Fan fiction writers have a life outside their fandom. They often move on to something else than writing fics of a particular ship. That's understandable. I should be congratulating on their new adventures, although I don't know what they are in most cases. But... I still miss them, miss their wonderful writing.
Here are some authors who haven't written Sherlolly stories for quite a while. Hope they will see this post and know about my appreciation.
Sherlolly Fanfic Week Day 5: A story I reread but haven’t re-reviewed
This eight-chapter story by jankmusic (@Janky’s Fanfiction Blog on tumblr) was originally published in 2014, but completed almost two years later in 2016. The author experienced a lot of changes in her life and we are lucky she managed to find the time to finish this deeply moving story. I read and reviewed the first couple of chapters when they were out. I read the whole thing again when it was complete, but never had a chance to re-review. So here it goes…
In the beginning of this story, Sherlock is in a happy romantic relationship with Molly. But he gets injured in a traffic accident and loses memory of the recent ten years or so. He remembers his parents and Mycroft and has a vague memory of Greg and Mrs Hudson, but he cannot recognize John or Molly.
With massive anxiety and confusion, Sherlock tries to reconstruct his memory by taking notes about himself and people around him. Everybody keeps a reasonable distance, but watches and tries to help him if need be. Through that process, he falls for Molly all over again.
It is this vulnerable Sherlock that makes this story unique and endearing. I will not tell you how it ends. You should find out for yourself. I will just tell you that the very final paragraph will show you how talented a writer jankmusic is.
Neither the gunshot wound in HLV nor the Fall related injuries. I didn’t include any stories listing of which could be seen as a spoiler. Some stories are fluffs, others are not.
A Beautiful Mindについては、前に書いたことがありますが、事故で記憶をなくしてしまったシャーロックが主人公です。半年近くアップデートされていなかったので、著者のjankmusicさんは、もう続きを書かないのかと残念に思っていましたが、今日、アップデートされていることを発見しました。本当に「きれいな」お話で、続きが読めるのがとても嬉しいです。
Here's my gift fic for the lovely jankmusic. Hopefully it delivers the fluff and babies she was looking for :)
AO3, if you so please.
<3 <3 <3
Molly sighed contentedly, stretching her lithe arms above her head and sinking deeply into the mattress as Sherlock worked his way down her body.
"Valentine's Day really is a preposterous holiday, though," Sherlock managed to murmur in between the soft kisses he was planting on her collarbone. Molly giggled and rolled her eyes halfheartedly. "Oh really, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, her breath catching slightly as he traced the edge of her bra cup with the tip of his tongue.
"Mmm. Yes." He tugged both of her bra straps down and promptly covered the exposed skin with more kisses. "Depending on who you ask, there were no less than three saints who went by the name Valentinus, and the only thing they had in common was that they were all tortured and beheaded by the Holy Roman Empire."
"Ugh, Sherlock, do you have to - ohhhh." Molly's complaint was effectively squelched by the feel of Sherlock's fingers as they dragged across the front of her lacy knickers. She could feel him smirk against the soft skin of her abdomen as he continued to slowly creep down her body.
"Christian martyrdom is hardly a romantic gesture," he rumbled against her navel, causing Molly's hips to press up involuntarily. "You're one to talk," she panted, squirming as he dragged his teeth lightly over her hipbone. "Aren't you the one who threw himself off a roof to save his loved ones?"
Molly yelped as Sherlock bit down on her hip lightly. "Not the same thing," he huffed, looking up at her with a pout. His icy blue eyes sparkled. "For one, I am an atheist."
Molly giggled and reached for his face with both hands, cupping his jaw and pulling him upwards until his lips met hers. "And not quite a saint, either," he murmured against her mouth, pressing the full length of his body down against hers. "Mmm, yes - not quite, " Molly agreed, threading her fingers through his dark curls, parting her mouth slightly as he swept his tongue along her lower lip -
A high-pitched wail suddenly erupted from the side of the bed. Breaking the kiss, both Sherlock and Molly turned their heads and stared at the baby monitor perched on the nightstand.
Molly groaned. "Why. Why. Why is she awake?" she sputtered in frustration. Sherlock merely smiled and turned back toward his wife, planting a small kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'll go," he offered, rolling to his side and sliding off the bed. "I'm slightly more dressed for the occasion," he added with a smirk, his eyes raking over Molly's underwear-clad form. Indeed, he was still fully clothed, a slight that Molly was nearly about to correct before their daughter decided to rudely interrupt.
A few moments later, Molly could hear the baby's cries dissolve into happy coos as Sherlock entered the nursery. His voice murmured soothingly, and occasionally Molly could make out a few words through the static of the baby monitor. "...no less than three saints...beheaded….absurd, if you ask me…."
A full minute passed in silence before Molly heard Sherlock's footsteps as he descended the stairs. "Success," he said with a smile as he reentered the bedroom. "Now, where was I?" he mused as he approached the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. "Ah, yes. The ridiculousness of Valentine's Day." He shrugged his shirt off and climbed back onto the bed, lying on his side. Molly turned to face him, running her palm up and down his firm, pale chest. "Oh, we're back to that," Molly teased, tickling her fingertips across his abdomen.
