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tabloidtoc · 3 years

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Life & Style, January 4

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Brad Pitt destroys Angelina Jolie after her affair with Johnny Depp is exposed

Page 1: Photo Flash -- it’s been just under four months since Simon Cowell underwent six hours of surgery after breaking his back in an electric bike accident forcing him to cancel all his work duties for the rest of the year but you wouldn’t know it to look at him -- on his annual tropical vacation with his family to Barbados Simon appeared to have made a full recovery as he took to the water on a jet ski

Page 2: Contents

Page 4: The top 10 red looks -- Dove Cameron, Meghan Markle, Scarlett Johansson, Maya Rudolph, Danai Gurira

Page 5: Emma Mackey, Ciara, Kathryn Hahn, Daisy Ridley, Kat Graham

Page 6: Britney Spears’ father Jamie Spears is speaking out amid his ongoing legal battle with Britney, saying he loves his daughter very much and noting that he hasn’t spoken to Britney since August when she requested to have him officially removed from her conservatorship -- he added when a family member needs special care and protection families need to step up as he has done for the last 12-plus years to safeguard and protect and continue to love Britney unconditionally -- while Jamie’s attorney insists that he and Britney have a normal father-daughter relationship insofar as there has always been mutual love and respect for each other Britney’s legal team claims that Britney is afraid of her father and will not perform as long as he is in charge of her career

Page 7: Nicole Kidman is earning rave reviews for her role in the hit drama The Undoing and Reese Witherspoon can’t stand it -- the last episode of The Undoing drew in the network’s biggest audience since Big Little Lies’ season 2 finale and there’s already talk of Nicole sweeping awards season -- tensions between the two leading ladies threatened to boil over in 2018 when Nic won an Emmy and a Golden Globe for BLL beating out her co-star Reese both times and to make matters worse Nicole recently signed on to star in a new show based on BLL author Liane Moriarty’s book Nine Perfect Strangers without Reese -- Nicole and Reese used to be the best of friends but now they barely talk and it’s only a matter of time until they stop speaking altogether

* Throwback -- Jordin Sparks

* Biggest Spenders of the Week -- Ellen DeGeneres, Tom Brady, Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds

Page 8: Ben Affleck is no stranger to getting inked -- he has five tattoos including a phoenix rising from the ashes on his back and a dolphin on his hip but when he asked girlfriend Ana de Armas to go under the needle she told him no way -- Ben wanted Ana to get a small tattoo but she refused and she would do almost anything for him except get a tattoo because her family would kill her

* Armie Hammer and Rumer Willis have called it quits over his refusal to commit -- the two were first linked in September shortly after he split from his wife of 10 years Elizabeth Chambers but Rumer wanted something more serious but Armie wasn’t ready to settle down

Page 10: The Week in Photos -- Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton treated Prince George and Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis to a special pantomime performance at London’s historic Palladium theater

Page 11: Kelly Clarkson congratulated The Voice contestant Desz on making it to the Top 5, Brooke Burke filmed a challenge for her app in Malibu

Page 12: Cameron Mathison was joined by his daughter Leila while hosting Hallmark’s Home & Family

Page 13: Rebel Wilson at the Rockefeller Center ice rink, Bethenny Frankel and her pups Biggy and Smallz by the Christmas tree

Page 14: Hailee Steinfeld and Jeremy Renner on the set of their upcoming series Hawkeye

Page 16: Stars Behaving Badly -- Selling Sunset’s Christine Quinn left little to the imagination stripping down for a Playboy shoot at the famous Chateau Rose in Bel Air, Blake Shelton used a safety cone as a megaphone on the set of The Voice, Malin Akerman couldn’t resist jumping on the bed at a Hotel Style collection event in NYC

Page 18: Say What?! Garcelle Beauvais on filming The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Rumer Willis on father Bruce Willis’ baby boy dreams after welcoming five daughters, Dolly Parton who turns 75 in January, Meghan Trainor on refusing to get intimate with husband Daryl Sabara during her pregnancy, Jason Momoa on his go-to form of exercise

Page 20: Dakota Johnson was seen sporting a massive emerald stone while out shopping in L.A. sparking speculation that she is engaged to Chris Martin -- there’s no big announcement yet but Chris has quietly proposed and he and Dakota already act like a married couple and they’re excited about finally making it official -- Chris’ children with Gwyneth Paltrow Apple and Moses really like Dakota and will obviously be an important part of their special day and there’s a good chance that Gwyneth who couldn’t be happier about the engagement will be invited to the wedding too

Page 21: Cardi B is giving her marriage to Offset another shot -- she filed for divorce in September after growing tired of not seeing things eye to eye but withdrew the petition without prejudice a few weeks later and now that they’ve rekindled their love she’s asked her husband to renew their wedding vows -- Cardi wants Offset to recommit to their marriage and she wants him to do it for them and for their daughter Kulture so that her little girl can see just how much her parents truly love each other

Page 22: Cover Story -- Brad Pitt gets revenge after Angelina Jolie’s alleged affair with Johnny Depp is exposed -- as his custody battle with Angie drags on Brad might have Johnny to thank for giving him a path to victory -- Brad always suspected something may have gone on between Johnny and Angie when they were making 2010′s The Tourist at a time when they were two of the sexiest and most successful movie stars in Hollywood

Page 26: Kim Kardashian and Kanye West separate lives -- after six years of marriage Kim and Kanye are barely interacting -- Kim is focused on her own projects and on raising the children and Kanye’s interests don’t align with hers anymore -- Kanye is thoughtful and does nice things for Kim but there is no real chemistry or romance left in their marriage; the spark is no longer there -- while Kanye obsessed over Kim for years before they became an item his love and attention as well as hers is now trained on their four kids

Page 28: Cameron Diaz: This is the happiest time in my life -- with her acting days behind her Cameron feels fulfilled at last -- a lot of people do it the other way around ...they get married and have a family in their youth Cameron notes but she’s doing it in the second half of her life -- Cam says she cooked every single meal for Benji Madden and Raddix during the first four months of quarantine and loved it; they’re her everything

Page 30: Royal TV War -- Duchess Kate Middleton and Prince William seem poised to steal Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s spotlight -- Will and Kate want to branch out and expanding their media reach with The Earthshot Prize is just a springboard for them and there are a host of projects they’d like to get off the ground including giving people a more down-to-earth picture of what their life is like behind closed doors -- The Earthshot Prize which will award five monetary prizes each year for the next 10 years launched with Cate Blanchett and Sir Richard Attenborough and Shakira already signed on as judges and Will and Kate aren’t done recruiting stars though and they like the idea of teaming up more formally with personalities they respect and admire and exploring the world of documentaries and streaming platforms and radio broadcasts and other aspects of the internet is the perfect way to do that -- royal family members were said to have raised eyebrows over Meghan and Harry’s deal with Netflix so the couple now finds it surprising and suspicious that Will and Kate are following their lead and there’s a potential for fireworks if they step on each other’s toes

Page 32: Who Lives Here? Leslie Jones

Page 36: Fashion -- 2020 Style Recap -- all about loungewear and masks -- with no red carpets to attend Hollywood hit pause on glam and embraced comfort in sweats and athleisurewear -- Vanessa Hudgens, Hilary Duff, Hailey Baldwin, Alessandra Ambrosio, Addison Rae

Page 37: Brie Larson, Jennifer Lopez, Olivia Munn, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Page 38: Beauty Beat -- new year, new zen -- Kendall Jenner, Elizabeth Banks, Camila Cabello, Madelaine Petsch

Page 40: Diva or Down-to-Earth? Sara Bareilles had a helper hold her umbrella -- Diva, Katie Holmes browses for books -- Down-to-earth

Page 41: Julia Garner requires a primp posse -- Diva, Jax Taylor mows the lawn -- Down-to-earth

Page 42: Social Stars Posts of the Week -- Andy Cohen and son Benjamin, Tim McGraw, Kourtney Kardashian and Kendall Jenner, Jonathan Scott and girlfriend Zooey Deschanel

Page 44: Horoscope -- Capricorn Sienna Miller turned 39 on December 28

* They’re Not Together But They Should Be -- Leo Kate Beckinsale and Sagittarius Jake Gyllenhaal

Page 48: What I’m Into -- Kristin Cavallari

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writingwife-83 · 4 years

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Accidental Research, ch 7- A Conclusive Study in Marriage

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, day 7- Favorite HC

“Don’t even think about it.”

Sherlock’s brow lifted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do. You were thinking about how long till Anderson returns to the morgue and whether you have time to kiss me.”

He smirked. “If we bother discussing it, of course there won’t be any time.”

Molly lifted a warning finger as she saw him take a step closer, clearing her throat as she heard Anderson returning. Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned for her to follow him.

“You! Keep working,” Molly instructed Anderson gruffly. “We’ve got to get some supplies out back.”

They’d barely rounded the corner before Sherlock had her in his arms, pressing a kiss to as much of her mouth as he could manage around the inconvenience of the mustache.

“Mr Holmes, that is quite enough,” she whispered. “You cannot take these sort of risks!”

“I agree, but these two months have been absolute torment!”

“It’s been six weeks.”

“Actually, it’ll be seven weeks tomorrow, which is very nearly two months.”

Molly laughed, shaking her head as she caressed his face. “It’s endearing, the way you can’t endure this process.”

Sherlock very intentionally dropped his voice to a low rumble, leaning in to whisper in her ear as his hand perched on her waist.

“And you can?”

Pulling back to see her half lidded eyes staring back at him with pupils blown wide, he gave her a smug little smile.

Molly licked her lips, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to maintain composure. She gave him a somewhat playful glare.

“The fact is that you and I both need to endure if we want to do this right.”

Something hit him at her wording, like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly...he knew.

Sherlock grasped her hands, staring at her intently. “What if we already have?”

Molly’s expression was definitely one of confusion. “Pardon? Already have...what?”

“You said we needed to do this right. Well, what if we already have? For us! Perhaps for us, courtship has long since been done and over with!”

“Holmes, do be serious,” she laughed.

“I have never been more so,” he replied, and by the shift in her features, she was beginning to believe it.

“Marry me,” Sherlock added, soft but insistent. “Come to the courthouse with me this evening. Or tomorrow.”

“Wh-what?” Molly stammered, her jaw hanging open and cheeks getting pink. “Marry you?!”

Sherlock paused, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment. “Forgive me, I forgot the question aspect. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your instructions after that case some months ago,” He cleared his throat. “Miss Molly Hooper...will you marry me?”

Molly lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Holmes, you know I want to marry you. But...rushing off? Just like that?”

“Just like that!” His eyes brightened with the thrill of it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw that light reflecting in hers as well. “What more do the two of us need to know of one another? How many more weeks and months of agonizing chaperoned dinners at the Watson’s?”

Molly snorted a little laugh.

“Have we not learned more about each other even before courting than most do after two years of these silly little rituals?” Sherlock dropped his voice. “I know I want you, I know I want to make you happy, I know the rest of my living days will be better having you with me,...and I know I love you.”

Molly swiped at her eyes. “Good heavens, I never thought I’d be proposed to while looking like this.”

“Well?” he prompted, peering at her, feeling on the edge of his seat. “What do you say?”

