Sherlolly Appreciation Week is officially moving back to March!
Thank you for everyone’s thoughts and ideas of when it should be - I know there was a lot of love for the idea of having it in January, but I know there are things going on the beginning of that month.
Keep your eyes out for more Sherlolly Appreciation Week announcements in the next couple of months! As always, the tag is ‘sherlollyweek2018′.
I have also created a collection on AO3 (I couldn’t remember (nor find) if there already was one). There are subcollections for each year and if you would like to add your works from the previous Sherlolly Weeks to the collection there is one from 2015, 2016, and 2017.
Somehow I managed to write seven short fics in seven days (SEVEN) based on prompts issued for this year’s Sherlolly Appreciation Week.
Day One - No More Waiting - A super short and sweet ficlet for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day One (Non-Canon/Head Canon - Caught In the Rain)
Day Two - A Letter to Mary - A short ficlet for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Two (Canon Compliant - The Sherlock Special (TAB))
Day Three - Devil in a Blue Dress - A short ficlet for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Three (Non-Canon/ Head Canons - Undercover Cases).
Day Four - Under Her Spell - A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Four (Non-Canon/ Head Canons - AUs and Crossovers). My first Potter!Lock.
Day Five - Horrible First Impression - A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Five (Non-Canon/ Head Canons - Teen!Lock or Uni!Lock). My first Uni!Lock.
Day Six - Two Years Wasted - A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Six (Canon Compliant-ish - What happened during the two years Sherlock was dead).
Day Seven - When the Curtain Drops - A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Seven (Non-Canon / Head Canons - Free Choice). TW: Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Rehab and Recovery
My works for the “Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016″ :
Day One - “Caught in the rain”- art by Flavialkestodraw - also on AO3 here;
Day Two - “Better man” (Victorian Sherlolly) - art by Flavialkestodraw - also on AO3 here;
Day Three - “Garnir avec soin” (Undercover AU) - art by Flavialkestodraw - also on AO3 here;
Day Four - “Protection” - (Au or Crossover; Merman!lock) - art by Flavialikestodraw - also on AO3 here;
Day Five - “Pictures of you” - (Uni!lock) - art by Flavialikestodraw - also on AO3 here;
Day Six - “I can’t stay” - (What happened during the two years Sherlock was dead) - art by Flavialikestodraw - also on Ao3 here;
Day Seven - “Painted from memory” - (Free choice; Potter!lock)- art by Flavialikestodraw - also on Ao3 here
Thanks to the amazing sherlollyandspoilers for creating this event, to all the partcipants for all their stories and art, and last but not least, to Flavialikestodraw for being the wonderful artist and friend she is.
In Your Comforting Embrace (And “A Different Path” Fic)
OMG, I FORGOT A FIC FOR SHERLOLLY APPRECIATION WEEK! ::gasps:: Guys, I legit got, like, four hours of sleep Saturday night because my mania was bad all week (I was waking up an hour earlier every morning...I’d woken up at 4 AM on Friday morning, 5 AM Thursday morning, etc, etc, and going to bed later each night) and I totally missed one. I hope it’s not too late to post it? Especially because I really liked this one. This was based off a piece of fanart by this piece of fanart by artbylexie that I adored that somehow I had ended up with a thumbnail version of (thankfully I found the full length version and was able to link to it on Tumblr) that I saw, and after the events of “A Picture Tells...” and Sherlock’s blunder in that story it inspired a comforting fic in that series. So anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy it.
In Your Comforting Embrace - After blundering so badly with Moriarty Sherlock ponders what is to happen next in the game laid out for him and Molly comforts him in her own way.
He didn’t know why he had gone to his lab at Barts instead of going to her flat or going home after he had taken a walk around London to clear his head. He’d had a meeting with Lestrade about a case that might or might not have been tied into Moriarty’s game, and while thankfully it hadn’t been he’d had thoughts weighing heavily on his mind when the meeting was over and instead of getting in a cab and going to Molly or going home he’d just begun to walk. And he’d ended up in the lab Stamford had given him for his use, sunk down on a stool and just stared ahead, lost in thought.
He had thought about going into his mind palace to sort through all the details of the game, go over the tattoos again, see if he could glean any further clues, but that was about as good as flogging a dead horse without a case to jump start the process. And as he was not in the mood to pay Moriarty another visit in prison, have another tête-à-tête with him where he lost his temper again, it was pointless to see if he could get any other details on that score. So he was left to go over other details he had and see what he could wring out of those for the umpteenth time.
