#he leans on the couch when he opens the Red John files; for support most likely - and it's a beginning of the process of dealing with grief

[wikipedie]

grief is like a really ugly couch

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it. ― Jodi Picoult, Leaving Time

[zen3to5]

J/H 7-22: 2000 Light Years From Home

No more partial scripts - from here on out, it's Page One rewrites until the finale.

So, Eric's been on a different track to teaching in this timeline, but is the destination any different? And what happened to Jackie and Hyde - I thought this was supposed to be a Zen rewrite? Well, read on, friends. Read on...

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT   The gang, hanging out. JACKIE ruffles around in the deep freeze, HYDE reads a magazine in his chair, and DONNA and FEZ watch TV from the couch.   KELSO enters from the basement door and throws himself down in the lawn chair.   KELSO: Okay, I'm breaking up with Angie. All we have anymore is hot sex.   FEZ: Hot sex? All I have is hot soup. Can't make love to that. Too damn hot.   DONNA: So, Kelso, you gonna break up with her your usual way - send a note saying you got kidnapped by kung fu robots?   KELSO: No, it won't work with her. She doesn't even believe in kung fu robots. Just gonna have to talk to her.   DONNA: Wow, Kelso. I thought your usual Plan B was to have one of us tell the girl you're dead. And then when she eventually sees you, you have us tell her you're a ghost.   Jackie crosses across the room to stand behind Kelso.   JACKIE: Michael, why don't you do what you did with me: toilet paper my house!   She smacks him upside the head, then steps back to lean on the door.   KELSO: I can't do that to Angie. I respect her too much 'cause she agreed to have sex with me so fast.   ERIC enters from the stairs. He has a stack of papers in his hand and a glum look on his face.   ERIC: Hey! Bad news.   KELSO: Your mom changed her mind about making blueberry cobbler?   FEZ: No, she made it. I would know – I ate it. All of it.   Eric, ignoring them, jumps over the back of the couch to sit next to Donna. He throws the papers down on the coffee table.   ERIC: No. I’ve been working on a budget, and I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to pay for college.   DONNA: Didn’t your parents hang on to your college money after you had to stay home the last time?   ERIC: Yeah, but – see, remember how I sold your engagement ring to pay for my year off?   JACKIE: How could we forget? Donna made jewelry history – the world’s smallest diamond for the world’s worst wedding.   ERIC: Well, the pawn shop must have thought so too, because it turns out what you get for a used engagement ring isn’t enough to support yourself for a year – even with living at home with your mommy. And after calling her “mommy” and going to a macramé class, my mom turned over my college account to me without telling Red. I started using that money to get by, and now there’s not enough left to pay for college.   DONNA: Eric, don't worry. There are plenty of ways to get money for school.   HYDE: Yeah, man. You could always get a football scholarship.   JACKIE: Hey, look, he weighs about as much as a football, and people do like to kick him.   She crosses the room to sit in Hyde’s lap, stopping to pat Eric on the shoulder on the way.   FEZ: (to Eric) I know what you should do. You should go to Hollywood and become the next Gene Wilder. That guy's a laugh riot.   JACKIE: You know, Eric, we all had to meet with the guidance counselor before the end of high school to talk about college. Maybe you should go see him.   DONNA: Yeah. Finding money for college is what high school guidance counselors do.   HYDE: Yeah, they also spend a lot of time staring at themselves in the mirror saying, "I can't believe I'm a high school guidance counselor."   ERIC: The high school guidance counselor? Who is that? Is that still Mr. Bray? (Jackie nods) I don't know about Mr. Bray. I don't think he really liked me. One time I told him I was being bullied, and he just said, "what'd you expect?"   JACKIE: Look, Eric, Mr. Bray asked to see me tomorrow about an opportunity for my public access show. Why don’t you come with me to my appointment? I’m sure he’ll help. He loves me. In almost entirely appropriate ways.   Hyde gives Jackie a look; she looks back and shrugs.   KELSO: Hey, people, how’d we get side-tracked? We’re forgetting what’s really important here – how I’m gonna break up with Angie.   HYDE: (to Kelso) Look, I don't care how you do it. I'm just happy you won't be violating my sister anymore.   KELSO: Yeah, I know you hated it, Hyde. I would have broken up with her sooner if I didn't find it so hilarious.   Hyde crumples up his magazine and chucks it at Kelso, beaning him in the head.   KELSO (cont’d): You be nice, or I will marry her.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   INT. GROOVES - DAY   The next morning. A brisk business at Grooves. Customers peruse the crates. Hyde and ANGIE keep an eye on things from the listening pit as they talk.   ANGIE: Jackie’s getting some kind of offer about her show? Why? Her last episode was a half-hour about which high heels Olivia Newton-John would wear if she was ever a guest star on Charlie’s Angels.   HYDE: Hey, it was better than the one about how Jack Nicholson should do his hair.   ANGIE: How?   HYDE: Because she didn’t spend all week trying to get me to stand in for Jack Nicholson.   ANGIE: So – any idea what the offer is?   HYDE: No.   ANGIE: Do you know if Jackie’s been looking at colleges?   HYDE: No.   ANGIE: Have you two talked about your future at all since you got back together?   HYDE: Angie, I didn’t talk, plan, or think about my future for eighteen years. You know what that got me? (she shakes her head) A cool black dad and a record store. Why start planning now?   He heads to the register.   Kelso and Fez enter through the door. They stop when they see Angie, who is helping a customer.   KELSO: (to Fez) Okay. I can do this. I'm just gonna tell Angie that things are fizzling between us, and we should end it.   Angie sees them, smiles, and walks over.   ANGIE: (to Kelso) Hey, how's it going, sweets?   FEZ: Not bad, toots.   Angie and Kelso both give him a look.   FEZ (cont’d): (to Angie) Oh, him. Go.   He waves Angie over to Kelso.   