How about 89 and 32 from Drabble challenge meme? I'm in love with all the universes! I have a soft spot for ‘Sherlock Holmes is an Alien’ verse though. This is me being annoying, just ignore me and write your thing. :D
Okay, so I ended up using both theoriginal prompts, which were already used before, and the new ones(44, 64 & 102) picked by rainmyselfinharmony. I changed ‘he’ to'she’ because I had an idea. Sherlock-Is-An-Alien 'verse; not somuch crack as fluff and a little angst. And kind of boring, becauseI’m pants at exposition when it comes to worldbuilding. I have waytoo much backstory in my head for all of this.
“Are you drunk?”/ “Hewould have really loved that…”/ “He used to be my bestfriend.”/ “If I could go back, I wouldn’t changeanything”/ “Buy me chocolates and tell me everything’sgoing to be okay”
“Are you drunk?” Molly asked,taking in the sorry sight before her.
“Maybe? Drunk is such animprecise term. Your language is so vague and full of…feelings… and impressions. You’ll never get off thisrock until you embrace scientific imperialism as a complete… thing. Paradigm,” he said, sitting up in his chair before slumpingback into it.
“Oh-kay,” Molly said, shakingoff her coat. "I’ll just make you some coffee then?“
"Coffee doesn’t actually—”
“Placebo effect.”
He hummed, either an agreement or adismissal, who knew. She figured she’d make him the coffee anyway.
“So why are you drunk?”
“Told John about the baby and heinsisted on taking me to the pub. Greg was there. And Mycroft. Ithink they’re shagging. Can’t be sure, though, might have just eateneclairs together, which is close enough to shagging anyway.”
“Uh huh. And what about the otherthing?”
“What other thing?”
“The thing about you being fromsomewhere that’s not Earth?”
“Shhh!”
“It’s after nine, Mrs. Hudson iseither already baked or off with Mr. Chatterjee. No one’s going tofind out about your secret identity, Clark Kent.”
“Who?”
“Nevermind.”
Sherlock fell quiet, either dozing orcontemplating something, while Molly finished the coffee. Decaf,because if she had to suffer, so did he.
“I want chocolates. Buy mechocolates and tell me everything’s going to be okay.”
“Wh…hyy would I need to tell youeverything’s okay?” she asked, bending over him to set his mugon the side table. "What did you do?“
"Ejaculated close enough to yourcervix that one lucky sperm cell was able to make it to the egg inyour fallopian tube, thereby impregnating you. Or did you forgetalready?”
“So you’re having a freak-outabout being a dad?”
“John just kept going on and onabout how great it is, watching them grow and knowing you’d madesomething so wonderful, but it’s all bollocks. It doesn’t matterwhat anyone does, they always get something wrong. Look at Mycroft. You’ve met his parents, they’re practically saints!”
“What about your parents? Yourreal ones?” Molly asked. They hadn’t really talked a lot aboutany of it; Sherlock always found a way of avoiding real answers toher questions, except when it was something to do with the actualbiology of his species and how it might affect Marvin (which she wastold not to call the baby because our child is not a cartoon,Molly, I’m not even from Mars and I have nosense of humour.)
“Don’t have parents.”
“So you were an orphan?”
“No, we just… don’t have them. Once people in our society reach optimal sexual maturity, they make acontribution to a kind of collection centre. Then their DNA ispaired off with the most suitable genetic match and the strongestembryos get incubated.”
“Wow, eugenics. So you might havebrothers and sisters? Are you raised together, or is it like BraveNew World?”
“I don’t know what that is,”he said.
“It’s a book. Maybe a film, too,I’m not really sure. Science fiction.”
Sherlock made a noise. "Molly,almost everything your people call 'science’ is fiction.“
"Oh, why thank you,” she saidlightly.
“Not you. You’re very goodat… measuring… things. And identifying other things. It’s notyour fault your species only has the most rudimentary grasp of itsown biology, you work with what you have,” he said, making agenuine effort to compliment her.
She gave him a look and he stoppedtalking, proving that even he, who thought he knew everything, couldlearn. After a beat, she prompted, “So you were saying aboutyour— family?” She didn’t know if that was the word for it.
