Title: Excursion
Rating: G
Fandom: BBC Sherlock (Sherlock/Molly)
Spoiler/Trigger Warning: Post-S4 , none
Summary: Prompt from @mistykins06 - "How about Sherlolly in couples therapy, not because things are bad, more that they are trying a bit overly hard to do it right? With a lovely tender kiss after leaving, proud of themselves."
Disclaimer: Not made for profit, just for fun, don't come for me.
"Molly."
His voice was just beside her, pulling her from sleep. Molly blearily opened her eyes to see Sherlock crouching just beside her head on the floor beside the bed.
"Whassit, you alright?" she slurred, managing to have the presence of mind to wipe the drool from her chin. She blinked herself more awake seeing that Sherlock had broken into her home and was still wearing his coat. It seemed like she would be likely to asked to rush off somewhere to some mad excursion. She frowned when she noticed that Sherlock didn't seem to be in the usual the-game-is-on mood, but rather looked downright nervous and as if he was doing his best to hide it.
"Molly, would you..." he swallowed thickly but kept eye contact with her. "I would very much like it if you came along with me today."
It was Wednesday, and Molly knew by now that it was the day that Sherlock visited with his therapist. He'd told her that he had visited one sporadically when Mary had passed, but after Sherringford he had recognized that he couldn't take on rebuilding his life on his own any longer. And while he still often spoke derisively about the profession in general, he'd admitted how much it had helped.
But Molly was at a loss as to why he would want her to accompany him this time.
Sherlock seemed to read the question on her face. "It's important in this process in order for us to move forward with...well, with us. Or so I've been told."
She had sat up by now, her legs dangling off the side of the bed and he was now on his knees between them.
They'd been an "us" for a few months, but the progress had been slow, even hesitant if she was honest about it. Molly had been determined to be patient about it (when was she ever anything other that patient when it came to Sherlock Holmes?) as there had been so much that had to be rebuilt after the Sherringford incident. It seemed now that Sherlock was a little less patient and was ready to move past hesitant. Though perhaps attending therapy as a couple was something she hadn't considered.
Molly placed her hands gently on either side of his face and leaned in, touching her nose to his before she kissed him slowly. He placed his once fidgeting hands on her waist and finally seemed to be still, letting out a long breath as they broke away from each other.
"I'd be very happy to go with you today, and any other time you'd want me to," she told him with a smile.
****end*****
A/N: So that might have been more serious than anyone asked for, but I feel like therapy would be a VERY good idea for these two. This is un-edited, un-beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Man, I’m rusty...
Since I had three sets of prompts with significant overlap, I combined them:
Requested by @mistykins06:Dear one. I'm incredibly late to the latest Drabble challenge so I shall throw 86 (You’re cute with glasses) and 96 (I could’ve gone pro) at you to do with what you will. Love, Mistykins06
Requested by @mizjoely: If you're still taking prompts, 20, 21 & 22 would be fab (together, apart, whatever floats your boat!) - When’s the last time you smiled?/ Stop being such a brat/ If I wanted one, I would have gotten it myself
Requested by @theleftpill: For the drabble meme - I have no idea what the phrases are since I don't have the original list, so I'm choosing numbers for personal reasons: 86 (You’re cute with glasses ), 20 (When’s the last time you smiled?), 22 (If I wanted one, I would have gotten it myself)
Set in The Cheese Stands Alone ‘verse.
"You’re cute with glasses"/ "I could’ve gone pro"/ "When’s the last time you smiled?"/ "Stop being such a brat"/ "If I wanted one, I would have gotten it myself"
"Stop being such a brat and just come back," Molly said, her ancient cordless phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she refilled the salt shaker. She always tidied her kitchen when she was using her land line, it was ridiculous. Who still used a land line anyway? Her one remaining friend from the Tom-era and former colleague 'Meena,' apparently. Dull. "Three is old enough to stay home alone for a few hours while you take a shift in the lab. Just give him a little Benylin and put him in a dog crate with a blanket over it, turn on the telly for some noise, he won't even know you're gone."