KELSO: (to Angie) Okay. Well, um, we need to talk about something. This might be kind of hard to take. (beat) Fez still wets the bed.   FEZ/ANGIE: What?/Eww!   Angie edges away from Fez.   KELSO: (to Angie) At least we're still together! I'll see you later.   He steers Fez around and gives him a push toward the door, following after.   FEZ: (to Kelso) I'm going to wet your bed. They exit.   CUT TO:   INT. COUNSELOR’S OFFICE - DAY   The office of Point Place High’s guidance counselor, a bare-minimum office lit more by the window than the poor lighting. Jackie and Eric enter through the open door.   ERIC:  Oh, my God. I can't believe I have to tell my high school guidance counselor that I spent an entire year doing nothing. He's gonna think I'm such a loser.   JACKIE: Yeah. You know a good way to avoid that? Don’t be a loser.   ERIC: Whatever. I bet he doesn’t even have an offer for you. This is probably like that time he told you he wanted to talk about who should be the head of the decorating committee, then asked you to prom.   MR. BRAY himself enters, a portly man in a fool’s version of suave attire. A stack of files is tucked under his arm. He breezes right past Eric to shake Jackie’s hand.   MR. BRAY Ah, Jackie. How very, very – very – pleasant to see you again. And so soon after high school.   JACKIE: And so soon since the last time you drove by my house.   MR. BRAY: (beat) Well, uh, my mother lives right next door.   JACKIE: Next door is the guest house.   MR. BRAY: Well... isn’t Mother a charming guest?   Jackie fixes him with a condescending look. Mr. Bray clears his throat and stands up straight.   MR. BRAY (cont’d): Well, Jackie, I asked you here because the school was recently contacted by a TV producer out of Chicago about you.   JACKIE: (gasps) Oh, my God! Was it about my show?   MR. BRAY: Yes, indeed. She asked if we could pass on her interest to you and that she’d be in the area if you could take a meeting before taping.   Jackie squeals, hops, and claps with delight.   JACKIE: Oh, my God, yes! Yes! When is she coming?   MR. BRAY: Today. I meant to tell you sooner, but I kept dropping the phone – my hands tend to get sweaty when I’m nervous.   JACKIE: Today? Oh, I – I have to get ready. I have to get dressed – I have to do my hair – I have to get down to the studio!   She makes for the door. Eric catches her by the arm.   ERIC: What? Jackie, you don’t tape for another four hours.   JACKIE: Yeah, but it’ll take me at least two to get over there.   ERIC: Why?   JACKIE: Because I’m telling everyone!   She pulls herself free and runs out of the office.   Left alone, Eric and Mr. Bray awkwardly survey each other.   MR. BRAY: And you are?   ERIC: Eric. Forman. 1977's most improved mathlete.   MR. BRAY: Oh, right. Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, Eric. I just figured the bullies had gotten ya.   They continue to awkwardly survey each other.   BUMPER   INT. GROOVES – DAY   Business is still brisk, and Kelso and Fez are back. They stand together, heads bowed and arms folded, in the listening pit. Their heads jerk up when Jackie bursts through the door.   JACKIE: Where’s Steven?   KELSO: At lunch with Angie.   Jackie turns to head back out the door, but Kelso lunges, takes her arm, and pulls her into the listening pit. They sit on the couch together while Fez sits on the armrest.   KELSO (cont’d): Wait, Jackie! Listen, I need some advice on breaking up with girls, okay? And you've been broken up with a lot. Several times by me. So, what didn't you like?   JACKIE: Oh, um... the lying, the cheating, the sneaking around - oh, and I also didn't like Fez trying to make out with me five minutes later.   FEZ: Well, then you're really not gonna like this.   He leans down for a kiss. Jackie shoves him back by the face.   KELSO: Look, I don't know how to break up with Angie.   JACKIE: Well, why don't you try to figure out how to do it kindly – maturely - respectfully?   KELSO: Yeah. That sounds nice. (beat) I think I'm just gonna sleep with her best friend.   CUT TO:   INT. COUNSELOR’S OFFICE – DAY   Mr. Bray and Eric have moved to sitting on opposite sides of Mr. Bray’s desk. Mr. Bray reviews the contents of a file and shakes his head,   MR. BRAY: Well, Eric, I have to say – your eligibility for scholarships would normally be determined by what you’ve done for the last year, but as far as I can tell, you haven’t done anything.   ERIC: Okay, well... yeah. But what about the year before that? I mean, I gave up college to support my family.   MR. BRAY: So?   ERIC: Isn’t that, like, a really noble and decent thing to do?   MR. BRAY: You don’t get scholarships for nobility. Not unless you’re in Europe. And there, it’s not a scholarship – it’s actual nobility.   ERIC: Come on, Mr. Bray. There’s gotta be something I can do to pay for college. I’ll do anything to become a teacher.   MR. BRAY: You’re going to college for teaching? (Eric nods) And you spent the last year – (checks notes) “Reading comic books and acting out movies with your dolls” -   ERIC: Action figures!   MR. BRAY: Well, if you’re going to UW, there’s an option to be the instructor in a pilot teaching program that may just work for you.   ERIC: Wait – pilot program? What does that mean? Like, an experiment? I don’t know if I wanna be a guinea pig. What would I be teaching?   MR. BRAY:  Comic books.   Eric’s jaw drops. Slowly, his eyes bulging and his breath quivering in his throat, he pushes himself upright until he leans over the desk, his feet barely in contact with the ground. It’s an uncomfortable enough sight for Mr. Bray that he inches his seat back by a few good scoots.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: The theme from the 1966 “Batman” series.   INT. COUNSELOR’S OFFICE - DAY   Right where we left off. Eric is still leaning over the desk, his body trembling with the threat of jumping up and down for joy. Mr. Bray still looks uncomfortable.   ERIC: So you’re saying that I would get paid to teach a class about comic books?   MR. BRAY: Comic books, sci-fi films, fantasy novels, contemporary television – it’s an experimental course based on a program done in Indiana a few years ago. The university would pay you to teach this course, and while you act as the teacher, you could get a free education yourself. It would mean jumping right into a professional setting. So if you value time with your dolls –   ERIC: ACTION FIGURES!     