I’m so sorry, but my brain is currently listing all of the dangerous diseases that this situation poses. Rabies being the most concerning, plague and others with the flea situation being the next. Fleas are vectors for a lot of things when it comes to wild animals. Please tell me that they will continue to try to get rid of that animal!!
Oh yes, they absolutely will. (They haven’t actually named it, that was just so I didn’t have to keep typing “the possum”). I will let you know as soon as it’s taken care of.
asteraceaeblue replied to your video: “The Java Jive” (Ink Spots, 1940) ...
Story time. I was in a 40’s trio my senior year of high school and we definitely performed this song as part of our repertoire. Full three part harmony.
Oooh! I don’t suppose there’s any audio? (A girl can dream...)
Totally safe for work, sorry. On ff.net here and AO3 here. Enjoy!
He stayed the entire night, leaving only when she roused herself to prepare to work. He returned the next night, and the night after that, not only making love to her until she was sated and content (but never sore; he always took the time to heal even the slightest muscle ache) but simply talking to her. Asking her about her life, about the city she lived in and the people she knew. Telling her tiny snippets of facts about himself and his fellow angels, things she suspected no other human had ever heard before. She completely forgot about talking to John about him, hugging the secret of their continued involvement to herself, not ready to share just yet. The pain in her hand gradually stopped flaring up as a week passed, and then another, until suddenly she and Sherlock had been involved (for lack of a better word) for three months.
When she rather diffidently mentioned that to him one evening over dinner (he was cautiously trying out Thai take-away for the first time), he shrugged. "Has it? Hardly worth mentioning, really. Humans take far too much notice of time."
"Yes, well we have so little of it compared to angels," Molly said with a bit more vinegar than she'd intended. Not that she expected him to celebrate anniversaries or anything, but he could at least let her know he valued her. Or was this way of letting her know that he didn't value her after all, that she was nothing but an experiment to him, an itch to be scratched?
All the insecurities and doubts she'd been trying to ignore came rushing back, and the one question she'd tried not to ask him popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "How do you feel about me?"
He looked at her, simply looked at her with a blank expression on his face, holding his body absolutely still, and Molly had her answer. "Oh, right, p-pretend I didn't ask," she said numbly. "Forget it. Just...how is your Pad Thai?"
"Molly," he said warningly. She gave him a bright, artificial smile and tried to choke down some of her own food, giving it up after only a single bite. She could feel him watching her, and kept her head down, wishing desperately that she could take back the question.
A whisper of motion caught her attention; she looked up, to see him standing, wings folded tight to his body, hands immobile by his sides. Their eyes met, and his had never seemed so alien, shining with molten silver on the outside, the amber flecks on the irises a shimmering gold that overwhelmed the blue-green that usually dominated. "I have to go," he said, and even his voice was different - echoing as if her humble flat had suddenly morphed into an enormous cavern. "Good-bye."
Toby hissed and ran under the sofa, and Molly trembled as Sherlock unfurled his wings with deliberate, regal motions. He nodded and a bright light enveloped his form, so bright it hurt to look at. Molly cried out and covered her eyes; when she was able to open them again, blinking and watering, Sherlock was gone.
She wasn't a crier, never had been, but she cried now, head pillowed on her arms, which rested in turn on her bent knees. Why couldn't she have just left it alone? Why did she have to go and spoil things? His presence in her life was a gift, and instead of just appreciating it, she'd started to take it for granted - take him for granted. Treat him as if he was just another new boyfriend instead of a literal miracle in winged form.
Oh, but she knew why. In spite of her better instincts, in spite of knowing there could be no future between them, she'd done the most ridiculous, heart-breaking thing she could have done.
She'd fallen in love with him, and if he hadn't been aware of her feelings before, he certainly was now. No wonder he'd left; after all, there was no future for the two of them. It was kinder this way, she thought forlornly. Better to remind her of all the differences that stood between them and cut her off completely, than let her continue to foster her impossible hopes.
But it didn't feel like a kindness, not to her aching heart. It felt like abandonment.