"We were never off it," Sherlock murmured, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her flush to him. He brought his mouth to her neck and kissed her skin lightly. "Most of the legends contend that Saint Valentine was executed on February 14th, when in actuality, there is no evidence to suggest that is accurate." He slid his hand across her bum and grabbed the back of her thigh lightly. Molly moaned softly and hitched her leg up and over his hip.
Sherlock stifled a groan as he pressed his pelvis forward. "The Catholic Church essentially appropriated the pagan festival of Lupercalia, which was celebrated during the ides of February," he whispered against her throat. Molly hummed in response, focusing on the feel of his fingers as they traced the soft skin of her inner thigh.
"The festival would begin with the sacrificing of two males goats and a dog…"
"Sherlock -"
"The patricians would take the hides of the animals and whip the women and female children of the village with them, to ensure fertility -"
Exasperated, Molly grabbed Sherlock roughly by the face and crashed her mouth to his. "Sherlock, I love you, so very much," she breathed against his lips. "So don't take this the wrong way. But can you please shut the fuck up and do me already?"
Sherlock eyes flashed, and he made a noise that sounded like a growl as he pushed Molly onto her back and assaulted her mouth in a burst of passion. Molly eagerly reciprocated, tangling her tongue with his as she frantically grabbed for his belt with both hands and tugged at the buckle. He sucked at her throat hard as she slid the belt from his trousers, rolling her hips up to meet his before reaching back down for his zip -
"Mama, mamamama, MA- MA!" the little voice sang out from the bedside table.
"Arghhhh!" Molly cried, throwing her arms dramatically over her face. "Why me? Why is she calling for me?" Sherlock simply chuckled into her shoulder. "Shut up!" Molly wailed, slapping him lightly on the arm. He looked up and shot her a lopsided grin. "Maybe she's decided she wants to be an only child," he said, kissing her on the forehead before sliding off the bed once again. Molly groaned. "Hurry back, please," she begged in a strangled voice, watching him as he shrugged on his blue dressing gown and made his way back up to the nursery.
Molly rolled onto her side and pouted at the baby monitor. Again, the low murmur of her husband's voice floated in and out of the speaker, occasionally punctuated by her daughter's content babbling. She could tell that he was pacing the floor of the nursery with her, an image that, despite her current frustrations, brought a content smile to her face. For all of his faults ( and to be sure, there were still many), Sherlock was a surprisingly good husband, and an even better father.
Molly sighed in halfhearted defeat and sat up, resigning herself to the fact that her Valentine's Day plans were going to be put on hold, at least temporarily. She scooted off the bed and wrapped herself in her favorite robe, creeping quietly through the sitting room and up the stairs. She paused in the doorway of the darkened nursery and leaned against the jamb, her gaze focused on the tall silhouette swaying back and forth in front of the small window.
"…and yet, the most widely accepted legend is likely the most accurate, historically speaking," Sherlock was saying softly against the curly-haired little head that was resting on his shoulder. "Saint Valentine of Rome was a priest who served during the third century. At that time, Emperor Claudius II decreed that single men made better soldiers, therefore banning all young men from marriage." The baby yawned sweetly and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Molly could hear the smile in his voice as he continued. "Now, Valentine sought to correct what he perceived to be a gross injustice, and continued to perform hundreds of marriages for young lovers in secret. When his actions were discovered, Claudius sentenced him to death.
Sherlock raised his eyes to the door and watched Molly quietly cross the floor of the nursery. He smiled as she reached up and brushed an unruly lock of light brown hair off of her daughter's forehead.
"During his imprisonment, Valentine befriended his jailer, a conflicted man named Asterius," Sherlock continued, swaying gently. The baby sighed as her eyes drooped lower. "Asterius had a young daughter who was born blind. Her name was Julia." He met Molly's eyes and they shared a smile. "Valentine became deeply devoted to Julia, praying with her daily, and eventually healing her blindness. On the eve of his execution, the condemned priest wrote a long letter to Julia, and signed it 'From your Valentine,' thus making it the first 'official' Valentine card ever given," Sherlock concluded with a whisper, as his daughter's eyes closed fully, her tiny breaths slow and even.
Molly slid her arms around Sherlock's waist and rested her cheek on his back. "And they said you weren't a romantic," she whispered against the cool silk of his dressing gown.
"They said that? Who said that?" Sherlock asked, feigning offense.
Molly giggled. "Oh, you know, probably every single person you've ever interacted with," she smiled, giving his middle a quick, affectionate squeeze.
Sherlock turned slightly and leaned down, planting a soft kiss on Molly's lips. "Not every single person," he said, quirking an eyebrow in her direction. "Though don't go sharing that information. I have reputation to maintain." He shifted the baby's weight in his arms. "Go back to bed. I'll be down in a few moments."
Molly smiled in return, leaning over her husband’s shoulder to give her daughter a soft peck on the cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Julia Hooper-Holmes,” she murmured happily.
Dear Lord. Whatever happened last night was ridiculous. That's the first time I've ever seen a douche nozzle send hate like that. You handled it well. Good for you.
Thanks. Sorry for flooding your dash last night. But I wasn't gonna let that loser talk crap and feel any sense of accomplishment by ignoring them.