Ah yes, the future mother of my children, Sherlock thought dryly.
"Pfft, unfit. And if I wanted one, I would have got it myself. No, it's not baby-snatching if you leave something of equal value in the pram, like a puppy or a bag of apples."
He glanced up and she was smiling that little dimply, impish smile of hers. She was trying to murder him; cause of death—ironically unrequited love and cuteness.
"I'm telling you, the new techs they send in just keep getting worse. I don't know where they're getting them, but..." A pause while Meena said something that made Molly's lips twist into a half-smile, half grimace. "Oh, he was a dope, but at least he's not a creep. This new one, Gaz—yeah, I know, right?—spent his entire first day staring at my tits like he was trying to make eye contact with them to assert his dominance or something."
He's not going to last long, Sherlock thought darkly. His eyes drifted to her chest, her bra-less breasts wobbling rather enticingly under her t-shirt. Molly would find a way to take care of it, she always did, but if she didn't, he could arrange for 'Gaz' to accidentally fall down some stairs or something else equally violent and debilitating. One of the many perks of associating with the criminal classes.
Molly snapped her fingers in front of her chest to get his attention, then pointed rather pointedly to her eyes while pursing her lips. They're up here.
Shit. She'd caught him looking. And rather than being flustered or flattered or—best-case—ready to throw the phone down and whip her t-shirt over her head to let him have a go at them, she just looked annoyed.
She laughed at something Meena said and went back to tidying the worktop.
*
"Ugh, my ear feels like it's going to fall off," she said, flopping down next to him on the sofa. It was a Herculean effort not to watch her breasts bounce as she did it; now that she knew he looked and she wasn't happy about it, it was all he wanted to do. Well, more than he normally did, which, to be fair, was a significant amount of time anyway.
He looked at her ear, instead, which was quite red from where it had been pressed to the phone for the last hour and change.
"Now you know why I don't like lengthy phone conversations."
"You don't like any phone conversations," she contradicted, pulling that scornful face of hers that made her look like she should be wearing a ball gown, surrounded by birds and anthropomorphic mice and talking teapots.
"Texting is easier."
"Not when I'm in the middle of a post-mortem."
"That's why you have assistants."
"I have assistants to assist with the post-mortem. Not to answer questions like, 'Could you, in theory, fit three Walnut Whips in your mouth at once?' Though really, can't complain about that one, the next day I had seven of them on my desk because apparently Ann told everyone in the department and they all wanted to know. So, I mean, free chocolate. Oh, don't make that face."
"What face? This is my normal face." He might have been making a face; that text was actually supposed to be private, since it wasn't for a case and more a matter of personal curiosity. He'd also been eating a Walnut Whip at the time and was having other, entirely less innocent thoughts about her eating one, too.
"Well, yes, but it's a glower. When's the last time you smiled?"
"Yesterday, though it may have just been wind," he answered dryly.
It had the desired effect; she couldn't help herself and snorted. Molly loved a fart joke. Maybe he could get her to watch some Monty Python again later.
*
"I really wish Meena would come back. She was so good at her job—no accidents, always there on time, never ran the wrong tests on the wrong samples. And she was so much fun! She was the one who dared me to wear her glasses when they did the new ID badge photos. We were talking about how no one ever checks them anyway and I could probably wear a clown nose and a rainbow wig and no one would even raise an eyebrow," Molly said, her tone wistful.
"Mm, always wondered why you had them in that picture," he murmured distractedly, deftly applying a second coat of red varnish to her middle toenail. Being her stand-in girlfriend wasn't all bad all the time; at least he got to be physically close to her and she talked to him. "You look cute with glasses."
Bollocks, he thought. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He hoped she'd just take it as a girlfriend thing, like telling her her hair was on point or those shoes were hot or whatever it was women said to each other to be supportive.