“Not exactly a family. We’reraised in small groups of children of a similar age range and fromrelated lineages, more or less like a nursery. Once physical andintellectual abilities, personalities, and proclivities start toemerge, we’re split up and moved into specialized groups. A bit likeyour schools, actually, with houses and different academic tracks. And I do have one genetic sister, though the biological relationshipis unimportant in our society. She used to be my best friend.” Sherlock sounded quite sober then; she wondered if it was some alienmetabolism thing or if he could control his state of inebriation orif he’d just been putting on a bit of a show. There was a hint ofsadness there, too, she thought.
“Used to be?”
“We had a difference of opinionand now she’s on a prison planet orbiting the event horizon of ablack hole. Intergalactic SuperMax.”
“Oh. So you put your sister injail.”
“No, she put herself in jail. Sheseized control of the interplanetary government for a time and in theprocess blew up two planets and made a third unfit for habitation forthe next eight millennia,” he said.
“Wow.”
“She was always ambitious.”
“So is that whole thing why youwere exiled?”
“Exiled? Who said anything aboutexiled?” he said too quickly.
“You did, the night you told meabout yourself and we found out about Marv—the baby.”
“It wasn’t so much as one isolatedincident as a cumulative set of things. I didn’t have anything to dowith Eurus’ coup, if that’s what you’re wondering. I was in adifferent solar system at the time. She’s actually the one who sentJim after me to bring me back. I wonder if she knows he went outwith a bang. She would have really loved that…” he said, awistful note to his voice.
Molly was beginning to think she mightbe carrying Rosemary’s Baby.
“So your sister knew Jim? But Ithought he was from a different planet.”
“He was. Planets are like postcodes to the rest of the galaxy. Honestly, calling Earth a backwateris a kindness.”
“So we’re a bunch of hicks.”
“'Hicks’ implies that you’resimply a more rural part of a larger society. You’re more like oneof the last uncontacted tribes of the Amazon.”
“Oh, how lucky of me, a simplesavage, to have been impregnated by Dr. Livingstone himself,”she muttered.
“That’s rather reductive,”Sherlock said, scowling. She wasn’t sure if he meant towardshimself, or towards the uncontacted Amazonians. Probably better tojust let that one lie, lest her crazy half-alien baby hormones makeher slightly homicidal.
Then something occurred to her as sheremembered something he’d said a few minutes before.
“So you said you contributegenetic material… Does that mean you might already have otherchildren out there?” She really didn’t know how to feel aboutthat.
“Nope. Optimal age for a woman issometime in her early to mid-twenties, for a man it’s betweenthirty-five and forty-five to ensure longevity, so I’m right onschedule. Too young when I left to make my contribution, though Iexpect they’d have skimmed me out of the gene pool anyway. I supposeit’s possible I’m an uncle, though, as far as that goes.”
“You weren’t trying to get mepregnant, were you? As an experiment?” She tried not to letthe sudden anger she felt come through in her voice. She failed.
“No, of course not. You’re myfriend. More than a friend. Girlfriend, lover, partner, paramour,beloved, whatever. Not really my area, at least up until recently,”he said, dead-sober.
Beloved, she thought. Did thatmean…? She couldn’t bring herself to ask. She made anon-committal noise and went to take her mug back to the kitchen.
*
Sherlock lay with his face pressed toher belly, his hand resting on her hip. He did that a lot, sometimeswhen they weren’t even in bed.
“Are you communicatingtelepathically with the baby?” she asked. The question was onlyhalf in jest; there was still so much she didn’t know about him. About them, she supposed.
“Uh, no,” he said shortly. He didn’t offer any further explanation or make some kind ofsarcastic remark about her telly-watching habits.
“Sherlock,” she began afterthe silence dragged on, “do you hate it here?” It had beena weird night and she was in a weird mood. She didn’t know what shewas saying or why she was saying it, really.
“It’s not where I thought I’d endup and, as far as assignments go, it certainly leaves a lot to bedesired, but even if I had it to do all over again, even if I couldgo back, I wouldn’t change anything,” he said, turning hisface and pressing a kiss to her stomach.
It was so oddly tender that she feltherself getting choked up over it; she blamed the hormones. She ranher fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and tried notto let herself think too much about how impossible it all seemed.
