molly. You were intercepted by the Devil in human form. Or one of its human forms. I have recently learnt it comes in many, apparently. I knew there was a reason why the rum punch was more... pungent this year, I just assumed mother wanted to abate Uncle Rudy sooner rather than later. Instead she was committing the Devil's work upstairs whilst we were passed out in the drawing room."

"I knew something wasn't right. That's when I took the pills into work to get them tested. They were sugar pills Sherlock, your Mother gave me placebos. I just don’t understand why she would do such a thing?"

"Molly, surely you have noticed how my mother drops into every other sentence her blinded desire for grandchildren. Seeing as only one of her three severely unconventional children showed the slightest potential of producing offspring, I fear she became consumed by illogical and senseless hope. Hence her attempt at divine intervention and her even shoddier attempt at hiding her tracks. However, her actions are completely inexcusable and she had no right to meddle with our lives like this."

"Oh my, Sherlock I - I owe you an apology. To think that I accused you of reproductive coercion."

"It would take more than that to offend me, Molly. Although, I understand why you would question me first."

"I was so awful to you. I threatened to cut your bollocks off!"

"Mmmm... yes you did, but I don't actually think there was any intention behind your threat... Was there?"

"No of course not, I was just so angry."

"You were angry, or are you still angry? Because you have every right to be.”

"I think it's hard to define how I feel right now. Angry, surprised... happy."

"H-happy?"

"Yes, Sherlock. I know this isn't something we planned but I can't deny there's a part of me amongst this hurricane of emotions whirling around my mind that- mmph! And that was not what I expected from you. Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I love you. And I think it has just dawned on me that you are carrying the next generation of the Holmes line. Which, whilst still a slightly sobering thought makes me feel..."

"Happy?"

"Yes. Most definitely happy."

"I suppose I better make an appointment with the doctor."

"Brilliant. Whilst you do that I'm going to call the Devil. She has quite a lot of explaining to do."

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And for the moments the boys on set, with their silly crushes, became tiresome, Brown could turn to Winona Ryder. “I would just go to her like, ‘Ugh, the boys are getting on my nerves today!’ And she’d be like, ‘Got it — come sit.’ And we’d eat cheese.“

- Millie Bobby Brown for W Magazine (quote)

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Shipshape, Shiny & Sleeping

Inspired by the prompt:

“How’s the meeting?”

“I want to stab everyone.”

“Don’t get blood on your dress. We have dinner reservations at seven.”

“Love you for enabling me.”

“Love you too.”

Baker Street was surprisingly and most welcomingly quiet on this late afternoon. The sole figure in the living room was laid with his back and head firmly pressed into the cushions beneath him. His appearance was dishevelled from his frayed curly hair to his creased half buttoned shirt and his trousers, which hung low on his hips, were sorely missing the presence of a belt. His fingers were steepled under his chin and his un-trimmed finger nails dug into his skin. His eyes were closed, but they fluttered furiously as his mind whirled on behind them.  

Moments later, the solitude was interrupted by the aggressive buzz of his phone against the wooden coffee table. His eyes like green garnet jewels opened wide. He hastily quickened to answer it and swung his legs from the arm of the sofa and squarely to the floor. The phone now silently purred in his palm and his eyes cast a cautionary glance up the stairs. His thumb pressed the pulsing green button on the glowing screen.

"Molly." He answered, his voice hoarse from a lack of conversation.  

"Oh, did I wake you?" Her voice sounded both slightly surprised and guilty.

"You and I both know that to wake me I would have to have actually been in some form of suspension of consciousnesses and that hasn't happened in three months. No, I was just enjoying a once favourite past time of mine; silence." A small laugh on the other end of the line was his reply and he imagined Molly's features illuminated with glee.

"Well you were both pretty sound when I left this morning. So, everything is fine I take it?" Sherlock smirked, knowing this was the reason for her call. Her first week back at work after nine months off and every day she had rung to ensure Baker Street was still standing. Or at the least its newest resident.