A sharp pain in her left palm jerked her upright; she stared at it in wonder as the angelic script glowed with the same mix of shimmering gold and silver that had colored Sherlock's eyes before he left. She averted her gaze, in case it flared up too brightly, but as soon as she did the pain and light both faded away.
The words, however, remained, and she whispered them aloud. "And the greatest of these is love."
She still had no idea how they'd been transferred from his body to hers, or why, but oddly enough she found comfort in the fact that they hadn't vanished with him.
6 Months Later
"Tell me how you did it, John."
The now-human doctor startled as Sherlock manifested in front of him, then deliberately settled back in his chair as he frowned at his unexpected visitor. "Nice to see you, John, how've you been? Sorry to just swan in and out of your life like this, it's only been nine months since I've seen you," he said sarcastically.
Sherlock's brow arched. "Nine months? A blink of an eye, John, and you know it."
"To you, maybe," John replied, still miffed. "But not to us mere mortals. You do remember that I'm one of those now, right? And so is Molly," he added with an angry glare. "You just disappeared on her, after she as good as told you she's in love with you, and now she thinks you hate her. It's a good thing your mark is still on her palm, or else she'd - "
"Of course it's still there, why wouldn't it be?" Sherlock demanded, scowling right back at the man who'd once worn feathers as blue as his human eyes. "It's not like I was leaving forever…"
"Did you tell her that?"
Sherlock blinked. Twice. Then shifted uneasily, the tips of his wings whispering across the carpeted study floor. "I told her I had to go," he said. At John's exasperated huff, he added defensively, "What? Not good?"
John shook his head. "No, Sherlock, not good at all."
Sherlock shifted uneasily again, his eyes sliding away from John's and back again, but only for a moment. With his gaze trained on the floor, he mumbled, "Was she very upset?"
"Yeah, she was upset. She thinks you left because of her feelings for you. And now she's trying to find a way to deal with a broken heart with no one but me to talk to about it. Normally I'd say me and Mary, but she doesn't want to drag her into it, Molly's words, not mine. Personally I think she'd do a lot better if she talked to Mary, but I can't force her to." He let out a huff of breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So if you're here to tell me that you're leaving, or to ask me to tell Molly…"
"I want you to tell me how you did it, John." When he received a puzzled look in response, Sherlock continued. "Became human. I want to know how you did it. I know you must have petitioned Him for the right, but did you have to do anything else?"
John gaped at him, blinked, slowly closed his mouth, then shut his eyes and shook his head quickly, as if trying to dislodge an image from his mind. Then he opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock, who was still standing there in the middle of the room, hands loose by his sides but slightly curled. An angelic tell that would translate as tightly-clenched fists in a human. "Why do you want to know?" He had his suspicions, but he had to hear them, hear the actual words from Sherlock's lips.
A shrug was the first response he received, but he waited patiently, for once having the upper hand; even Sherlock wasn't arrogant or impatient enough to simply delve into John's mind for the information he sought. He'd always prided himself on his ability to bend the rules laid down for all angels…but never to cross the line into breaking them.
Because crossing that line meant not a descent into humanity, but into damnation. A path too many of their brethren had taken when they followed Lucifer in his rebellion against God endless eons ago.
Before Sherlock answered, the door to John's study opened. "John? Who are you…ohhhh."
Mary stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the handle as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet – which, John realized as he took in her pale face and wide eyes, was entirely possible. He started to move past Sherlock to support his shocked wife, when Sherlock did something that shocked John just as much: he reached out and took Mary's elbow very gently in his hand, walked her over to the settee, and helped her to sit. "Hello, Mary. I'm…"
"Sherlock," she breathed before he could finish. John saw his – were they still friends? – his friend, yes, he'd use the word for now. Saw him raise an eyebrow and smile the little, crooked smile John remembered so well.
Mary was still staring up at him in awe, mouth partially open, but she snapped it shut when John cleared his throat. Loudly. "Sorry," she said, blushing a bit. "I knew you'd been in touch with John and that you'd been seeing...um, that you'd been in touch," she hastily corrected herself, the blush darkening with embarrassment. "I just never thought I'd get to actually meet you."