MR. BRAY: Right. I’m just saying, you won’t have a lot of free time, and this sort of program needs someone with a strong work ethic. If you think you’re up to it, I can go get my information packet, but...   He trails off as he looks Eric over – pasty, skinny, fresh-from-a-year-off Eric. Eric gives himself a look-over before pushing himself away from the desk and standing up tall.   ERIC: You know what, Mr. Bray? I am up to it. You know, I wasn’t always this lazy, goof-around loser. I had work ethic – real work ethic. I don’t know how I got to this point, but I’ve been looking for a way out. And now – I have it. (puts hands on hips) I feel... I feel like Luke Skywalker when he vowed to follow Obi-Wan and learn the ways of the Force. Except we’re not surrounded by dead Jawas. And there’s no dead Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. And I don’t live with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, I live with my mom and dad, and – oh, screw it, I’m teaching Star Wars and comic books!   He gives the air a happy jab. Mr. Bray gives a slight smile, shakes his head, stands, and leads Eric out of the office.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Right Back Where We Stared From” by Maxine Nightingale.   INT. STUDIO – EVENING   The studio of the public access station, Jackie’s set. JACKIE, only slightly overdressed, bobs on her feet, all grins as the visiting CHICAGO PRODUCER, MRS. BERTRINELLI, sits on her desk and chats with her.   MRS. BERTRINELLI: Well, Jackie, everyone in the Chicago station’s been talking about your program.   JACKIE: Oh, really?   MRS. BERTRINELLI: Yes, we’ve never seen anything quite like it.   JACKIE: Well, I’d say I’m surprised, but –   She indicates her face and lets out an airy laugh.   JACKIE (cont’d): You know, my boyfriend Steven, he says the same thing every time he watches the show. At first, he meant it sarcastically, but now I think he means it as a compliment almost half of the time.   Mrs. Bertrinelli gives an enigmatic sort of smile; Jackie can’t tell if she’s genuinely amused or condescending. Jackie clears her throat and stands up as tall as she can.   JACKIE (cont’d): So, my guidance counselor said you had some sort of offer for me?   MRS. BERTRINELLI: Yes. As I said, we’ve been watching your show. And quite frankly – you advertise it as a news program, and yet all your content is concerned with fashion, disco, decorating, celebrity gossip, and local scandal. It’s superficial, irrelevant – all the flightiest impulses of youth. All in all, it’s a terrible news program.   Jackie’s face falls like a downed chopper over Saigon. Her hand clutches at her heart.   MRS. BERTRINELLI (cont’d): But it’s perfect for the arts and leisure segment of a real news program. How’d you like a job as entertainment anchor?   Jackie’s face changes again, into a stiff mask of shock. Her whole body goes stiff as an amused Mrs. Bertrinelli chuckles and shakes her head.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – EVENING   The end of a hard days’ work – relatively speaking. Hyde reads a magazine in his chair while Fez and Kelso share the couch.   KELSO: (to Fez) So, there's a problem with my "sleeping with Angie's best friend" plan: Angie's best friend is Hyde.   Without looking up from his magazine, Hyde shoots an acknowledging finger point Kelso’s way.   FEZ: (to Kelso) Drat. And That’s not just your plan foiled.   KELSO: Whaddya mean?   FEZ: My plan to console Angie when you dump her, then console her best friend when you dump her too, just went down the dumper. (to Hyde) You son of a bitch.   Hyde briefly flips down the magazine, grins at Fez, then goes back to reading.   Jackie enters through the basement door, her face long.   JACKIE: (to Kelso, Fez) Um, you guys, I gotta talk to Steven about something really serious.   KELSO: (gasp) Maybe she's pregnant!   FEZ: Maybe she cheated on him.   KELSO: Maybe she cheated on him and she's pregnant.   They grin up at her like idiots. Jackie, ignoring them, moves to the end of the couch nearest to Hyde’s chair. Hyde sets his magazine down and leans in toward her.   JACKIE: Steven, this TV producer came by to tell me she loved my public access show. And then she offered me a job at her station in Chicago starting next month.   HYDE: Whoa. Um, you're gonna take a job and move to Chicago?   JACKIE: No, no, not yet. No, I wanted to talk to you about it first.   KELSO: Uh-oh. This is "serious" serious, not funny serious. (to Fez) We should probably leave.   FEZ: (to Jackie, Hyde) But we won't.   Jackie and Hyde both ignore him.   JACKIE: Steven, this is my dream come true. But you are the most important thing in the world to me. So, I'm willing to give it all up and stay here with you. But if I do that, I need to know we're gonna get married.   HYDE: Jackie, we agreed not to talk about our future.   JACKIE: Until our future got here, and it just did, Steven. Look, the station needs an answer by the end of the month, and I do, too. HYDE: Well, I don't know what to say right now.   A flicker of hurt crosses Jackie’s face, but she gives Hyde a slow nod.   JACKIE: Okay, well, you don’t have to say anything right now. But this month is all the time left I can give you.   Hyde looks away from her. He sits back in his chair and tosses his head back as Jackie looks down at the floor.   Kelso sweeps a hand out to draw attention.   KELSO: (to Hyde) I know this is a sensitive moment, but may I offer a word of advice?   He stands, crosses to the basement door, and throws it open.   KELSO (cont’d): Run!   Fez heeds Kelso’s advice: he jumps to his feet and dashes out the door. When Kelso sees the look Hyde’s giving him, he does the same thing.   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT   Post-dinner clean-up. KITTY is at the sink, gloves on, working at a roasting pan soaked in suds. RED sits at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper.   Donna enters from the patio door.   DONNA: Hey, is Eric home? We were supposed to hang out at the Hub after his meeting with the guidance counselor, but he never showed.   KITTY: (shakes head) He hasn’t been home all day.   RED: (flips paper down) If he’s trapped in another locker, we’ve gotta disown him. The only time in a man’s life when it’s acceptable for him to get stuffed in a high school locker is when he’s in high school.   KITTY: But he was in the high school.   RED: You know what I meant.   