I didn't have any specific idea in my mind. Maybe something about Molly's past with Moriarty coming up and Sherlock feeling uneasy about it. Or an AU story. Would love to read anything you'd write for those two ships. Thank you for taking my request! :)
So I apologize that it’s going to be multiple parts because I am so so horrible at those, but I went with an AU idea I had and I hope you like it. I think it’ll be fun.
--
K-I-S-S-I-N-G - Molly made a mistake in dating James Moriarty, and he wanted to make sure she pays for refusing him by tarnishing her reputation. When that didn’t work he moved on to ruining her charity kissing booth at the village faire, but Mary had her own plans to stop that, with a little help from her boyfriend’s friend, Sherlock Holmes.
Read Chapter 1 |Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt
“Don’t know why you talked me into the kissing booth, Mary,” Molly said with a sigh, stapling yet another glittery red heart that the students at the local primary school had decorated for their favourite volunteer. She should have known Mary would rope her wee ones into doing the decorating for the booth, because she had a way with them. When uni was over, she was going to make a great teacher, Molly knew it.
Of course, for her, she just wanted uni to be over. As soon as possible. Now would be rather nice. Anything to avoid him.
“Oh, come on,” Mary said, looking between a pink heart with multiple hearts drawn in glue and covered in different colored glitter and a white heart with “XOXO” written on it in Mary’s own perfect penmanship. In the end, she went with the glittery one and stapled it on her side. “You can’t avoid every living person on campus because the bastard said you--”
“Are as cold as a halibut on ice?” she muttered. She knew it was utter tripe, of course; she and the bastard had some rather heated moments. He’d even managed to get his hand up her skirt at one point. The last point. She wasn’t that kind of girl. A bit of kissing was fine and all, but a shag with someone who she had the feeling was seeing other girls on the side?
It wasn’t like she was waiting for marriage, just...commitment. That was what she wanted most. Trust and commitment.
“I still say you should have let me shoot him,” Mary said.
“And the archery team would have had my arse for having their star kicked off for attempted homicide,” Molly said, though it brought a smile to her face. She knew her roommate cared. That made her feel better. She’d blown off her own boyfriend the last few weeks to be there with her as she moped, and she knew John was fine with that. In fact, she knew John had had words with the bastard, too. Him and his best mate, some bloke she hadn’t had the chance to meet. Old friend from primary, just transferred. Had a bit of trouble at his other university. Something about deducing an affair between the university president and the treasurer and an embezzlement? John said in an effort to keep the lid on the scandal there were quiet retirements and Holmes was sent to a more prestigious university.
Theirs.
But whatever was said, she was at least spared rumours flying around campus. She was thankful for that. She wasn’t sure who had said what, but it had made things easier.
“Hello, love.”
She dropped the stapler as the familiar brogue sent ice through her veins.
“You! Get the bloody hell away from the booth!” she heard Mary shout at the bastard.
“Can’t drive paying customers away,” James said, and Molly didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smirking. “Maybe if I pay for a kiss it’ll be...lukewarm. Room temperature, if I’m lucky.”
“I’ll take your money when Hell freezes over, pigs fly and elect a bloody git like...like...” Molly turned to see that Mary was nearly red in the face with anger. “That upstart Magnussen Prime Minister!”
“Oh, you’ll take my money,” James said. “You’ll see.” He gave them a wave and sauntered off.
Molly collapsed on the stool they’d be sharing later. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said. “He’s got a plan. And I bet that plan involves my reputation in tatters by the end of the day and me having to snog him just to earn enough to...”
“No,” Mary said adamantly. She slammed her stapler down on the wooden part of the booth separating kisser from kissee. “You’ll see. The bastard may think he has a plan but he’s met his match. Keep decorating, love. I’ll be back.”
Molly nodded and watched Mary walk off in the opposite direction of her ex, and after a moment pulled herself up off the stool with even less enthusiasm before. She didn’t know what she had ever seen in the bastard. He had been charming, said all the right things, treated her to nice dinners for a university student...all to get in her knickers. And she hadn’t fallen for it and his vicious nature had shown through and now it was all a mess.