"Excuse me, are you forgetting I was on the night shift, again, last night. But all is shipshape, shiny and sleeping." Sherlock responded confidently, feeling more secure that the buzz of his phone had not disturbed the slumbering form upstairs.

"No, but you've always been a night owl anyway, so you don’t get the sympathy vote from me. But I'm glad to hear it." Her voice became instantly more relaxed upon his reassurance that all was well.

"How's the meeting?" He probed. Once ago, senseless chit chat would have made his skin crawl but he had learnt to tolerate and even gain some enjoyment from it. However, only if the conversing recipient was Molly.

"I want to stab everyone. I swear I could have a more productive meeting with Mrs Fischer and Mr Daniels, who are both currently lying on a metal tray in a freezer with half of their cerebrums missing." Her frustration and patience had both been tested a lot in this first week. Sherlock put this down to the lack of sleep they were both not receiving and so desperately craving.  

"You were always quite adept with a fork, if I remember rightly. Still, don't get blood on your dress. We have dinner reservations at seven." He cast a glance down at himself as he spoke and noted he should probably make an effort to make himself more presentable. Although, that would have to wait until Mrs Hudson arrived to relieve him of his charge.

"I love you for enabling me." He closed his eyes and smiled at her words.

"I love you too."  

And as if timed to ultimate perfection a wail came from upstairs shattering the sentimental moment. He heard Molly sigh softly from the other end of the line.

"I suppose that is my cue to leave." He mumbled and looked to the ceiling above.

"Most definitely. We both know you have about thirty seconds to get up those stairs before all hell breaks loose. Anyways, I better get back inside myself, I will see you later at the restaurant."  

"Oh, and Molly?" He chirped in quickly, before she could hang up.

"Yes?"

"Happy anniversary." He smiled longingly with the phone pressed firmly against his cheek.

"Happy anniversary, my dearest Sherlock."  

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She showed up at his door, soaking wet, bruised and covered in glitter.

"Don't." She spoke sternly as the summer downpour hammered down around her. Molly's eyes shone with a murderous look whilst his own gleamed with delight and smugness. "You owe me. Big time." She swung the rucksack off of her back, dumped it at his feet and pushed passed the familiar door of 221b.

His nose twitched as she went by him and the scent of wet dog invaded his nostrils. He picked the bag up effortlessly and turned back into the hall to see Molly had already reached the landing above. He carried it into the building but no further than the bottom of the stairs.

"Mrs Hudson, I have a rather large present for you. It’s outside of your door." He shouted. Then he proceeded to take the stairs two at a time up to his flat; he didn't bother to wait for a response from his landlady.

"NOT YOUR HOUSEKEEPER SHERLOCK!" She cried up the stairs, but he heard her drag the large rucksack across the wooden floor into her flat.

If you like the first five paragraphs above then hopefully you will like the many more in the attached link. 

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To be brave is to love someone without expecting anything in return.

Madonna (via alittlebitsouthern)

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Priority

Post the final problem

Despite his best intentions Molly falls down his list of priorities post Sherrinford.