The patio door slides open again. Donna steps back as Eric and Mr. Bray enter, all grins, each with a stack of papers under their arms.   ERIC: (to Donna) Hey. I know I didn’t show at the Hub, but I’ve got great news. I –   Mr. Bray elbows past Eric to shake Donna’s hand.   MR. BRAY: Donna! Donna Pinciotti! How nice to see you again. You’ve done something different with your hair since high school.   DONNA: Yeah, you noticed.   MR. BRAY: Well, I notice everything about all my students.   ERIC: You didn’t even remember my name.   MR. BRAY: (to Eric) I notice everything about all my recent students.   ERIC: Donna and I were the same year.   MR. BRAY: Yes, well... I would like to change the subject now.   KITTY: (to Eric) Honey, you said you have great news?   She peels off her gloves and crosses to the table. She and Donna sit as Eric sets his papers down and clasps his hands together.   ERIC: I found a way to pay for college.   DONNA: Eric, that’s wonderful!   KITTY: Hooray!   RED: Pay for college? What’s wrong with the money we’ve been putting into your savings account?   KITTY: Oh – um, Red, honey, we – we need to talk later.   Red opens his mouth to press the issue, but Kitty waves him quiet.   ERIC: Yep. Not only will I be going to college for teaching – I’ll be going to college to teach.   KITTY: Ooh, how nice! (beat) What does that mean?   Donna and Red, just as confused as Kitty, look to Eric.   ERIC: You are looking at the future instructor of UW’s experimental “Genre Fiction in America” course!   He’s met with an audience of blank looks.   ERIC (cont’d): I’m teaching Star Wars and comic books.   Donna slaps a hand over her mouth, Kitty’s jaw drops, and Red, glaring, stands.   RED: Are you telling me that college is giving a whole class over to those moron books and that dopey space movie?   ERIC: No, Dad, it’s all of science fiction and fantasy. It’s a pilot course about how genre fiction comments and reflects on modern American life.   MR. BRAY: We were on the phone with UW all afternoon, setting Eric up for the program.   RED: Oh, crap. First they turn out commies, then they turn out hippies – now our colleges are gonna take America’s children and give her back a bunch of smart-mouth slackers indoctrinated by Professor Dumbass.   He drops back to his seat and puts a hand over his head. Eric shrugs and turns to his much more enthusiastic reception from Donna and Kitty.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT   A short time later. Donna and Fez sit on opposite ends of the couch, Kelso sits on the washer, and Eric stands by him, working at a popsicle. The remnants of a burger-and-fries dinner litter the coffee table.   KELSO: (to Eric) So all those times you were going on and on about Star Wars – how this is like Star Wars, how that is like Star Wars, how the Vista Cruiser is like your Millennium Falcon from Star Wars – it turns out you can get a job teaching that? That’s, like, the biggest burn on everyone who ever made fun of you for being a loser.   ERIC: Kelso, you always made fun of me for being a loser.   KELSO: And the burn’s on me. Well played.   ERIC: (to all) Man, isn’t this great? And the best part is, if this pilot program takes off, it could become just a regular class, offered every year.   DONNA: Eric, if you stay on with UW to teach that course, you could end up as Professor Forman. I kinda like the sound of that.   ERIC: Me too. Professor Eric “Star Wars” Forman.   DONNA: Okay, now I like it a little less.   FEZ: (to Eric) And you will teach comic books too?   ERIC: Comic books, TV, cartoons, magazine stories... it’s like this entire basement condensed into a study guide.   KELSO: Hey, you know what comic book you should teach? Mine.   ERIC: You have a comic book?   KELSO: Yeah, it’s called Adventures on the Planet Zorgon. There’s these bugs that burrow into your brain, and they lay, like, a thousand eggs. And when the eggs hatch, they, like, shoot out of your head like little worm bullets.   He’s grinning from ear to ear. Eric gives him an indulgent smile in return.   Hyde enters from his room, SCHATZI in his arms. He makes his way to his chair and sits down, staring blankly ahead while he scratches Schatzi’s head.   DONNA: So, Hyde – we heard about Jackie. What are you gonna do?   HYDE: Well, I’ve spent all night kicking it back with Schatzi.   ERIC: With Schatzi?   HYDE: Yeah. If I hit my stash hard enough, I can understand him.   Eric and Donna share a look.   DONNA: And what did you and Schatzi come up with?   HYDE: A great idea for a movie that now I just can’t remember.   He shakes his head in frustration, retrieves a piece of beef from the coffee table, and feeds it to Schatzi.   CUT TO:   INT. GROOVES – NIGHT   Well past closing time. The customers are gone, the lights are out, but Angie is still at work. She stands at the register, reviewing the drawer. Satisfied with what she sees, she shuts the register, retrieves her bag, and heads for the door. Just as she opens it, Kelso appears in the doorway.   KELSO: Hey, Angie. I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I finally worked up the nerve. And I think we need to talk about us.   ANGIE: Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk about us too – I’m breaking up with you.   Kelso’s jaw drops.   KELSO: How dare you!   ANGIE: Come on. You know things were sort of fizzling anyways.   KELSO: F-fizzling? How can you even say that? What about all the times you said that I was really, really good-looking?   ANGIE: Michael, its over. But know this – when I said you were good-looking, I really meant it.   She pats his arm and strolls out into the night.   KELSO: (yelling after her) You know what? You’ve got a lot of growing up to do!   FADE TO BLACK   CREDITS   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT - NIGHT   THE CIRCLE. A baffled and slightly repulsed Eric peruses a crudely-drawn amateur comic book.   ERIC: Kelso, I never knew you had such a... a thing for bugs crawling around in peoples’ brains.   Pan to Kelso, on the verge of tears.   KELSO: You know what, Eric? Right after a guy’s girlfriend breaks up with him is not the time for constructive criticism!   Pan to Hyde.   HYDE: Well, one day down, and I still don’t have an answer for Jackie. (to his right) You got anything?   Pan to Schatzi, propped up on pillows.   SCHATZI (v.o.): Nothing yet, man. I think I need more kibble.   END.