"Oh, ah, thank you," she said. It was almost a question.
"You're welcome?" he answered, making it a question himself.
He finished applying the varnish in excruciating silence; he was very aware of Molly watching him as he picked her foot up off his lap to blow on her still-wet nails. It was a heavy moment.
"You're, ah, really good at that. Pedicures, I mean," Molly said, her voice strained.
"Had a case once for a nail salon owner. Industrial espionage, more or less—well, less, more than more, they had their own line of varnishes and care products that were being tampered with. Learned how to do it there. She said I could've gone pro. I even got to keep the tips," he babbled, realizing he'd been swiping his thumb over Molly's ankle.
"Just the tips?" Molly asked, and he really wasn't sure if she was making a sex joke or asking a genuine question; he swallowed hard against the implication of the former and the very vivid image his brain supplied him with.
"Actually got a bottle of nail varnish, too. I used it in an experiment. It was purple." I carried a watermelon.
Good thing she didn't know he'd actually seen (and liked) Dirty Dancing; he could at least maintain the illusion of having a working pair of testicles. There had to be an appropriate joke in there about the colour blue as well, but he was having a hard time (ha) thinking past the smoothness of her skin. She'd shaved just the night before.
"How is your ankle, by the way?" he asked, changing the subject to something safe.
"Much better, barely feel it now. Bruising's almost gone," she said too quickly, grateful that the conversation was moving away from weird, at least.
"I see," he said, pushing up her trouser leg under the pretence of inspecting her ankle.
"I mean, you can still wait on me hand and foot and carry me up the stairs, if you're still feeling guilty," she joked. "Wouldn't mind a bacon butty right now. Or a glass of wine. Or both."
He turned to her with a look of appalled affront at her gustatory choices, then let it drop. "Actually, do you have any bacon in? I'm a bit peckish myself."
"No, but I've still got plenty of cheese."
"Grilled cheese it is, then. Goes better with the wine, anyway," he said, easing himself out from under her feet.
*
"Mm, God, this is gorgeous," she said, using her finger to swipe a gooey string of cheese off of her chin. "Since when do you know how to cook things that aren't potentially explosive or otherwise hazardous?"
"I'm a man of many talents," he said before biting into his own sandwich. Using the sliced apple in it had been a stroke of brilliance if he did say so himself. "I know how to both boil and fry an egg, too," he added.
"With skills like that, you'll make some lucky woman very happy one day," she said lightly. "You can certainly fill out an apron." She gave him an amused mock-leer from where she was leaned against the sink with her plate.
The apron was rather ridiculous, but he wasn't going to ruin a £300 shirt with grease splatter.
"Well, if you ever come across a woman who doesn't mind the occasional potentially explosive or otherwise hazardous dinner, enjoys solving crimes, and can provide me with human body parts for experimentation, then do give her my number," he said, skirting the edge of actually flirting by injecting just a hint of sarcasm into his tone. It was either that or drop to his knees and beg her to just give him a chance to make her happy; he'd rather not ruin the evening, though.
"I don't know, a woman like that sounds awfully dangerous. Probably has a few bodies buried in her back garden. Could have had an ex-boyfriend that was a criminal mastermind. Maybe he's even buried in her back garden." She smirked before taking a bite of her sandwich.
He was hit with the memory of when he'd told her Moriarty was dead and she needed to do something with the body until Mycroft could arrange disposal; Shall I just bury him in my back garden, then? had been her incredulous response. Hadn't been nearly as amusing at the time.
Wait, was she flirting? Or was she just going along with the joke?
"I like a woman who knows her way around a shovel. Graverobbing's always much more fun with two."
"I thought that was housebreaking."
"That too. Lots of things are better with two. Vandalism, confidence tricks, footraces, most board games..."
"Sex," she supplied.
"Probably," he agreed.