But all he could think about was Molly, was how he had carelessly put her in danger by revealing to Moriarty so thoughtlessly that she was in his life. Not by name, of course, but by inference. He had ferretted out that there were people now that were close to him; it would not take a rocket scientist to deduce that he had a handful of friends and a girlfriend, and it would not even be that hard for someone to realize he was in love with his girlfriend. Killing her would be an immense blow. It would emotionally cripple him.
He never should have talked to Moriarty again. He should have resisted the urge to visit him in the prison again. His ego would be his downfall, he knew it.
He heard the door open and turned, looking through the darkened lab at the entrance. He hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on when he got there; he wasn’t planning on doing work so there was no need. He saw Molly come in, worry on her face. “Mike said you were here but you didn’t turn on the light and you weren’t working on anything,” she said quietly as she came in, shutting the door behind her. “And Greg said you were distracted and I should come check on you.”
“I have much on my mind,” he said.
“Moriarty?” she asked, coming into the room more. He nodded. “You’ll keep us safe.”
“Will I?” he asked, looking up at her as she got closer. “The last case…we had armed officers at the door of Baker Street and they were overpowered and the killers got in. If we weren’t made aware, we could have been killed.”
The Tale Of The Unwelcome Interruption (A “The Family Business” Story)
I honestly have no clue how long it has been since i have updated this series, but this is a treat as this story give you two (different) Sherlocks for the price of one since it’s my Sherlock/Elementary series. So while there is Elementary!Sherlock in the fic, the primary focus, since it’s my last fic for Day 7 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week, is BBC!Sherlock. But this is just a bit of humorous fluff in the series involving a full house and who BBC!Sherlock would rather have staying with him at the moment, inspired by a prompt from elliedilly (“Sherlock’s trying and repeating a rather important speech in front of his mirror, but a certain pathologist arrives in 221b at the wrong time”) that I tweaked slightly by having him pace in the sitting room instead of being in front of the mirror (just because I wanted a large crowd to walk in and I couldn’t remember if there was a mirror in the sitting room). So anyway, please enjoy!
The Tale Of The Unwelcome Interruption - Despite having a full house at Baker Street at the moment, Sherlock is interested in asking Molly to move in with him once his cousin and his fiancée move into their own home. But finding the words to ask her is harder than he thinks, so while he has a moment to himself he finds himself trying to figure out exactly how to ask…and unfortunately, he finds himself with an unexpected audience before he has a chance to figure it out.
He had to have lost what was left of his logical mind to want to ask her to move in with him.
It had been nearly four weeks since Holmes and Irene had arrived from New York and Irene had had the twins, since they settled into Baker Street at the insistence of him and his brother. He loved his first cousins once removed, which quite surprised him, but little Tobias and Joan woke up at all hours and cried constantly and he was getting very little sleep and the sooner Holmes and Irene settled on a home of their own the better. He might murder his cousin before much longer because he would much rather have his girlfriend living there if he had to share his home with anyone.
John was at Donovan’s for the most part, the lucky bastard. He, at least, was getting some rest. But Molly was unfortunately stuck taking a string of graveyard shifts thanks to a staffing shortage at Barts, which meant he was stuck at Baker Street at night with his cousin and Irene and their children. He would have rather had her with him but he wouldn’t put her through not being able to get a full night of sleep on the rare day she had a day shift. But he wished she was there, now that they had worked their issues out.
They had not yet become intimate, which made this seem even more ludicrous, because he knew that there would be no reason for her to want to share a home with him, let alone a bed, if they weren’t intimate. He had thought they might be, but for some reason the timing had always seemed off. And now, with her harried work schedule and his full house, it just seemed there wouldn’t be a chance before he got up the nerve to ask.
If he could figure out the words, that was.
He had somehow managed a moment of peace and quiet. Holmes and Irene had taken the twins and gone with John to meet Lestrade at Heathrow to pick up Joan, who was finally arriving in London to begin settling in after wrapping things up in New York for Holmes and Irene. She had done a video conference with the hiring staff at Barts and was going to start the position as a pathologist in a week, giving her enough time to settle into Lestrade’s flat with him. He was taking advantage of the rare moment of peace to go over what he wanted to say to Molly.
He walked around the sitting room of the flat, his dressing gown flapping behind him, running words over in his head first. He thought he had a good grasp on the words he wanted to use for what he wanted to ask. He motioned with his hands as he paced. “We have been together for some time now, and I know that while there are obviously things about our relationship that are…” He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. “No, no, not good. Perhaps I should say tell her that I know we haven’t been intimate yet, that she might think it’s strange, but I had hoped that she might consider living with me when my cousin and his fiancée move into a home of their own.” He stopped for a moment and then tilted his head back and then shut his eyes. “All right. So I just need to ask. Basically go ‘Molly, will you move in with me?’”