[the-angelsong]

Thank god for Rusty Pipes

Day 7 of the molly appreciation week prompt. content warning! slightly smutty under the cut……. enjoy!

Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be brother mine?” Ask Mycroft from his spot standing by the window in Sherlock’s sitting room.

“No, you’re just boring me.” Came Sherlock’s droll reply.

“Are you sure? It is Tuesday night after all, you usually have your scheduled date with Miss Hooper, tonight don’t you?” He said smirking.

“And yet dear brother, knowing that information you still chose to come here and bore me with your silly problem.” Sherlock retorted, shifting his legs in his leather chair.

“National security is everyone’s silly little problem Sherlock.” Mycroft responded.

“Good, go talk to someone else. I’m busy.” Said Sherlock rising from his chair and showing his brother to the door.

“I’ll leave the file here then.” He said putting the manila envelope on the table. “In case your date ends early again.”

Sherlock felt a cool drop of anger roll down his back. “Leave.” He said staring his brother down.

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but thought the better of it. He calmly walked past the younger Holmes to the door. “Love, is making you slow brother dear.” He said quietly as he walked down the stairs.

Sherlock slammed the door behind him in response, and walked to the couch, throwing himself down like a petulant child.

It had been three months since the Sherringford incident and Mycroft was always tense when he knew Sherlock had a visit scheduled. It was a constant reminder of how he had failed both his siblings and their parents. Sherlock knew he was just lashing out. But bringing Molly into it was a low blow. He sighed and checked his watch again. Molly finished work in half an hour, she would go home and change and expect him to arrive in an hour.

He had some time to kill. Sherlock though he should probably look at the case his dear brother had left him, but instead he chose to lament.

They were fine, he had been assured. Their relationship was progressing normally. Which would be good if he had any idea of what normal meant. John told him earlier today that self-doubt was a perfectly natural occurrence when talking into consideration the feelings of those he loved, but it was new to him.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to gauge how she was feeling. They went out to dinner, to films, they held hands and kissed. But only on their dates. In the morgue, it was strictly business, and they rarely spoke outside of work unless they were on a date. He wanted more. He wanted her to be with him always, he wanted to reach out and brush the loose hair from her face when it fell as she looked through the microscope at Barts. He wanted to fall asleep next to her. To talk to her until the sun came up and they were both too exhausted to work.

But he had to respect her, he would move as slowly as she needed.

******************************

Molly sighed and rubbed her tired shoulder. Today had been exhausting, she had been filling in for Mike’s classes as he was on holidays and the interns had drained her. Maybe she was just used to a higher caliber of intelligence these days. Sherlock was spoiling her.

She smiled thinking about the tall Mr Holmes and checked the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes until she could sign off and get ready for her date. Sherlock would be at her flat in forty-five to pick her up.

It didn’t give her long to get ready. She missed Mary the most on date nights. Molly had never really had many girlfriends, and Mary had been the best. Always up for a laugh, or gossiping about their boys. Molly wished her friend could have been there to see her and Sherlock start dating. Mary would know how to tell Sherlock how she felt.

It wasn’t that things weren’t going well. No, it was nice, they were nice. But she couldn’t help wanting more. They had been officially dating a week when Sherlock had shown up with a flow chart and a calendar to schedule their dates for the next six months. “It’s practical Molly, this way I can’t get lost in a case.” He had explained.

At the time, she thought it was cute. Now, she wished he would see her more often than the one date a week two in the last week of the month schedule. He came into her work of course, but that was always case related and he never acted like they were together. Ever professional, ever frustrating.

She wanted to run her hands through his hair, and kiss his cheek as he looked through the microscope. She wanted to have a picnic on the roof at midnight. She wanted to do more than just kiss him and hold his hand.

But she had to respect him, she would move as slowly as he needed.

**********************************

She had just gotten home and was just about to get in the shower when the shower head burst out of the wall. She screamed as it broke through the glass shower door sending the glass shattering at her feet. The water poured out of the gap in torrents as she irrationally tried to plug the hole with her hand. She slipped on the wet tiles and winced as a shard of glass pierced her bare foot. “Fuck!” She cried.

Abandoning the still running shower Molly grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her middle before limping out into the kitchen to her first aid kit. She was surprised when she saw a heavy breathing Sherlock standing in her hallway. “Molly, I heard screaming. Your bleeding! What happened?” He asked rushing over to her.

She scowled in embarrassment, what was he doing here? She still had fifteen minutes until their date started. “I’m fine, the stupid shower head just exploded out of the wall.” She replied pushing him away and attempting to limp over to the kitchen.

A moment later she was lifted off her feet as he scooped her up and walked to the bench. “You’re getting blood on your pants.” She said softly.

“It’s not the first time.” He replied setting her down. “Now let’s take a look.”

