#sherlollyfic

[englandsgray]

Don’t answer that 🫣🤣

Out of nowhere, I have to write! So happy about that :) Decided to start with the one I never meant to leave unfinished. If you have a read - if you’ve read at all during the 4 years, 7 months it’s taken me to complete my longest rambling ode to Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes - thank youuuuu! And hello, again 😘

A Good Heart 💝❤️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093388/chapters/181918181

[missmollybloom]

Ambulance Scene Drabble

I tried to get this done for  Sherlolly appreciation week but it didn’t really go anywhere. So here’s Wonderwall (which for MissMollyBloom is Sherlolly with a healthy dose of Angst!).

She slams the ambulance door, turning to him with a rage he’d never seen in her before.

“You think you’re being cleaver?” She demands, pacing back and forth, which is no easy feat in a space as confined as this one.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes, have we met?”

She is not amused.

“Just tell me when to cough?” She parrots back to him.

“What of it?”

“Ball-fondling jokes? Are you serious?”

“I need to convince him, Molly. You know this.” No longer flippant. He’s entirely earnest.

And there he is, her Sherlock. Beneath the scruff of his unshaven beard, his oily unwashed hair, his eyes are clear. He is as sober as he has ever been, if only for a moment.

Which is why she lets him reach out to her. And why she relents when he runs a hand down the side of her face. And why she tilts her head, giving him access to kiss her.

“How much longer?” she asks when he breaks the kiss, remaining close - forehead to forehead, not ready to part. Not yet.

“Not long. A few days.” He says as he unbuttons his cuffs with shaky fingers. 

It’s time for his examination.

She has to use all of her self-control to stay professional, blocking out all memories of the last time her hands were on his chest, his back. That night when he’d come to her and told her his plan and they’re poured their grief at all that had been and all that was to come into each other’s willing bodies.

He really isn’t well. The concoction of drugs are doing precisely what they had predicted.

So when the ambulance stops and she has to report back to John, it’s no act for her to say, “I’ve seen healthier people on the slab.”

And when she warns him that if he keeps taking what he’s taking he’s got weeks, she means it.

Thankfully, it won’t take that long. But neither of them know that - yet.

[missmollybloom]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I updated Forget Me Not - and I think there’s only one more chapter to go after this one!

This chapter is dedicated to all my patient, loving and encouraging readers - for all their patience with me as life crowds out my writing.

[sherlocktribbiani]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Wow!!Such a good Story!!I need a novel on this!Absolute bliss😍

[thereichenbachqueen]

A Sherlolly Sunrise

Sherlock sees his first sunrise on an early Friday morning.

Molly hands him his coffee just the way he likes it – with ‘just a hint of sugar’, Sherlock? Seriously? – before their fingers entwine and the woman’s dragging him off through the streets behind the flat.

“Where are we – ah – going, Molly?”

There’s no answer save for the slight squeeze of Molly’s fingers against his own, but that serves to be enough. Sherlock’s still not quite awake, and he knows he's not ready enough for a full conversation. He finds his throat scratchy, voice groggy from the lack of quality sleep. It’s early for them both surely, but Molly had requested he be up early – even if he hadn’t slept well in days – for some sort of surprise. He figures there has to be something important waiting beyond these streets if Molly’s refusing to talk about it; usually the woman’s far more vocal in the mornings, especially when she can’t seem to find anything better to do than tease Sherlock about his ‘morning issues’.

The consulting detective still swears he’s not grumpy – just normal. It is of course, not his fault Molly has no cases which prevent her sleep.

“Come on,” Molly says, urging their bodies forward through a thicket of bushes before Sherlock can just make out the tiniest of openings.

“Molly, what –” Sherlock’s covered in leaves by the time they’re almost through, and his curiosity is far more than peaked; they’ve reached a trail he’d deleted long ago, having seen no use for it. Ever. But here they were, and once again, this enthralling woman had proved him wrong.

Interesting.

“Sherlock – shh.” Molly grins and it’s the grin that reaches her eyes, crinkling the corners just as her hand tightens on Sherlock’s own. “Stop deducing for a few minutes, okay? Do you trust me?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow, squinting in the still-too-dark morning lighting.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Molly.”

The pathologist’s answering chuckle is almost worth being up at five am.

They reach the clearing after only a few more minutes of Sherlock trying his best to avoid cataloging all the available information around the area while Molly huffs out laugh after laugh, curling an arm around the detective’s waist.

“First day with your new legs, Sherlock?” Her lips are close to his own ear, breath hot on Sherlock’s skin before the detective sets his jaw in defiance. No, he will not let Molly get the better of him just because it is morning, or just because he's tired.

“First week with my new legs Molly, yes, that makes complete and utter sense considering I am far older than a week old.” Sherlock retorts, face hot with embarrassment as Molly brings him down next to her on the grass.

“Quit it with the sob story, Sherlock. You’re fine, I promise.”

The words are clipped but Sherlock knows better than to take Molly at face value. Words are different with her - more interesting - and Sherlock knows exactly how to decipher the hidden messages and codes that every other person seems to let slip away.

A shame, he thinks as he leans in close and brushes his lips along the curve of Molly’s jaw, since this woman often has so much to say.

“Sherlock.” Molly’s smiling again as her fingers thread themselves through the detective’s hair, pulling him back just an inch. “Hold on, I want you to see something.”

“Yes – um –” Sherlock removes his lips from the woman’s skin, cheeks darkening in color. “Of course. My apologies.”

Sentiment, he thinks, is quite irritating.

Molly doesn’t seem to notice that Sherlock is having some internal crisis however, as her eyes are upturned towards the lightening sky.

“Molly,” Sherlock breathes, leaning into the woman next to him as he too raises his head.

The sight is striking.

The cool colors melt away into soft reds and oranges, and for the first time in his life, Sherlock sees beyond the color spectrum but does not allow himself to observe. Sherlock watches, completely engrossed with devastating awe as he realizes that, sometimes, deductions are not actually required for something to be enjoyable.

“Molly,” Sherlock says again, lips twitching with the tiniest of smiles. “You remind me of this sunrise.”

Dull, he thinks, absolutely dull and yet -

The pathologist rolls her eyes, just as Sherlock knew she would.

“Okay Sherlock, I’ll bite. Why – why do I remind you of a sunrise?”

Sherlock’s lips curve upwards again with his own secret smile before he turns and presses his smirk into the arch of Molly’s neck.

“Because,” he says, “Just as the sun bathes the world in light – your life bathes my existence in incomprehensible good. I am redeemed,” he finishes, “By your kindness.”

“Sherlock,” Molly groans out and sighs, arching her neck to allow the man easier access to her throat, “You don’t – you don’t  - you're not supposed to say things like that! You're Sherlock Holmes!”

It is of course, Sherlock’s turn to chuckle as he nips at the woman’s flesh.

“Would you really have me any other way?” Sherlock grins as his tongue glides across the woman’s collarbone, rewarded with a broken groan and a fist in his hair.

Perhaps, the detective thinks, sentiment isn’t so bad after all.