She drew a deep breath and released it, smiling at him. “What else can I say but that I echo every one of your sentiments. I love you too, so so dearly. And yes...let’s get married.”

~~~~~~~~~

Molly rolled over, squinting at the unrelenting sunshine streaming in through the uncovered window. She wasn’t the only one offended by its intrusion.

She smiled to herself, hearing Sherlock curse softly under his breath before standing from the bed and pulling the drapes tightly together, once again wrapping the room in the comfort of darkness.

When he climbed back under the covers, she shifted over, sliding an arm over his middle and letting out a contented little groan as she settled her cheek against his chest.

“Forgive me, I didn’t think to shut the drapes last night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her rumpled hair.

Molly tilted her head up, lifting a brow at him. “I can’t imagine what else commanded your rapt attention before falling asleep.”

“Oh, can you not, Mrs. Holmes?”

Molly let out a little squeal of laughter as she found herself very suddenly shifted to her back as her husband’s lips descended to the side of her neck. Not just anywhere of course, but the exact right spot. Because of course it had taken Sherlock Holmes less than three bloody days to pinpoint what turned her to absolute mush in his arms.

“Mm, that’s right...now I remember,” she murmured.

Sherlock left the side of her neck, instead bringing his lips to hers, slanting one way and then the other, kissing and releasing over and over again in a teasing little dance. Unable to endure a moment more, Molly’s fingers threaded into his hair, closing in a fist as she brought him in for a much more substantial kiss. All evidence taken into consideration, he seemed to very much appreciate her initiative.

Molly smiled inwardly, thinking she might just be learning how to turn him into mush as well.

As quickly as their passion had ignited though, a blanket was thrown over the flame when they both heard footsteps on the creaking steps up to 221B.

Sherlock inclined his head a bit, still hovering over her as he listened carefully. After a moment of subtle noises, followed by then descending footsteps back down the creaking steps, he turned back to his wife and smiled.

“Just Mrs. Hudson, bringing the morning post and tea.”

“Ah,” Molly breathed in relief. “I admit some tea sounds delightful.”

“Ask and you shall receive!” Sherlock proclaimed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before throwing his dressing gown on and leaving the bedroom.

Molly stretched languidly in Sherlock’s- well, their bed. It still felt unreal and almost as if she were doing something wrong, having spent the past three nights in this bed with him, doing things that made her blush to remember. But she kept reminding herself with a smile that this really was now her bed, her husband, and the celebration of their new life together.

Sherlock returned quickly, balancing the tray of tea and the post.

“I believe Mrs Hudson is taking things a bit too sentimentally, since she’s included flowers on the tray.”

“I think that’s sweet!” Molly leaned in and took an appreciative sniff as he set it down on the bed.

As she poured the tea, Sherlock was silent for a moment, sitting next to her and thumbing through the post.

“Anything interesting?” Molly asked, taking the first warm sip.

Sherlock didn’t respond at first, his eyes riveted to one particular envelope. Finally, he grinned, holding it out to her.

“Actually yes. It seems you’ve received your first post. And I do believe it’s someone who has decided to send us, and especially you, a gift.”

“Really?” Molly cocked her head. “I thought only your family and the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson knew.”

“Yes, that’s right. This gift is, strangely enough I believe, from my brother.”

“Oh! How lovely of him.”

“It is, yes,” Sherlock agreed, nodding and handing the envelope over.

Her eyes first took in the name written meticulously on the front- Mrs. Molly Holmes.

Sherlock set the post aside and scooted over as Molly opened it up and took out the paper to begin reading, seeing that the heading read, “a gift, dear sister.” She began scanning the words, barely getting through the first paragraph before clasping a hand over her mouth. What she read was far too good to be true.

“Can this really be?” Molly questioned in ecstatic disbelief. “I’ll be working at St Bart’s hospital? Really me!”

“Congratulations,” Sherlock replied softly, giving her a little kiss on the cheek.

“Did you do this?”

He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. But a few days ago when we decided to marry, I did go to my brother and explain that living as a married couple would make your current professional situation considerably more difficult. I told him this was a concern of ours, and if it was possible to remove that concern completely, starting married life might be much improved. I suggested that perhaps he try to speed things along regarding your employment.”

Molly’s smile spread slowly, and she managed to carefully place the letter from Mycroft and the tea tray aside before leaping back onto the bed and practically tackling her husband back against the pillows, sprinkling words between kisses.

“If I thought...I couldn’t love you...more than I already did...I was wrong! And I definitely need to thank your brother!”

“In a very different way, I hope.”

Molly laughed, curling up against him, her hand comfortably nestled inside his dressing gown and atop his heart.

“A week ago I never would have believed this would be my life,” she whispered.

“It does all seem rather sudden I suppose,” Sherlock admitted, his arms locking around her and fingers nestling in her undone hair.

“Though...in a way I feel as if we’ve been building up to this for quite some time. Even before we knew it. As if the evidence was slowly gathering around us until suddenly it all just pointed to one undeniable conclusion.”

“Undeniable indeed,” Sherlock agreed, turning to kiss her soundly.

One kiss led to another, and then another, and very soon they sunk back down into the world of pillows and covers together. Both husband and wife found they were in complete agreement, albeit nonverbal, that despite a conclusion having been most certainly reached...there was always plenty more research to be done.

#sherlolly #sherlollyweek2020 #TAB au #victorian sherlolly #THAT’S A WRAP!#it’s been fun!

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v-thinks-on · 4 years

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Once Upon a Dream

I took in a deep breath of the warm spring air, a little sharper now that the sun had set, but still fragrant with the aroma of new life.

“There’s nothing so uplifting as seeing a happy young couple united in matrimony,” I remarked as Holmes and I walked down the drive arm in arm. “It fills the heart with hope.”

Holmes gave me a queer look out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve become maudlin, my dear Watson,” he admonished, though I could tell that wasn’t really what was bothering him.

All through the evening, as I drifted on and off the dance floor, I had seen Holmes watching me, his brow knitted in troubled thought as it was now. He had remained on the sidelines, as far as I noticed, once or twice he had been drawn into conversation when I happened to glance his way, but for the most part he had spent the evening rather stoically. However, I had not allowed his mood - not a surprising one under the circumstances - to dampen my spirits.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” I insisted, though I longed to say more - but that would have to wait until we were safely ensconced in Baker Street.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “Perhaps it was.” He glanced over at me and added upon seeing my expression, “I heartily congratulate the happy couple, but you know I am not such a sociable fellow.”

I gave him a look that utterly failed to conceal my fondness for the unsociable ascetic man beside me. “I know. Nor am I,” I reminded him. “But I can still enjoy a wedding.”

He waved it off, a fond smile of his own teasing at those wry, thin lips. But as we made our way down to the nearest thoroughfare to catch a cab home, his smile faded and there came into his eyes a faraway look that betrayed deep contemplation.

We were quiet all the way home until we stepped into the darkened flat; Mrs. Hudson had long since retired to bed. As Holmes stooped over to light the gas, I struggled to find the right words.

“You know,” I said at last, when he had straightened his long, limber back - the faint gleam of the lamp light outlined his figure with a golden glow - “there’s nothing to worry about. It was just dancing, nothing more. I’m not going to run off with anyone” - I hesitated, remembering my ill-fated marriage - “not again.”

Holmes slowly turned to face me. He reached out and took my hands in his own. “I know,” he assured me. His expression turned mischievous. “I should hope you have no intention of marrying any of your charming young suitors; you are not so young any more.”

I glared at him, but I didn’t really mean it. There was still that look in his eyes, contemplative, perhaps a little uncertain.

Abruptly, as though he had come to a decision, he relinquished my hands and went to the new phonograph of all things. He didn’t take long to choose a record to set upon the table, and soon the quiet night air was full of soft, swirling music. For a moment, I wondered whether we should not be more careful not to disturb our long suffering landlady, and then Holmes had taken my hand and slipped his other arm around my waist, drawing me close - perhaps a little more so than I had dared with my fair dance partners earlier in the evening.

My feet followed him without any conscious thought. I stumbled a little, accustomed to leading rather than being led, but he moved with such self-assured grace that it would have been difficult not to fall into step. We twirled and swayed across the sitting room, flitting with ease between the furniture and clutter. If I took a false step, which I am afraid was not so unlikely, there was Holmes’s arm, sure and strong around my waist to steady me and bring me closer still.

As we found a clearer patch of floor, Holmes was so bold as to spin me around so for a moment I stood enveloped in his arms, my back pressed against his chest, and then he spun me back around. He gave me but a moment to regain my footing. And then, as the piece came to an end, he tightened his grip on my hand, moved his arm up my back, and leaned forward to dip me toward the ground, our faces nearly touching. I had not the balance to dare bring him in for a kiss, but the thought flashed across my mind.

The music stopped and very slowly he returned me upright. For a moment we merely stood there, holding each other, our chests heaving. He was a sight to behold in the flickering gaslight, tall and elegant in his dark evening wear; the very picture of a gentleman and his eyes alight with something more.

“I had no idea you were such a dancer,” I said, breathless.

His keen features lit up with pleasure at the compliment, as sensitive as any lady, though he tried to appear unaffected.

“Truly, all womankind has been sorely deprived,” I insisted as the next piece began to play.

“My dear Watson, you overestimate my qualities as a partner.”

I did not deign to answer that. Instead I said, “And here I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“I don’t like watching you dance with all of your charming young suitors while I’m forced to stand on the sidelines, allowed to dance with anyone but the man whose company I actually desire.” With that he reached out and took my hands in his own once more, drawing me closer. He had spoken such words casually, as though it were nothing, but I knew him well enough to see the depths of feeling that lay behind them.

This piece was less lively than the first. Holmes merely wrapped his arms around my waist and I draped mine over his neck and we swayed and shifted approximately in time with the music - he tended closer to tempo than I. He watched me intently, his gaze at once that of the brilliant reasoner examining me as though I held the answer to some mystery, and the dreamer lost in a world of our own, and it held some things which could not be accounted for by either; passion and tenderness as though we might as well have been alone in the world for all that he could see. His bright silver eyes seemed to sparkle.

I answered in the only way I could; I leaned in and kissed him on the lips, soft and gentle, but with a lick of fire.

When I pulled away, he was smiling, looking rather pleased with himself, and I confess, I likely looked the same. I drew even closer to lean my head against his shoulder and he held me in his warm embrace as we swayed with the low, twinkling melody.

#v writes #Sherlock Holmes #H/W

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janeykath318 · 5 years

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Pike x Tilly Old West AU

Old West AU: Person A’s parents sent them out west to marry person B, who is the only sheriff in the area.

Sylvia emerged from the train feeling tired, dusty, and shaky with nerves. Clutching her bag tightly, she looked around the platform for the man who was supposed to meet her. It was not a very busy station compared to the one back home, so she didn’t have to worry about getting lost in the shuffle, thankfully.

She didn’t have any idea what her soon to be husband looked like, just that he’d be wearing a sheriff’s badge. How she hoped he was handsome! Her parents had assured her he was a very honorable gentleman, and his letters had been very nice, but it would be nice to live with someone you could actually stand to look at.

[[MORE]]

She’d only waited a few minutes when she saw a man approaching her, sunlight glinting off of the badge on his chest.

She instantly grew nervous again. This was him. This was the man she’d traveled cross country for. Sylvia hopes she didn’t look too bedraggled.

“Miss Tilly?” He asked.

“Yes. Sheriff Pike?” She squeaked out through a throat that suddenly didn’t want to work. One of her wishes had definitely come true, It appeared. He was very good-looking.

“At your service,” he said, giving her a smile. The dimples that appeared made her heart skip a beat. Oh, my.

“Welcome to California. Is this your luggage?”

Tilly managed a nod.

“Yes. One trunk and two bags.”

“Very good. My wagon is nearby and we’ll have them loaded shortly, if you don’t mind waiting a moment. There’s a bench over yonder.”

He pointed toward said bench and Tilly nodded, not looking away from him. Pike was.....in a word, stunning. Despite his longish greying hair and beard, his face did not look old and was generally very pleasing to look at, especially his very striking blue eyes. Now that, she could get used to. He was tall and lean and carried himself with a cool command that obviously garnered plenty of respect, judging by the way people greeted him in passing.

She watched from the bench as Pike and another man loaded her trunk and bags into his wagon, then he returned for her.

“I hope your trip was uneventful?” He asked as he gave her a hand up into the wagon.

“It was,” she confirmed. “But very long. I resorted to attempt to Sherlock Holmes my fellow passengers, with mixed results.”

Pike cracked another smile.

“An admirer of the great detective?”

“Very much,” she declared. “I have all of Doyle’s works packed away in my trunk.”

“So that’s why it was so heavy,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“What can I say? I am a woman who loves literature,” she replied cheerfully. “My mother was exasperated with how many I packed, but I had the room, so in they went.”

“A good hobby to have,” he replied. “I too, enjoy a good book, though sadly I rarely get the time to indulge.”

“I imagine dealing with scoundrels and outlaws is quite taxing, especially having to cover such a large area.”

He shrugged.

“It can be. Some days are worse, some are quiet. It’s not a heavy populated area, so the crime rate isn’t out of hand. I don’t think your father would have allowed you to come out here otherwise.”

“Certainly not,” Tilly sighed. “He’s very protective of me. I wanted an adventure though, so he put me in contact with you. He trusts you.”

“Quite significantly.” Pike looked at her gravely and she sensed he considered her coming quite momentous.

Tilly went quiet for a bit, thinking over the whole “about to get married” part of the journey. He was certainly putting her at ease about it, but still, it was a life changing event. A few townsfolk waved at them as they passed, greeting Pike with a “Howdy, Sheriff!” And staring curiously at Sylvia.

“Do they know?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Yep. Word spread faster than a prairie fire. I did my best to dissuade them from overwhelming you with calls, but I can guarantee that once we’ve been before the judge they’ll pour forth to congratulate us. I love them, but they’re nosy as all get out.”

Pike shook his head with a fondly exasperated smile and drew the horses to a stop in front of a simple white house.