“Well, I suppose I could, once the flat is a bit more empty,” Molly said in an amused tone.
Welp, I managed to write something for every day of Sherlolly Appreciation Week, which is something I didn’t think I’d be able to manage, so yay for me.
This ended up going in a direction I was really, really not expecting. Warnings for mentions of drug abuse, addiction, and recovery. Friendship and Angst ahead. Spoilers for the Special.
Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day Seven Non-Canon / Head Canon - Free choice
When the Curtain Drops
Mary Watson was an observant woman.
She could see what the two men with her did not. They were so intent on examine every line and word in the autopsy records of James Moriarty that they didn't notice the gathering storm brewing just a few short steps away.
But Mary did.
Oh, how she wanted to warn them, to save them all the Sturm und Drang; but deep down she knew that if anyone was going to smack some sense (possibly literally) into Sherlock Holmes at this point, it would be Molly Hooper.
She did the only thing she could do, she kept silent.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
“Did anyone else touch the body? Ask to view it?” Sherlock barked as he flipped through page after page of paperwork, unable to find the tiny piece of information that would make all the pieces of the puzzle snap into place in his mind.
He looked up when Molly didn’t answer. Her jaw was tightly clenched, as if she were trying to bite back words that were desperate to escape. He could see the way she was watching him, her ever observant gaze took everything in.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d always been able to read him.
It was obvious by the tension in her spine and lips, the way her hands flexed and curled at her sides . . . She knew he was high.
Unlike earlier in the plane when he’d been able to deflect the other’s disappointment and concern with rapid fire rationalizations and sniping attacks at his brother, there was nothing that justify what he’d done in Molly Hooper’s eyes and the guilt suddenly weighed heavy on his shoulders.
She stepped closer and he opened his mouth to say . . . something, but she cut him off by ripping the folder containing Moriarty’s autopsy out of his hand and tossing it on a nearby table.
“You idiot,” Molly hissed, and he could see the glint of unshed tears in her eyes.
He should have thought ahead, deduced how she would react, prepared for it. This time he stops her before her hand is able to connect with his cheek. Somehow he ended up with her other wrist in his hand as well.
Distantly, he can hear John whisper to Mary, “I told him he should have gone home to sleep it off first.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off of Molly, couldn’t look away from the disappointment and hurt in her expression. He can feel the delicate bones in her wrists under his calloused fingers.
Sherlock was suddenly afraid that he was physically hurting her, that he was being too rough. He loosened his hold on her wrists.
Then he gasped and nearly buckled in half when her knee connected with his groin. She missed hitting his genitals full on, but only just. The impact had been far enough to avoid the risking real damage, but close enough to make it hurt and force him to release her. He knows, without a doubt, that her off centre aim had been intentional.
From the corner of his eye he could see John wince and rush forward to offer assistance. Sherlock straightened with a grunt, and waved off his friend’s help.
She continued to stare him down. There was concern in her expression—because she was Molly Hooper and he knew that she would always worry and care about him no matter how little he deserved her compassion—but there was also anger. So much anger. “Get out. Don’t come back until you’ve got a court order to see those records. Or better yet, don’t come back at all.”
“You don’t have the authority.” Even as the words left his lips he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
She laughed at him, bitter and laced with a tiny bit of hysteria. “I don’t have the authority to deny a junkie, who is clearly high at this very moment, access to private medical records and restricted areas of the hospital? I think you are wrong, Mr Holmes.” She pointed toward the door. “I don’t want to see you again.”
“Yes, yes. Without a court order, I understand,” he clarified, annoyed at her. At himself. At the world in general.
His carefully ordered life was collapsing at his feet, had been since he’d shot Magnussen, and everything was spiralling out of his control. Molly had always been a failsafe, a rock to anchor himself to when the world tilted, just like John. Now both of them were upset with him, disappointed, angry.
She snatched up the Moriarty file and clutched it to her chest. “You’ll need one for the records. Or you can ask your big brother to step in and fix things for you, wouldn’t be the first time after all. No, what I meant was that I, personally, do not want to see you again. Ever.”
Her hard expression broke for just a second, just long enough for Sherlock to be struck with a painful slap of understanding. She was scared. Terrified. For him.
“I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore, Sherlock. I can’t.”
What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t promise her it wouldn’t happen again. His brother had been right; Sherlock was an addict, no matter how much he might deny it.
He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, not this time. Not even to save what little remained of their friendship.
She turned to John and Mary, and he could see that the threatened tears were beginning to fall down her pale cheeks. “Get him out of here. Let him go sober up somewhere else.”