“It’s fine, really.” She argued as he lifted her foot up to inspect the wound.

“It’s not deep, and I don’t think you have any glass in it. It should be fine with some butterfly clips don’t you think?” He assessed.

“Yeah.” She replied going red. “First aid kit is over there.” Said Molly pointing to the top of the fridge.

He glided over and grabbed the kit, resting it on the bench next to her. Taking off his coat and jacked he pulled out the iodine, gauze and some clips. Then he set about cleaning the offending wound. She winced as he dropped the iodine into the fresh cut and saw his eyebrows crease in concern. “Alright?” He checked.

“Yeah, sorry. Stings a bit.” She replied nodding at him to continue.

When the wound was clean he pinched the skin together and stuck on the lips before wrapping her entire foot in a bandage.

“There now, all better.” He said his eyes catching her own tenderly.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was only clad in a very small, very wet towel. “Ah, Sherlock, can you help me get to the bedroom? I need to put on my robe.” Her cheeks were completely crimson now.

He nodded and scooped her up again, this time she wrapped an arm around his neck to help support herself. As Sherlock carried her into the bedroom he couldn’t help notice the similarities to this situation and the bridal tradition of carry your new wife over the threshold. Of course, the brides weren’t usually bleeding at the time. He placed her on the bed and walked into the bathroom to assess the damage.

The shower head had taken out some tiles as well as the glass door and the water still poured out of the pipe where it once lived. He made his way quickly to the taps and turned off the water soaking himself in the process. Well, he thought, can’t be helped. At least the blood wouldn’t set on his pants now.

Molly heard the water go off as she shimmied across the bed to grab her robe. Tying it up over the towel she looked up to see Sherlock standing at the door to the bathroom. She let out a laugh, she couldn’t help it. He was flooded with water, hair that usually sat in dark curls across his head now lay flat in sodden chunks. “So” She said between fits of laughter. “You got the water off then.”

“Yes.” He replied. “And I had a look at the shower head, it’s completely rusted through. You should have told me it needed replacing.”

The idea of Sherlock filling in as her plumber set her off in to hysterics again, and as she laughed she wondered if she was going into shock from the ordeal. “It’s not funny Molly, you could have been killed.” He said pushing his matted hair back from his face.

“Sorry, I, I, it’s just. Well you look ridiculous.” She laughed.

“Yes well.” He said with a sigh undoing the buttons to his shirt.

He had removed his possessions from Molly’s house months ago, so as to make sure she was comfortable with the new relationship. But now he was stuck with an interesting problem. He was soaking wet, the only towel in the room was currently draped around his pathologist, and he had nothing dry to wear. His hand paused on the second button of his white shirt. “Do you have anything I could change into?” He asked.

The laughter died in her throat with a cough. Of course, he didn’t have any clothes here anymore, she thought, biting her lower lip. There was something…. but he wasn’t going to like it.

She leaned over to the draws by her bed and rolled out the bottom one. Inside was a pair of black silk pajama bottoms with chili’s on them and the words ‘hot stuff’ written on the waistband. She held them out to him hoping he wouldn’t ask who’s they were, she really didn’t want to explain why she kept her ex Toms pants in her bedside table draw. Not that there was any bad reason for it, she just like the way the material felt on her legs and had never returned them when they broke up. Sherlock stepped over to grab them, shoes squelching from the water in them.

He looked at them with a pained expression but took them out of her hands. “Thank you, I’ll just go to the spare room and change.”

She nodded and watched him walk out of the door, closing it behind himself. When he was gone, she limped over to her cupboard and pulled out a pair of fleece pajama pants and a tank top. After putting them on she snuck a glance into her ruined bathroom.

It was a mess, shattered glass and tiles lay everywhere covered in water. She sighed and shut the bathroom door, thankful that she had a guest bath down the hall. She would worry about the room later.

She had just hobbled her way to the bedroom door when she heard a knock. Rather than answer she opened it. On the other side was a topless Sherlock wearing only the long silk pants, she took a very small moment to admire him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a shirt off before, she wondered.

Whilst Molly was busy admiring Sherlock, he took a moment to do the same. She was clad in a skin-tight singlet top which hugged her small curves and left nothing hidden, and a pair of baggy flannel pink pants covered in cats. 'Your purrrfect’ the pants read. He tried not to let the grammatical errors bother him.

“Here.” He said offering his arm.

She took it and he slid it around her small waist as she rested her arm around his shoulder. He had to stoop to support her but he managed to get her over to the sofa. Sitting down she said. “Well, I guess date night is ruined.”

“Not necessarily, we can order in and watch a movie here.” Said Sherlock sitting down next to her. Stop staring! He said as his eyes glanced down at her curves again.

“That sounds nice.” Molly replied. Failing to keep her eyes of his exposed chest. “What do you feel like?”

He couldn’t stop looking at her lips. “Are you cold? You look a little blue, you lost a bit of blood.” He covered.

“I’m fine, you’re the one not wearing a shirt.” She replied. If he didn’t put something on soon she was going to be unable to stop herself from running a finger across his chest.

“What?” He said looking down. “Oh yes, well. My clothes are in the dryer it shouldn’t take long.”

“Sherlock! You can’t put those pants in the dryer! They’re dry clean only.” She said exasperated.

He shrugged in reply. “I have many pairs.”

Molly lifted her wounded foot up to cross over her other leg, but she bumped the wound in the process. Sherlock was alerted to her discomfort by the sharp intake of breath. “Are you alright? Here,” he said lifting her up and shifting her on the sofa so her legs lay over his lap. “You need to keep it elevated.”

He looked odd, she thought, and it’s not just because he’s half naked. His eyes seemed darker than usual, and he was sitting so straight she knew it couldn’t be comfortable for him. She sat up and finally let her hand dance across his chest. What are you doing? Asked a voice in the back of her mind. She ignored it.