The booth was nearly completely decorated when Mary came back, her boyfriend and someone she didn’t know in tow. She looked up at the new bloke and saw he had a very serious demeanor, curly near black hair and the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. The colour seemed to shift as he moved, from blue to green to grey and she was so mesmerized she missed what Mary was saying.
“...so you and Holmes are going to go off and John and I are going to man the booth. Holmes is paying a thousand pounds for the privilege of your company and I don’t give two shits how much the bastard was planning to spend to get all your kisses, we’ll raise more money for charity with you have a day away from the kissing booth then we will dealing with his shite.”
“Umm...what?” Molly asked, pulling her gaze away and flushing slightly.
Mary smirked. “Go enjoy the village faire, love. We’ve got it covered here.” She made a shooing motion with her hands and then physically turned both Holmes and Molly away from the booth and towards the rest of the festivities.
“I fear it’s all a bit early,” he said when they began to move away. “Nothing to pique our interest yet.”
“No, I suppose not,” she replied. It finally registered what Mary had said about how much this day at the faire was costing her companion. “You’re paying a thousand pounds to spend the day with me?”
“It’s for a good cause,” he said with a slight shrug. “And it’s hush money anyway. Better spent on something worthwhile than keeping a dirty secret.”
“I heard bits of it all,” she said. “From John. Are you really…?” She wasn’t sure how to ask.
He was quiet for a moment and then gave her a small smile. “Perhaps we could see if there is someplace with coffee and a decent breakfast available while we wait for the festivities to begin? And then we could begin to know each other a little better.”
She nodded, smiling back. “I would like that very much,” she said, smiling back. This could be interesting, she thought to herself. This could be interesting indeed...
Hi! Do you write fan fictions? If you don't, you should. Because that dialogue you wrote about Sherlock bragging about his love life with Molly was really good! And hilarious! :D
Hello cutie!! this is so nice of you! I have many plot bunnies and I wish I did but I haven’t done any relevant creative writing for the last 10 years :D (I was in middle school)
I’ve been thinking about it because I’m so in love with my OTP, I want more Sherlock and Molly <3 *-* I have a draft on a Molly/Mary story, which is mostly crack tbh
There’s one I wrote here if you wish, but I should edit it because there are some problems:)
Are you still taking prompts? If you do, #53, “That wasn’t very subtle.” from the Drabble Challenge please!
“Yes, and, French milled soap is abetter value and more ecologically sound than shower gel. Shower gelis an insidious way of getting people to spend more while receivingless.”
“But it smells nicer.”
“You wear perfume anyway.”
“I like shower gel, I’m buyingshower gel,” Molly said, putting the bottle in the trolley.
“And I’m sure the polar bears willthank you for doing your part to ensure they all drown when there’sno more sea ice for them to live on. Oh, wait. They won’t.”
“Oh, so we’re doing carbonfootprint now, Mr.I-take-cabs-everywhere-because-I-can’t-be-arsed-to-wait-for-anything-ever-including-public-transport?”
“You know that in my work, livesoften depend on my expediency. I buy recycled loo roll—which isterrible, by the way—and I don’t drink bottled water. It’s anoffset.”
“Mrs. Hudson buys your loo rolland—Oh fuck, are you kidding me?”
“Wha—Again? Did he have youchipped while you were sleeping?”
“We live in the sameneighbourhood, it’s bound to happen,” Molly hissed, pushing backagainst Sherlock’s shoulder when he nudged her aside to walk next toher, resting that giant paw of his on the handle of the trolley.
“This is why I don’t do my owngrocery shopping.”
“So you don’t run into myex-fiancé in the Health & Beauty aisle.”
“Close enough. Now smile. Andfawn.”
“Still not fawning.”
“If you don’t want to sell it,”he said in a no skin off my nose tone.
And then there was Tom, all earnestsmile and fancy seeing you two again so soon, ha-ha-ha, just doingmy weekly shop (ready meals and a plastic tub of hummus, even hisjunk food was healthy and boring).
“Just picking up a few thingsourselves,” she said, master of stating the obvious.
Which must have been Sherlock’s cue toreach across the trolley and grab three (!) boxes of condoms and atube of lubricant. "Going away for the weekend,“ heexplained.