He could almost hear the needle scratch across the vinyl before she scrutinized him.
"I mean, with one person it's not really sex as such and three or more is just too many, so two for sex. Two is the magic number there. Two people. Having sex," he stumbled to clarify, anything to cover the fact that he had no first-hand knowledge of the act.
"Ohhh-kay."
And it was going so well there for a minute.
*
"Sherlock," she said, pulling her calves away from his still-cold feet.
"Hm."
"If I, ah, ever did meet a woman like you described before, or, I mean, someone I thought you might like, would you, ah, ever want me to introduce you? Because, I—I would."
"Thank you, but no."
"Women not your area, married to your work, right."
"No, that's just what I tell John when asks annoying, invasive questions." Because it was dark and he was turned away from her and there was always something about the night-time that made confessions easier, he said it. "To be quite honest, I'm not interested in meeting any women. I've already met one and I can't really imagine anyone else being able to hold a candle to her."
"Oh," she said quietly, sadly. "If you, ah, ever want to talk about it, I mean, it must be hard to keep up long distance for so long..."
Long distance? What was she—oh. Irene Adler, John's blog and the lie he'd told about the witness protection scheme in America.
Really though, what he had with Molly could be considered long distance; the other side of the bed may as well be the other side of the world for all the distance between them.
"It can be trying at times, but every moment I do get with her is precious," he said sincerely. It was probably a cruel thing to do to make her think it was someone else, but maybe, just maybe, if he could get his feelings out like this, he could tell her the truth someday. Or else he was shooting himself in the foot.
She reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
"I'd spend every hour of every day with her if I could. Sleep next to her every night. Apart from the cold feet, I don't think she'd mind."
"She probably doesn't mind the cold feet as much as she pretends to," Molly said, her voice taking on that gentle, heartbreaking tone of hers when she was clamping down on her own misery to ease someone else's.
He'd maybe made a bit of a mistake, miscalculated how deeply buried the feelings she used to have for him still were. He didn't want to hurt her.
He wiggled backwards a bit and pressed his feet against her again; this time to the outside of her leg, one foot from her ankle to mid-calf, the other above it.
"Or maybe she does mind it, but she puts up with your bullshit because she loves you too much anyway," Molly said, poking him in the back.
His heart sped up with the thought of Molly loving him in return; what a wonderful thing that would be.
"I do sometimes wonder if she does. She's never said it. Not in so many words, at least."
"Have you ever said it to her? I mean, assuming you do love her, which it sounds like you do."
"Oh, I do. More than I ever thought possible. Never found the right moment to actually tell her, though. The timing's always bad."
"Mm. Yeah." A pause. "I'm sure you'll find the right time and the right words one day."
"One hopes," he dismissed.
They settled back down to sleep, both lost in their own thoughts.
"Molly—"
"Hm?"
"Goodnight." He just couldn't do it. Wanted to, but couldn't.
Just wanted to say I'm ever so sorry for my unintentional hiatus. Life has never been busier and I'm working two jobs, two kids, a building project and a husband who I really like to spend time with plus now that it's time to start my volunteer acting gig... well it's leaving me exhausted to the extreme.
Im still writing daily... just it's agonizingly slow. I miss you guys. Miss the fun of being on here.
New Drabble meme with fantastic options? How about: 41, 81 and 145? Separately is fine ( I say far too casually to be believed) or together (I shrug) ya know. Whatever works for you...
Take notes, sweetheart./ Excuse me forfalling in love with you./ What’s the biggest lie you ever told?
(This fell out of the badfic tree andhit just about every trope on the way down. In the same ‘verse as Chapter 35 of Ficlet Cemetery)
*
Win a Mystery Date with SherlockHolmes! the splash page to John’s blog read. The wholebackground was a high-res picture of Sherlock (John had changed theformat again, making it more like one of those trendy think-piecemagazine blogs that you had to scroll forever just to get past thedamn header), deerstalker tugged down low and coat lapels held closedover his face, leaving just his eyes visible, electric blue andintense as always. He must have been in the sun a bit before thepicture was taken, she could just make out a few errant freckles (theexistence of which he vehemently denied) dusting his cheekbones.