"That fault lies entirely with me," Sherlock replied, settling on the sofa next to her, his wings grazing the green-carpeted floor. Mary's eyes kept moving back and forth between them and his face, and John smiled fondly as her lips curled up and eyes crinkled with joy. Angels were usually harbingers of death, but the sight of them still fascinated humans of all kinds.
Even, it would seem, his normally unflappable wife. Who, come to think of it, had shown much the same reaction when he'd first revealed his true nature to her, twelve years ago.
Sherlock was at his charming best, asking about their children (with whom he seemed to have an honest interest, as far as John could tell) and Mary's work at the clinic. She answered him enthusiastically, and as she relaxed a bit her usual sharp intelligence reappeared. She stopped in the middle of a story about one of their regular patients, Mrs. Hudson, and how her rental flat was once again on the market due to her previous tenant's inability to stay away from the horse races, looking from John to Sherlock and back again. "I've interrupted something," she said, rising to her feet. "And you've been very gracious not to point that out to me, Sherlock, but I think I'd better let you and my husband get back to whatever you were discussing before I barged in here. Which," she added with a hint of steel to her voice, "I very much hope is Molly Hooper."
Sherlock, who'd risen to his feet when she did, simply nodded, waiting silently while Mary crossed over to John, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then walked out, pulling the door shut behind her without a single look backwards.
"So that's Mary," Sherlock said with a smirk.
John narrowed his eyes. "Yes, that's Mary. My wife," he added, heavily emphasizing the last word. "So no comments about how ordinary and human she is, got it? No sniping about whether she was really worth it. Because the answer is yes. Worth every lost power, worth every feather on my wings, worth knowing that I'll die someday. She and our children are worth it, and I wouldn't trade them for anything."
Sherlock was silent for a long moment before speaking, his tone much more serious than it had been. "Worth losing your place in His army? Worth losing your ability to see into the hearts and souls of humans? Worth becoming just one more human being among billions?"
John nodded. "Yes," he said simply.
Sherlock nodded as well, as if John had somehow confirmed a conclusion he'd already reached. And if he was contemplating what John thought he was… "Sherlock, I have the feeling you didn't ask me how I became human just to satisfy your curiosity."
The look Sherlock shot him spoke volumes - and all of them screamed 'don't be an idiot'. "Of course not."
When he fell silent, John prompted him, even though he already knew the answer. "Then why?"
This time he ignored the 'don't be an idiot' look and just waited. With an impatient huff, Sherlock gave in and answered him. "Because I want to do it, John. I want to give up everything you gave up, and for much the same reason. I know I said I thought I was falling from grace the last time we spoke, but after spending some time thinking about, I think the truth is far more troublesome. I think I've...fallen in love."
"With Molly Hooper," John said. Just to be absolutely sure.
Sherlock gave him a withering look. "No, John, with you," he snapped. "Of course with Molly Hooper!"
"What makes you think that?" Sherlock's brow lowered in confusion, and John did his best to explain. "Do you want to be with her, are you interested in her life, her job, her friends, her damned cat? Do you know things about her from observing her, or only what you've taken from her mind? Like what a bad cook she is? She said you'd been having, erm, quite a lot of sex before you left, so are you sure it's not just physical?"
That was a loaded question, and John knew it. Angels and humans having intercourse had caused problems for their kind millennia ago, which was why angels were now sterile, male and female. But there was no diplomatic way to put it; if Sherlock was merely interested in a carnal relationship, that was no reason to become human, to give up his place among the ranks of angels serving in Heaven. It wouldn't be fair to him and it damn sure wouldn't be fair to Molly.
"No, of course it's not just physical," Sherlock snapped. "At least, I don't think it is," he added. "All I know for certain is that it's like nothing I've ever experienced before. I...enjoy her company. I find everything about her fascinating, and no, not just because of the sex or even because she now bears my mark on her hand. That can't be coincidence or accident. Not when the words are 'and the greatest of these is love'. Even you have to agree with that!"