She slipped past him and paused to whisper something to John before quietly leaving the room.
For some odd reason his chest ached. He rubbed a hand against the pain, then looked down when he realized his palm was flat over his heart like some sort of sentimental fool.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Two days after their first lead broke, Sherlock disappeared.
John knew where he’d gone.
Well, not the actual location because that was all very hush hush and ‘need to know’ and apparently the best friend of the World’s Only Consulting Detective did not need to know according to Mycroft Holmes. John supposed he was lucky that Mycroft had allowed Sherlock to stop at the house on his way out of town, to say goodbye.
Thankfully it wasn’t meant to be a permanent farewell. Ninety days minimum if Sherlock agreed to be on his least annoying behaviour and actually put forth some effort toward his rehab. Longer if he didn’t. They all knew that if he didn’t want to get better, it wouldn’t matter how long they kept him, he’d just relapse again as he had so many times before.
But John had thought there was something different about Sherlock the last two weeks. Something that made John think his friend might actually welcome the opportunity to get sober and this time, rather than being forced into a program against his will.
John had thought about calling Molly after Sherlock left, letting her know what was going on, but he didn’t think Sherlock would appreciate his interference if things didn’t work out.
If he’d wanted Molly to know, he would have told her himself, surely.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
The news program on the radio continued to drone on about the six-month anniversary of the mysterious Moriarty broadcast that had traumatized the nation (or some other overly dramatic verbage, she’d tuned him out a bit earlier).
John had been kind enough to come around the week before to let her know the Faux-riarty Threat (his words, not hers) had been dealt with in so much as the group that had been using Moriarty’s likeness in some criminal capacity or another had been identified and the majority had already been apprehended. He’d wanted to assure her that she was in no danger.
Well, no more than the usual for anyone who was a known associate of Sherlock Holmes.
Even if she hadn’t personally spoken with him since the day she’d kicked him out.
He’s been remarkably considerate of her wishes these last few months. No attempts to wheedle back to her good side, not a single contrived ‘coincidence’ to force them to work together in the same room so that she’d feel obligated to help.
It’s maddening, really.
The news man moved on to a new topic and Molly leaned away from her microscope to stretch her aching back. She glanced toward the clock near the lab door and froze.
Sherlock was standing just outside, watching her through the small window in the door.
Slowly, uncertainly, Molly nodded her head. His eyes closed for a brief moment, and then he was coming through the door and crossing the room to stand at the edge of her table.
“Hello, Molly.”
She swallowed hard, and forced a polite smile to her lips. “Sherlock.”
They both waited for the other to say something else. She fidgeted on her stool, he stood unnaturally still. Finally, Molly broke, “John said that you’ve solved the broadcast mystery.”
“Yes. Mycroft took care of most of the legwork, strangely enough. Well, his people did. I was . . . elsewhere a good portion of the time.” His cheeks flushed and he focused on the glassware and cell samples on the table.
“That’s good, then. Isn’t it?” Why was he there? Why were they fussing about with small talk?
“I imagine so, yes.” He looked at her again and then reached into his coat pocket. When his hand came out there was something clutched between his fingers. Sherlock rubbed his thumb against it as if seeking comfort, then carefully placed it on the table in front of her.
Molly looked down at the small plastic coin, then up at Sherlock in surprise.
“Sixty days,” he explained. “I’ve a long way to go still, but it’s a start. I just wanted you to know that I’m trying, that I’m serious about this, that . . . Well, I guess I just wanted you to know, full stop.”
“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly whispered, her fingers ghosted over the coin with new reverence before she carefully handed it back to him. His thumb rubbed against it once again before he tucked it back into his pocket.
“I had a really interesting fungal sample come through last week. I saved a bit, I’m not really sure why.” She knew why, she just refused to admit it. “Would you like to have a look?”
He hesitated for a moment, then his lips curled into a small lopsided smile. “I’d like that very much.”
She moved to get up and pull it out of storage, but Sherlock reached out to touch her arm. “Thank you.”
Molly put her hand on his and squeezed. “I’ve missed you.”
This year MizJoely is making a complete list of stories published for Sherlolly Appreciation Week. So I’ll make a list of my favourite visuals, one for each theme.
Alright my dearest peeps, it has been one awesome Sherlolly Appreciation Week! A big thank you to everyone who posted their works and to everyone who liked/reblogged the works. You Sherlollians have made this week a big success:)
I am already planning next year’s appreciation week and if I may say so myself, the themes are gonna be fun! Plus, season four should air by then and we will have tons of material to work with! See you all next year!!!
PS. if you missed anything just search the tag sherlollyweek2016 to see all the great works:D