Would not mind waking up to thatevery morning, she thought, then remembered that she did, infact, wake up next to that three or four mornings out of seven. Except the one she woke up to usually had his face smashed into thepillow with drool crusted in the corner of his mouth and Tim Burtonhair.
“I’m telling you, you need to doposters,” Molly said, shifting the phone against her ear so shecould type. "How did you get him to agree to it?“
Mary laughed on the other end. "Youreally think we told him? Seriously though, it was his idea. Seemslike he’s got a stalker.”
“Oh, that’s just Anderson,”Molly dismissed, typing a reply to one of the new comments on herlatest video.
“No, a real one,” Sherlocksaid from directly behind her. She jumped, shouting as her phoneclattered onto the keyboard.
“Where did you even come from?”she accused, picking her phone up. "Sorry,“ she apologizedto Mary.
"They have these new things calleddoors. Rather frivolous, I doubt they’ll catch on,” Sherlocksaid, dragging ‘his’ chair over and flopping into it, nudging her outof the way of the keyboard.
“Well, I believe that’s my cue. Damien will be up from her nap soon, anyway,” Mary rung off.
Molly set her phone down and turned toSherlock, who was, as always, too close for comfort. "So youhave a stalker,“ she said. She wasn’t going to get her computerback anytime soon.
"Actually, you have astalker. I started getting threats after that stupid YouTube video.”
“That was two months ago! You’rejust telling me now?”
“I do get quite a lot of threats. Didn’t notice at first. You’re perfectly safe. Well, for now, atleast, but that’s why we’re nipping this in the bud.”
“So how is a fan going on a datewith you going to catch my stalker?”
Sherlock looked at her askance,obviously waiting for her to catch up.
Oh. Of course. "I’m going to winthe contest, aren’t I?“
Sherlock tipped his head and went backto typing. In her comments, while logged into heraccount. That tit. "We’re filming it and live-tweeting it, too. Mary said something about cross-promotion or advertising or… Idon’t know, I stopped listening after 'scavenger hunt.’”
“So… this wasn’t your idea?”
“Using you as bait was. The restwas all Mary. She’s better at this sort of thing than I am.”
“Because she’s a woman?” Itwas nicer than saying 'because she’d actually been on a date.’
“Because she’s an assassin. She’s got more experience with ambushes.”
*
“Oh for—would you stop lookingaround like that? This is a date. We are on a date. Not a stakeout,” Sherlock hissed from behind his menu.
“But it is a stakeout,”Molly said, tone measured.
“Mary, God’s sake stop laughing,by the time you’re done editing there’ll be fifteen seconds of usablecontent.”
Mary coughed and forced her face intosomething serious. "Just read the consolation prize card.“
Sherlock sighed and looked heavenward,pulling a card from inside his jacket.
"I swear his suits are like aTardis. He carries all this stuff around and you can never tell. He’s got like a cricket bat, an espresso machine, and a badger inthere, it’s ridiculous,” Molly said quietly to Mary. "Prettysure he’s got like half a pipe band and an entire double-decker busin his coat.“
"If you’re quite finished?”Sherlock said. He plastered on a fake smile. "And ourthird-prize winner in the 'Win a Mystery Date with Sherlock Holmes’contest is MarkOfTheBeast420—"
“…isn’t that Mrs. Hudson?”Molly whispered to Mary.
“No, she’s 221BlazeIt,” Marycorrected.
“Ah, right.”
Sherlock raised his voice a little toshow his displeasure with being interrupted (git; served him right)“—who gets dinner for two at Angelo’s in central London andyour choice of pink phone case or pocket-magnifier from theScienceOfDeduction store.”