Tom’s eyebrows raised but he was amature adult (unlike Sherlock) so said nothing.
“So, did you ah, have a nice lunchwith oth—uh, Thom?”
Tom said something about oh, yes, yes,a school chum, just moved back from Adelaide, meeting him tonight atthe pub, actually, you two should swing by. She wasn’t really payingattention because Sherlock had rested a casually possessive hand onthe curve of her hip, crowded into her space to keep the aisle clearenough for another trolley to pass. He was eerily good at actinglike a normal person when he wanted to. They parted rather quicklywith a handshake and a yes, maybe we’ll all grab drinks sometime.
“Three boxes? Really? Thatwasn’t very subtle.” she said after Tom had left the aisle.
“Alright, yes, it might have beena bit over the top, but they’re on offer.”
“Well, go put them back now.”
“Can’t, he might see us when we goto the till.”
“So then we’ll just wait a littlebit until he leaves.”
“If I wanted a milkshake, I’d havegone to a shop that sells milkshakes,” Sherlock said, indicatingthe ice cream in the trolley. "Just buy them and return themnext time you do your shopping.“
"I’m not returning them! I don’tneed some perky-breasted dewy-skinned twenty-something judging my sadmiddle-aged life choices when I return three boxes ofjohnnies! You return them.”
“Can’t, they’re on your card andthey get sniffy about that sort of thing. Never ends well,” hesaid, gazing off into the distance looking like he was rememberingsomething. She probably didn’t want to know.
Molly sighed heavily, giving in.
**One Week Later**
“Okay, yes, fine, we’ll get thecheese and onion this ti—are you fucking kidding me.”
“Chipped,” Sherlock said. “You should get some kind of scan done.”
Tom was looking at his receipt with afrown on his face, carrier bags looped over his forearm.
“Just get in the queue and hope hedoesn’t see us,” Molly said quickly through clenched teeth,herding Sherlock toward the Customer Services desk.
Of course there’d been a mistakeon his bill and he needed to straighten it out. The small talk wasexcruciating, as always, but luckily there was only one other personin front of them.
“And what can I help you withtoday, sir?” the girl (what was she, like twelve?) behind thedesk asked Sherlock when Mr. Wetmop-in-aisle-three stepped aside.
He dialled the charm up toneed-a-new-pair-of knickers, smiling like real people. "We justneed to return these,“ he said, dumping out the three boxes ofcondoms onto the counter. He’d kept the lube for use in an‘experiment’ (she didn’t ask).
"Is there, um, something wrongwith them, sir? We don’t usually accept returns on, ah, personalcare items.”
Molly could see the annoyance in theline of Sherlock’s shoulders. She was hit with a sense offoreboding, like she was watching a mini-her in a disaster filmtrying to outrun a tsunami.
“As you can see, the boxes arecompletely intact, seals unbroken. They haven’t been tampered withand are in perfectly resalable condition,” Sherlock arguedthrough his smile.
The girl looked them over and seemedsatisfied with their condition. "I still need a reason for thereturn, though. Company policy.“
"Don’t need them any more, decidedto start a family.”
Oh. my. God, she thought,watching the wave crash right over mini-her in the film in her head. Tom looked at her, startled. "Eh-heh. We’re not trying-trying,but, y'know, if it happens, it happens,“ she tittered, trying tosmile.
"At the rate we’re going, can’timagine it taking very long,” Sherlock said, giving her thatkind of mock-leering smile one of those all-wit-and-charm types wouldgive. She wondered if he’d been practising John-looks.
“Best of luck to the two of you,then,” Tom enthused, his grin (mostly) genuine.
*
“You could have just told her wegot the wrong kind,” Molly hissed as they walked toward theproduce section.
“Then they’d exchange them andwe’d be stuck with them, because taking them back would just looksuspicious.”
“Could have just used them,”she said without thinking.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her butsaid nothing else.
She couldn’t think of anything to coverwith, so she just let the moment pass. Awkwardly.
Ok. Drabble Challenge. If you've got time of course! :) 13. Get out of the way before I murder you. And 81. Excuse me for falling in love with you for Sherlolly. In one fic or in separate fics. Thank you! Happy writing!! :) :)
