(I didn't think it would be safe putting my real name there so you get my pseudonym instead.)
Username: kelsey-rare
Blog Title: Just Enjoy The Show
Crush: (Oh shucks I'm shy!) Benedict Cumberbatch and Niall Horan.
Favorite Color: My favorite color is either purple or violet.
All Caps: AHHHH I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS SO I'LL JUST TYPE IN ALL CAPS THERE YOU GO
Favorite Band: I have far too many favorite bands but I'll say Coldplay and one that I had-or still have-an I'll-support-you-through-anything phase for was One Direction and a band that was so distant ago I've forgotten their name!
Favorite Number: 17 because of St. Patrick's day!
Favorite Drink: Pineapple juice!
Right! So I was tagged by my lovely friend theasgardianscribe and I tag goddess-of-apples sherlockadoresmolly and potemkinx
potemkinx replied to your post: I have a large quantity of sherlolly headcanons... Please, post them soon! I love to read other people’s headcanons…
I will try to soon... I think one of the reasons why I have saved them is because I'm not sure if it's a silly one that will be shot down quicker than the second it took me to think of it.
Sherlock, Molly and Ties... - A Prompt from the lovely potemkinx :)
xx Thank you for the lovely idea, I hope you like it xx
~~
Molly Hooper groaned, feeling very disorientated indeed; she blinked her eyes open slowly only to find her vision blurry - she was only able to tell the room was half-covered in darkness. The only light source was streaming through the open windows, the streetlights bathed the rom in an ominous orangey glow. Her head was throbbing in agony and she didn’t remember a single thing - this was certainly an odd situation to be in. Molly shook her head, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to focus the room. It was then when Molly realised she could hardly move; her hands were tied around something soft and her muscles felt sore and heavy. Yep…she was gagged, too. A pained, equally disorientated deep groan sounded near her ear and Molly froze, listening intently. She felt a small pressure lift from her shoulder as the distorted figure she was tied to regained consciousness...
Sherlock Holmes wasn’t used to feeling confused, which is why his current situation less than amused him. A brief glance around the room told him everything he needed to know – his hands were bound around the waist of one Molly Hooper and they were sat uncomfortably opposite each other on simple chairs, rendered unable to move due to the fact their ankles were bound. They were both dressed rather formally, probably having attending the Watson-Morstan nuptials and Molly’s wrists had been tied around his neck, forcing them to lean forwards considerably. Molly's mouth was gagged with a rough-looking fabric whereas he was free; Sherlock glanced at the floor and sighed. Sure enough, a gag meant for him lay at his feet along with extra cord - he concluded Mrs. Hudson had made a sound downstairs, forcing whoever did this to make a hasty retreat, therefore forgetting to gag him and actually tie them to their chairs. Finally and most confusingly of all, they were in Sherlock’s bedroom at 221B Baker Street…and neither had no idea how they got there. Molly, who had been watching him study the room carefully, cleared her throat gently but knew it was pointless trying to speak. Sherlock shook his head slightly, his head throbbing.
“Um…I am sorry to say, I don't know how this happened. I…cannot remember,” he glanced at her when he felt her tremble against him, “…are you alright?”
Molly nodded, wriggling uncomfortably and hating the blush that was spreading; damn it, why did Sherlock have to smell and look so damn good? Sherlock bit his lip and narrowed his eyes slightly, his eyes flicking over her body - he would claim to be 'checking for signs of injury'...this would only be half true.
“First things first, we need to remove that gag.”
Molly quirked her eyebrow, a question as to how they were going to achieve this which he ignored. Instead, Sherlock leaned forwards until he was his and Molly’s foreheads were pressed together and attempted to move his hands up her back; this proved disastrous. His hands moved slowly and he frowned in concentration, his tongue between his teeth; Molly didn’t know such an action could be so adorable coming from a grown man. It was almost unfair when the ties restricting Sherlock's hands caught on the back of her dress; Molly gasped into the filthy cloth when she felt her zip yanked down as Sherlock tried to free himself.
“Uh…sorry."
Molly shook her head forcefully, her face heating up and Sherlock was thankful half of the room was dark so Molly wouldn’t see his blush. Molly was also the most flushed she had ever been; feeling Sherlock this close, not to mention inadvertently undressing her, was doing unspeakable things to her. This was nothing, however, compared to what Sherlock did next. With a huff, he leaned forwards even more and, very carefully, hooked his teeth over the fabric covering Molly’s mouth, accidentally brushing his lips along her silky skin as he did so. Molly’s heart was threatening to burst out of her chest but nevertheless, she managed to wriggle free of her gag and it fell loosely around her neck. She took note, with a large backflip of her stomach, of how Sherlock hadn’t moved back – their eyes locked and Molly wondered if they had been that dark before. Sherlock cleared his throat, attempting to keep his voice steady.