“Where there’s always a candle onthe table,” Angelo said, leaning into the frame in front ofSherlock to place a candle conspicuously on the table while smilingnervously into the camera.
“Yes, thank you, do remember toorder off-menu, no request too exotic,” Sherlock said as Angelostepped back. He stuck the corner of the card into the lit candle,flames quickly crawling up the edge to consume half of it before hedropped it off to the side (which happened to be onto the plate ofone of the diners at the next table over).
It was going to be a long day, Mollythought.
*
“—passes for two and a copy ofThe Man Who Made Vermeers. I might actually like to readthis,” Molly said, flipping the book around and looking at theback cover.
“I have it at home, you can borrowit,” Sherlock said.
“Is it any good?”
Sherlock bobbed his head and did alittle wiggle that indicated 'not bad.’
Molly shrugged and set the book down,then tried to act natural as she walked to her mark. "Oh look,our next clue,“ she said. It was a typographic poster on aneasel; Mary didn’t really go all out. Budget constraints.
”'What’s the biggest lie youever told?’ Really?“ Sherlock scowled at Mary.
"Size doesn’t matter,” Mollyanswered quickly, wanting to beat him to the punch on just one of theclues.
“Wh—?”
“The question, aren’t we doing thething? So, ah, something small like Vienna sausages?”
“No,” Sherlock said slowly,“I think you need to go a bit deeper than that.”
Molly opened her mouth, then closed itand shook her head. She shared a look with Mary; too easy.
Sherlock closed his eyes and clenchedhis jaw.
*
“So you really think it’s a goodidea to bring my stalker to the place I work,” Molly said asthey went through the main doors of the hospital.
“We’ll spot him from the roof. And Mary says it’ll make a great texture shot.”
*
“How long do we have to be uphere?” Molly asked, fists balled in her cardigan. It had been anice day, but the weather had turned overcast and a fine mist of rainhad begun to fall.
“Until the stalker shows. Nextbus is in five. Probably on it,” Sherlock said.
Mary had turned the camera off to savebattery, moving to the far end of the roof to call John to check in.
“Honestly, I don’t know why weneeded this plan in the first place. There have to be easier ways ofcatching a stalker in the act. And getting blog traffic. I mean, wecould have just turned it over to the police, let them handle it.”
“Yes, because we both know howcompetent they are.”
She was cold, she was tired, and shewas feeling a bit bitchy. "Did everything have to be soelaborate, though? I mean, maybe he had to work today or somethingand wasn’t even following us. Or, I dunno, maybe it’s just sometroll. Maybe you’re overreacting to the whole thing. You don’t haveto be so… protective of everyone all the time.“
"Excuse me for falling in lovewith you,” he muttered.
There’s no way she heard thatright. "You wha—?“
"I said 'Excuse me for failing tofind the clue.’ If I’d been able to find the stalker through moreconventional means, I would have,” he sniffed, turning away tolook over the side of the roof again.
Yeah, that’s really notwhat he said, Molly thought, but wasn’t about to press the issue. At least, 1.) not on a rooftop, 2.) in the rain, and 3.) with Marythere.
Of course, that was when the door tothe roof banged open and eleven stone of weedy,surprisingly-otherwise-normal-if-a-bit-young stalker came lopingthrough brandishing a knife and babbling something about 'don’t knowhow to treat a goddess, Mistress Molly deserves respect, phony blahblah, tosser blah blah.’ Sherlock moved in front of her because hereally was that protective, hands up and trying to placate ratherthan provoke.
That is, until Mary jumped the stalkerfrom behind and locked an arm around his neck, digging a thumb intohis wrist so he dropped the knife.
“Take notes, sweetheart,” shegrunted. "This is how you do a choke-hold, not those weaklittle lady-hugs that you give.“
Molly peeked out from behind Sherlockto watch the struggle, briefly glancing at Sherlock, who still lookedaffronted.