“This is it,” he said, alighting from the wagon to tie the horses up. “Home sweet home. I had a wise woman make sure it was acceptable to house a lady. Being A long time bachelor, I admit was rather careless in certain areas.”

“So you mentioned in your letters,” Sylvia said with a laugh as he handed her down. Her breath caught a bit as he locked eyes with her in that moment. “By the way, please call me Sylvia. After all, you’re about to be my husband.”

Her cheeks went pink saying it and Pike’s gaze softened.

“Sylvia. A very lovely name. It suits you. I go by Chris.”

Once her trunk was unloaded, he showed her over the house, which though much simpler than she was used to, was really quite well designed and cozy. She appreciated the little touches that gave it a more homey air, such as a vase of flowers on the table and dainty curtains over the kitchen window. All in all, it was a very nice place in which to start a household.

“It’s lovely, Chris. I think I’ll be happy here,” she told him.

“I know it’s a far cry from what you’re used to, but I’m glad you like it.” Pike looked very relieved at her reaction.

“Oh, I do. Speaking of which, what plans did you have for the ceremony?”

“I have already alerted judge Archer and As soon as you’re rested and refreshed, we’ll have it done. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes,” Sylvia nodded, pulse quickening at the prospect. The sooner they got it over with, the better, and she could start relaxing again.

“I will leave you to it. Una, my sister-in-law, is coming over to make sure you have something to eat. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Sylvia shook her head and removed her bonnet, feeling unruly strands of fiery red hair spring up. Chris’s eyes got a bit wider.

“Yes, Chris. It is as red as I described to you. And no, I don’t need anything else right now, thank you. I will see you later!”

She grinned at him and disappeared into the bedroom, Chris staring after her with a highly amused look on his face. She was going to shake up his world, and he was actually looking forward to it.

After Sylvia had eaten, washed, and dressed in the elegant blue gown she’d brought for the wedding, Una helped her do her hair. Taming the wild red curls was not an easy task, but they managed to succeed, with a multitude of pins.

She donned a pearl necklace from her mother and then critically inspected herself in the mirror, making sure everything was tidy.

“You look beautiful, Sylvia,” Una told her with a smile. “Christopher will be charmed.”

“He’s been so kind to me. He certainly seems to be taking getting married in stride,” Sylvia observed.

“Oh, I think he’s been gradually falling in love with your soul through your letters and now that he’s met you, well, the spell is complete. Just three years ago, he would have never agreed to this, now.....well....he’s singing a different tune.”

Sylvia giggled. She liked the thought that she’d been able to show Chris that marriage wasn’t misery or a burden. She opened the small brown box she’d just taken from her trunk and smiled at the contents. For better or worse, they were going to be joined in matrimony.

When Chris came to collect her, she smiled brightly at him, heart thumping at how handsome he looked, having donned a dark suit for the occasion.

“You look beautiful, Sylvia,” Chris breathed in her ear, making her shiver a bit and blush again.

“Thank you,” she responded, taking the offered arm. “You look extremely handsome yourself. It really isn’t fair to the other men around town because Nobody else is even worth looking at when you’re around. They must be very jealous.”

Chris chuckled.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you. Ready to be wed?”

She held up the little brown box.

“Even down to the rings father sent with me. He said they belonged to your relatives.”

Chris’s eyebrows rose and he took the box and carefully opened it.

“Oh, my. He found my parents’ set,” he said softly, admiring the gold bands within. The smaller one contained three tiny pearls. Sylvia thought it was very romantic that they would be using family heirlooms, and was glad the pearl ring had fit her (yes, she’d tried it on).

“Your Father is very thoughtful. I wish he were here to thank him. I thought these had been lost in the estate sale.”

“He hopes to come visit us this summer,” Sylvia told him. “I know he was thrilled to be able to recover them.”

“As am I,” Chris sighed. “Well, we don’t want to keep the good judge waiting. He gets crotchety if he’s behind schedule.”

He winked at Sylvia and she grinned back as she took his arm. Let the adventure begin!

Judge Archer was not grumpy after all and he greeted the bride and groom quite cheerily.

“So you’re the lucky lady! Pleased to meet you, Miss Tilly. You’re getting a fine man in our Christopher. Very good man and the soul of integrity.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvia managed, fingers tingling from the handshake.

“And you, Christopher, take good care of her. She’s come all this way for you.”

With this admonition, the judge proceeded to begin the ceremony. It was short and simple, witnessed only by Una and her husband. Sylvia felt a little shy during it, but it was a nice feeling to have his hands in hers while they made their vows.

The rings were exchanged, and then Archer declared them husband and wife.

“I didn’t know whether to leave out the kiss the bride part, but you’re free to now should you so desire,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Chris looked at Sylvia, who had turned a bit pink, but was looking back at him hopefully.

“Well?” He asked.

“I’m game if you are,” she responded.

“Happy to oblige,” he murmured, and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. Considering they’d only just met in person, he was stunned by how right it felt. He pulled away for a moment to look at her earnestly, admiring once again her beautiful smile.

“That was nice,” Chris murmured. “We should do that more often, Mrs. Pike.”

“I agree, Chris,” Sylvia whispered back.

#fanfic #arranged marriage AU #pilly #pike x tilly #star trek discovery #sylvia tilly #christopher pike

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geekmama · 6 years

Text

Dream Baby Ch. 2: Wide Awake

In which Molly contemplates a whole new world (and champagne brunch at The Landmark).

This is for Ellis_Hendricks in congratulations on finishing her superb series, In Loco Parentis, and because she was concerned that Molly never got that takeaway Sherlock promised in the first chapter.

The hours… the dark night…the sound of rain…

I dreamt of you…

Molly stirred, encountered something solid, and gave an involuntary groan even as the solid something shifted to give her room…

Sherlock!

Memory came rushing back at lightspeed… those first kisses in that dark sheltered alcove… the laughter, the light in his eyes as they’d stripped off half their wet clothes in the middle of the living room… his hand on her wrist, pulling her after him, down the short hall to his bedroom, as though he couldn’t wait a moment longer…

Then… quite literally hours. Sometimes every nerve atuned to this new reality, and sometimes half dozing, the moments stretching out as in a dream…

Dreaming, in the dark, velvet night…

…to the sound of rain…

Other sounds, too. Helpless, joyous cries. And words, so many words… desperate babbling… languorous whispers. Words she had never thought to hear – or speak - in such a context…

Beyond all her seemingly foolish, unquenchable hope.

She would remember it all to her dying breath, she thought as she turned onto her back and her eyes opened to meet his…

...more green than blue in this shaded morning light…

…wonder and joy -- and a dash of relief -- in that beloved, crooked smile…

Later she would recall this moment, too, and find it strange that she had felt no fear that the coming of a new day might have changed things, brought him to his senses, or that he might be put off by what she was all-too-aware was her thoroughly shagged-out appearance.

But that was later. In that first, beautiful instant of awareness, she could only return his smile and murmur, “Good morning!”

“Molly,” he said, slow and deep, savoring the word as though it were something new, and perhaps a little surprising. Sending a small shiver through her… a frisson of desire.

Good Heavens. He would surely be the death of her.

But she replied with a whispered demand: “Kiss me.” And to her unutterable joy, he did, with careful sensuality… and then less careful. Her hands slid up and she put her arms about his strong shoulders, just as she’d always wanted to do… the feel of him… so real, so alive! And the taste of him… and then he made a small sound against her mouth as his hips pressed against her, moved against her, his burgeoning arousal plain…

He tore his lips away with a soft gasp, closing his eyes and setting his forehead against hers briefly before raising his face and opening them again to look down at her, troubled. “I… Molly, I want you. Again! Is that…” His voice trailed off, his question unvoiced.

“Sherlock, it’s fine,” she said, softly. She brushed some of the dark curls back from his forehead, and caressed his cheek. “You… you told me last night it had been years—“

“And never like this.” His expression lightened. “You don’t think it’s… strange, then? Abnormal.” He moved his hips again, and a suggestive smile tugged at his lips.

She couldn’t help chuckling, and pulled him down for another kiss. However, before he could construe this as full speed ahead, she said, “But Sherlock…”

He stilled and drew back again. “Yes?”

She felt herself blushing, but had to say it. “I’m a little… sore. I do want to… again… but—“

“I see. I can be gentle, though,” he said, coaxing – but with a hint of mischief, too.

Considerably later, Molly lay staring at the ceiling, her body still flushed and quivering, Sherlock’s expensive Egyptian cotton sheets thoroughly rumpled beneath her – beneath them, for he was lying on his back, recovering right next to her – and her hair, which was no doubt the very definition of bed-head, strewn lavishly across his goose down pillows.

“Do you think Hudders will have heard that?” he asked, still somewhat breathless, but laughter in his voice in spite of it.

Molly gave an amused snort. “I daresay. I don’t believe I will think of the word gentle in quite the same way ever again.” She turned her head on the pillow to look over at him. “I assume you were telling me the truth when you said it had been years, but in that case… how on earth…?”

He rolled to face her, obviously pleased with himself. “Research, to some extent – John’s laptop, and those romance novels you leave about your flat have always been convenient resources. But you are far too easy to deduce, dear heart. My darling Molly.” He had moved to embrace her again as he uttered these endearments in that voice, and even now, after… after everything that had gone before… she felt a noticeable ache of desire.

But then, having trapped her there, he looked down at her quite seriously and said, “Marry me.”

She could not help but stiffen. “Wh-what? Sherlock!”

He gave a sort of frown, though his eyes were still smiling. “Molly, I know you’ve been off the pill since you broke off your engagement to Tom—“

“I… you… my age—“

“Yes, you have reached the age when other forms of birth control are preferable – but you didn’t think you’d need any of them, either. And here we are: quite possibly pregnant, since, if I remember correctly, this would be about day fifteen of your cycle—“

“How do you know that?” she exclaimed, outraged and blushing furiously.

“Please,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “your mood swings alone—“

“My wh—“

He kissed her, which very possibly preserved his life. She squirmed beneath him, attempting to preserve her wrath, but he was so very persistent… and it was so very… enjoyable.

When she was (admittedly) thoroughly subdued, he pulled away very slightly and said, “Molly… my love… my darling pathologist, and lover… and friend… don’t you want to? Haven’t we wasted enough time?”

“That wasn’t my fault,” she said, pointedly.

He sighed. “I know that. And just think: you will be in a position to hold it over me for the rest of our lives if only you will say yes.”

A swarm of objections rose in her brain, only to be dismissed as very minor in the scheme of things. And, in a Sherlockian sense, this proposal was eminently logical. “Very well,” she said. And then her pique at his abrupt methods faded quite away and she added worriedly, “But are you sure?”

He opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to dismiss her concern with his typical insouciance. But then his expression changed to something far more serious and tender. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said simply. After another kiss, he added, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

There was a brief silence as they considered one another, contemplating this momentous, life-changing decision…

And then her stomach growled.

Her hope that he hadn’t heard it was dashed immediately.

“Hungry?” He chuckled, eyes alight – an expression she ordinarily adored.

But she resisted its infectious quality and summoned a scowl. “You did promise me takeaway last night. I haven’t eaten since this time yesterday.”

“You had a packet of crisps. I saw it in the bin.”

“A packet of crisps in twenty-four hours! Are you trying to starve me?”

“But wasn’t it worth it?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. And couldn’t help herself. “Oh my God, yes it was,” she exclaimed, and kissed him again, and wrapped herself about him in a fierce hug. He laughed beneath the kiss, and then she was laughing, too, and, a minute or two later, they were still laughing as they faced each other on the pillows.

He said, “Let’s shower and go out to brunch. The manager at the Landmark owes me a favor, I’ll text him. And then we can go and shop for your engagement ring.”

Her heart swelled with joy – but then plummeted slightly. “I’ll have to go home first, I have to get some suitable clothing. And feed Toby.”

“Oh, Toby,” he groused with an eye-roll, but there was no real heat in it. “Yes, very well. But come shower with me, first.”

Their sudden, all-consuming sexual liaison had thrown them into the deep end and no mistake. It was one thing to lose oneself in such ecstasy, and quite another to experience the more mundane domestic intimacies for the first time as a committed couple. Sherlock seemed boyishly unsure of himself, and she felt a bit awkward, too, in spite of the fact that not so many months had passed since she had helped him through his latest (and, as he had stated quite adamantly at the time, last) recovery from drug abuse. That had been different. She had served in the capacity of medical professional, as well as caretaker and friend.

Now, they were lovers.

And engaged to be married.

As he moved the soapy cloth over her breasts and down over her tummy (an utterly fatuous smile curving his lips, if only he’d known it), she could not help wondering if she was, indeed, pregnant. It was certainly possible. And at that thought… the awareness that their affection, and their shining new commitment might bring a new life into the world – a superb and possibly startling combination of Holmes and Hooper genes -- such a wave of tenderness swept through her that tears stung, then filled her eyes.

Sherlock saw her lip tremble and his smile vanished. “What is it?”

“Nothing! I… what if I am pregnant?” She swiped the heel of her hand against the tears trickling down her cheek. “I might be, you know. You were right.”

His smile was back. And growing. “We’ll manage,” he said, and dropping the soapy cloth, he drew her close and held her for a long time, his cheek against her wet hair as the warm water poured over them.

Toby was extremely vocal in expressing his opinion of her prolonged absence.

Molly laughed, and Sherlock, suppressing a grin, said, “Go change your clothes, I’ll feed him. I know where everything is.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Molly assured him, trotting up the stairs as Sherlock bent and scooped up the cat to carry him into the kitchen.

When she came down again – in a few minutes, just as promised -- she found her lover leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as her cat consumed what looked to be a whole tin of the posh wet food, the kibble dish sitting close by and already refilled.

“I’ve given him fresh water, too,” Sherlock told her, looking up. And then his brows rose. “Where did you get that dress?”

“I’ve had it a while,” she replied, smiling at the light in his eyes, vastly pleased that he seemed to approve. “It’s an Alexander McQueen. I was lucky enough to find it in a second-hand shop – too rich for my blood, otherwise. I… I thought you might like it.” The mini-dress was fitted and short-sleeved, with a flared skirt, and made of a smooth white material with an elaborate pattern of black scrollwork over all. She had felt, when she bought it (and not precisely dirt-cheap, either, in spite of the locale), that it would be perfect to wear if Sherlock ever asked her out – yes, even after all these years she had still lived in hope – since it would provide a pleasing contrast to the elegant simplicity of his dark, bespoke suits.