Sherlock means to go to Molly straight away, the moment he gets out of the helicopter and London’s comforting lights embrace him but his body rebels and he collapses before he can take a step. He sleeps, longer and deeper then has for an age. He suspects John has a hand in that. When he wakes there is a miasma of problems. His first priority is Eurus, settling her back in Sherrinford but this time with a plan; this takes time talking to Mycroft; really talking and specialists; anything and everything to help Eurus. Sherlock holds the threads of his family together-bridging the gaps between his parents anger and Mycroft’s guilt. And remembering Victor, replaying memories long buried. It hurts but in a good way-a release long repressed. He remembers victor’s bright smile and the way he felt running along the beach with him. Carefree. Happy. John listens when he speaks of victor-a strong, reassuring presence by his side, Sherlock spends nights wondering what would have become of him had Victor lived? What would have happened to John? And he hates himself for being grateful that even through this hell, he has John. That this life has brought him John and his friendship. He mourns victor, it feels like walking on broken glass but it’s also a release-decades of pent up pain finally unleashed. He helps Victor’s parents bury their child, with a heavily edited version of events. He now has a place to go-to mourn his friend in peace. His days blur it feels like a drugs binge complete with brilliant highs and devastating lows-he’s spent a lifetime mimicking human emotion without letting himself feel it and now he feels it. God, does he feel it. When he surfaces he realises ten weeks have passed since that hellish night. Everyday he means to text Molly and each time someone chooses that moment to interrupt him for something. The only contact he’d had was through Mycroft-the assurance that despite the numerous cameras installed in her home, Molly herself was safe. It had been a very quick debriefing, both brothers still reeling from recent events. There had been a soft edge to Mycroft’s tone when he spoke of Molly-a significance Sherlock was still coming to terms with. He feels sick, newly rebuilt 221B swimming in front of him. He’s let her down again, let her fade into the background. He definitely hates himself. He writes and rewrites half a dozen texts, a short dissertation that would eat up all his data but he can’t send them. Even he knows that this is a conversation that needs to be face to face. A horrible part of his mind whispers that she hadn’t texted him either. You know where to find me. SH It’s childish, making Molly take the first step but he’s intruded on her enough, forced his needs on her time and again. For once he wants to know what Molly needs. Whatever it is he’ll acquiesce.

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at least i can pretend this is the first thing he did after he got off that plane. 

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Burrito!lock for @strangelock221b (Dreamin on ao3) inspired by her drabble Cozy (https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109650)

Quick pencil sketch done in 15 min.

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For your six sentence request: If he were ever asked what his perfect moment was, he would have to say it was this one.

Molly’s head rested against him where they leaned back against the hospital bed. His arm encircled her shoulders as both of them gazed down in silence, barely able to take their eyes off the sight.

Their son, newly born and nestled comfortably between his mother’s breasts. 

Sherlock felt his eyes cloud at the wonder and magnitude of it all. With all the ability he believed that his mind held for so many years, he never would have guessed that it was his emotions and body that could play a tiny part in creating something so truly magnificent…which would change his life forever. ❤️ 

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Molly’s bad day and the last time Molly saw Sherlock before the final problem

The last time we see Sherlock and Molly on screen it’s not on good terms. Sherlock is cocky, selfish and high and Molly is angry and devastated.

John says at the end of the episode that he is leaving so Molly can take over babysitting Sherlock. Although it’s hinted that since Sherlock and John go to celebrate his birthday it could also be that John texted Molly and told her not to bother since he and Sherlock were okay. But even if she had come with them to eat cake it doesn’t mean that she’s forgiven him.

But even so…the last time Molly sees Sherlock he’s recovering from a drug binge. Could it be that Molly is still angry at Sherlock. Part of her last verbal conversation is her outburst “christs sake Sherlock it’s not a game” molly had reached her limit with Sherlock and his self destructiveness and now he’s ringing her out of the blue and instinctively she figures he needs something from her.

With her past knowledge of what Sherlock is willing to do for a case, Sherlock on drugs and on a case is cavalier about things she cares about including himself. When she’s on the phone with Sherlock is she remembering that confrontation outside the ambulance and now he’s dragging her into what she considers a “stupid game” from Molly’s point of view Sherlock is asking the impossible from her with no information save that it is for a case. Molly has none of the context Sherlock has. She’s not ready to concede her greatest secret when she knows how Sherlock acts on a case or an experiment. Cases come and go for Sherlock, he completes them and moves on, and so when Sherlock says it’s for a case/experiment she feels that her feelings are just a tool for Sherlock to complete a case. He used drugs on a case twice as we know and then gets clean. She fears her feelings to Sherlock are just as transient. .

that’s why she asks Sherlock to say it first I believe it’s a dare, and she doesn’t really believe he’ll say it but she needs Sherlock to have some investment in this moment. She’s not willing to be an experiment just to satisfy Sherlock’s curiosity anymore