"Lady-hugs,” he grumbled. Then, glancing down at her, “Might want to get hospital securityon the phone.”
*
“—and if you click the linkbelow, you’ll find a discount coupon for 10% off any sarnie combofrom Speedy’s! And, ah, that’s the end of my Mystery Date withSherlock Holmes. Bye!” Molly waved at the camera; Sherlockclamped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.
“Aww, that was cute,” Marysaid, turning off the camera and capping the lens. She promised toget a copy of the raw footage to Molly the next day and there werehugs and cheek kisses goodbye and then Molly was left standing aloneoutside of Speedy’s. Well, alone with Sherlock, who was looking abit shifty.
“So would you, uh, like to come upfor coffee?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Wejust had coffee. Are you trying to trick me into washing your dishesagain?“
"No,” he said. "I’vejust heard it’s the done thing when a date goes particularly well.“
"So you think our fake date wentwell?” she asked. She might have been flirting, just a little,little bit.
“We did catch a violentstalker.”
“And I did get to go to aplanetarium.”
“So exciting you fell asleep,”he remarked, but there was no real bite to it.
She smiled at him and he smiled at her;it was definitely a moment.
“You know, I think I will havethat cup of coffee,” she said.
If you are looking for requests from the prompt list, might I be so bold as to suggest number 9 paired with number 20? I
“Quit it or I’ll bite.” / “D..did you just make that noise?”
*
“So I mean—” Molly began.
“Don’t. say it.”
“I’m not going to say I told youso—”
“Aaaand you’re saying itanyway…”
“But I really, actually did.”
**3 hours earlier**
“Hiding in a wardrobe. To waitfor an arsonist. Sounds like a great plan. I mean, there’s no waythe door would stick and we’d end up stuck inside. Except, oh yeah,the door will probably stick and we’ll get stuck inside.”
“You do know the differencebetween telly and real life.” It was a question.
“I know that I want my tombstoneto read ‘Here lies Molly Hooper, burned to death because SherlockHolmes is a complete and utter tit.’”
“And yet I’m the dramaqueen.”
**Now**
“If it’s any consolation, I don’tthink he’s going to show,” Sherlock said, his knee knockingagainst her shin while he shifted into a slightly less uncomfortableposition.
“Oh yes, I feel so much betternow. No one texted back yet?”
“You’re less than a foot from myphone, did you hear my text alert?”
“You know, maybe if you didn’tdelete everyone else’s texts, they might read yours.”
“I don’t delete everyone’s. Just the ones that start with 'hi,’ and that’s only because no onestarts a text with 'hi’ except my mobile carrier and I don’t need toread a text confirming that I just paid my bill online or whateverother nonsense they send.”
Molly made a little noise in the backof her throat to concede the point. After a beat of silence, shesaid, “God I hope somebody phones back soon. I really need awee.”
“Is this a thing with you andwardrobes?”
“Okay, two things. One, that wasone time. And B, you weren’t there, so you don’t know.”
Sherlock opened his mouth so saysomething, thought better of it, and closed it again with a click ofhis teeth. "Hand me my phone, I’m going to try texting again,“he said after a moment.
"I don’t want to get up. What didI just say about the state of my bladder? And why did you feel theneed to hang your jacket anyway?”
“I didn’t want it to get wrinkled. And it’s hot enough in here already.”
“Well, maybe if you’d stop blowingall that hot air…”
“Phone.”
“Get it yourself.”
“Fine,” he huffed. He gropedalong the back of the wardrobe while he got to his knees, leaningmore of his weight on Molly than was probably strictly necessary ashe patted down the fabric of his jacket to find the pocket.
“Gah, your hair feels likespiderwebs on my face,” she said, wiggling a hand between themto try and push him away.
“Oh, this?” he asked, turninghis head slowly to drag the ends of his curls against the side of herface.
“Eugh, staaaaahp,” she said,trying to lean as far away as possible.