“I do like it,” he said, and set his hands at her waist, bent (only slightly, since she was wearing heels), and kissed her. “You look beautiful.”

“Then there’s a pair of us,” she said lightly, even as she blushed, her heart thumping.

He took her hand. “Come on, let’s go eat so we can get back to more important things.” And he actually waggled his brows at her.

They were in the cab, halfway to the Landmark (where seating at a secluded table and iced champagne awaited them), when the faint sound of a particular text alert issued from the pocket of Sherlock’s coat.

They turned to each other in sudden dismay, and Sherlock blurted, “Lestrade! I forgot all about that.”

“The Steed murder.” Molly winced. “Maybe we should do dinner, instead?”

But a stubborn look swept over Sherlock’s face. “No. We’ll go now, it won’t take long.” And, after checking his mobile for the address, he leaned forward to give the cabbie their new direction.

Greg’s face was the very picture of astonishment when they showed up, dressed to the nines and exchanging a loving glance as Sherlock handed Molly from the cab.

“What the… are you two off to a wedding or something?” Greg demanded.

“No, not at all,” Sherlock said, rather haughtily as he straightened and smoothed his coat. But then he added, “Not yet, at least,” and his lip twitched against a smile.

Molly blushed only a very little (she trusted) as she said, “Hello, Greg,” just as she had the previous night... in another world.

Greg’s eyes flew back and forth between them, a grin forming. “Bloody hell!” He said to Sherlock. “You finally got off your arse!”

Sherlock glared at him, but otherwise ignored this remark. “You won’t mind Molly attending, will you? Her input might be valuable, and speed things along. The management of the Landmark is holding a table for us, and Molly is very hungry.”

“That right?” Greg grinned. “No takeaway last night? Or tea this morning? Does Mrs. Hudson know what’s been going on under her roof?”

Sherlock sniffed. “I doubt she cares what goes on as long as the place isn’t blown up again.”

Molly wrinkled her nose, feeling guilty. “We snuck past her door on the way out, but I believe she… um… suspects.”

Sherlock looked a bit conflicted at what was, essentially, Molly’s blatant admission of what precisely had been going on between them for the last fourteen hours, but finally gave it up and said to Greg, “We haven’t told anyone, yet, really. It seems you’re the first to know.”

Greg’s grin softened to something less teasing and much fonder. “Congratulations, you two. Lord, wait’ll John hears.”

“Not to mention our parents,” Sherlock groaned. “But John’s still in Tahiti, with that Gooseberry woman and her progeny.”

“Rushbury!” Molly corrected. “And her little girls are the sweetest things! I met them and their mother when I was picking up Rosie from nursery one day.”

But Sherlock was now looking thoughtful. “There’s a ten hour time difference between London and Tahiti.”

“So… two in the morning?” Greg mused. The grin appeared again.

Answered by Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, no!” Molly protested, but with as much laughter as disapprobation.

And, with that unholy Sherlockian gleam in his eye, Molly’s beloved reached for his phone.

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly

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sherlollyandspoilers · 6 years

Text

Isn’t She Beautiful, part one

Sooo, I have rewritten big chunks of this fic...I hope the rewriting has fixed issues with the dialog, some plot holes, and some big canon divergent issues with some character’s backstory. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Part Two Part Three Part Four

"I don't want you to do this out of pity." Molly breathed heavily as she spoke. She sat on his lap, running her hands over his bare chest taking in everything she could before it was over. He didn't respond but just watched her. "Sherlock?"

"It's not pity." He ran a finger down her spine causing her to shiver. "It's not pity," he whispered again before turning over and swinging her under him. He hovered over her, their noses brushing against each other. "I'm going to miss you."

"I thought caring was a weakness?" She still couldn't process everything that was happening.

"It is."

Molly kept her eyes closed, trying to remember as much about the previous night as she could. The way he smelled, how his chest heaved as he sank into her, the smile he gave her as she tightened around him, how perfectly their bodies fit together as they lay afterwards.

She rolled over and found that the only thing on the other side of the bed was a note:

Molly,

Thank you.

Sherlock

"Good-bye Sherlock Holmes."

Present:

Molly shuffled down the hall to the locker room; it had been a long day and she hadn't slept well the night before.

"Have a good night, Molly." One of her coworkers smiled as she walked by.

"You too." She managed a half smile that didn't reach her eyes.

She walked over to her locker, mind completely on the things she had to finish that night, and opened it. She looked up into the mirror that hung on the small door and gasped, spinning around on her heals. She looked him up and down three times before speaking.

"Sherlock!" She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He was hesitant but hugged her back. "Sorry, sorry!" She stepped back, her whole face bright.

"Molly Hooper,” he gave a small smile as he said her name, “you look…well."

"There is no need to lie, I know how I look!" She laughed. "But you, you do look well."

"It is nice to be back in London." He took a step towards her and her mobile rang.

"Sorry! I have to get that." Her face flushed, embarrassed.

"The world goes on." He nodded. She nodded back and grabbed her mobile, looking at who was calling.

"Hello?....Can you give me a minute? I'll call you right back." She hung up and stared angrily at her mobile. "I actually have to go.” She looked back at him and smiled again. “It was good to see you." She shook her head. "No, it was great! I mean, I'm, I’m just glad you're alright. Of course I knew you were alive but – " Sherlock leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly, stopping her ramblings.

"It was good to see you too." He gave her another small smile and walked out of the locker room. She watched him go, wanting to run after him, knowing she couldn't. Instead she hit dial on her mobile.

"So what's up?" Molly grabbed her things and shoved them in her bag. "Oh, yea, those are her favorites. I'll pick some up on the way home….I'm leaving right now."

Two Years Previous:

"No…no…no!" Molly sat on her couch crying. "He has to see me now!" When his secretary had declined her request again she threw her mobile on the ground. "He is going to see me now!" She grabbed her purse off the hook and slammed the door of her flat closed behind her.

"I'm here to see Mr. Holmes." Molly stood in front of the secretary she had most likely been talking to on the phone.

"Mr. Holmes is busy at the moment. But you can make an appointment." She talked into her magazine. Molly rolled her eyes at the girl and walked around the desk, towards his office. "Miss! You can't go back there!" Molly closed the office door in the girl's face.

"Molly." He only looked half as surprised as Molly thought he would.

"Mycroft." She sat down in the chair across from him. "I need to talk to you about Sherlock."

“Miss Hooper, as far as everyone is concerned, my brother is dead.” He tone was hard and his look piercing.

"Mycroft, this is important."

"You know I cannot disclose any information.” He closed the file he was reading. “That was part of the deal.”

"But I don't know what to do!"

"About what?" He folded his hands on his desk.

"I really need to talk to Sherlock!" She bounced her legs and ran her hands through her tangled hair.

He stood and leaned across his desk.

"You need to forget about Sherlock."

"I can't!" She cried.

"And why not?” He walked around his desk as he talked, “The rest of London has and it's only been a month."

"Because I'm pregnant."

Present:

"Mummy!" Molly was greeted by her daughter as soon as she walked through the door.

"Mina!" She put her stuff down on the ground and scooped her up. "I missed you!" She kissed the little girl all over her face, making her giggle.

"Kathy and I drew today!" She pointed to the coffee table where her nanny sat.

"Good for you." She gave her one last kiss on the head and sat her down. "How was she?"

"Good, as always." Kathy stood up and put her books in her bag. Molly stared down at Mina with a sad look. "Molly, are you okay?"

"Oh, yea, just a busy day. Thank you again." Kathy nodded her head and started for the door. "Oh, did Mycroft get you -"

"Yes, and as always, thank you. I would watch her for nothing. You know that, right?"

"Yes." Molly smiled appreciatively at her.

“Good.” Kathy waved at Mina before shutting the door.

Molly sunk down on the couch and watched as Mina continued to draw on an already too full page.

"This is for you!" She held up the scribbles with a big grin on her face.

"Oh, thank you! I'll hang it in my office at work." Molly put the drawing in her bag, temporarily forgetting about Sherlock Holmes.

Two Years Previous:

"Oh." Mycroft walked back to his chair and sat down. "I didn’t know you two were involved.”

“We weren’t.” Molly sighed and she could feel her cheeks getting warm. She looked down at her hands. “It was just the one time.”

“I see. Are you sure it’s Sherlock’s?” The causal tone to his question infuriated her.

“Yes!” Her head shot up irritated that Mycroft would insinuate that she would sleep around. “It’s Sherlock’s.”

He held his hands up, as if the mere act would calm her. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“It’s Sherlock’s.” She said again. “And, I just thought…I don’t know what I thought.” She dropped her head into her hands, hiding the few tears that were escaping from her eyes.

“You can have no contact with him. He cannot know.”

“I know.” She whispered. She wiped her eyes and looked back up. She straightened her shoulders and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I just needed to tell someone. Someone who knows that he’s alive. I needed someone to know.” Mycroft pursed his lips at her words.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Yes.” She replied quickly. Mycroft looked at her for a moment longer before nodding.

“Congratulations then Miss Hooper,” he said before turning his attention back to his work.

“Thank you.” She pushed herself up and turned for the door.

“Molly, I think it best if you and I have no more contact either.” She left without responding.

Present:

“Did Mina draw that for you?” Molly turned and saw John standing in her office doorway.

“Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. “I assume you’re here because you know.”

“Yes.” He sat down in her spare chair, but stood right back up again, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles were white. “How could you not tell me? After everything you and I have been through together?” He threw his hands in the air as his voice got louder. “I was there for you but you kept the fact that my best friend was alive a SECRET!?”

Molly was quiet while the last of his words finished ringing in the small office.

“Are you done?” Molly asked as John breathed heavily through his nose.

“Yes!” He dropped down into the chair and groaned.

“Mina just got done with her temper tantrum stage, looks like you might have found it.” Molly giggled at him and John couldn’t help but chuckle back. “John,” she reached out and grabbed his hand, “I couldn’t tell you…I promise you I wanted to and I came so close so many times…I am sorry.”

“I know you couldn’t. And I know you are.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go.

“I heard you were almost smoked to death.”

“And yet no flowers? They don’t have sympathy cards with ‘sorry someone tried to kill you’ written on them?”

“Couldn’t fine one.” Molly smirked. John smiled back and stood up.

“Are you coming for dinner tonight? Mrs. Hudson is cooking.”

“Maybe.” She hadn’t been planning on it. Sherlock didn’t know about Mina yet and this wasn’t how she wanted him to find out.

“Well I hope you make it – Mary is having Mina withdrawals.”

“Hey Kathy!” Molly spun in her office chair. “Do you think you can bring Mina to Bart’s around 5?....Thank you so much...We were invited to have dinner with John and Mary…yes, Mina withdrawals…Okay, see you soon.”

“Who are you seeing soon?” His dark voice stirred something in the pit of her stomach. She inhaled slowly and turned her chair to face him.

“Sherlock! What are you doing here?” She put her mobile on the desk and stood up, walking around to lean on the front of it, blocking the many pictures that Mina had drawn that were taped there.

“New body Lestrade wanted me to have a look at.” Molly stared at his lips as he talked. “Would you mind?” He pointed to the morgue.

“Oh!” She snapped out of her head and moved around him. She found the body and the paper work on it, male 52. She rolled it out for Sherlock. “Here you go.” He moved around her and started his examination.

Watching him work was too much for Molly. The way his hair fell in his face as he moved took her right back to that night, the feeling of his hands on her skin, his breath on her neck…she couldn’t. She had to focus.

She quietly walked back to her office and started peeling the pictures off the front of her desk, a pang of guilt hitting her.

“All done.” Sherlock popped his head into her office not too much later. “…Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” Molly nodded and got up to take care of the body. “Just doing my job and letting you do yours.” Her mobile went off in her pocket. She grabbed it, a text from Kathy saying they were in the lobby – they would be to the morgue any minute. “Okay, well, lots to do.” She hurriedly put the body away and took the paperwork back to her office.

“Will you be at dinner?” He leaned in the doorway to her office.

“Yes. We’ll be there…I’ll, I’ll be there. We will be there.” She pointed between herself and Sherlock, mentally wanting to slap herself. “For dinner.”

“Yes.” He said as he raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t question it. His mobile pinged and he pulled it out of his pocket, pulling his attention away from Molly.

“A lead?” She asked.

“Of sorts.” He shoved his mobile back into his coat. “I’ll see you later then.”

“I guess, yeah.” She nodded nervously. She watched him leave and waited until the morgue door was closed before slapping Mina’s artwork back onto the front of her desk. She had just sat back down when Kathy walked in with Mina.

“Hey! There’s my girl!” Mina ran around the desk and jumped up into her mum’s lap.

“Kathy gave me a lolly!” Mina held out the blue candy, as if it were treasure.

“I hope that was okay.” Kathy handed over the bag with Mina’s stuff in it.

“Of course. Thank you for bringing her here. Do you need fare?” Molly grabbed her purse.

“No! You and Mycroft pay me enough. Have fun tonight!” Kathy ran out of the office before Molly could force more money on her.

“John and Mary?” Molly sat her daughter on the desk facing her.

“Yes, we are going to have dinner with them tonight. And Mrs. Hudson.”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Mina squealed in delight.

“Lestrade too.” Mina bounced her little feet. “Mina, how would you like to meet a new friend of mummy’s?” Molly’s eyebrows were raised together.

“A new friend?” She mimicked Molly.

“Yes. His name is Sherlock.”

“Sher-lock?” Mina’s tiny voice went up on the last syllable of his name.

“He solves crimes.”

“Like Lestrade?” Mina licked the lolly.

“Yes, like Lestrade.” Molly kissed her tiny daughter. “I need to finish some paper work and then we can go, okay?” Mina bobbed her head up and down.

One year and six months previous:

“Mycroft?” Molly stood at the door of her flat, wrapped in a blanket that barely covered her belly. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know. May I come in?” Molly moved aside and let him in. She motioned to the couch and Mycroft sat. She took the chair across from him.

“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t want to have contact with me.” Molly shifted in her seat, as the baby kicked her ribs.

“I have been thinking a lot about you and your baby.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Without Sherlock all I have are my parents.”

“Okay?” Molly asked when he paused.

“I would like to be involved.”

“Well, you are her uncle.” Molly rubbed at the spot she had just kicked.

“A girl?” Mycroft’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Yes.” Molly smiled.

“Here.” Mycroft held out a set of keys to Molly.

“What are these for?” Molly rubbed at her eyes.

“Your new home.”

“What?!” She stared in shock at the shiny keys in front of her face.

“I want to help you financially. I will never have a family of my own and I have more money than one person needs.” He continued to hold the keys out to her.

“Mycroft, I can’t accept this.” Molly pushed his hand away.

“The deed is in your name.” He left the keys on the side table when he stood up. “I have also hired you a moving crew – they will be here next week.” With that he left.