John did, indeed, agree, but for Molly's sake continued to press. No, not just for Molly's sake, but for Sherlock's as well; he had to be absolutely certain he wanted to do this, to give up immortality for love, as John had so wholeheartedly done. There could be no doubt.
"Yeah, it's pretty obvious you two have a connection. But to give up everything and become a mortal...you can't just 'think' you're in love with Molly. You have to know it, feel it here." He tapped his fist over his heart. "There has to be more to it than just fascination. Fascination can end. Only love endures." He spoke with the absolute conviction of a man who believes in the truth of his words.
"And were you so certain when you chose to give up your immortality?" Sherlock asked, but not scornfully; no, he asked with genuine interest, unlike when he'd accused John of throwing away his future on a whim. He hadn't been willing to listen then, but he was listening now, and John wasted no time in answering his question.
John nodded. "I was. I observed Mary a long time before I even approached her, let alone had sex with her. I knew who she was before she became Mary Morstan, which was a good five years before I revealed myself to her," he said softly, a distant, remembering look in his clear blue eyes. "I knew her inside and out, I knew she was not only worthy of me – but that I was worthy of her. Before I so much as said a single word to her."
Sherlock was still for a long time, nothing moving but his eyes, darting back and forth as he reviewed something invisible to the mortal eye. John recognized that look from when the two of them had been comrades, brothers in arms serving His will. Sherlock was deep inside his own mind, no doubt reviewing every second of every interaction he'd ever had with Molly Hooper.
Nearly five minutes passed before he spoke again, and when he did, it was a single word as he looked John dead in the eye. "Yes."
John tilted his head. "Yes?" he echoed.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes." His eyes shone with determination. "I'm certain. I've fallen in love with her. And as you've already pointed out, she's in love with me. So the only thing stopping us from being together is…" He raised his wings, the silver-lined feathers shimmering even in the dim lighting of the study.
He meant it. He meant every word; John didn't need to be able to read his mind to see that.
"Right," he said with a sigh. "So here's what I did. No guarantees it'll work for you, but it's worth a try."
"Molly," Sherlock corrected him. When John gave him puzzled squint, he elaborated. "Molly's worth a try." He sounded bemused as he added, "She's worth everything, and I don't even know why or how it happened. It just...did."
Oh boy, he's got it bad, John thought, feeling a cautious sort of hope. If Sherlock felt that strongly about her...yeah, it was love.
He only hoped that love would endure once Sherlock fully realized the permanency of what he was about to do.
asteraceaeblue replied to your post “I have a massive, roaring headache, and now is the time that the...”
The person who invented leaf blowers must have been a hateful man who just wanted to watch the world burn.
The worst part is without fail, at least four times a week, these suckers are being used before 9 AM. It’s like, can’t you at least wait until 9? Or even 10? I mean, damn. Let a person relax in the morning, you know?
Every time I see your username I think it says Pennywaltz, and either way you have a really cool url :)
pennywaltz sounds like a lovely Victorian era username. You know, I could see it being the username of someone who loved Victorian/Regency era romance novels...::thoughts are percolating in head::
“What’s really funny to me about the kerfluffle last night is that a...”
I guarantee the fic writers have given more thought to that relationship and what the ramifications of the shooting will be (outside of John) more than season 4 ever will. I would bet money on it.
Well we’re dealing with a show where, regardless of Mary’s motivation for befriending Janine, the two were good enough friends for Mary to ask her to be MOH and for Janine to accept yet we never saw them exchange a glance much less a word. Do you know how much I would have loved to pore over their interactions in hindsight after Mary’s reveal? This is especially frustrating after learning that the script originally came in short. As much as I did enjoy the stag night scene it honestly was too long and sort of stagnated the pace at times, and I would trade 10 seconds of it for Mary and Janine to have like, looked at each other. Or Mary and Molly. Or Mary and Mrs. Hudson.