Sherlock turned to stare at the small woman as she ran her hand across his skin. It was intimate, more intimate than they had been yet. Quickly he studied her face, he could see some reservations, like she wasn’t quite sure what she was doing. But beyond that, he could see her desire to touch him. He reached down and pulled her into his lap so she sat sideways across him. She gave him a quizzical look, in response he reached out to run his hand through her hair to settle onto the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned in to meet his waiting lips.

They had kissed before of course, but most of those kisses had been chaste, standing outside her flat, or in the darkened cinema surrounded by people. This kiss was different, deeper. With a hungry passion, their relationship had been missing. He brought up his other hand and pressed it into her back, pinning her against him. Her hands ran circles over the skin of his arms.

She broke free of his lips panting slightly. Leaning back, she had exposed her neck to him and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her there. It was an experiment he was happy to try. Molly let out a pleased hum as she worked her fingers into his damp hair.

She twisted her body trying to capture more of his exposed flesh but was restricted by the position she was in. She rested her good foot on the ground and maneuvered her other leg around until she was straddling him. Now with his whole chest exposed she could run her hands over him unrestricted as her lips met his own again.

His hands slid down her shirt coming to rest at the little strip of skin between the top and pants. He couldn’t understand how her skin felt so hot, he wanted to feel more of it but her shirt was getting in the way. So, he slid his hands up and under her the soft material. She arched her back and kissed him deeper, her tongue working across his lower lip. He couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted her, completely. Breaking their kiss, “Molly.” He said in a deep voice. 

She looked into his eyes biting her Lower lip, she could see the question in them. Making sure he would understand she gave him a tiny nod.

He let out a groan and pulled her back to him, lifting her up as they still kissed. He walked them to the bedroom.

********************************

Sherlock opened his eyes as the sunlight streamed through the windows. He smiled down at the beautiful pathologist still sleeping on his chest.

She sighed against him and he knew she would wake soon. He ran his fingers lightly down her exposed back. “Morning.” She said, eyes still closed and a smile on her face.

“Morning.” He replied smiling.

There had been nothing to worry about, all the intrepid young couple needed was a few rusty pipes to get them started.

[tjroewrites]

Light to My World | Chapter Five

            It was all just as she remembered it.

            A light breeze across her face. Natural, God-given sunlight. Not florescent bulbs hardly coming through the dusty covers on an iron ceiling, but real beams of light warming her skin. And grass. There was grass. Dandelions and weeds and tufts of grass stretching on for miles and miles. She leaned down to run her fingers through it. Soft. So soft. She closed her eyes and breathed in the natural scent. A million smells molded into one. Pollen and lumber and the sweet center of a sunflower.

            A hand met her shoulder and she turned her head toward the sky above her. SW’s hair shone under the near-evening light. Not quite sunset, but nearing it. He helped her to her feet and looked out at the landscape with her.

            “It’s so…” she trailed off. There were no words to accurately describe it. ‘Green.’ 

            SW’s chest shook beneath his T-shirt. He was smiling. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty green.’ He said. ‘Fifteen years without any people around does a lot for the environment.’ He placed a hand on her back and pointed to the road a few hundred feet out where three large trucks waited. ‘Come on, it’s at least twenty miles to the city.’

            “We’re going to the city?” Eileen asked. 

            SW nodded. ‘You wanted to see proof. We’ve got plenty of that back at base.’

             Eileen sat in the cab beside SW as they headed into town, the suspension bouncing with every unkempt pothole and crack they hit on the pavement. Every time the truck lurched it would send Eileen bouncing either into SW’s shoulder or slamming into the door. She was going to have bruises after this.

              Even with all three of the trucks being four-door, it wasn’t enough to hold the entirety of the Robbers. From what Eileen gathered, the elderly took the seats while the younger sat in the truck beds. Behind SW and Eileen sat two older men and a woman on the driver’s side. The balding man in the middle kept fussing over the dirt coating the other man’s neck while he attempted to swat his hand away. The woman seemed unable to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head.

            ‘Rudy, Jesus, leave him alone.’ SW said after ten minutes. ‘Keep it up and Archie’ll leave you for that hunk we met over in Kansas City.’

            ‘Already considering it.’ Eileen read the Archie’s lips through the passenger mirror. He pressed his forehead against the window and sighed. ‘At least he knows what personal space is.’

            The once proudly lit Boston city scape was now completely dark. Not a single window shone. Store signs hung bleak over abandoned stores. Cars were strewn half-hazard over the divider lines from the hasty evacuation during the Fall. Cracks in the street gave way for patches of grass and weeds to grow through the rusted car frames. SW did his best to weave in between until the cars created an almost barrier from the rest of the city. SW parked the car and opened his door.

            ‘Follow me.’ SW said to her. Eileen nodded. ‘And stay close.’

            They walked as a group down the sidewalk, bunched shoulder to shoulder. Eileen kept close to SW near the front, the eldest of the Robbers walking close behind. Eileen couldn’t help her gaze from wandering from the path. Broken windows lined the empty skyscrapers looming above, the setting sun reflecting a growing purple-red haze from those still in-tact. They walked past one shop that Eileen recognized: a small, local bakery that she and her mother had visited a few times. They would stop in for a treat whenever her father would have something tailored at the little shop across the street. Which meant the building above must be the Wells Fargo tower. 

            “This is Court Street.”

            SW nodded. ‘Another half mile and we’ll be at base.’

            “Where’s base?”

            The Old State House.

            Still as tall and proud as Eileen remembered. While all the buildings around her crumbled, she remained. Not a shingle out of place. They crowded around the East entrance and SW held the door.

            ‘Welcome to GR Base 7.’