“Good…that’s um…done. Can…you move your hands at all?”
Blinking rapidly, Molly brought her hands to the back of Sherlock’s neck; she could easily bring her hands over his head with the way they had been placed. She ‘accidentally’ pulled lightly on his hair as she ‘attempted’ to get free.
“Um…no. Can you?”
Sherlock released a sharp breath as Molly’s hands relaxed, disappointed at the loss of the feeling her touch gave him. Sherlock tried moving his hands up again but had ‘forgotten’ about his ties being stuck. Molly’s zip was now completely undone and Sherlock, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t get the zip to move again – this meant his fingers were resting against Molly’s now bare skin. This time, Molly didn't care at all her dress was undone. He swallowed thickly, meeting her lust-filled gaze.
“No,” Sherlock couldn't keep the huskiness from his voice. He distracted himself by glancing around the room for something to free them. After a moment, he nodded decisively, “…well, we will have to try and get to the kitchen. I’m sure we can find a knife or at the very least, a phone.”
Molly nodded and shifted forwards until she was on the edge of the chair, Sherlock doing the same. Somehow, they managed to pull each other into an unsteady standing position, steadying the other by gripping tightly. They began to uneasily hop towards the bedroom door, heading for the kitchen. Unfortunately, due to the fact she was focusing on something other than her steps, Molly slipped and stumbled backwards, landing uncomfortably on the floor…pulling Sherlock down on top of her. Blushing madly, Molly tried to shift away, avoiding Sherlock’s direct stare.
“Oh…I’m sorry…I didn’t…I mean, I’ll just-”
“Shut up. Just, kiss me…please.”
Sherlock had given up, it was too much; her brown eyes, velvety soft skin, heavenly voice and parted lips forced the words from his mouth. Molly blinked in shock, her stomach exploding in butterflies but she entangled her fingers into his curls, bringing her hands down until they were mere inches apart. Sherlock’s bedroom door burst open and John stumbled inside, raising his eyebrows at the position he discovered his friends in. Sherlock muttered about tripping as John freed them, nodding rhythmically. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he watched them; Molly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing her sore wrists and smiling softly in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock himself was clenching and unclenching his fists irritably, physically restraining himself.
“Uh…Mrs. Hudson mentioned she hadn’t seen you since the wedding so I…thought I'd drop by before I leave for the…honeymoon…” he was wringing his hands, trying to explain himself; he didn’t exactly know how to bring up their situation. Finally, he found the courage, “…what the hell happened? The last time I saw you, you two had your tongues down each other’s throats and then you’re announcing you’re leaving. Together."
Molly quickly closed her open mouth, glowing red as she stared at the floor; Sherlock frowned, gritting his teeth in irritation.
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I’m not surprised the way you were knocking back those drinks.” Right now, Sherlock couldn’t care less how he and Molly ended up in this situation…he just wanted to do what he had apparently intended to anyway. He was shaking with his frustration and one glance at Molly told him she had the same problem. There was a pause; John was looking anywhere but at the frustrated pair and nervously checking his watch. Sherlock and Molly were fidgeting uncomfortably, avoiding direct eye contact as they shot each other approving, lust-filled looks. Finally, Sherlock released an annoyed breath and stomped to his bedroom door, yanking it open.
“Goodbye, John. Have a nice honeymoon…I shall see you when you return. Give my regards to Mary.”
John blinked rapidly, attempting to protest as he found himself being ushered hastily out of the room by Molly before the door was slammed in his face. The second the door closed on the poor bemused doctor, Sherlock pulled Molly tight against him and kissed her passionately, putting every emotion she had ever given him into it. Molly's response was so forceful, he thought his tonsils might be bruised afterwards. John nodded to himself as he heard a thud against the closed door, muffled moans reaching his ears.
“Ok…I’ll just go then. Um…have a good…have a nice...bye…”
At the sound of zips being hastily tugged at just audible, John found his feet couldn’t carry him away fast enough…
Sherlock and Molly would later learn their predicament was down to Jim Moriarty via his associate Sebastian Moran. They assumed the intention had been to make them angry at discovering their position. On the contrary, Sherlock had never been so thankful to another person in his life…
~~
xx Hmmm, ties…does that count? I think it counts…*nods* yeah, it counts ;) xx
This is for Potemkinx. She wanted a fic where Sherlock reads Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I hope that you like this and that it helps break your writer's block, darling!
People who've read Little Women will get more out of this than those who haven't...but I THINK I've written it so it's understandable if you haven't.
Molly came into the lab to find her worn copy of Little Women lying on the lab bench next to the microscope Sherlock was working with.
“Oh…you’ve finished it then? The novel I mean. What did you…What did you think of it?” Molly asked as she approached the detective. Sherlock had lost a bet with John, they didn’t tell her over what, and the penalty was that Sherlock had to read Molly’s favorite book, which happened to be Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.