“Stop what?” he asked,following her.
“Quit it or I’ll bite… your—yourear! Or your nose. Staaaaahp!”
And then she turned her face and bithim. On the ear.
Sherlock froze. It wasn’t a hard bite,but a play-bite. He swallowed and hoped like hell she didn’t move amuscle or she’d find out exactly how he felt about getting bitten onthe ear.
A throaty moan echoed through thewardrobe; they both jumped, Molly’s canine catching the shell of hisear rather painfully as her mouth pulled away.
“Di…did you just make thatnoise?” He suppressed a shiver as her breath blew over his ear.
“It’s my phone.”
“Again? Really?”
“It’s probably John or Mary. There’s something wrong with the phone, it keeps assigning randomtones to different people. I think The Woman gave me a virus.”
“Too easy, I am not touchingthat.”
“She said the same thing,” helamented.
“Would you just get your damnphone and get off of me?”
“She said that, too.”
“More than I wanted to know…”Molly said to herself. She clamped her eyes shut when the screen litup the inside of the wardrobe. "Christ, warn a girl before youdo that. And before you say 'that’s what she said’ one more time,consider the position of my knee.“
"Has anyone ever told you you’reno fun? Lestrade’s on his way up, by the way.”
“Oh thank God. And I’ll have youknow I can be quite a lot of fun.”
He wasn’t sure if the way her kneebrushed his inner thigh was intentional or just really, really bad(or good, depending) timing. He was saved from ever finding out byLestrade.
“Sherlock, Molly, you two inhere?”
“Yes,” Sherlock called.
“That was my ear,” Mollysaid, wincing.
“Well you bit mine, hardly anyworse.”
“I’m never coming on a case withyou again.”
“What about after a case?”
“I—what?”
“What?” he asked innocently.
The door squealed open to revealLestrade, Donovan, and two uniforms Sherlock didn’t recognize. Really, that was just a bit of overkill, he thought.
“You two, ah, need a minute?”
“Sure hope it takes longer thanthat,” Molly said under her breath.
Sherlock pulled away and climbed out ofthe wardrobe, then offered Molly a hand to help her out. He sniffedthe air, was that—?
“Lestrade, I believe if you go tothe room across the hall, you’ll find your arsonist,” Sherlocksaid.
Lestrade gave him one of his how thefuck—? looks before turning and tromping after the other three.
“So about that 'after a case’thing…” Molly said.
Sherlock was about to reply when thefire alarm went off.
“Seriously?” he said, lookingup at the ceiling as though it would stop the alarm.
“How long until management checksthe room?” Molly asked.
“This one’s technically vacant. They probably won’t.”
221B CON INTRO POST Name: Misty Pronouns: She/her Age: 32 Located: RVA What do you do in fandom?: I write, but haven't published anything because of LIFE. I also run @sherlollyfaqs and try to promote the Ship and let Ship mentality. Other than that I haven't done much, because LIFE. Ugh. Responsibilities suck How long are you staying?: Thursday night to Sunday How are you getting there?: Via planes, trains and automobiles. Cosplays: I'll be doing my first one as Molly Hooper because she literally wore one of my own outfits. So yay! Where to find me: I'll be in the Sherlolly lounge and all around with my roomie and adventure partner @thestarlitrose Drinks: Tea and coffee. Hugs: Totally cool Pictures: I LOVE pictures. I just have family and work and have to be careful about what gets tagged. So message me/ let me tag myself. Anything else?: Contact info: Message me here. Reblog this intro: Sure!
mistykins06 replied to your post: “commodorecliche: i always wonder if anyone ever recs my fics to other...”:
Dude when I first joined the fandom it was the night you dropped the second to last Invisible Wings chapter and this whole corner of the world was on fire about it. Literally every post was about that story.
Hahaha true, totally forgot that. I had to stay away from the tag out of sheer stress hahaaha.