“Well,” Molly picked up the keys, talking to her belly, “this could be worse.”

Present:

As Molly and Mina arrived at Baker Street all of the reporters where leaving and she could see John and Sherlock heading back up to the flat.

“Uncle John! Uncle John!” Mina chanted as Molly got her out of the cab. She took a deep breath before she ascended the stairs. At the top she slowly pushed the door to Sherlock’s flat open.

“Molly! Finally! I was beginning to think Sherlock and John were lying to me.” Mrs. Hudson got up and gave Molly a small hug. “Oh Mina, you are getting so big!” Molly looked around the room and gave Mina over to Mrs. Hudson and Mary. John and Lestrade sat in the chairs, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

“Where…where is Sherlock?” Her voice caught in her throat. She hung her coat on the last empty hook and sat Mina’s bag on the ground before closing the door.

“Right here.” He walked in from the kitchen, wearing the deerstalker hat.

“For goodness sake, take that thing off!” John chuckled at him.

“Molly.” He smiled and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. She gave him a worried look as he tossed the hat to John.

Molly motioned for Mina to come to her. She picked up her daughter and turned to face him. “Sherlock, this is my daughter, Mina. Mina this is mummy’s friend Sherlock, can you say hi?”

“Hi.” She batted her long eye lashes at him as he stared speechless at the little girl in Molly’s arms. Her hair was dark and curly. She had Molly’s eyes and smile, there was no mistaking that, but her face, her defined cheekbones, those were his.

“Hi.” He finally managed. “Molly, can I talk to you a minute?” Without waiting for her response he walked to his bedroom.

“Mina, go see Uncle John.” Molly put the girl on the floor

“What’s wrong?” John asked as Mina settled on his lap. Molly just shook her head and followed after Sherlock, closing the door behind her.

“Sherlo- ” He held up his hand stopping her from speaking. He just stood staring at her, looking her up and down.

“How did I miss it? It is written all over you...you’re a mother.”

“Yes,” she said quietly as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Mina is short for Willamina, I presume?” He was no longer looking at her.

“Yes.” Molly fidgeted with the bottom of her blouse.

“Named for her father?” Molly nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He sat down next to her.

“I didn’t know how to.” Tears started to cloud her vision. “I should have told you earlier today – I shouldn’t have sprung her on you.” She wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. “Honestly, I’m surprised Mycroft didn’t tell you.”

“Mycroft knows?” The irritation in his voice was evident.

“He was the first person I told…he’s actually very involved with her – they all are.” She motioned to the door and to the group of people on the other side of it.

“Is Mycroft the only one who knows?” She nodded yes. “Molly, I don’t want to be a father.”

“I didn’t ask you to be!” She stood up, her frustration building. “This isn’t some plea for you to come into her life – she has more than enough people who care about her.”

"The people out there that have no clue that I’m her father?” Sherlock scoffed at her.

“Yes! Those people!” Molly stomped her foot. “Those people are her family and they know her value, her beauty.” She sighed and knelt down before him. “Sherlock,” her voice was quiet again, “if you just get to know her, you will see – ”

He cupped her face and brushed his thumb over her lips before gently kissing her.

“Molly,” her name sounded like a song on his lips. “Molly, I, just…” She gripped the front of his shirt tightly.

“She is so much like you.”

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I already told you,” he stood up abruptly, dragging her to her feet, “I don’t want to be a father.”

Molly nodded sadly.

“She is amazing, Sherlock, and I promise you that you will want to know her.” She walked past him and opened the door, back to reality.

“Mummy! Uncle John said I could have ice cream for dinner!” Mina sat in Mary’s lap playing with cards.

“Oh did he? Well, Uncle John was wrong.” Molly sat down on the arm of John’s chair and gave him a shove.

Sherlock walked silently to his chair and sunk down in it, his eyes on her. She felt her face growing red and turned her attention back to Mina.

“But, Uncle John is never wrong.” Mina’s big brown eyes glassed over, looking like she was going to cry.

“Willamina, do not even think about making a fuss.” Molly stared her daughter down. “Is that how we behave?”

“No.” Mina pouted but said nothing else.

“Thank you.” Molly could see Sherlock watching her out of the corner of her eye.

“Maybe we could get you to use your “Mum” voice on Sherlock.” John nudged Molly’s leg and she gave a little ‘Yea’, extremely thankful when Mrs. Hudson called them all to the kitchen for dinner.

“Mummy, can I sit next to Mary?” Mina’s eyes shown up at her like little stars, she was really hard to say no to when she was being an angel.

“If Mary wants you to sit next to her.” Molly wiggled her nose against Mina’s, feeling Sherlock’s watchful eyes on them.

“Of course I do!” Mary patted the seat that Mrs. Hudson had gotten for her. Molly popped her in between Mary and John and got her a plate. Unfortunately, by the time she had gotten Mina settled for dinner, the only seat left was between Lestrade and Sherlock. Molly did her best to ignore him, but his presence was hard to overlook.

“Mina, I know your mother taught you how to use a fork.” John said quietly as he pushed the utensil towards her. Molly watched from down the table as the conversation continued around them.

“Fingers are more fun!” Mina picked up a potato and squished it between her thumb and pointer.

“I know your mum prefers you to use your fork,” John looked down at his ‘niece’, “so please do so.”

“But I don’t want to.” The tiny girl continued to pick at her food, wearing thin on both her Uncle John’s nerves and her mother’s.

“Willamina, you have been asked to use your fork.” John’s voice was louder this time. Molly could see Sherlock watching the two of them.

“No.”

“Willamina Scotia Hooper.” The table fell silent as Molly used her full name. “Your Uncle has already asked you to use your fork and if he has to ask you again, you will not be getting desert.”

Mina picked up her fork and started eating again. John smiled encouragingly at Molly as the conversation started again.

“You call John her uncle?” Sherlock asked low enough that only Molly could hear him.

“Yes, he’s been there for her since the beginning.”

A year and six months previous:

“Wow! This place is great!” It was the day after the movers had brought all of Molly’s stuff and the only thing set up was her bed.

“It is, but I have no clue how to set up house.” Molly sat on the couch with her feet propped up on a box. John turned to her and she gave him a look.

“Oh. Oh no! I don’t know how to do this either!” He backed up a few paces, arms out in front of him.

“Well who else am I supposed to ask?” He was the only ‘family’ she had left.

“Not me!” John spat back. They were both quiet for a minute, thinking. “Mrs. Hudson?” He offered.

“Do you think she would mind?” Molly didn’t want to be an inconvenience.

“She’ll love it! I’ll ring her.”

“Thank you both so much!” Molly, John, and Mrs. Hudson sat in Molly’s fully decorated and arranged living room. It had taken them a few weeks, but the house was fully moved into.

“Oh it was nothing!” Mrs. Hudson beamed. “As long as you promise me that I get to see that baby growing up here!”

“Of course! I am going to need both of you!” She grabbed their hands and squeezed them.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” John asked. Molly nodded.

“What do you think of…Willamina Scotia?”

“It’s perfect.” John nodded.

Present:

After dinner Mina got her ice cream as Molly had promised. And after the ice cream the girl snuggled with her Uncle Lestrade and nodded off in his arms. Molly couldn’t bear to wake her up yet, she looked so adorable and she was enjoying the adult conversation for once.

Until Sherlock started being a prat.

Molly wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about when Sherlock sunk down into his chair, seething. She frowned at how much he reminded her of Mina.

“I have not missed this!” John threw his hands in the air, but Sherlock ignored him. “You’re acting a little dramatic.” John sighed and sat down in his chair, across from where Lestrade and Mina were. Molly watched as John frowned, studying Mina’s face. He looked to Sherlock and back to Mina and back to Sherlock. “Or maybe you’re acting like a child.” Sherlock sat up straighter and folded his hand in his lap. “Throwing a temper tantrum.”

“John,” Sherlock warned.

“No, no!” John sat forward in his chair. “What was earlier about? Between you two?” He pointed to Molly.

“John, I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you.” There was no use in lying now.

“Well, shit,” Lestrade looked down at the girl sleeping in his lap, “she definitely looks like him.”

“You knew the minute you saw her, didn’t you?” Mary asked Sherlock, but he didn’t say anything.

“Mycroft didn’t think – ”

“I always wondered why Mycroft cared.” John gave a laugh. “It’s all starting to make so much more sense.”

The room was silent for a moment and no one knew what to say.

“So, are you two a…thing now?” Lestrade asked.

“No!” Molly and Sherlock responded together.

“Oookay.” Lestrade tried to hide the laugh that was rising in his throat.

The conversation in the room started back up, slowly, making Molly feel more at ease.

“John?” She stood up and motioned to the door. He nodded and followed her out. “I really am sorry.” He didn’t say anything but just gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly. “You’re not mad?”

“I mean, a little bit.” He let her go but he was still smiling. “I still love you both.”

“I wanted to tell you…especially the day she was born.” John wrinkled his brow in confusion. “When you held her for the first time, you said, ‘Look at those cheekbones! She looks just like……she’s beautiful.’ And then you smiled at me.”

“I forgot about that.” He laughed.

The sound of Molly’s ringtone filled the small landing. She dug her mobile out of her pocket.

“Mycroft.”

“It all makes sense.” John muttered to himself as he went back into the flat.

“Hello?”

“Molly, you must still be in town. You didn’t pick up at home.”

“Yes, Mycroft I am.” She sat down on the top stair and rested her head against the wall.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“Actually, yea, that would be great.” Molly rubbed at a stain on pants.

“Where are you?”

“Umm, I’m at…221BBakerStreet.” She rushed.

“Baker Street?”

“I’m at Sherlock’s,” she admitted.

“I will be there in ten minutes.” He hung up without saying goodbye and she slid her mobile into her pocket. The door of the flat opened and Mary came out.

“Hi.” She sat down next to Molly. “How are you?” she asked as she wrapped her arm around her.

“Umm, okay?” She rested her head against Mary’s shoulder.

“She is so much like him.”

“Yeah.” Molly nodded in agreement. “She…she is.” The tears started streaming down Molly’s face and Mary held her as she cried, rocking her soothingly. “He..he doesn’t want…want to be a father.” Mary rubbed Molly’s back as her tears turned to hiccups.

“Did you want that?” Mary asked when Molly’s hiccups finally subsided.

“I don’t know…I never expected him to come back…and now here he is.” Molly sat up and wiped her face.

“Here he is.” Mary patted her knee. “But you’ve got us.”

“We’ve got you.” Molly nodded.

“Come on.” Mary stood up and helped Molly to her feet. She followed her inside where the conversation had turned to old cases.

Molly pulled her coat on and slung Mina’s bag over her shoulder.

“I have to steel her back,” she said as she walked over to Lestrade.

“I guess I understand.” He stood and handed the girl off to Molly.

“Leaving?” John asked.

“Yeah, Mycroft is coming to get us and he will be here any minute.”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock’s voice was coated with venom for his older brother.

“Ah, yes. He is taking us home. I have to go.” Molly avoided Sherlock’s gaze. “Good night.” She addressed the rest of the room and fled the flat as fast as she could. She felt the door catch as she tried to close it. She turned to see Sherlock’s fingers curling around the edge of the door.

“Need a word with my brother.” Sherlock said with an air of lightness, but Molly knew it was a façade. “Can I walk you down, Molly?”

“Looks like I don’t have a choice.” She turned and started her way down the stairs, slowly. Molly was clumsy on a good day and even worse on a bad day, especially while carrying Mina.

“Here.” Sherlock stepped in front of her and slid Mina out of her arms and into his before Molly could object. He walked down the stairs just as gracefully as normal and still beat her to the bottom by half a stair case.

When Molly reached the bottom of the stairs she couldn’t stop the tears from falling again. One look at Mina sleeping in Sherlock’s arms, her father’s arms, did her in. She turned away from Sherlock and took a few steading breaths, wiping away the tears.

“Molly.” He stood right behind her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well you did!” She gave up on trying to clear away the tears and turned back to face him. “You tell me you don’t want to be a father and then you kiss me?! And now, you…you think you can just carry her, hold her, and think it won’t affect me?”

“Mummy?” She rubbed her eyes. “Are we going home?”

“Yes. Uncle Mikey is taking us home.” She wiped at her tears again.

“Uncle Mikey.” Sherlock laughed at the thought, but stopped short when Molly gave him an icy glare.

“Mummy, why are you sad?” Mine reached her tiny hand out and touched Molly’s face.

“I’m not sad honey, I just have something in my eye.” Molly wiped away the last few tears and gave her daughter a smile. “See? All better!” She reached out and took Mina from Sherlock and hoisted the little girl up on her hip.

“Sherlock?” He flicked his eyes away from Molly’s face and down into Mina’s. “Mummy says you solve crimes.”

“I do.”

“Are there dead bodies at crimes, like at mummy’s work?” Molly shook her head as Sherlock gave the little girl a genuine smile.

“Yes.”

“When your mother is a pathologist nothing really scares you.” She saw Mycroft’s car pulling up. “Thank you for...an evening.” She gave him a tight smile and opened the door when the car stopped, putting Mina in her seat that was permanently there. Mycroft emerged from the other side.

“Sherlock. I see you’ve met Mina.” A sadistic smile sat on his lips.

“Yes. I have.” Molly closed the door and turned in time to watch Sherlock punch Mycroft in the face.

#sherlolly #mollock #isntshebeautiful #kate writes

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dalilaswork · 7 years

Text

Hidden behind the curtain pt. I

Author: Dalila Ship: Sherlock x Reader Word count: 1.820 Summary: Sherlock Holmes isn’t a person to impress easily. And yet, you managed to impress and surprise the famous London detective and through that – you got a chance to entangle your life path with his. Warnings: some cursing. Author’s note: (IMPORTANT) This is an idea that made me start this blog. I’m very happy to present it to you now. I have ideas as to what could happen in following parts, but it’s up to you if they will be written. Make sure to leave your opinion, I’d highly appreciate it

London is not a welcoming place. It’s a labyrinth of human misdeeds, intrigues and greed. Nobody could enter without being influenced by its toxic atmosphere. Seemingly everyone in their right minds would stay away from that place. Especially young, innocent birds like (Y/N) (L/N)

The problem was – you had no idea what was about to happen.

“The show starts in five minutes, damn it! Move your motherfucking ass to the stage!” you heard someone shout in the back, as you finished placing an old dusty wig on your head which made you look like a man taken straight from 17th century’s drawings. For a moment, you took in your reflection in a broken mirror. It had been broken for a while now but you still could see yourself clearly, so the theatre didn’t bother getting a new one.

Theatre was your passion, your inner voice. Despite being born in a wealthy family of scientists, you couldn’t find yourself matching the scheme. Always searching for something that could be your own, something powerful and beautiful. Art was speaking to you ever since you were a child. But your parents wouldn’t allow you to ‘waste your intelligence and legacy of your family’, in a way of compromise you agreed to become a psychologist. It was the last year of studying psychology when you decided that you’re not going to be defined by someone else and dropped out altogether to chase your dreams.

“Show time…” you sighed, giving one last smirk to your own reflection. Not that chasing your dreams didn’t have it downfalls…

“Are you taking me to the theatre?” John asked, frowning at the sight of tickets Sherlock just bought. The place didn’t seem like a fancy one, actually it was probably one of the smallest and worst looking theatres in the entire London. But Sherlock didn’t seem to be bothered by this.

“I’m not taking you. I think this is the place our murderer chooses for his meetings with his boss. I know that he’s going to be there tonight. And if we’re lucky, we’ll have some track to begin with.” Sherlock lifted his head and breathed in the evening air. The wind blew through his curly hair as he observed the way clouds were gathering over his city.

After having his moment, Sherlock stepped into the building, giving the tickets to an old woman who could as well be the inspiration for the stereotypical image of a witch. Both men walked past her and entered the audience. “But be prepared that our targets will be the only interesting sight tonight. This indeed is the worst theatre I’ve ever seen. As if the idea of theatre wasn’t repulsive enough.

“My guess is you must be (Y/N) (L/N).” you heard a deep, somewhat husky voice behind you as you pulled off the wig from your hair. Once again someone came to congratulate you on your performance. It was usually pleasant, knowing your work is appreciated. But there were cases, when men came to mock you or try to lurk into your bed. Downfalls of being the leading actress in one of the least known little theatres in London.

And this man sure didn’t sound like someone who just wanted to voice their appreciation.

“Your guess is wrong, mister.” You responded calmly looking in the mirror to get a glimpse of the two men. The deep voice had to belong to the tall man with curly black hair. Very nice cheekbones. And a confused look arising on his face. The shorter man’s features weren’t as sharp. You could only assume that it reflected on their personalities “I might be (Y/N) (L/N). I could as well be Lady Macbeth, Christine Daae, Cleopatra, Anne Boleyn… or Mercutio.”

“Mercutio was a man, right?” said the other. You couldn’t help but giggle a little as your gaze returned to your own reflection.

“Yes, he was. But we don’t have enough talented men to fill all the roles.” You responded, with much more kindness towards the man. He didn’t seem like anything close to a douche, that was all you needed to be polite to him.

What you didn’t know was that those were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson you were talking to. The famous consulting detective who just found your artistic work… impressive. Never before in his life had he witnessed someone take in their character the way you did. It fascinated him how you managed to truly behave like the character you were playing. Not allowing your own body language to ruin the impression, even for someone as observant as Sherlock.

You surprised him, something he couldn’t just walk past by.

But before he had a chance to speak, to voice his thoughts you got up from the chair and looked into his eyes. It was enough for him to lose his track of thought. Normally, that would be the moment he’d discover everything about you. By just looking into your eyes, noticing every small change in your body. But there was nothing. A plain wall, through which he couldn’t get past. You blocked his deducing skills, which left him speechless.

“Thank you for the kind words, Mister. But I’m afraid that would be the end of your visit. I need to prepare for the next play. It was a pleasure to meet you.” You told John with a kind, genuine smile on your face. Only now Sherlock realized that John had said something, probably the basic phrase that you must have heard a thousand times already.

Sherlock would find the right words to describe your performance, but you didn’t give him the chance.

Almost automatically you reached out to unlock the door to the flat you’d been renting for a while now. It wasn’t the best place to live in, but at that point, you appreciated any place that provided you heat and a bed to sleep in. Theatre payment wasn’t enough for you to rent a proper place without dying of starvation.

That was the moment when you realized the door wasn’t locked. And the memory of closing it was still fresh in your head.

Your thoughts started racing, as you wondered what should you do. Surely the only reasonable answer was to run, as fast as you could. Maybe call the police on your way. Never before had you even thought of someone breaking in, especially in a place like this. There wasn’t much to steal. All you had were some personal belongings, nothing valuable.

That was the moment you realized there was something in there you couldn’t leave behind. Something that drew you towards the door, regardless of the danger that could still lurk there.

You stepped into the flat with much more confidence than you actually possessed, only to witness a tall man standing in the shadow. Forcing yourself to resist the temptation to scream or show your fear in any way, you took another step forward. “I suggest you leave now, before I call the police.” It took all your strength to keep your voice from quivering. Not once in your life you heard that if you act like a victim, the other person shall act like the predator. That was the time to use that knowledge.

The dark figure walked towards you, stepping into the light of the hallway. Almost immediately you recognized the man from the theatre.

“What the… were you following me?” you asked, not even trying to hide your frustration. All of sudden the fear disappeared, leaving you simply… confused. For some reason you didn’t feel scared of that man. There was still a possibility he could be someone extremely dangerous but… he didn’t look like it. He looked puzzled…

Lost…

“Of course I weren’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be here first. I was waiting for you. I can see you’re a lonely young woman who just moved in to London. Influential background, but you cut yourself from your family. Or rather they cut you off. Most likely because you’re different than them. Your mind always wandering off to places they’d consider unreachable… am I right?” he seemed rather pleased with himself. And all he’d said was right. Your family cut you off after you dropped out of university, you moved here to finally be able to live your own life. But all that didn’t matter, not at that very moment.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” you asked, not risking coming closer to him. Instead you moved towards the kitchen cupboard, your eyes not leaving his for even one moment. You needed to check if your treasure was safe, if the bracelet was still safe…

“There’s no need to reach for the knife you want to grab, I’m not here to harm you.” The man said and raised both of his hands in a sign of defeat. For a moment you thought that grabbing the kitchen knife as a defence wasn’t a bad idea, it had to be a logical assumption for him. Little did he know sometimes you valued old sentiments more than your own safety. “My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh… I’ve heard of you actually.” the realization struck you. His face didn’t look familiar, but the name did ring a bell to you. London’s favourite detective, a man granted with intelligence ordinary people couldn’t even imagine. And he was in your flat, for some reason. “But your reputation doesn’t justify you breaking into my flat. What is it that you want?”

Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes at you. For a moment you stood in silence, observing each other carefully. “I was wondering what made you such a convincing actress. Your portrayal of a character is impressively accurate. I’ve never seen someone disguise themselves so perfectly into being someone else.” His words sounded strange to you, but you could understand his point. His unusual form of appreciation even managed to move something in your heart. You wanted to thank him for his opinion, but the words lost their way to your mouth.

“Is that it? Is that the reason you violated my privacy by coming here?” the fact remained, this man was an intruder and no matter his intentions he had no right to enter to your flat uninvited. “If so, then get out and better don’t come back.” You moved, so the way to the door was all clear for him. You were tired after a long day at work and you were in no mood to deal with this detective celebrity. Even though his presence touched something deep down in you, played on a lost string of your heart.

“That isn’t the only reason I came. I see that it’s hard for you to make ends meet. And I do value your skills, so… I might have an interesting proposal for you, (Y/N).” you noticed how sparkles of light danced playfully in his eyes.

That’s how it started…

…to be continued…

#sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #sherlock oneshot #bbc sherlock imagines #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock x reader oneshot #sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock inserts

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sorrowsflower · 7 years

Text

The Choices Made (Adlock)

Set at the end of The Reichenbach Fall

Motherhood had never been part of the Woman's plan.

For most of her life, she had been focused on survival and domination, and she had pursued both with a reckless frivolity that burned everyone in her path. None of these things were conducive to raising a child.

Her first discovery of the new little parasite she was incubating was not a joyous moment, as it was for some women.

Her initial reaction was of shock, because she had always been very careful. Meticulous to the point of obsession. Though her work as a dominatrix never involved actual sexual intercourse, she'd had her own set of lovers, both male and female, prior to her acquaintance with a certain consulting detective, and protection was paramount to her.

It must be a mistake. A false positive.

But before the opportunity to analyze how, and which, bout of sexual activity with said detective -- it had to be Sherlock's; all her other recent lovers had been female -- had resulted in this little inconvenience, the dread settled in.

It was not dissimilar to a wall of rain come crashing suddenly down on her head, invoking a long-forgotten childhood memory of watching little cartoon figures with black clouds above their heads.

Dear God, she was thinking of cartoons. It was already starting.

She drew a deep breath. That felt a little better.

Perhaps this was not the black cloud she was imagining it to be. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she really was pregnant.

The dread lifted somewhat, eased by practical thought into a small niggling at the back of her head that could be easily ignored. Tomorrow, she would go to the doctor. Just to make sure.

...

Tomorrow, however, did not bring the fair weather report she had been expecting. The moment the doctor walked in with the results, she had known even before the other woman had opened her mouth.

"Congratula--!"

The Woman held up a hand. She didn't even want to hear it. The dread, which until then had been at the back of her mind, came to the foreground and threatened to take over.

But she was the Woman. She was not given to emotion or sentiment. She had already allowed emotion to take over once, and look where that had gotten her -- sitting in a clinic with a foolishly smiling doctor offering her congratulations.

Her brain immediately went into damage control, as it always did when confronted with a crisis. Find the root of the problem, and fix it.

She quickly went over her upcoming calendar in her mind, and without letting the doctor start a spiel on -- God, she didn't even want to use the word -- pregnancy and pre-natal care, she cut the doctor off with a cold, professional hand and set up an appointment.

The doctor tried to argue, to offer other options, but she was stopped by the calm look on the Woman's face. There was no confusion, emotional turmoil or hysteria there. Only calm decisiveness. She had made her choice.

The appointment was made.

...

There were no major changes to the Woman's routine. At least not at first. No specific alterations or concessions made for the developing creature inside her, except maybe her morning routine was altered to compensate for the absolutely horrid morning sickness.

Then the "morning" sickness turned into "morning to noon" sickness. But still, it wasn't that bad. She had always been good at concealing physical ailments. And tea helped.

But when it quickly became "the whole fucking day" sickness, she had to admit, it was harder to conceal. The tea, which was now unpalatable, no longer helped. She had to scale down on her clients, and cancel various appointments because now she just felt violently ill all the time.

She abhorred it. The wretched nausea, the sweating, the heaving and dry-heaving, the dizzy spells and light-headedness, the weakness. It was all so distasteful, especially for someone who had been so meticulous about her body, and so immaculate in appearance.

Pain she could handle -- she was a dominatrix, after all; pain was her bread and butter -- but this prolonged, ever-present discomfort was threatening to undo her. That, and the lack of control over her own body, which before had been a beautiful weapon for her.

Still, she took comfort in the fact that this would all be over soon, and she could return to her normal (if it could be called that) life.

...

Three days before her appointment, an article appeared on the British news website she frequently monitored.

SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS

It was accompanied by a photograph of a man in a dark Belstaff coat and a blue scarf lying on the street, face intentionally obscured to spare the readers the man's gruesome, bloody death. But even through the blurring, the vivid red bloodstains on the man's face and on the street he had landed on were evident.

The bile that she had been suppressing all day rose to the back of her throat, and she had to look away to keep from being sick.

She slammed the laptop shut and tried to breathe.

It took her several long, shaky minutes, but the nausea eventually subsided. Enough, at least, for her to be able to pick up the phone and place some calls. Half an hour later, she was feeling slightly better (physically, anyway), the story was confirmed, and she received an unobscured copy of the photograph.

The nausea threatened to come up again, but she tamped it down with a deep breath, and analyzed the picture as logically and impartially as possible.

It seemed genuine.

The blood was real, and though there was no way to be sure until her contacts at the morgue confirmed it, she would venture a guess and say that it was his. The face, covered as it was with blood, closely resembled his as well.

But she, of all people, knew how easy it was to fool someone with a pretty face.

And she had seen his work, too. She had seen the cleverly-edited video of her own "execution" that had made its way into Mycroft Holmes's hands. As loathe as she was to admit it, if she wasn't alive and whole -- and now currently carrying evidence inside her body that would absolutely refute her death in Karachi -- she probably would have been fooled by it too if it had been her.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be. He was too clever, too good of an opponent to die. True, he had a certain self-destructive streak, but there was no way someone as arrogant as he was would ever commit suicide. And certainly not for something they both knew was a lie.

That thought helped her calm down and settled her nerves.

All she had to do now was wait for the video to prove it.

Fifteen minutes later, the email arrived, and she opened the file. The angle of the video was limited to Sherlock alone, as her contact had been focusing on him, and the sound was less than ideal, but it was clear enough that the detective on the roof was speaking to John Watson, unseen, on the street. She could hear Sherlock confessing to the lie the press and the British public had been fed.

Rich Brook. Reichenbach.

They both knew it wasn't true. She, herself, was evidence that it was a lie. And yet, here he was, extolling the opposite to John Watson.

"Keep your eyes on me."

That immediately raised a flag. A magician directing the audience to the illusion and away from the trick. The Woman examined the video intently, trying to spot any discrepancies.

And that was when she saw it.

A glint of sunlight from the roof a few buildings to the right. It only appeared as Sherlock said "Goodbye, John" and hung up the phone.

Before he dropped the phone and jumped, disappearing from her contact's view and the camera's.

Frustrated, and though she would never admit it to herself, more than a little shaken, she played the video again, to the part of the timeframe where she saw the glint of sunlight. She knew what that was.

The reflection from a rifle's scope, revealed only at the last minute before the shot. A shot that Sherlock Holmes's apparent death had prevented.

A sniper.

And it wasn't pointed at Sherlock.

And then she understood.

Sherlock, despite all his arguments to the contrary, was an irrationally sentimental being. He formed emotional attachments to people.

While between the two of them, the Woman was more attuned to people, it was Sherlock who actually cared for them. When she had been exposed, it was only too easy for the Woman to abandon all ties, including her loyal Kate, and leave her former life.

Sherlock, on the other hand... He had a whole brood of people he surrounded himself with. The doctor, his landlady, his brother, the detective inspector, his mousy little pathologist.

If an instance occurred where he was required to give up his life for the few people he cared about, especially if it included John Watson, she had no doubt the idiot would actually do it. Hadn't he already infiltrated one of the most dangerous terrorist cells in Asia to save her life?

Foolish, foolish man.

She stopped the video and closed the laptop.

...

The day of the appointment came. And went.

She stayed home, phone in hand.

It never rang.

_______________

By SorrowsFlower

Yeah, okay, so I made this on one of those “writing game” sites where you “fight” a monster by completing x-amount of words in the allotted time. So my lazy ass didn’t edit, proofread or research any of this stuff like I normally would have.

#adlock #adlock fic #sherlock holmes #irene adler #the reichenbach fall #a scandal in belgravia #post-Karachi #adlock ficlets #nero wolfe #yeah i just gave up on it #we all know how it ends anyway

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awritesfanfics · 7 years

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Unbroken

This is honestly one of my shortest fics, and it’s probably one of the fastest I’ve ever written. Hope you guys like it, and i hope it all formatted the right way since i posted it on mobile! This is honestly one of my shortest fics, and it’s probably one of the fastest I’ve ever written. Hope you guys like it, and i hope it all formatted the right way since i posted it on mobile!

Requests open!!

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word count: 1,722

————————————————————————

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“You don’t honestly expect me to go through with this, do you?”

“Of course I do, that’s why I asked you! If I wanted someone to bail on me I would have asked one of John’s girlfriends.”

You could feel him roll his eyes from the kitchen.

“Sherlock, this is suicide!” You insisted.

“Well it wouldn’t be if you listened to anything I just said about the inhalation and concentration of noxious gasses!”

“I have no idea how to control my lung intake-” you said, throwing charts in his face. “-or my ‘net gas exchange rate.’” You furrowed your brow. “And I sure as hell can’t control the concentration of gas entering my bloodstream!” You read off the journal he typed out for you and threw it at him. “I’d rather spend my Saturday alive, at the pub, thank you very much!”

He collected the papers and tossed them on the table.

“Of course you would. You’re boring, like everyone else!” He threw his hands on his hips and walked away.

“That wasn’t what you were saying last night,” you snickered, taking a seat on the couch.

He turned red and rolled his eyes. “Then find me a different case!” He yelled, changing the subject.

“I’m not your secretary! Find your own damn case! Have John find you a case!”

“Why is this so difficult for you?”

“Why is it so difficult for you?” You countered. “Everything we find is ‘too boring’ for the great Sherlock Holmes, so why don’t you find one yourself?!” You started to get annoyed.

“Because any sort of bias from the media will screw up the entire case. I need it raw, from simple minds like you and John.”

“Enough!” You yelled. “I mean it. We do all this work for you, John and I, and you never give us any recognition for it! Maybe if you did anything besides congratulating yourself on your own clever deductions, you would know how hard we work! We’re not dull animals for you to push around.”

“Those stupid little feelings of yours. That’s what got you tangled up with us in the first place, wasn’t it? And we see how well that worked out for everyone,” he said. “You think we need you here to help solve cases but we did it without you before. Right now, with all those pesky emotions running around in your head, you’re the broken link, the crack in the lens. We don’t need your help, we need to fix you,” he snarled.

“You have this obsession with “fixing” people, but you can’t fix me! I’m not broken!” You yelled. “This is me, don’t you understand? Every horrible, awful, emotional part. That is me and I can’t. Be. Fixed!” You spat, your face inches from his. “You, of all people, Sherlock Holmes, don’t get to call me broken.” You weren’t aware of the tears racing down your hot cheeks until after everything went silent.

He opened his mouth the speak again, but you stopped him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you hissed, extending your hand to keep him away.

You threw your purse over your shoulder and left, slamming the door behind you. You didn’t even put on your coat as you disappeared into the blinding whiteness of the snow covered night.

You flagged down a cab and got in, your voice breaking as you told the driver your address.

You rode to Sherlock’s flat nearly every single day. You knew every possible route to and from, and the amount of time it took using each. This trip took much longer. You checked the map on your phone, and noticed that you were nowhere near your flat. Anxiety rose up within you. You opened up your messages and clicked on Sherlock’s name, then changed your mind.

“Send help. Armed. GPS on. Don’t respond.” You sent the text to John instead, not yet ready for help from Sherlock.

You planted your phone under the seat for John to track. A second later, the man pulled off the road into a vacant parking lot. He turned to you, pulling his gun out and aiming it at you.

“Make one wrong move, and I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

You gave a slight nod and waited for further instruction. He opened the door for you and pulled you out, pushing you in front of him and leading you into an abandoned building. Two armed guards stood in front of the doorway. The driver led you down a long hallway, taking a sudden sharp turn into a dim room. He flicked the lights on and threw you into the middle of the room, aiming the gun at your chest. You threw your hands up in surrender, your heart rate accelerating.

“What do you know about Sherlock Holmes?” He pressed.

“What?”

“Don’t act dumb,” He cocked the weapon and thrust it towards you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I know he’s a detective, that’s it! I asked him for help on a-”

He didn’t buy it. “We’ve been studying him for months. Almost every day we’ve seen you enter the office and home address of Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street. Explain yourself.”

In a panic, you smacked his wrists at all the wrong angles, snapping them and sending the gun tumbling from his grip. He was clearly surprised, and hesitated before making his next move. This split second of pause was what separated the boys from the women. His surprise met your fear and adrenaline: a battle he wouldn’t win. You jabbed at his face with your fists and fingertips. Blinded, he couldn’t guard from your next attack, which was a swift kick to the groin. It took him down, and you jumped on top of him, raining down a flurry of punches on his face. When he drew a pocketknife, you tumbled off, reaching for the gun that tumbled away moments before. Without thinking, you picked it up, firing two shots into his chest. As suddenly as it had started, it was over. The unknown driver lay cold and battered on the hard concrete floor. On unsteady legs, you stood, trembling. You held the gun in your shaking hand, breathing heavily. Blood speckled your outfit and covered your knuckles and fingers. Suddenly, two sets of heavy footfalls echoed through the long hallway. You aimed the gun at the doorway, uncertain if you’d even hit your mark if it advanced toward you.

Sherlock and John ran into the room, panting. They looked at you, then the body, then back at you.

Tears filled your eyes as you shook your head in disbelief. You slowly lowered the gun. Sherlock walked up to you cautiously, taking it from your hands and passing it back John.

Realization set in. “I don’t know, I didn’t mean for this, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen you have to believe me,” your voice faded into sobs. “You… have to, you have to, please.”

He pulled you in tightly, as if to block out everything that just happened. “Shh, it’s okay now, it’s all okay now.” He gently rocked you back and forth, resting his chin on your head.

“You were right,” You sniveled. “I am broken. I’m a mess. You were right. I just murdered someone.” You pulled away from him, crossing your arms and glancing back down at the driver. You put your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from crying.

Sherlock grabbed you by the shoulders and turned you to face him. You couldn’t match his gaze.

“You are not broken. What I said before, I was angry at myself. I was angry for no good reason and I took it out on you. I couldn’t admit to myself that I didn’t know what to do. I was wrong. About you, about everything. I put your life in danger because I was a moron. And I can’t go back and change it but believe me I will never make that mistake again.”

You looked up at him. “I just want this all to be over.” You wrapped your arms around him and put your head on his chest. He did the same, letting out a sigh of relief.

You were interrupted by the sound of hammering footsteps approaching the room. You shot him a scared glance, and he nudged you behind him, taking your hand. He stood tall, bracing himself, his heart pounding.

To your relief, it was Lestrade, followed by Sally and a small team of officers. John called it in and stepped out to give the two of you time alone.

Sherlock dropped his guard, stepping aside to reveal your bloodied hands.

Lestrade gave a small nod, and Sally wrapped a shock blanket over your shoulders as she ushered you out of the building. You glanced back at Sherlock as you went, who stood next to Greg and explained the events of the night.

The rest of the night was a blur. You hadn’t eaten anything, and it took a fair amount of coaxing from Sherlock to put yourself into the shower to wash the blood from your skin.

When you got in, he collected your stained clothes to wash them. Mrs. Hudson intervened, insisting that she would take care of them as he had enough to worry about. He thanked her, and used his time instead to find you something comfortable to sleep in. He found an old pair of sweatpants and a faded band shirt, laying them outside the bathroom door.

After a while, you emerged, wet hair still wrapped in a towel. You walked into the bedroom, where Sherlock sat Skyping Lestrade. As soon as you walked in, he shut laptop and put it aside, sitting up.

“Do you want anything to eat? Do you need me to get anything for you?”

You simply shook your head and crawled under the covers, pulling the towel off your head and tossing it on the floor. He turned the bedside light off and laid back, cautiously placing his arm around you. You turned into him, burying your head close to his chest.

For the first time the entire night, you felt okay. You were okay with being broken, as long as you had him to help you put the pieces back together.

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic

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harriet-spy · 7 years

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like birds to a lighthouse

“Mary (the never once named wife in ACD canon”

“A client who became a convenient ‘beard’ in canon”

etc.

Sometimes I wonder whether people realize just how dim they sound, mindlessly repeating what some other rando on Tumblr told them to support their arguments without its even occuring to them to check it. Behold:

Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature...

I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor,—her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,—a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,—nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination...

Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us...

"The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly. As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from between us. "Thank God!" I ejaculated from my very heart. She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking her hand. She did not withdraw it. "Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said, 'Thank God.'" "Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered, as I drew her to my side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained one...

"Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in prospective." He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really cannot congratulate you." I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" I asked. "Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment." "I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment may survive the ordeal.”

I had forgotten until re-reading the “might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way.” That’s clearly what the writers were riffing off of when they went for super-agent Mary (even if they did it in a way that many people found ill-advised).

#mary morstan #sherlock #do your research #self-respect #look into it

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years

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Dreams and Visions (46/51): Just An Ordinary Day

Time Period: Crossover

Chapter Summary: Watson, Holmes, John and Sherlock have an ordinary day. I recommend listening to Great Big Sea's 'Ordinary Day' while reading, I did while writing :)

Read it on AO3

Victorian

Watson placed the last of the sweet peas in the ground and looked up. “Sherlock, they’ll be here soon!”

His husband was observing the bees, a ridiculous looking contraption protecting his head and neck. He waved a hand, still focused on the hives.

Watson shook his head fondly. He knew Holmes would likely be cleaned up and on the doorstep before he was. He managed it every time.

Holmes was indeed at the door before he was less than twenty minutes later; waving enthusiastically as their family pulled up. Rachel Hopkins, all of five, leapt out and barrelled towards them. Billy helped his mother down and followed his sister in the same manner, and Stan just shook his head.

“Apologies,” he called. “I seem to have brought several lunatics to your cottage.”

Kitty threw a smaller bag at him. “Quiet, husband.”

Holmes laughed as he swung Rachel into his arms. “How was the train?”

“Wildly exciting.” A gray haired Mycroft stepped carefully out, still dignified but more relaxed since his own retirement. “I believe I have performed the required amount of trips now.”

“But Uncle Mycroft, you have to come back to London.” Rachel had solved the problem of what to call Mycroft when she first learned to talk, and the title never failed to make the old man smile.

“I suppose I do,” he allowed. “Ah well, above and beyond—I must follow my little brother’s example.”

Holmes gripped his brother’s arm. “It’s good to see you, Mycroft.”

“And you, Sherlock.” Mycroft examined the cottage. “It’s a lovely home.”

“Well, this is just the outside. The inside is much nicer, and that’s all Kitty’s doing, of course.”

“Now Father, that’s not entirely true. All the paintings are Father’s doing.”

Mycroft tilted his head. “I continue to find it astonishing that I know exactly what you mean when you speak that way.”

Kitty patted his arm. “Well you are rather brilliant. You should be able to keep up.”

Watson snorted.

It was a good day for Holmes’ leg and Watson’s back, so they offered to take the children for a walk along the beach. Mycroft went with them as far as the pool, but regretfully announced that he had to turn back. “I’m afraid I’m only going to slow you down.”

“Mummy and Daddy will keep you company,” Rachel promised as she danced in front of the group. “Grandfather John, will you tell us a story?”

Mindful of the dire threats Kitty had made if Rachel got wind of certain ones of their adventures, Watson kept it light, describing some of their more madcap adventures. Holmes chimed in every once in a while, mostly to correct timelines. “My dear Watson, I dressed as the old woman then the young lady.”

Billy listened intently as his sister skipped around. She hadn’t stopped moving since the day she was born, and Watson was sure his granddaughter would be dancing across a stage when she grew older.

They could have walked all day, but storm clouds were brewing on the horizon, and Rachel was growing sleepy. She still napped in the middle of the day, and fell asleep clinging to Billy’s back as they returned to the cottage.

Once they were all inside—they’d borrowed a few chairs from the Rileys’ for this occasion—Holmes offered around sherry. Billy looked up hopefully.

“Not this time, lad,” Watson said firmly. “Your mother will murder you.”

“I will indeed.” Kitty took her own glass. “And your grandfather.”

“Daughter, you’ll do no such thing,” Holmes said sternly, putting a hand on Watson’s shoulder. “I’m rather fond of him.”

Watson took his hand and kissed it. “Why thank you.”

“Have you heard from Inspector Lestrade?” Mycroft asked.

“We haven’t received a letter in a while,” Watson said slowly, worried. The Inspector had been forced to retire due to poor health, and had gone off to Scotland to live with his daughter.

“It’s nothing bad,” Mycroft assured them. “He’s a great-grandfather now.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Watson smiled. “He deserves a rest. The hell we put him through…”

“I wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t enjoy it,” Holmes mumbled.

“He’s the nice one, isn’t he, Grandfather Sherlock?” Rachel asked, preoccupied for the moment with a picture book.

“Yes, and the most intelligent of the professionals, with the exception of your father,” Holmes answered readily. “We should try for a visit, John, when we can.”

“That would be nice,” Watson smiled.

The smile stayed with him through supper, as they drove Kitty, Stan and Mycroft back to town (there wasn’t quite enough room at the cottage, and while Mycroft didn’t complain they knew he needed a full bed), tucked the children into bed after one last story. Watson slipped out of the room as his husband pulled out his violin and began playing a soft lullaby.

As he put on the kettle for chamomile, the smile faded without him noticing. It wasn’t until his husband wrapped his arms around him from behind that Watson even realized he was crying.

“John…dearest, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Watson said, in a voice that was more sob than speech.

“Don’t lie to me…”

“No, honestly, nothing’s wrong.” Watson wiped his eyes. “I just…today was wonderful.”

“It was a nice day,” Holmes agreed carefully.

“And watching you was the best part.”

Holmes didn’t answer.

“Watching you get to enjoy our family…being so open, not being afraid…I’ve never seen you quite this happy. This free. And I was thinking about how lucky we are that we got this in the first place…”

Holmes drew him close against his chest, face buried in the crook of Watson’s neck. “I love you,” he whispered fiercely. “I love you so, somuch.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Watson’s neck.

“I love you too, Sherlock.” Watson reached up and took his hand, held it close, fingers brushing over the wedding band.

They stayed there like that for quite a while, the tea forgotten.

“Do you think they have days like this?” Holmes asked quietly. “Days when they can just be and not…not worry about anything?”

“I hope so,” Watson replied. “It’s strange—I’m sure some people would call this quite an ordinary day.”

“Well that is your greatest gift, my dear John.” Holmes took his hand again, kissed the tips of his fingers. “You’ve always been able to make the ordinary extraordinary.”

BBC

John bustled around the kitchen, trying to finish the last of the food amongst Sherlock’s latest experiment. “You’d better clean this up, love.”

Sherlock sniffed as he went by with the basket of toys, kept out from underfoot unless children were visiting. “It’s fine, John. I told you that already.”

“Yes, and I don’t totally believe it,” John retorted.

Sherlock was saved by the doorbell ringing. John went for the door but Mrs. Hudson got to the stairs first. “You finish the peas, I’ll let everyone in.”

John smiled to himself as he heard Mycroft and Greg chatting with Mrs. Hudson downstairs. It wasn’t an occasion, exactly, but it was the first Saturday night all summer when everyone was off and there were no murders to be solved. John had put his foot down. They were having a family dinner.

Greg dragged Mycroft into the kitchen and kicked John out. “Go and handle the drinks, I can finish the cottage pie!” Mycroft was helping by moving parts of Sherlock’s experiments out of the way of Greg’s enthusiastic chopping.

Mrs. Hudson came up with the Hopkins family, Rachel wearing a bright blue dress and beaming. Kitty kissed John’s cheek and picked up her daughter. “Rachel, tell Grandad what happened today!”

Rachel smiled hugely, showing off the gap in her front teeth.

John gasped, taking Rachel in his arms. “Goodness gracious! Congratulations!”

“Mummy said we can go to the zoo with Daddy tomorrow, and we can see the pretty birds! That’s better than a fairy!”

John covered a smile. “Indeed.”

Once Kitty and Stan were seated, Rachel crawled onto Sherlock’s lap. “Hello, Grandda.”

“Hello Rachel,” Sherlock answered. “Now, what’s your latest adventure?”

John grinned as Rachel explained her latest games with the unshakeable gravity only four-year-olds possess. Sherlock was all attention, offering advice on dealing with troll queens.

Kitty smiled at him. “Never thought Da would be such an expert on trolls. Goodness knows I can’t always give the right advice.”

“Well, he’s always been bright,” Stan said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Suppose that’s a good reason for you to be Holmes-sexual, Dad.”

John’s smile vanished as Sherlock chuckled. “Greg, I swear to God…”

Greg just laughed from the kitchen. “I didn’t say it, John.”

“Like you’re any different,” John muttered. Kitty patted his hand sympathetically.

Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, leading Molly, Mike, Lily and Jacob. “Hello, everyone!”

John stood up and took everyone’s coats. Lily tugged on his sleeve. “Uncle John, do you like my dress?”

It was a lovely blue dress, but it did seem a bit…short for her.

“It’s very pretty,” he said diplomatically.

To his surprise, Lily pouted. “You were supposed to say you didn’t approve!”

“Why—why do you want me to say that?” John asked, stunned.

Lily took a step back and pulled on the belt around her waist. A long skirt fell down, all in greens and purples. “It’s a water dress,” she said excitedly. “You can wear it swimming, and then you can have a pretty dress later on. Mummy says she’ll help me find fabric that will dry quickly.”

John beamed. “Brilliant, Lily.”

Jacob was already at Sherlock’s side, chattering about the latest explosion he’d caused in class. The glee in Rachel’s eyes reminded John to warn Kitty that her daughter needed to be kept away from baking soda and vinegar (at the very least).

After a few arguments in the kitchen (Molly had to intervene about the proper wine to have with the potatoes), they all gathered together at the table. Well, John allowed as he sat down, it was actually three tables jammed together, one from Mike and Molly’s, one Mycroft had delivered, and one that was actually a night table from the room upstairs.

John remembered the day he’d moved in. He’d placed his gun in the top drawer after he and Sherlock had come back from Chinese at three in the morning, still high from adrenaline. He’d fallen asleep that night exhausted and hopeful for the first time in weeks, the only bitterness that Sherlock, of course, wasn’t interested in him. Ah well. He’d be satisfied with friendship.

The first lie he’d told himself.

John remembered the last time he’d slept up there, the night he still didn’t understand, when he’d spoken with a man trapped in a time without freedom for love. The next night he’d only gone into the room long enough to grab pyjamas.

Then the night table became their daughter’s, and now the room was open again, open for any of their family to visit.

A family he’d never thought he would have.

Sherlock took his hand. “We’re lucky,” he whispered.

“We are.” John leaned over and kissed his husband, ignoring Rachel’s squawk of disgust. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you, John.” Sherlock kissed his hand, lips on his wedding band. “Pass the potatoes?”

And I say way-hey-hey, it’s just an ordinary day,

And it’s all your state of mind,

At the end of the day, you’ve just got to say it’s alright.

Great Big Sea, Ordinary Day

#sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #johnlock #sherlock AU #crossover with original canon #acme146 fanfiction #dreams and visions #sleeping on it 'verse

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junker-town · 5 years

Text

The 10 biggest surprises from the NFL Draft’s 1st round

The Steelers traded up? Washington was ... smart? The Giants drafted Daniel Jones with the SIXTH pick?!

The NFL Draft is rarely a place for the expected. Each year, mock drafts wind up shredded on the floor as teams deviate away from common logic and curiously planted reports to make foundation-altering trades, reach for players who were expected to languish in the green room a couple hours later, or find a way to ignore their needs to stuff prospects into already-filled depth charts.

In 2019, we got all three and more.

This year’s first round left no shortage of surprises after Kyler Murray, Nick Bosa, and Quinnen Williams went a predictable 1-2-3 at the top of the draft. The Giants got their quarterback, just not the one anybody expected. Projected first-rounders like Jawaan Taylor and Drew Lock didn’t go in the first round, but a man mountain from Alabama State did. And Washington was ... smart? Huh.

Here are the 10 moments that shook us the most on Day 1 of the 2019 NFL Draft.

10. Alabama State got a first-round pick

Tytus Howard had been mostly considered a Day 2 selection after a sturdy career with the FCS Hornets, but when the Texans had their OT pick, Andre Dillard, swiped out from under their nose by the Eagles at No. 22, Houston shifted to its plan B — the high-upside blocker from Montgomery. Howard spent his last four years blocking out the sun against SWAC competition, but scaling that performance up to NFL levels will be his greatest challenge yet.

Howard is a dynamic talent who is big (6’5, 322 pounds), strong, and athletic. But whether he’ll be a better pro lineman than more highly regarded players like Taylor and Ford has yet to be seen. Still, congratulations to the Hornets, who now have a more recent first-round pick than Florida, USC, Penn State, Auburn, Oregon, Texas, or Miami.

9. The Dolphins pass on Dwayne Haskins

The Dolphins’ most viable starting quarterback on the roster right now is 36-year-old Ryan Fitzpatrick. Haskins, rated as SB Nation’s No. 1 quarterback this year, was still available at No. 13. Passing on Haskins and drafting a defensive tackle suggests they’re more interested in whomever they can pick after next year’s three-win season than adding an upper-tier QB prospect this spring.

Haskins would have had his hands full behind a deficient offensive line and with a limited group of targets, so instead they’ll let Fitzpatrick deal with that knowing (another) bad season won’t have any impact on his future or the team’s.

Now, first-year head coach Brian Flores gets a top-notch space-eater in Christian Wilkins and another building block for an intriguing defense. The Miami offense will be borderline unwatchable in 2019, but that’s the best way for it to get Justin Herbert or Tua Tagovailoa in 2020, which was probably the plan anyway.

8. The Ole Miss receivers and other highly touted players who didn’t get picked

Every year a handful of players who are projected to go in the first round fall to the second day of the draft. This year’s draft was no different. Here are some of the names who were in the first-round conversation, but are still available for whatever reason.

LSU CB Greedy Williams

Ole Miss WR D.K. Metcalf

Ole Miss WR A.J. Brown

Florida OT Jawaan Taylor

Oklahoma OT/G Cody Ford

Missouri QB Drew Lock

Washington CB Byron Murphy

Kansas State OL Dalton Risner

Iowa State WR Hakeem Butler

Temple CB Rock Ya-Sin

That’s a lot of talented players still on the board, especially at receiver and cornerback. It’s very possible we’ll see a little run at those positions to start the second round.

7. Atlanta drafted two offensive linemen in the first round

The Falcons made a surprise pick by selecting Boston College guard Chris Lindstrom with the 14th overall pick. Then, they doubled down on offensive line by trading back into the first round and selecting Washington offensive tackle Kaleb McGary with the 31st pick.

It wasn’t necessarily shocking to see Atlanta beef up its trenches, but it was surprising to see the team ignore the defensive line entirely. The Falcons gave up 42 sacks last season, which was the 13th-most in the league. Clearly they needed to get better in that regard, but two first-round offensive linemen was a head scratcher.

6. The Steelers traded UP

For the first time in 13 years, the Steelers traded up in the first round of the draft. The Steelers leapt the rival Bengals to nab Devin Bush with the 10th pick in the draft. To make that happen, they swapped first-round picks with the Broncos, and gave them their second-round pick and a third-round pick in the 2020 NFL Draft.

The last time the Steelers traded up in the first round was in 2006 for Ohio State receiver Santonio Holmes, who was taken with the No. 25 pick. For a team that usually stands pat in Round 1, it was a bit unexpected to see the Steelers move all the way up into the top 10 of the draft.

5. The Packers traded up for linebacker (?) Rashan Gary

Green Bay needed a pass rusher to replace the departed (to the Rams) Clay Matthews. Instead of getting an edge rusher like Brian Burns or Montez Sweat, the Packers pounced on a high-ceiling, low-production standout in Michigan’s Rashan Gary. The folks over at Acme Packing Co. weren’t convinced this was the right move.

Let me clarify. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

— Packers coverage by Acme Packing Co. (@acmepackingco) April 26, 2019

Gary was the nation’s top recruit in high school, but his three seasons with the Wolverines left lots to be desired. The burly lineman — somehow talked up as a linebacker during the draft broadcast — finished his college career with only 9.5 sacks in 34 games and looked more like a three-star recruit than a guy who had offers from nearly every major program.

The Packers went and addressed a big need at safety by trading up to snag Maryland’s Darnell Savage, but there’s a chance Savage would have been available for the team’s selection at No. 30 after he failed to make an appearance in the bulk of this year’s mock drafts. Gary and Savage could be great players in green and gold, but they may have been available later on.

4. Washington ... made some smart decisions!

Everything seemed to fall in place for Washington during the first round of the draft. It got a new franchise quarterback in Ohio State’s Dwayne Haskins and traded up for a freakishly athletic edge rusher in Montez Sweat.

Both moves earned high praise from these parts — Dan Kadar gave the Haskins pick an “A+” grade and the Sweat one an “A.” Bill Connelly wrote, “Washington may have just gotten two top-10 talents with the 15th and 26th picks. Well done.”

What’s really stunning is that Washington made these first-round selections when owner Dan Snyder reportedly took command of the draft.

Just talked to a Redskins source who told me Dan Snyder has "taken over the first round of the draft." The last time that happened the Redskins traded two future No. 1's and a No. 2 to move up for Robert Griffin.

— Grant Paulsen (@granthpaulsen) April 24, 2019

Head coach Jay Gruden has already said that Haskins will have a chance to compete with Case Keenum for the starting quarterback job, which makes sense. Gruden is on the hottest of hot seats so he really just needs to put the best player on the field — it wouldn’t be a stretch to say Haskins is better than Keenum.

A franchise quarterback and an edge rusher to replace Preston Smith. Not a bad Round 1 at all.

3. What in the hell was Devin Bush wearing?

Pittsburgh’s trade up for Bush makes sense, considering the Steelers have needed a linebacker since Ryan Shazier was injured a couple seasons ago.

The strange part about the pick was Bush’s outfit. What is this?

Devin Bush sporting the Captain Picard collection pic.twitter.com/fFdr29At0y

— Jemele Hill (@jemelehill) April 25, 2019

Bush came out dressed like a Yin Yang symbol. On the biggest day of his life he dressed up as an Othello board.

At least he’s a stud on the field because this outfit surely ain’t it.

2. Mike Mayock selected Clelin Ferrell with his first ever draft pick

No one saw this one coming.

In Mike Mayock’s first draft as the Raiders’ general manager, he pulled an absolute stunner by selecting Clemson defensive end Clelin Ferrell with the fourth pick in the draft. Ferrell was a productive player for Clemson with 50.5 tackles for loss and 27 sacks in four seasons, but none of the major mock drafts expected him to go this high.

Perhaps the funniest part of the pick was that the Raiders sent their scouts home last week because they didn’t want any leaks. No one would have believed a scout if they said Oakland planned on taking Ferrell fourth overall.

1. The Giants really drafted Daniel Jones sixth overall

The Giants finally took their quarterback of the future (even if that future is three years from now). David Gettleman drafting Daniel Jones isn’t that surprising, but taking him with their first pick was a bit of a shocker — especially when they were expected to take a pass rusher at No. 6 and players like Josh Allen were available.

Jones wasn’t exactly the most productive college quarterback, to put it kindly. That doesn’t matter much now, but it’s a bit hard to understand why the Giants would pick Jones that early and with Dwayne Haskins, who ended up falling to Washington, still on the board.

We’ll never know, but the Giants might have been able to select Jones with the 17th pick in the draft — where they ended up taking Clemson defensive tackle Dexter Lawrence.

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