Sherlock pulled back from the eye piece of the scope and glanced first at the book, then at Molly.
“Oh it was very enlightening…” he said, and something in his voice made Molly nervous.
“Enlightening?” Molly asked. “I didn’t think that you would…that it would be your kind of book.”
“Oh, it’s not. The story was…tedious. The book itself however…fascinating.”
Oh no. Molly thought, her eyes widening as she saw the familiar gleam of a forthcoming deduction burning in his own. I’ve made a terrible mistake. She realized, just seconds before he pointed it out to her.
“You’ve lent me your copy. But not just any copy. Your original copy. The one you’ve had since you first read the novel as a child. What were you…11?...12? when you first picked it up? You loved it instantly. It’s your favorite novel…which of course means that it has been read and re-read dozens of times over the years…leaving all kinds of data behind on the pages, in the binding…”
“No. That’s deduction. It’s all there…your opinions about every scene, clear as if they were written in the margins. Actually, a couple of times they were. But I won’t go based off of that…it’s cheating.”
“Sherlock, please,” Molly begged. Don’t.
“Why don’t you approve of Jo’s relationship with Professor Bhaer? You think she belongs with Laurie…why?” Sherlock asked.
“What?” Molly hadn’t expected him to start with a question.
Sherlock sighed, but his eyes were shining with the excitement usually reserved only for a case. He took a deep breath and Molly braced herself.
“The book falls open naturally to certain pages. The most read scenes. The ones you came back to again and again. They’re all the most romantic…proposals and the like. Typical for a prepubescent girl whose mind is full of idealistic fantasies. Not uncommon for those sentiments to be carried on through the teenage years and into adulthood. I shouldn’t say all the most romantic scenes because you avoid those between Jo and the professor. Strange since she’s the main character and he’s the man she ultimately ends up with. You don’t approve of them, then. Why? You want her with someone else. Laurie’s proposal in particular is by far the most read passage in the book…the pages faded, wrinkled, covered in smudges. But why would this scene be your favorite? She rejects him…not very romantic. But frustration is a far more powerful motivator than satisfaction…you read the scene over and over again hoping that the outcome will be different this time. You desperately want Jo and Laurie together. Why?”
“I…well…they’re just…they’re perfect for each other. They’re so much alike. They’re both adventurous and headstrong. Stubborn and rebellious,” Molly answered, unable to keep thoughts of Sherlock and that Irene Adler woman out of her mind.
“Yes, but, as Jo points out, they’re too much alike. Far too similar to ever make a relationship work. They’d fight constantly, each of them always needing to have their own way.” Something in Sherlock’s tone made Molly wonder if she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t talking about Jo and Laurie anymore.
“Jo is far better off with the professor. He balances her out...calms her down…grounds her when she forgets who she is and gets lost in the world inside her own head…” Sherlock went on, standing up from his seat and turning to stare down at Molly.
“Yes, but…Jo and Laurie…they have such…electric chemistry. Jo doesn’t have that with Professor Bhaer,” Molly insisted, unable to tear her eyes away from Sherlock’s.
“Hm…yes…it’s electric…like a live wire. Dangerous. Deadly, if they were to reach out and grab it,” he responded. Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed Molly’s wrist and started tracing patterns on the inside with his thumb as he went on. “What…Jo…has with Professor Bhaer is much safer, but just as strong. Smoldering embers in a hearth. Stroke them the right way and they’re a blazing fire…but if you handle them carefully, they won’t burn the house down around your head.”
“Oh…well I don’t…” Molly trailed off, looking down at her feet.
“Molly,” Sherlock murmured as he brought Molly’s wrist up to his lips and laid a light kiss on it. “It’s your favorite book. You know how it ends.”
Molly’s eyes flew back to his. “Jo and the professor…”
“Yes…exactly…” Sherlock’s voice was low and slightly hoarse.
They shared a few more seconds of tense silence before Sherlock took Molly’s head in his hands and bent to kiss her softly. Molly sighed as she returned his kiss. She jumped slightly when a few loud beeps sounded between them. Sherlock pulled away and took his mobile out of his jacket pocket, quickly reading the screen.
“I’m afraid I have to go. But thanks for the book, Professor Hooper,” he said with a smirk, spinning around to back out the door as he pulled his coat on. “I do hope I passed the exam. You’ll find my notes on the back cover.”
When he was gone, Molly flipped the book open to the back.
There never was any bet. Baker St. at 7 pm on Saturday? John will be out. –SH
potemkinx replied to your post: You know what I wish I could do…write. Because I...
I think we all experienced this problem…or we are going to , sooner or later . Stay strong, the words will come !
you all are so kind to me. this is the second time this year that this has happened to me and I'm dealing with it all that well, I guess. It's just really painful for me but thank you. I can only hope that they do. I need them to.