            Most of the original furniture still remained. The couches. The cabinets. Even the display case holding John Hancock’s clothes stood in-tact. Eileen followed SW up the spiral staircase and to a separate room of terminals that hadn’t been there before. Most Robbers went their separate ways. SW pulled a chair from a desk in particular and motioned for her to sit.

            He reached over her shoulder and tapped the keyboard. The screen blinked to life. He scrolled the cursor through a list of options until it stopped on one: the Catacombs.

            “The Catacombs?” Eileen asked. She looked to SW for an answer. His lips didn’t move.

            When she selected the option, an entire new list appeared. Dozens of selections organized by date. Casket 067; Casket 092; Casket 113; Casket 043. Her cursor stopped on one in particular. Casket 022.

            Before the Fall, each house received their Casket assignment in advance. Everyone was placed by district, selected by city. Eileen’s best friend in school had lived across the city. Charlie. One of the last times they’d spoke was swapping Casket numbers. Eileen was 017. Charlie was 022. Eileen hovered over Charlie’s Casket and clicked on it.

            Her heart stopped.

            The first photo was of a field. Like the one in front of her own Casket. But instead of a large dome-shaped hill between the weeds, a pile of rubble stared back. No cave, no dome, just heaps of iron and pillows of dark smoke. Nothing but a gaping hole.

            “No.” It wasn’t possible. The Casket’s were indestructible. Perfectly sound. She clicked on the next picture. A closer shot. Eileen could see bits of the surface level control panels peaking through the wreckage. The edge of the Cap just barely jutted out from the hole. It was all gone. Destroyed. And everyone inside. Charlie…

            “No-“ Her fingers fumbled with the keys until the screen flipped back to the list. She selected the next down. Casket 086.

            Gone.

            Casket 051.

            Gone.

            Casket 103.

            Gone.

            Thousands of people. Gone. Dead. Innocent lives. Wasted. They told them that the Casket’s were their new home when instead they were filing them into their own graves. The true Catacombs.

            “The Caskets-“ Eileen breathed. Through her hazy eyes a tear slid down her cheek. Dead. Families. Children. Grandparents. “All those people…” She felt a hand press into her shoulder through her jacket. A slight squeeze. Reassurance. It was useless. The time for reassurance had passed. She pulled the jacket lapels tighter around her until it nearly strangled her. The jacket. Her mother’s jacket. Her family. Her Casket.

            The chair flew out from under her as she shot up. It was too hot in the State House. Too hot inside her clothes. A line of sweat formed around her neck like a noose. Breath. She needed to breath.

             “We need to go.” Eileen said. Loud. A few Robbers in the next room turned to look at her as she stormed down the stairs. The steps trembled under her soles. The railing shook under her palm. Her fingers wrapped around the door handle just as a set of fingers gripped her wrist. SW.

            ‘Eileen-‘

            “We need to go back.” Her voice cut raw from her throat. He visibly flinched. “My family. My Casket. We need to get them out.”

            Only a few Robbers came this time. The buses they had set aside for evacuations weren’t ready. After 15 years of silence no one thought a Casket would respond. Most stayed back to get them up and running. Eileen sat on the edge of the truck’s front seat, pushing SW to drive faster with every mile. Seventy miles per hour. Eighty. Ninety. It wasn’t fast enough. Nothing would ever be fast enough.

             Through the fading sunlight she spotted a dome in the distance. The Casket. Eileen let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Thank God.” She muttered. SW smiled at her form the corner of her eye. That warm, open smile.

             He followed in her footsteps left in the dirt. Her jacket blew behind her. There had been a time she had run track for her high school. Now, her legs felt like Jell-O after only a few hundred feet. She ripped that rotten wood door away and took off down the cave. The Cap twinkled in the sunset light. Almost there. Almost there…

            The world trembled. Shook beneath her boots. Shook and trembled until she staggered on her feet. Until she leaned against the cave walls for support. The boulders shifted. They vibrated. They roared beneath her fingers in their silent fury. Dust sputtered from above. Shards floated into her hair. What was happening? What was happening? 

            She charged forward, scaling the wall for support. A crack split the ground a distance in front of them. Her fingers gripped the walls so tight she was sure they were bleeding. Shudder. Crack. Roar. She’d only been gone an hour. Shudder. Crack. Roar. Barely an hour. Roar.

            Fingers pulled her, tore her from the wall. Eileen screamed. Swore. Fought. Resisted until she ran out of air and continued even then. The Cap shrunk through the blur. Shrunk. Roar. Crack. Her skin burned. Fire. Heat. Fury. Gasping for breath. Her mother. Eric. Roar. Shudder. The chrome door bent outward near the middle. Her Casket. But the fingers kept pulling. Pulling her away. Away from her home. 

            She tore from the fingers. Freed. She stumbled and fumbled toward the Cap. They needed her. Roar. She needed them. The dirt below turned until she hit her knees. Turned until a crack split between her legs. Between her palms. The fires of hell burned between the edges.

            Arms around her waist. Her feet left the ground. Her legs kicked. She clawed at skin. Anything. Let me go, she screamed. Let me go. She screamed at the back of that wood door. At the split dome. The crumbling cave. Shudder. The cracks gave way. Into the hole. Dirt and boulder alike. All into the hole. All at once. A waterfall. Dumping on itself. No, she screamed. Her lungs needed air. No, demanded it. Her cheeks pulsed. Burned. Like the fires between the cracks in the Earth. There was nothing left. Gone. Another entry on a terminal. Casket 017. She crumbled to the Earth through the arms holding her. Just like Casket 017. Just like Casket 017.

            Her mother. Father. Grave Diggers. Families she’d known her entire life. Buried. Lost. Everything she’d known. Gone.

            Eileen buried her face in the grass. As deep as she could possibly go. 

            And she cried.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten