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gone-to-fight-the-fairies · 5 years

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A Study in Sherlock

Summary: Sherlock’s sourness leads the reader to make some deductions of their own.

Challenge: @castielslittlestbee ‘s 50 Followers Jubilee challenge. Thank you again for allowing me to write Sherlock!! I did swap 1 word from the prompt but it serves a purpose!

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x reader

Word Count: 800

~No Warning~

“Sherlock,” you call after the man, sprinting up the stairs. Your shorter legs ordinarily put you at a disadvantage, but Sherlock skipping steps made record time to the flat above. You reach the top step as Sherlock barges through the door, leaving it wide open for you to follow. “Sherlock!”

“I have work to do!” His eyes were drawn to his experiments on the kitchen table, taking a seat. He slides a new glass slide under the microscope lens.

You stood in the frame of the kitchen. “I don’t have to be you to see that you’re pissed!”

“I am not pissed!”

“What the hell happened back there? One moment we’re talking to Molly and the next you won’t look at me in the cab.” Sherlock tilts back, switching objective lenses and peers back down at the subject.

You huff, leaning on the frame. While investigating a serial murder case, you both stopped by the morgue after a new victim was mutilated. However, something changed between the time you entered the morgue and when you left. “What did I do?”

Sherlock tenses, eyes losing their focus. “You did nothing wrong.”

Your instinct is to snap Sherlock out of whatever prickly-trance took him by the reigns; to push up this deflective shield he held between you and him. Knowing it’d drive him further away, you examined him like a case. Sherlock was a man to always to keep his tells at bay, but even he was blind to a rare few that crept upon the surface when his emotions were at their peak. His shoulders were still tight, scrunching up to his neck as he hunches over the microscope. His mouth twitches under your gaze; reserved for truly troubling emotions.

Molly unzipped the body bag, stepping out of the way for you and Sherlock to examine the fresh corpse. Sherlock reached for the victim's arm, finding a small tattoo in the pit of the elbow, similar in that of the previous bodies. He beamed up at you with that triumphant gleam in his eyes he reserved solely for you.

The morgue doors opened. A man entered asking for Molly Hooper, handing her a bouquet of roses. You disregarded the body, traipsing over to your friend to gush over the colorful arrangement. A small creme envelope perched between the stems; Molly picked it, reading aloud an endearing message from her new boyfriend.

Sherlock brushed past both of you, not stopping to speak before walking out the door, hailing a cab as you barely caught up to him on the street below.

“I thought you never felt anything for Molly.”

Sherlock’s gaze snaps up, narrowing his eyes at you. “I never have.”

“Then why are you upset about the flowers? You had every opportunity to date her before…” You motion between him and you.

“I don’t give a damn about Molly, or the flowers.”

You study Sherlock’s face, observing the stillness in each feature. He told the truth, that much you knew. But the mystery of his grouchy exterior hung over the room. “Then for God’s sake what’s wrong?”

Sherlock tightens his lips, a sure sign of debate, calculating his next move. Eventually, he admits, “It’s the way your eyes dilated at the flowers.” Something in your expression makes Sherlock’s face soften. He rises from the chair, taking a few steps in your direction as he explains, “It reminds me how I’m failing in the role of the… boyfriend.”

You reach for Sherlock’s hand, warming his palm against the cold draft of the flat. “Flowers are tangible things. You show me you care every single day. Well, nearly all of them,” you chuckle. “You’ve saved my life-”

“As many times as I’ve put you in jeopardy,” Sherlock adds solemnly, casting his gaze down. “You deserve sentiment. Sentiment that I, Sherlock Holmes, can’t care to provide.”

Creasing your brows, your other hand to caresses his face. “You listen to me. Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day—if we’re very, very lucky—he might even be a good boyfriend.”

Sherlock tilts his head. “Are you quoting Lestrade?”

“Yeah, but I added the boyfriend thing.”

“Plagiarism, but,” Sherlock pauses, an arm sneaks around your waist, pressing you against him. “I enjoy it better when you say it.”

“There’s not another relationship I’d rather be in. Flowers and shit die. What you and I have is everything, okay? Don’t get insecure on me.”

“I’m not insecure,” he pouts, tugging onto you tighter.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Sure you’re not.” Stepping onto your tippy toes, you meet his lips.

#littlebees50 #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #reader x sherlock holmes #reader x sherlock #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock fic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic

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writingwife-83 · 5 years

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Are you ready to get a star for that "Director’s Cut" ask? You better be, cause here it comes - 🌌🌠⭐

Im ready, but are you? 😂 I went with one of my personal faves out of the fics that I wrote based on s4- Night Shift. I was thinking you might be cool with something like that since you said you prefer canonverse. :)

First off, can you even imagine how difficult it would be to keep Sherlock Holmes busy, entertained, and away from an addiction? That is some kind of job! And the fact that Molly was one of the few who were enlisted to do it says a lot. It’s a far cry from the original intent of the character named Molly Hooper who appeared in the first episode. Ok, now lets have a little excerpt...

Molly did her best to go back to focusing on the pages of the book as she heard the washroom door close, the shower turn on, and the curtain slide closed. It became a tiny bit harder to ignore what he was doing when she heard…was that humming? Molly clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud, despite being out of earshot. She couldn’t quite make out the tune, but he was most definitely humming in the shower. She shook her head a smiled. How was it possible that even now, even given the circumstances, she found little ways to fall further in love with him?

This sidenote moment felt important to me. Because as Molly says in TFP, it’s always been true. Yeah she’s seen him at his absolute, rock bottom worst. But she really and truly loves him anyway. So even in a moment like this, no doubt he’d still make her heart beat a little faster. Ok, moving on...

"Although," Molly added, feeling the need to clarify a bit even as she cringed in embarrassment at the path her words took. “Sometimes getting the same in return isn’t necessarily the most important thing. When you love someone, I mean.”

"So..." he began slowly, eyes narrowing. “If you love a person, that in itself can be fulfilling?”

She inhaled slowly and deeply while smiling. “Right. Sometimes…in some ways…that’s enough.”

Can we talk about the fact that I wrote this discussion of love and whether or not it’s reciprocated between TLD and TFP, and OMG if ever I had known what was really coming the very next week...lord have mercy lol. But here’s where the feels really amp up...

“Do you know what I thought that day?” Molly asked, going on while twisting one of the buttons on her cardigan. “When Mrs. Hudson called and told me what had happened? She told me everything and I- I though-“ She stopped, feeling her breath catch again, having to whisper her next words. “Thank God he’s alive.”

And soon after, here’s his reply...

He turned and his eyes reached out to her again. “Yes, but don’t you see? Nobody else has said it. They’ve all admitted it can’t be changed, I’ve been helped and supported, and even forgiven and assured I’m not at fault. But I hadn’t heard anything like your words till now…thank God he’s alive,” he said, repeating her wording with a very slight tremor in his voice.

Look, I know there’s only so much time in an episode, and there’s only so much they can focus on, etc. But I really feel like there needed to be more of this. Yes, someone died. But someone else was able to keep living. Sherlock’s life was saved, regardless of how everyone feels about how it happened. I would have loved to see at least one of the people who love him on that show to just express these sentiments, that they’re grateful he’s still alive and with them. Because saying that doesn’t negate the grief over Mary’s death.

Overall I just really enjoyed writing this fic. It felt good to address some of the more raw and uncomfortable emotions that would be reality in these situations. Sherlock’s survivor’s guilt of course, Molly’s conflicting pain for her friend’s loss and her relief to still have the man she loves, and then the fact that they both end up actually making each other feel better just by exchanging some of these feelings.

Thanks for the “director’s cut” ⭐️ ask, it was fun! 😉

#sherlolly #directors cut ask #are you sorry you asked lol?#wifey answers things #and gets long winded

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discordantwords · 5 years

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Prompt: asking for help ♥

Here’s a moment in TRF where things might have gone very differently… Written for @221b-consolation fest.

Help

“There’s something I need to do,” Sherlock said. The streetwas dark. Quiet. Behind them, the lights in Kitty Reilly’s flat burned bright.There was an ache in his wrist where the metal cuff had pulled up tight againstresistance. Proof that John had been briefly tethered to his side. He resistedthe urge to touch it.

He needed to die. Dead men could not form attachments, nor keep them.It was inconvenient.

John looked at him. “Can I help?”

"No. On my own.“

He started to walk away, his shoulders hunched against the chill nightair.

Footsteps behind him. John. Rushing to catch up.

Sherlock stopped walking, whirled to face him. The first dismissal shouldhave worked. It had not. He’d need to be harsher this time.

"Every moment that I waste explaining things to you is time thatcould be spent coming up with a solution,” he snapped. “Time is ofthe essence, now stop burdening me with your presence so I canthink.”

He saw the words land, saw John flinch. Any moment now, John would giveup, would stalk off in disgust. Unpleasant, but necessary.

Go away, he thought, a little desperately. Go away, you can’t be a part of this. You can’t know.

It had been nice, the two of them on the run for a bit. He’d not been expecting that. A last hurrah, something to carry with him after.

“That’s not how this works,” John said.

"Isn’t it?“ Sherlock kept walking.

"You don’t get to—Sherlock—” John increased his pace, nearlyjogging now to keep up. “You don’t get to just run off on your own becauseit’s convenient. I’m a fugitive too now, remember?”

"I’m sure they’ll be lenient with you,“ Sherlock said,keeping his eyes straight ahead. “You were my hostage, nothing more.”

"Sherlock.“

John’s hand on his arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

He should have wrenched his arm away, kept walking. Instead he stopped.Stood under a streetlamp with his eyes averted, waiting. He could hear John’sharsh angry breaths in the darkness.

"I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” John said, his voicelow. “But stop it. Just—just stop it.”

Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Shut up,“ John said. "He’s got in your head.”

"It’s not my head I’m worried about—”

"Of course it is,“ John said. He did not let go of Sherlock’sarm. “It’s your head he wants, yeah? It’s what he’s wanted from thestart.”

"And he’ll have it,“ Sherlock said.

"No.”

"You’ve seen it. All of this. Kitty Reilly? The papers?“Sherlock waved his hand in the air, gestured back towards the block of flatsthey’d just left behind. "This is only the beginning. He’s set out to ruinme.”

"Then we don’t let him,“ John said. His face was furrowed up,almost heartbreakingly earnest. "Don’t play his game. Make up one of yourown.”

"It’s too late,“ Sherlock said.

"It’s not,” John said. “It’s not. Let me help.”

"And what is it you think you can do?“

"Whatever I have to,” John said. “Whatever you need. Youknow that.” He took a breath, squared his shoulders, met Sherlock’s gaze.“I know you’ve got a plan.”

Sherlock blinked. Did not let his mouth fall open, but it was a nearthing. He said nothing.

"You’re Sherlock Holmes, you always have a plan,“ John said.

"I—yes,” Sherlock said. He thought of Barts morgue, and MollyHooper, who would be finishing up her night shift in less than an hour. Thehospital corridors were mostly empty this time of night. He’d be able to slipin undetected.

"Let me help.“

Sherlock closed his eyes. There were dozens of potential outcomesunspooling in his mind, none of them certain. Success was not guaranteed, hecouldn’t know for sure, he couldn’t know. The only thingcertain was that he’d need to die.

He shook his head, did not open his eyes.

"Sherlock.” John’s hand slipped from his arm, cupped hischeek instead.

Sherlock opened his eyes.

"All right,“ he breathed, and he did not know if he haddamned John with his words or saved him. His initial plan would have beencleaner, neater. But he did not have the strength to turn John away again, notnow. "All right.”

John nodded. His hand curled cool and steady against Sherlock’s flushedcheek.

"Help me,“ Sherlock breathed.

"Of course,” John said. “Of course.”

#sherlock #ficlet #mine #221b-consolation #little contributions

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musicprincess1990 · 4 years

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Sherlolly Advent Calendar, Day 1 - Mistletoe Kiss

Molly put away the last newly-cleaned plate, letting out a contented sigh as she did so. It had been a lovely Christmas party, considering the circumstances. It was the first Christmas after Mary’s death, and it had taken a great deal of cajoling to get John to come. What finally did the trick was Sherlock telling him Mary would have taken the mickey out of him for not going. At that, John had looked briefly to one side, swallowed, then nodded.

They’d agreed to host the evening at Baker Street, which, to the surprise of all, took very little convincing on Sherlock’s part. When Molly had suggested it, he’d frowned at first, but after a moment he’d said it was much more convenient for him not to have to go anywhere.

Mrs. Hudson had made a colorful array of biscuits, and John brought a bottle of brandy which had been a wedding gift, but he and Mary had decided to save for a special occasion. Molly watched John throughout the evening, even more stiff and soldier-like than usual. This was difficult for him, and treating it like he was back on the battlefield was his way of coping. She began to wonder if perhaps they had pushed things too far.

“You’re worried,” a low voice interrupted her thoughts. Molly met Sherlock’s gaze, finding his own expression pinched with concern.

She gave him a sad smile. “Just thinking we may have pushed it, forcing John to come.”

“He’s a grown man, he could have stayed home if he wanted to.”

“Yeah…” she sighed, unconvinced. “I just… wish I knew how to help him.”

He took a step nearer. “I believe you did tonight. Being alone on Christmas is…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence to hang unfinished, then adding quietly, “You helped.”

Molly wondered, certainly not for the first time, what he had gone through during those two years away from London. Had he been alone those Christmases? Or had he found someone, somewhere, willing to be a friend to him, while those he would have spent it with believed him dead? She didn’t have the heart to ask him, and had promised herself she never would. There were some horrors too dreadful to relive.

Reminded of another, more recent horrifying event, Molly wondered about Sherrinford. John, being the least emotionally attached of the three men present, had given her a watered-down account. She knew of the tasks Sherlock had been required to complete, to solve, including the phone call. She knew he’d believed her life was in danger, and the “pass code” was the only way to save her.

And after some time spent recuperating, Sherlock himself had offered to share his account. But she had stopped him. She didn’t want him to relive that. It made her sick to think he’d lived it once, but to go through it a second time, even in memory? She couldn’t bring herself to ask it.

“Molly?”

She returned to Baker Street with a start, and gave a short laugh of embarrassment at being caught wool-gathering. “I’m sorry, I got lost in thought. I hope you’re right, though.”

“Molly,” he said again, not as a question this time. He stepped toward her again, now coming within arm’s reach, but he did not reach for her. Molly scolded herself for wishing he would, reminded herself that it wasn’t like that with them, and never would be.

Sherlock glanced down at his shoes, blinking several times in rapid succession. He looked almost nervous, but also determined as he spoke again. “If there is anything you want to ask me, you’re more than welcome.”

Molly’s looked up at him, stunned, not because he’d seemingly read her thoughts - she was used to that by now - but by the words themselves. Sherlock was rarely one to share details of his life outside of his work, but here he was, offering her any answers she wished. Oh, so many questions sprang to mind, all of them battling to be first in line. But before she could voice any of them, something caught her attention, from the corner of her eye. Something hanging from the light directly above their heads.

Oh, lord…

Sherlock, seeing her attention diverted, glanced upward to see what it was. They looked at one another in tandem, then Sherlock’s eyes shifted down, landing on her lips… and he blushed.

Molly blinked in amazement. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him blush, not once! But there was no mistaking the pink tinge on the otherwise alabaster skin of his beautiful face. And when those keen eyes met hers again, the black of his pupils seemed ready to swallow the blue-green ring of his irises. He wants to kiss me, she realized.

Suddenly, only one question remained in her mind, the only one that mattered at the moment, and his reaction gave her the courage to ask.

“Did you mean it?”

He swallowed hard, but his expression did not change. Molly knew he understood her meaning, and held her breath as she waited for him to reply. Finally, in a voice so low that she would never have heard it, had he not been so close… “Yes.”

There was no stopping the grin that stretched across her face, nor the tears that sprang to her eyes. Sherlock, still blushing, the adorable fool, smiled shyly in return. “Yes,” he said again, more confident this time. “I mean it.”

Just as before, the second time was more lovely and wonderful than the first. And yet, the man still had yet to touch her! Molly took the reins and leaned in close, laying a hand on his chest, just over the beat of his heart. As if on instinct, he lifted his hand to cover hers, and held it in place as his pulse drummed more quickly.

Then, finally, their lips met in a chaste, cautious kiss. But it didn’t stay that way for long. Soon, Molly’s hands had slid up to tangle in his curls, and his had found her waist, all while his mouth plundered her own. Leave it to Sherlock to be as bloody brilliant at kissing as he is at everything else, she thought, before his tongue met hers and rendered all thoughts silent.

Some time later, they broke apart, both flushed and panting and grinning stupidly at one another.

“I think that’s the best Christmas gift I’ve ever been given,” Molly breathed.

Sherlock snorted, “Don’t make jokes, Molly,” but it was different from the many other times he had said it. It was softened with unmistakable affection, and by the gentle swipe of his thumbs along her cheekbones, wiping away her happy tears. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

***

N’awwww, these two idiots! This ended up being more serious than I intended, but personally, I’m pleased with the result. I’ll be posting this on Ao3 as well, and the rest of the calendar fics. And remember, every time you leave a comment, an angel gets its wings!

#sherlolly #sherlolly fanfiction #my writing #sherlolly advent calendar #mistletoe kiss #24 to go #merry christmas

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seriouslyobsessed · 4 years

Text

Fanfiction Recommendations

Miscellaneous

Peter Parker in MCU

•It's the Little Things, Dude. By Pokeydotes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362209/chapters/33154362

Peter's life is one case of WTF after another, not that he minds. Because yeah, there might be bruises and bloody noses, but he's pretty sure he just made friends with the Black Widow.

What is intended to be a series of one shots/drabbles of Peter Parker interacting with the Avengers in one way or another.

•Who Saves The Hero By CamelotQueen

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742719#main

May brings home her new boyfriend. Something about him makes Peter feel nervous, but he makes May happy. And if May's happy, then Peter is happy.

Then it escalates.

•Peter's Field Trip & More By Climbergirlio

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593775/chapters/41471108

Peter receives a permission slip for a field trip to the Avenger's Compound. And that's before the photo of him and Tony leaks, and before he starts a Stark Intern Twitter account, and before Bucky bugs him and finds out his whole school thinks he's a liar, and before Tony decides that he's going to prove Peter's Internship is real, and before his school visits his second home. At least Peter has his crazy protective super-family to get him through it, though.

•The home-trip. By ShiningEve

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272505/chapters/45834718

Fuck. Shit. Hell no. Damnit.WHYThe singular piece of paper in his hand stated in bold print, "FIELD TRIP TO AVENGERS TOWER!"

AKA, where peter lived, ate, slept, and trained.

His own house.

His dad would most likely laugh his head off at pyotr's situation.

*****************

A FIELD TRIP FIC WHERE PETER IS BUCKY BARNES' BIOLOGICAL CHILD AND EX HYDRA

•How to confuse MJ By AvenueRiddle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410111?view_adult=true

Peter never told MJ about his relationship to Tony and Pepper, so when he brings her to the tower, she is confused about how they act around each other.

•A Very Tony Stark Move By coconutknightshade

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23390542#main

Peter's sixteen when Tony Stark busts into his room on a Saturday morning and convinces him he's going to be late for school. Now that Peter Parker is a grown-ass adult with a son of his own, he thinks it's time to start a family tradition.

•Save It For A Special Occasion By CaptainAwesome242

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360434#main

Prompt - Alcohol

Tony wasn’t sure what he’d expected to happen; that maybe Peter would jump up, try to defend himself or apologise, or maybe he’d get defensive or angry. He didn’t expect Peter to give a half smile and a small wave.

“Hey, Mr Stark,”

“Hey yourself,” Tony frowned, half to look stern and half in genuine confusion, “you mind telling me what’s going on here?”

Peter had the decency to look sheepish, “I know this isn’t strictly allowed—“

“—it’s illegal,” Tony interrupted calmly.

“Right,” said Peter, going slightly red, “but you won’t tell on me,”

It wasn’t a question, and Tony knew it was true, but even so, “Maybe not to the police...”

Peter winced at the unspoken threat of Aunt May, but he was still calmer than Tony expected, “I can explain,”

Olicity

•Secrets of the Deep By LIngall

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464682/chapters/48557813#main

Oliver has recently secured shared custody of his son after Samantha and William recently moved to Starling City. On their first weekend together he looks to score big Dad points by taking him to the Starling Aquarium.

Mermaid AU prompt written for the #OlicitySummerSizzle2019 event - thank you @olicitysizzle it’s been fun.

•It makes you human By Lilliclementi93

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971585/chapters/24427668#workskin

Felicity and the team are brought on Lian-Yu by Adrian Chase to make Oliver suffer.

Soon she finds herself willing to do whatever is necessary to stop Prometheus, even lose herself in the process.

Will she give up to the rage?

Will Oliver be able to save her, even from herself?

Sherlolly

•Detective Mary By MissMollyBloom

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241598#main

When Mary Morstan meets Molly Hooper, she does a few deductions of her own.

Prompt fill for @forthegenuine: A Sherlolly + Warstan double date, where Sherlolly can either be established or not! Bonus if Mary ships it extra hard.

#fanfiction #fanfiction recommendations #peter parker #mcu #olicity #arrow #spideychelle fanfic #spideychelle fanfiction #spideychelle #iron dad fanfiction #irondad #iron dad

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fandomp0werfanfics · 4 years

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Preference: The Fight That Breaks The Relationship.

Trigger Warning(s): Arguments.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock(BBC), or any of it's characters. I do not claim to own Sherlock(BBC), or any of it's characters.

Disclaimer(2): If you find anything offensive please let me know; It is not my intention to damage anyones feelings or offend anyone. Anything racist/homophobic/other does not reflect my views, it is just part of the story.

Y/N = Your Name

Sherlock~

"Why does what matter?" Sherlock yells as I try to convince him to eat.

It's been over a week, and after him collapsing once today, I'm scared for his health.

"Because you'll die if you don't eat." My voice shakes as I try to hold back tears and keep from yelling at the dark haired man. "I can't lose you again, and god damn it, John can't either."

"I don't require any further hindrance from you, goodbye." He steeples his finders and sits on the couch. His words cut me like a knife.

"Fine." My voice is sharp, as sharp as a fuCKING SHARD OF MY HEART SINCE THIS BASARD KEEPS BREAKING IT! "Be like that, shut me out, I swear to god, I'm done."

"God is a ludicrous fantasy created for the family idiot."

"Obviously, it's not like, I don't know, your PARTNER is a Christian or anything." I cross my arms.

"Your loss, not mine." My closes his eyes, affectively ignoring me.

"No, I think it's your loss this time." Tears enter my eyes.

"Hmm, why are you people so stupid." He growls.

I nod silently, a tears rolling down my cheek.

"I'm done. I can't do this anymore, bye, Sherlock." Grabbing my bag from next to the door, and hesitate.

I love him. I can't just... No, I'm done...I can't keep on like this, it's been a year and things are getting worse. It's over, I'm done.

"We're done, Sherlock... Our relationship is done." With that I leave the flat without another word.

The last piece of my heart is broken when I don't so much as hear one word from him as I slam his door behind me.

Lestrade~

"I was on a case." He attempts to defend himself.

"A case that involved sleeping with a co-worker?!" He's not getting away with it this time.

"I was undercover."

"And you slept with a co-worker... both times?" I raise an eyebrow. "What were their names again... Alex and Morgan?"

"Y/n, it was for a case."

"I'm not stupid, Greg."

"It was a case."

"I'm sure it was." I roll my eyes. "It's not like, I don't know, I work for Scotland Yard as well and know for a fact that you're on medical leave right now."

"That's not fair."

"No, none of this is fair." I seethe. "I swore to you that if you ever cheated it would be over, and I gave you a second chance; I'm sure as hell not giving you a third."

"No, please." He begs. "y/n, don't go."

"No, we're done." I turn away from him. "Get your act together, then talk to me."

I leave the man I love behind, but sometimes love isn't fair, and sometimes you have to leave to keep from losing your fucking mind.

Mycroft~

"You what?" He looks appalled.

"I extracted the information you wanted." Rolling my eyes, feeling like he's overreacting. "It was easy."

"I ordered you to stay away from that." His face darkens with rage.

"You can't order me around, we're a team... at least, that's what you said when had sex the first time."

"I am in charge, you work for me, I have the right to order you about when we're at work."

"You wouldn't get the information, so I did it, what's the big deal?"

"I have people who can do my bidding, you're not supposed to-"

"Do what I was trained for?" My tongue is sharp. "I was an assassin, and I swear to god, if you think I can't handle myself I will kick your ass across this room to prove to you I still can."

"You aren't an assassin anymore, for good reason." His face resets to it's default display... bitter-stoic-ness.

"Give me five good reasons." crossing my arms, I can't believe we're still having this conversation.

"One reason should be enough." He stands up, I follow suit. "The government decommissioned you."

"I may be one leg short, but I can still kill you." The loss of one of my legs on my last mission was unfortunate, but I'm still functional with a prosthetic leg.

"I'm aware, although, it would seem that this is over." He presses a button on his desk.

"What's over?" I'm upset and angry.

"Us." He answers as two men come in the room.

"What is this?!" I shout loudly.

"They retrieved the information, you may dispose of them now." Mycroft sits back down as the men grab me and drag me out of the room.

"You used me!"

"A fact of life, goodbye." Mycroft says as the doors click closed.

Irene Adler~

"Come to bed, sexy." I try to convince my beautiful woman to come to bed.

"Not tonight, I have a client waiting on me." She answers from the bathroom.

"Really?" My tone is of irritation. This is the third time this week. I'm getting sick of this, no, I am sick of this.

"Do you want to eat?"

"Eat you, yeah." I mutter.

"If I don't work, than we won't have any money."

"You're rich." I yell, she exits the bathroom wearing a bathrobe.

"And you're supposed to be going home."

"Yeah, I'm going home." In a huff, I get off of the bed. "I can't do this, Irene, I can't keep on like this, it's never about us anymore, it's always about the clients."

"What are you saying?" Tears fill her eyes.

"I'm breaking up with you." Grabbing my bag, I try to hide the tears also filling my eyes.

I ignore her desperate pleas for me to stay and leave her apartment, I can't keep living like this.

Why can't I convince myself that this is the right thing to do though?

Jim Moriarty~

"This is not okay." I growl. He wants me to agree to be tied to a chair, to be used as bait for Sherlock.

"Shh." He silences me. "It'll work."

"No, this obsession has gone to far, this isn't working."

"You can't leave me." He grabs my arm, squeezing tightly.

"I am, I'm leaving, this isn't working, maybe one day, but right now, we're taking a break." I jerk my arm from his grasp and leave, ignoring him calling after me to stay.

One week later... Sherlock is dead.

Moriarty is as well.

What have I done?

Molly Hooper~

"I love you!" She yells at me as I angrily back my bag.

"No, you love Sherlock." I spin on heel to glare at her. "You've been fawning over him since you found out he isn't dead, I'm not going to stand for it. I'm not a fuckin' second

choice."

"I was dating you when Sherlock was still alive."

"But you thought he was dead." Grab my bag, I close it. "You want him so bad, fine, you can have him. We're done."

"No, you can't go." She sobs.

"To late, you made your choice when you asked his out for coffee."

"It wasn't like that-"

"Save it." With that, I leave. I'm not a second choice.

John Watson~

"You didn't show up last night." I sigh as I sit with John on my couch.

"I was on a case with Sherlock." He explains. "I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you."

"Yesterday, John." Stressing the word, I try to remind his what yesterday was.

"What about yesterday?" He sounds confused.

"Oh, nothing." I stand up, tired of being second to my own boyfriend. "It's not like yesterday was important or anything."

"What?" He becomes even more confused.

"It was out bloody anniversary, John!" I yell at him, deeply hurt that he forgot our two year anniversary.

"y/n, I'm sorry." He doesn't exactly look it, since he's texting. "I need to go, love, Sherlock needs me."

"Fine, go, Sherlock has a wonderful boyfriend." I snap.

"That's not fair, he's not my boyfriend." John snaps back.

"I'm sick of being second to a psychopath!"

"He's a high functioning sociopath."

"There's no such thing, I'm done."

"What, no, you can't be." He sounds hurt.

"Out, get out." I open the front door and motion for him to leave. "Don't bother coming back, I'll send your stuff to you."

"y/n-"

"OUT!" I scream, causing him to leave.

High functioning sociopath my ass.

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840898/chapters/52123921#workskin

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johnwatsonblog-co-uk · 5 years

Text

The Empty Hearse

7th November

Well.

So yes.

You'll have seen the news.

(Click Here to Watch Video)

Where do I even begin?

As the trending hashtag says: #sherlocklives

Before we get to that, I hope you saw the other news. The pre-#sherlocklives news. The news that the police finally worked out that he was innocent. Everything I've said on this blog has been the truth and now everyone knows it. I just want to take a minute to thank those who commented on here saying that they still believed in him. It really helped.

So yes. He's come back from the dead. Of course he has. Of course Sherlock Bloody Holmes could come back from the dead.

Turns out he'd faked his death because Moriarty had threatened those close to him. Including me. He'd gone into hiding, happy to leave me and everyone else thinking he was dead. He'd done it to save us but he hadn't trusted us enough to tell us what was really going on. Not sure I'll ever truly forgive him for that but as the saying goes, life goes on.

He came back to London to foil a terrorist attack on the city. He came back to life only for us to nearly die. Again. It's all life or death with him. Nothing in-between.

I was out having dinner with my girlfriend when he sauntered back into my world. He was dressed as a waiter. BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY. He genuinely thought it would be funny to surprise me. I think he was more surprised when I nutted him. But let's not dwell on that because again, as the saying goes, life goes on.

Only, of course, he comes back into my life which means I find myself being attacked, kidnapped and stuck in a bonfire. We still don't know why that happened. It had nothing to do with the terrorist plot. It was terrifying though. One of the scariest moments of my life. Trapped. Unable to move. I could hardly breathe. And all I could hear were children! Singing and laughing like they were in a horror movie. Not knowing that I was trapped in the bonfire. And then someone set it alight and that was me gone. Just about. Sherlock and my girlfriend turned up in the nick of time and saved me. It was probably Sherlock himself. Set it all up just so he could save my life so I'd forgive him about what he did. Nah, I know it wasn't really.

At first, I didn't really welcome him back into my life. I couldn't. I mean I know he's a psychopath and I've accepted that but what he did this time, it was too much. So I ignored him and got on with my life. But God, it was dull. I knew he was back. I knew that he was out there having the time of his life and I was... working. But I wasn't going to give in. He even replaced me! I refused to go back to Baker Street so he replaced me with Molly Hooper and started solving cases while he worked on the terrorist thing.

But then the whole kidnapping/bonfire thing happened. And he saved my life, of course. And I went to say thanks and... I was hooked. He's like a drug. He told me about the terrorist plot and I was hooked. I had to help him.

He showed me this video of an Underground train leaving one station and arriving in another. Only the one passenger who'd been on the train had disappeared! Only then, he realised, it hadn't been the passenger. It had been a whole carriage! We investigated further and discovered that there was an old, disused station between the two stations.

Underneath the Houses of Parliament.

We made our way there only to discover that the carriage was empty! But then we found out why there wasn't a bomb in the carriage. The carriage itself was the bomb. Every seat, every inch of it was covered in explosives. And it was primed to go off just a few minutes later. It would have destroyed the Houses of Parliament and wiped out the government. And, obviously, it would have killed us. But Sherlock, the clever bastard, knew where the off switch was.

He saved our lives and he saved the country.

And, as you'll have also seen on the news, Lord Moran was arrested. Yup, the terrorist was the Minister for Overseas Development. You can't trust anyone these days, can you?

So that's it. Sherlock returns from the dead and we save the country. All in a day's work.

Oh, and in other news, I've got engaged. But, it's not something I'm really going to talk about much here. I want to keep some things private. I will say, though, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)

So, yes. It's all good. Better than good. It's bloody brilliant. #sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives.

30 comments

I see you haven't spent the last two years working on your writing technique.

Sherlock Holmes 7 November

Seriously? Don't make me come over there, Sherlock.

John Watson 7 November

My boys! Back together!

Mrs Hudson 7 November

THIS IS AMAZING NEWS!!!!!!!!!

theimprobableone 7 November

Mate! It really must be! You've used capital letters!

Mike Stamford 7 November

JUST THIS ONCE!!

theimprobableone 7 November

Glad you're okay.

Mike Stamford 7 November

You're getting married, Johnikins? Squeeeee!!!!

Stella and Ted 7 November

I knew Moriarty was a lie!

Dame Latif 7 November

No. Moriarty wasn't a lie. What he said was a lie.

Donna Staveley 7 November

What!!?! So he was real but what he said wasn't real? So I was right to believe in Sherlock? LOL I'm so confused!!!

Dame Latif 7 November

Yeah! Everything on this blog is real!

Donna Staveley 7 November

OR IS IT?

Anonymous 7 November

YES IT IS!

theimprobableone 7 November

Glad you're okay.

Mike Stamford 7 November

YES!!!!

Jacob Sowersby 7 November

It was a real honour to spend a day helping Sherlock. I'm not John though.

Molly Hooper 7 November

He said you were really good!

John Watson 7 November

Did he?

Molly Hooper 7 November

Yeah! Said you did an amazing job.

John Watson 7 November

That sounds like the kind of thing he would say :)

Molly Hooper 7 November

Not.

Molly Hooper 7 November

But thanks :)

Molly Hooper 7 November

I still can't believe it! The boys are back in town!

Mrs Hudson 8 November

I'm just glad you shaved off the moustache.

Mary Morstan 8 November

We aren't talking about the moustache.

John Watson 8 November

Oh, I think we should.

Sherlock Holmes 9 November

YOURE GRETTING MARROIDED!?!?!!?!?!

Harry Watson 9 November

Everyone's back! We all live!

Mike Stamford 9 November

What is this world I'm getting into...

Mary Morstan 9 November

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pennywaltzy · 4 years

Text

To Fight For The One You Love (5/? - A “Harmony” Story)

Yeah, I’m pretty sure this fic is going to be longer than 7.5K so it probably won’t be part of the WIPBB challenge, but still! It’s closer to getting finished! I hope @the-consulting-strange-vidder and @strangelock221b approve...

To Fight For The One You Love - Something is peculiar about his flatmate, Molly Hooper. In a new world where nearly everyone has a superhuman ability of some sort, Molly seems…different. And she arrives home early in the morning all beat up to Hell. What is she doing? Khan is determined to find out.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 5

They finished out the night at the tombs and then made it back to his home. They were both sore and even with their healing abilities, there was only so much it would do for soreness. He had a liniment that helped and he offered some to her when they got inside. “Do I need to take my top off?” she asked, giving him a grin.

“Yes, but that’s just when you need your back done. You can do the rest of it yourself,” he said. “I hope you’ll return the favour, though.”

“I’ll get your back if you get mine,” she said. “You know, that’s not a bad look on you. I mean, I like the suits and the casual wear around here, but...that’s a good look too.”

“You seem to have adopted the look as well,” he said, nodding to the now dirty white vest and camouflage cargo pants she wore. “It fits you, but I hope you never have to wear it again.”

“No, I said tonight was my last night and wouldn’t you know, I was replaced pretty quickly. I only worked part-time anyway, so there’s always people looking to do what I do and get in with the guilds. Too much danger doing it freelance.”

“Yes. There’s always the chance you can get lost in the tombs and not come back out,” he replied.

“Exactly. I’d hate to have to go in by myself.” She shuddered as she said that. “Not again.”

He blinked. “You’ve been in the tombs alone before?”

“Once, before I got in with the guilds. I was working with a scientist, Dr. Trasker, and we got lost looking for...something. He wouldn’t tell me what. This was about twenty years ago, though.”

“Before or after you stopped aging?”

She pursed her lips in an O shape and thought for a moment. “Before. I’ve never thought about it, though.”

“Have you seen Dr. Trasker in the twenty years since?”

“No. He was lost in the tombs. I just barely managed to get myself out. I blacked out for a bit, and...” She tilted her head. “Do you think he survived?”

“We don’t know much about the tombs or what’s in there. He could have gotten out another way or been lost forever. But this is something we need to look into.” He moved closer to her and gently touched her face. The burn marks had faded almost entirely and she leaned into his palm and pressed her hand to his. “We’ll find out tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she said. She had shut her eyes when she leaned into his palm, but now she looked at him. There was something in her eyes that made him feel as though he could take things one more step forward. He had been lonely for these centuries he’d been on Harmony. He had his ragtag family and was friends with his fellow augments, but companionship? Love? That was something he had denied himself for a long time.

But perhaps not any longer.

He stepped forward and captured her lips with his, not at all surprised when she reciprocated the kiss with a ferocity of someone who had been alone for a long time. They were different yet similar, and tonight, they would come together with a passion held away for the weeks she’d been staying with him.

She moved her hands to the hem of his shirt and then lifted it, leaving him bare-chested and covered in dirt from the tomb floors. Soon he reached for her vest and pulled it up, revealing some sort of athletic bra underneath. She saved him the trouble of pulling it off and tossed it to the side, and one her breasts touched his chest he tightened his grip around her and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and used the new position to control the kiss as he carried her to his room.

There may be need of a shower first before any more pleasurable activities took place, but at least tonight he wouldn’t need to relieve himself thinking of her naked and under him. Tonight she would be there with him in the shower, in his bed, and perhaps creeping her way into his heart as well.

#star trek aos #sherlock #khanolly #khan x molly #fanfic #fanfiction #Khan Noonien Singh #Molly Hooper #my au: harmony #multipart: to fight for the one you love

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andydona-chan · 5 years

Text

I was looking through my files because I need to delete some to get more space when I found the start of a fanfic that I started but didn’t quite remember it was there until now... I know for a fact it had to do with flowers and Sherlock trying to do a very elaborate delivery to provide Molly with some deadly but otherwise beautiful flowers, that actually got out of his hands at some point, I was even making a research to complete this, I guess too much life got in the way that I totally forgot.

Anyways, I feel like the least I can do is let you have this piece of a story that maybe someday I’ll finish (no dates promised yet), so enjoy...

There it was again, the sweet, sweet smell of flowers in the air.

Honestly, it was February’s first week and she worked at a hospital, she was sure there was a small shop in the lobby that had them for the patients, but the fact that there were also roses and tulips (etcetera, etcetera…) over the nurses and doctors desks was a sign that they were also receiving them, and in this time of the year it was most definitely not only from grateful patients but for Valentine’s day… Show-offs!

It was as if the universe plotted against her, happy couples here and there, flowers and chocolates, dramatic proposals (like that doctor who had been called to the ICU when she heard her boyfriend had had an accident, telling her that there had been blood, broken bones and little chance to survive, only to enter the corridor and find him safe and sound, but obviously on one knee and a shiny ring for her – he had bought flowers and brought music, but he wasn’t allowed to enter with them, it was the ICU!) and some ridiculous flirting and awful pick-up lines (honestly, she had made a note to knock before entering any supply closet these days).

To make it worse, the world outside wasn’t helping either, with all the candies, flowers, balloons, and all the shows in TV broadcasting romantic movies, it was almost impossible to see an end to this… nightmare!

However Molly Hooper knew she had the only thing in this world that could somehow make her forget about all the ‘silly stuff’ - as Sherlock would call it - going around, she worked at the morgue; nothing better than a good handful of corpses to keep Cupid and his stupid celebration away… and she also had Sherlock’s visits just to be safe.

Molly sighed, letting her shoulders drop at that thought, she didn’t really hate the festivities, it had been one of her favorites with Christmas and Halloween, but what was the point now, really? She had been single for some time now, no invitations from possible candidates, no real time to spend with friends (most of them were married, engaged or had children already), no sex… Really, celebrating Valentine’s day would make her feel like a hypocrite, not really having ‘the spirit’ or in the mood but pretending to be happy and joyful, it was just a waste of time.

Still she looked at the flowers, they were all beautiful of course, and the meaning behind each of them gave them magic somehow. She had bought flowers, she had also grown some in a flower pot, but she had never received them as a gift; well she had, from her father maybe, to celebrate her graduation and one time for her birthday, but never from a man. None of her boyfriends had ever invested on a single rose for her, not even Tom the day he had proposed, and that made her think that maybe she didn’t deserve them, that somehow she didn’t have the look of a flowers-kind-of-person. She could have told them, but it wouldn’t feel the right, it would feel as if she were asking for them instead of waiting to be surprised with them (it was actually a funny feeling, maybe not many would understand).

So, she had made a deal with herself to go straight to her lab and morgue every time she entered the building, no stopping to chat, greeting friends and colleges with a wave of her hand, not her usual ways but she could always pretend that she was hurrying up because of Sherlock.

Luckily he had been coming regularly, when he needed help with a case or just to check samples of whatever he was currently experimenting on, so she could use the excuse. There were still a few days until the dreaded date appeared on her calendar, so she tried to keep herself busy.

She was in the middle of finishing a report of an autopsy she had done a little ago when Mike entered the room and went towards her, with an apologetic look on his face that told her that certain Consulting Detective needed a favor and she had just been pulled into it. He had the worsts habits about this, always asking for things to be done or ready the moment he arrived, it was making her angry.

“Oh, God! What is it now?” she asked before Mike could say anything.

“I’m not really sure Molly, you know him better than me, all I know is that he had requested that we received some kind of samples and now a highly specialized botanic center had just called to inform me that the only way one can get those is by going there…” he lifted his hands in a calm way “I know what you’re going to say. I called him back and told him that, I was going to suggest another person to do the job, but he said that if someone had to go there then it had to be you and nobody else.” Mike sighed, obviously feeling sorry and a little guilty “Let’s be honest Molly if I refuse he would just call you, and if you refuse he’ll call his brother and eventually there’ll be a car outside waiting for you want it or not, here’s the data of the place”, he said placing a piece of paper on the table.

Molly smiled, knowing how true that was, they had gone through this countless times, and they knew how it was. So, resigning herself to the idea, she tried to see the bright side of it.

“A botanic center… Sounds good, I guess, I don’t go to places like that very often” she pictured herself walking through a big garden or a greenhouse, surrounded by nature, the lively green and the smell of a place like that. Mike seemed relieved to hear her say that. “Thank you, Mike, I’m going to call him and ask him to send a car anyway, don’t worry, at least I’ll be saving on transport today.”

Mike laughed at that, leaving the room when she started gathering her things to get ready, so once she left her work station in order and then picked up her things Molly made her way up to the entrance.

She had sent Mycroft a message, instead of Sherlock and she felt really pleased by that. It was time that he understood that things with her were not going to be that easy from now on.

Mycroft. Would it be much trouble if I ask you to send me a car to go to a botanical center? – Molly

It’s no trouble at all, Miss Hooper but I don’t work as a taxi service, so don’t expect me to this for you every time- M.H.

I know, sorry, Sherlock asked me to go but didn’t even say please. Molly

My brother tends to forget his manners when he’s in a hurry, have you contacted him? M.H.

Not yet, I was planning to tell him that I’m not actually going. I’m sure you know the routine. Molly

So then why are you requesting a car? Is it for practical reasons? M.H.

Well, I’m not really that happy to be ordered around all the time by him with things like this. So when he calls you, please tell him that things are not always going to be done the moment he asks for them, he’ll have to wait. I’ll contact him later anyway; just don’t tell him about any of this. Molly

Come on Mycroft, let him suffer a bit with frustration, she thought after sending that last one

You’re aware that this might be important (if he’s in a hurry for a case). However if my memory serves me well you are right, it might serve him as a lesson, I’ll play along with you Miss Hooper. A car will be waiting for you at the entrance; it’s at your service for the next 3 hours. M.H.

Thank you, Mycroft. J. Molly

She climbed onto the car that arrived a few seconds later and gave the driver the address of the place. She had never gone there and it was possible that it wasn’t open for the public, but she expected that her work ID would suffice.

It didn’t take long for the driver to stop in front of a building, and when she stepped outside she perceived again the smell of flowers, only this time in a completely different scenario. She made her way towards the entrance and entered the reception, smiling to a young woman that was behind a counter.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Hooper from Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital, I’m here to get some samples for Sherlock Holmes” she said, the woman who had been smiling welcoming at her finally sighed.

“Thank God you already arrived” the woman said, she was shorter than her by a few inches, her black hair was combed back in a low ponytail and she was a bit chubby, Molly thought she looked adorable. However, what she had said caught her attention as the woman actually told her to wait and picked up the phone on the counter. “Sam? A doctor from Saint Bart’s is here… Yes, she came for those samples. I knew it would make you happy to get rid of them… yeah, just be sure to give her everything she needs to avoid any problem she or anyone else could have. Aha, sure…” the woman ended the call and smiled at her. “My friend Sam will be here in a moment”

“Thank you” said Molly, slightly relieved by the quick service but a bit worried by how that short conversation had gone.

#sherlolly fanfiction #sherlolly #Sherlock Holmes #Molly Hooper #flowers #incomplete work #wish i had more time to write #sherlock

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dragonnan · 3 years

Text

Author Interview Tag

Tagged by @aelaer a week or two ago, thank you!

Name: Tanya (among family I'm Nan or Auntie Nanny)

Fandoms: Sherlock, MCU, Psych, Prodigal Son, and a goodly collection of others

Where you post: For a number of years I posted on FFN but between the really shitty reviews and extremely cumbersome posting process I finally quit. I posed on Psychfic while still an active part of that fandom but that, too, has pretty much ended. I put a few stories on Wattpad but found it to be pretty meh. I now post exclusively to AO3.

Most popular multi-chapter fic: It's a tossup between “Fury” on Psychfic and “All Nighter” on AO3 – one based on comments and the other on Kudos. Frankly “popularity” is really subjective because there's also stuff like read count and with comments, at least nearly half are replies from me and read count also includes re-reads as well as every time I clicked on the damn thing to edit so....

You know I'm just really not sure how to properly answer this??

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Like others have stated you can ask me this on three different days and get three different answers and there will be more than 1 fic mentioned every time so.... Because I write in different fandoms I just absolutely can't list a single fic. The best I can narrow it would a fic from my top 3 fandoms.

Psych: Paint it Black. I had read a fic where Shawn was gradually going blind and had really been enjoying it and the challenges it presented. Sadly it was never completed. As has happened before I decided I would write my own damn fic if I couldn't get a completed story so that was the primary motivation to start this. What I most love about this is writing from Shawn's perspective as he navigates being blind and not knowing whether or not his condition is permanent. I did my best to honor the experience of blind and partially blind people and tried to look beyond the cliché.

MCU: I have so much fun writing these stories! In spite of the dumpster fire the film canon became I do so love this sandbox and employing various forms of unfucking it. So I'm gonna cheat a little and pick two for my faves here since one is a WIP. Sed Diabolus. I don't need to have completed it yet to know this will be my all-time favorite. This is the first fic that has been entirely plotted out and OMG I'm so excited for iiiit!! The second is Simple Math which seems like an odd choice given there's zero action – mostly just one character – hell, not even any whump. But there is something about that deep dive into Tony's mindset that keeps this as a fave even though it was the first thing I ever wrote for the MCU. I learned about Tony as I wrote this and I also worked my way through those motivations that bothered me regarding Stane. Even years later I still mentally go back to this fic whenever I write Tony because I feel encapsulates the essence of how I see him as a character.

Sherlock: Compared to other fandoms I'm still quite new to this fandom so I don't have nearly as many fics. But I still have a favorite! And, like with the MCU, it's the first story I ever wrote for this fandom; The Tiger and the Shark. Returning to a plot device I've employed in other fics, this one is built around a sexual assault and taking the character on a journey from that terrible event to the point where they rediscover themselves. PTSD ever being my favorite form of whump I employ that fairly a lot in this story and employ some kinda radical methods for coping with those memories.

Fic you were nervous to post: I mean until I start getting comments I'm a world of anxiety with every story I post. But grabbing a specific fic that hit my nerves – that Sherlock fic I'd said was my fave certainly qualified. Not only was it my first Sherlock fic – it also was charging out of the gate with a very heavy topic so yeah – I wasn't sure if people would absolutely hate it or find my characterizations totally off or what.

How you choose your titles: It varies a bit. In some stories, like Sed Diabolus, I actually consult friends on various ideas. Other times I'll consider songs or lyrics and my favorite thing is if I can alter the known title just a bit to make it more relevant to the fic (I did that a LOT with Psych fics which was the method the show also employed for its episode titles). One of my favorite Psych titles is “The Wizard Was the Wicked Witch and the Scarecrow Lost His Courage”.

Do you outline: Almost never – not until “Sed Diabolus”. That story, though, is so astoundingly complex that without an outline I'd be hopelessly lost. I am, though, trying to make a practice of outlining more because it helps SO much!

Complete: If we count every one-shot collection and challenge collection it likely is over 200 stories. Of course a lot of those are one-shots. My total completed chaptered fics number maybe around 34?

In progress: 16 – between Psychfic and AO3. All Psych stories are on long-term hiatus for the foreseeable future (some, honestly, I will never finish as they are many many years old and I've lost the inspiration for the plot). Several MCU stories are also on the back-burner while I focus on “Sed Diabolus”. I admit I get LOTS of story ideas and staying focused on a single fic is not something I've ever been greatly successful with.

Coming soon/not yet started: I meaaaan.... lots?? I have probably several hundred ideas and partially started fics across many fandoms. As to “imminently coming soon...” I don't think I currently have an active story that I haven't already posted at least a first chapter. Sadly I have zero patience for developing something for months before posting which is why I have so many WIPs. That said I DO have a Sherlock au that has been poking at me now and then involving the witch trials that started in Denmark and, eventually, made their way to Salem. The idea would be that Molly Hooper is accused of being a witch. She, of course, is innocent but cause this unfortunate attention due to her “uncanny” ability to heal the sick and injured (not so much uncanny as opposed to employing methods that aren't so reliant on superstition and folklore).

She is scheduled to be tortured and executed but is saved by Sherlock – a strange recluse primarily ignored and given a pass as he solves mysteries for people. He and his friend John save Molly from this awful fate. The twist is that Sherlock is a sorcerer (bit of marvel crossover-ish) and able to transport them to safety.

Do you accept prompts: I wish I could cause I love ideas but I don't have the time/energy to always work on what I already have and I'm awful at follow thru. Like I will never turn away an Ask wanting to share ideas but I can't promise that I can actually write anything.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: As was the reply to a previous query – I have lots that are ideas that will linger in partial stages for sometimes years. If it's “upcoming” I've already posted the first chapter lol! But, again, I have several story ideas that whenever I poke through my folders I get excited about someday actually writing them. Here is a teaser for an MCU fic involving Tony Stark and Obie (I still feel this was never explored enough – certainly not in fic):

They were doing a retrospective, ten year anniversary kinda... whatever. Unofficial, of course. Certainly nothing Pepper would have dreamed up even at her most drunk (which, honestly, was never her scene. Tony had sorta owned that space well beyond the time it had started owning him). Whose idea it ultimately had been? Frankly Tony couldn't give a fuck. That he was asked to be one of the speakers was slightly more... awkward. Awkward was the right word, yeah? Nauseating was certainly another and possibly a bit more accurate.

Dead for a decade and Obadiah Stane still managed to fuck with his life.

But... it hadn't always been that way. At least, not as he'd believed back when the Walkman had been on every kid's Christmas list.

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time. His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school. No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions. “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy. Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride. He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there. The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet. Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark. For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday. That was the same time he was introduced to weed. Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair. The porn had made him uncomfortable. Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted. They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died. He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man. Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this. But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's shoulder. Obie had just slung an arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his bicep.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective. A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution while Obie talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized. He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so... tainted... at the time. Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes. He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

Upcoming story you are most excited about (this is basically a repeat of the above question so I decided to change it. Do you have a future story idea you'd like to write that is not yet beyond the vague idea stage? I love stories that put Molly in some sort of jeporady and I have a barely formed idea to someday write a “stalker fic” of some sort and not I don't care that this trope had been done on repeat – I still love it lol! I have a smidge of writing for it:

“I need your help.”

As afternoons at Baker Street went, this was a mundane request heard so often that Sherlock's typical reply, “Obviously, or you wouldn't be here”, could have been printed on flash cards. The detective had actually made the suggestion after a particularly full day at the flat and having heard the statement no less than twenty times.

Today, however, Sherlock merely blinked for a moment. Then, with an awkwardness rare to a man with a lethal sort of grace in his movements, Sherlock gestured to John's chair, JOHN'S CHAIR, before taking his usual seat.

Molly didn't exactly smile but her lips edged up a bit before she sat.

John cleared his throat before pointing a vague hand towards the kitchen. “I'll just go make some tea, shall I?”

“No, please, I...” The stammer in her speech was not uncommon; though John couldn't recall such obvious fear. Forgoing the kitchen he, instead, took the hard wooden chair facing the other two.

“Molly, what's wrong?”

Tagging: @kitcat992 @mizjoely @sgam76 @ariaadagio @hanuko @ceruleanmindpalace

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 5 years

Text

Old Crushes (John Watson x Reader OS)

Warnings: None as far as I know.

Summary: You work in a hospital in London after leaving the army for your sick mom, through one of your new friends you meet an old known friend.

word count: ~1758 _________

Your job as a doctor in Afghanistan, helping soldiers and the wounded, was your whole life. That was why you were shocked when you heard that your mother got sick. She already was an elderly lady, so you knew she hadn't much time left, so you decided to quit your job and move back to your childhood home, to take care of your mother. A few months later, she died and you inherited the small house and her stuff. Not wanting to sell it, you decided to stay in London and searched for a job. Now you worked as a doctor in the St Bartholomew's hospital, still helping people and you even managed to make some friends. You just got off your shift and waited in the changing room for one of the said friends: Molly from the morgue. She was super friendly and faster than you could watch, she was somewhat your best friend. Ten minutes later she came rushing into the room, almost steaming with anger. You looked up from your phone and raised an eyebrow. "That weird guy again?" you asked alluding at the guy who sometimes came over to the morgue to basically abuse the corpses. "Yes," she sighed and dropped onto the bench next to you, "He doesn't even appreciate, nor notice me." "Maybe you should ignore him until he starts to miss you," you notice and got back to your phone. "Mhm," she buzzed and started to change. When she was finished, the both of you left the hospital with linked arms and walked a few minutes to her favorite Café, talking about the job and stuff like that. You have only just arrived, sitting outside, under some cherry trees, and looked through the menu, when Molly's phone started rinning. You jokingly rolled your eyes, while she gave you an excusing smile and picked up. "Hello? Molly Hooper here." For a second her eyes lit up and you immediately knew that it was that Corpse-punch-guy she liked so much. As fast as her eyes had lit up, the got annoyed and you watched amused as she lowered her face into her palm and sight. It looked like she wanted to finally say him her opinion, but you knew that she wouldn't be able to convince herself to do so, so you decided to risk your friendship to help her. You pulled her phone out of her hand and raised it to my ear. "Hello, Mister. You may not know who I am, but I need you to know that Molly is tired of you using her and now I wanna enjoy our Lunch so thank you very much." Before the guy could answer you had hung up and gave the phone back to Molly, who's chin basically laid on the table. "Uhm...sorry," you said and shrugged a bit. "Are you kidding?" she said and you mentally prepared yourself to leave and search yourself a new job. "That was amazing!" That was not what you'd expected. "Wai- What?" "I wanted to do that for so long. You're so badass. Where did you get that?", she asked excitedly. "Well, I guess that's just a trait I acquired while I was in the Army. Soldiers can be hard to handle when you're a softie," you said lowering the menu and beckoned the waiter to you. You looked back at Molly who had eyes big as plates. "You- You've been in the army?" she asked. I chuckled. "Yeah. A few years in Afghanistan as a military doctor. I would still be doing it if my mom hadn't got sick." "Oh. I'm so sorry about that. But that you've been a doctor in Afghanistan is so crazy..." before she could finish the sentence the Waiter arrived at your table and the both of you ordered your Lunch and coffees. When he left again, both you and Molly had forgotten about the topic and started talking about Molly's boy-problems. "So. How's Corpse-guy called again?" you asked after your food has been brought and you poked your fork into the salad. "Sherlock Holmes," she said dreamily and frustrated at the same time. You looked up from your food again. "That Wannabee-detective? Who helps the police sometimes?" you asked having read about him on Tumblr. "Yes. But he's super intelligent. He's better than most detectives," she said protectively. "Well," you started, swinging your fork around in the air, "if he's so clever, why doesn't he notice your school-girl-crush on him?" "Oh...I think- No wait...It's," she tried to form a sentence, but stopped herself multiple times, before just closing her mouth. You chuckled again and took a bite of your salad. "See. Just because he's 'clever'," you made quotation marks with your fingers, "doesn't mean he has common sense." With that being said the both of you continued eating, only talking about unimportant stuff, but not in an uncomfortable way. Around five minutes later Molly's Phone rang again. "Should I take it?" you asked carefully. At first, Molly looked unsure but urged from the ringtone she slowly nodded. You picked the phone up and accepted the call. "Molly? I need your help in the morgue. Is your Lunch with your colleague over yet?" At first, you were surprised that he knew you were her colleague, but then you remembered what Molly had told you about him and just rolled your eyes. "Even though it's none of your business, no, our Lunch isn't over yet and even if: Molly's not your personal assistant. Just because you call, she doesn't jump. What do you have to say for an Excuse?" "Uhm..." he made and you rolled your eyes. "I thought so," you wanted to hang up, but his voice stopped you. "It's really important. I need her help for that. I can't do it without her," he said, a little less smug than before. For a second you stayed silent and thought. "Fine," you said through your clenched teeth, "we'll be there in ten minutes or so." Molly looked at you confused, but you just rolled your eyes, laid the money for the food onto the table and noticed Molly, to stand up. "If he doesn't really need you, I'll personally behead him," you muttered and walked (a little faster than usual) towards the Hospital with Molly in tow.

When you arrived at the hospital, you straight away went down to the morgue. If your break would be wasted because of this corpse-dude, you'd seriously consider going back to the army. Okay....maybe you were exaggerating a bit. At the door, you heard three male voices talking and two of them seemed vaguely familiar. One was surely Sherlock's, but you weren't able to assign the second familiar voice to someone. It was like smelling something and knowing you've smelled it before, but no matter how hard you try, you can't tell what it's reminding you off. Your hand laid on the handle, but you waited for Molly, who was running into your direction out of breath. "How," she took a few deep breaths, "can you have," more deep breaths, "such good, stamina?" "Army," you reminded her and pushed the door open. What awaited you behind the door, made your heart skip a beat. "John?" you asked unbelievingly. That was the voice you weren't able to connect. The voice of your former medicine trainer in Afghanistan and crush. "(Y/N)?" he asked just as surprised as you. For a few seconds, all of you stood there in silence. You and John staring at each other and everyone else looking around between the both of you. A cough got you out of your freeze-moment and you looked at the guy who got you out of the moment. "Hello, my name is Inspector Greg Lestrade," he introduced himself to you and you shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Dr. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." The uncomfortable silence came back and you begged to whoever god existed, that he'd save you. "Well, since you and John obviously know each other from your time in the army, and the both of you still seem to have high-school crushes on each other, I'd say that Miss Hooper, George and I inspect the corpses and the both of you... kiss or something." You swear you looked like a tomato and you wanted to fall into an infinity deep hole and never come back. "Sherlock!" John loudly hissed, but grabbed your hand and pulled you after him out of the room. None of you said a word until you sat at a table in the cafeteria. "Sorry about Sherlock. He does simple not think before he speaks," John said, trying to lose the mood a bit. "It's...okay," you said, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, "It's nice to see you again. The last thing I heard was that you got wounded," you said looking down at your hands. "Yeah, but I'm fine now. What brought you to London?" "I work here," you said, but when you saw John's confused look you explained, "I grew up here and a few months ago my mother got sick, so I moved back in with her and cared for her until she sadly died," you took a few deep breaths, trying to restrain yourself from getting too emotional, until you felt a hand on yours. You looked up to see John smiling at you. "I'm really sorry for your loss. She must've been an amazing person. She raised such a kind and beautiful woman," you blushed again at his compliment and stuttered a bit, but then decided to change the topic. "How comes that the Wannabee thinks you have a crush on me," you nervously chuckled, hoping he wouldn't notice, that you didn't decline the fact that you had a crush on him. "You mean Sherlock? Uhm, well," he scratched the back of his neck, "Maybe, uhm, because I told him. Well, I didn't think he'd listen, but...well." Your eyes widened and you thought you had misheard him. "What?" He seemed to realize what he just said and quickly shook his head, "That's..that's not what I meant. Well, I did, but I didn't- You shouldn't have..." "I liked you too," you interrupted him, " well, when we worked together. I really liked you...and I think I still do." "Really?" he asked confused. "Yes," you nodded. "Does that mean you'd go out for a coffee with me?" he asked. "Yes." "Fantastic..." The both of you exchanged numbers and made plans for coffee and you couldn't help but notice the smug grin on both Molly's and Sherlock's face (even though Molly's looked happier) when you came back down to the morgue.

#Sherlock #John Watson #Sherlock holmes #Molly Hooper #greg lestrade #John Watson x reader #John x reader #Watson x reader #st. bartholomew's hospital #bbc

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strangelock221b · 5 years

Text

A McMolly Valentine’s Day ficlet

for @afteriwake in honor of @mollyappreciationweek

Mr. Anti-Romance No More (also on AO3)

(cut because it’s long)

Leonard McCoy turned off the television in disgust. Another Valentine’s Day ad. As if men weren’t pressured enough to buy their wife, girlfriend, whatever Christmas presents, they’re pressured even more two months later. “At least give us time for our bank accounts to recover,” he muttered. “Then there’s the sappy movies.” He looked up as Molly Hooper, his best friend, walked into 221B’s sitting room from the kitchen.

“Just be thankful that Sherlock doesn’t get The Hallmark Channel,” she said, smirking, as she gave him his tea then sat down across from him at the table.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “endless rom-coms would be too much. Not that Holmes watches those.”

“Actually, he does,” Molly said, grinning, then took a sip of her tea. “He thinks they give him invaluable insight into relationships.”

Leonard stared at her. “Seriously?” At her nod, he added, “He never does it when I’m around.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want to make you moodier than usual, Mr. Anti-Romance. He saves them for when he uses my place as a bolt-hole.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not that I hate romance, it’s just…” He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

“You were burnt once before, so of course that makes you wary,” she said sympathetically. “Plus, you don’t like feeling pressured into expressing your feelings through buying things.”

“On the nose, darlin’,” he said, grinning. “I’m not the Valentine’s Grinch, I’m just-”

“Grumpy?” Molly suggested, grinning cheekily.

Leonard had a sudden urge to kiss the dimples on her cheeks but he held himself back just in time. She’s not interested in me, just my flatmate. “Something like that.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met your sweetheart yet,” she said, smiling softly. “I can easily see you dancing with her in the middle of the kitchen for no reason at all, making her breakfast in bed, and being the world’s best pillow.”

He caught a wistful look on her face but he assumed that’s what she wanted Sherlock to do with her. “Maybe,” he muttered.

Two weeks later, it was the morning of the dreaded day and Leonard found himself at Bart’s at Holmes’ insistence. After not finding Molly in the morgue, he went up to the path lab then found her in her tiny office.

Her, two dozen plump red roses, a big box of chocolates, and a dark brown teddy bear he suspected was made with faux mink fur. The annoyance he’d felt for weeks tripled. “I see Holmes struck early,” he muttered.

Molly looked up from her paperwork, a confused scowl marring her pretty face. “What? I haven’t seen Sherlock in a couple of days. Good morning, by the way.”

He waved away her attempt to get him to be polite. “Then he had them delivered.”

She looked at him then at the gifts he was glaring at. “What, you mean these? Leonard, I bought these myself.”

“What?” he asked, just as confused as she had been.

Molly shrugged. “I’m usually single on Valentine’s Day. I got tired of being the only woman working here that never got anything, so I started buying myself gifts three years ago. I don’t pretend they’re from a secret admirer or anything like that. A few coworkers have told me they’re jealous since I don’t have to worry about receiving something I won’t like.”

“Oh,” he muttered, feeling foolish. “Yeah, Sherlock’s not the hearts-and-flowers type. I assume you’re seeing him tonight.”

“Only if he comes by to check on his experiments before my shift’s over.” She tilted her head slightly, regarding him. “Leonard … Sherlock’s not my boyfriend.”

“Of course he is. You’re crazy about him. John said you’ve been in love with the guy for years.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “John’s not the most observant person – my crush on Sherlock ended years ago. We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, he pulled out his cell then brought up Sherlock’s latest text. “Holmes wants you to check Mr. Hatfield for takotsubo cardiomyopathy.”

She grinned. “That’s not necessary – I think you’ll be fine now.”

“What?” he asked, even more confused than before.

Molly giggled. “‘Mr. Hatfield’ is our code name for you, in case you ever sneak a peek at our mobiles. ‘Takotsubo cardiomyopathy’ is another name for ‘broken heart syndrome.’” She stood up then approached him, smiling happily. “Now that you know I’m single, all I have to do is tell you I love you and your broken heart will be cured.”

Leonard’s face broke into a rare full-blown smile as he wrapped his arms around her. “Is that so? Well, let me have it, darlin’.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist then stood on her tiptoes to murmur in his ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Molly,” he murmured just before he kissed her softly.

#molly appreciation week #writing #molly hooper #leonard bones mccoy #mcmolly

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the-consulting-strange-vidder · 6 years

Note

4 word prompt - "I don't want this"

He didn’t know what was more annoying. That no matter how hard he tried, it looked like he wouldn’t be able to hide his true feelings for Molly Hooper for much longer? Or that since he accidentally revealed them to one Mary Watson she wouldn’t stop trying to push him around until he confessed said true feelings to the object of his affections?

That particular day he leaned more towards the latter. They were at Baker Street, him trying to focus on his violin, her keep pestering him about his relationship with Molly Hooper. Why? Why couldn’t she just let him be, why?

‘‘Because you’re my friend and i love you and i want you to be happy.’‘ said Mary. Wait did he said that out loud? He left a deep sigh.

‘‘I know that Mary and i really appreciate it, but please just let it go okay? It’s not gonna happen.’‘

‘‘Why the hell not?’‘ she insisted.

‘‘For so many reasons. The main one is that i can’t bear the thought of someone hurting Molly to get to me. And don’t even get me started in how much i don’t deserve her.’‘

‘‘Yes you do.’‘ said Mary. ‘‘And don’t even think to continue disagreeing with me or i’ll shoot you again.’‘

‘‘Really? You’re going to keep using that threat for me to do your bidding?’‘ he smirked.

‘‘Yes i will.’‘ she smirked back. ‘‘And you will listen to me. You will go and tell Molly you’re in love with her.’’

‘‘And how exactly do you suggest i should do it? Do i go to the morgue for a case and after i ask her to text me with her results i’m all like ‘‘Oh and by the way Molly, i’m in love with you’‘?’’ he said and moved to the kitchen.

‘’Or do i tell her here when we are doing experiments together here in my kitchen? ‘‘Hey Molly do you remember that phone call that almost ruined our friendship? Well guess what? I meant the i love you. In fact i didn’t just meant it, i’m madly in love with you’‘?’’ he continued to ramble and pacing back and forth to the kitchen, not noticing that Mary’s attention had turned somewhere else.

‘’Or maybe i should write it in the skyline, hmm? ‘‘Sherlock Holmes + Molly Hooper = L.F.E.’‘ What do you think Mary? Will that will be enough to convince Molly to give me a chance to make her happy and put her life constantly at risk with all the enemies i make in my choice of proffesion? Will it?’‘ he finished and turned to look at Mary, finally noticing her expression and her line of sight. She wasn’t looking at him anymore but at someone else.

Suddenly Sherlock felt his stomach starting to turn into knots. He forced himself to move forward into his living room desperately hoping that what he thought was happening wasn’t really happening. Up until the moment he stepped into the living room he had kept his eyes upon Mary. It took him a couple of seconds before following her line of sight. Oh he was so wrong in hoping that the one person that he really hoped it wasn’t there, was in fact the one who he deep down knew that it was.

Molly Hooper, standing near the door, looking between Sherlock and Mary in shock. Sherlock couldn’t react for several very long seconds. Eventually he turned to Mary as something clicked to him.

‘‘You did this on purpose. You called Molly here and started talking about her and i only minutes before she arrives, and you kept insisting for me to talk about it when i told you that i don’t want this. So what do you expect will happen now Mary? Molly and i will confess our feelings about each other, share a true love’s kiss and we’ll run of into the sunset upon my white horse?’‘

Mary smirked at him - oh that woman’s nerve how he hated it and loved it at the same time in that moment -, and that smirk told him that he was right.

‘‘Yeah pretty much.’‘ she confirmed. ‘‘Well, i did my duty as a friend. Now if you’ll excuse me i have an infant to save from his adorable but clueless father. I’ll see you both later my darlings.’‘ she said and left without any regrets for leaving Sherlock behind to deal with the aftermath of her plan.

Hearing Mary going down the stairs and the door closing behind her, Sherlock released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. Maybe that’s why he was feeling dizzy all this time and not because of Molly. As he thought of that he looked at her and saw that she was staring at him. Yeah, nope. He felt dizzy again so it was definitely because of Molly.

He putted his hands in his pockets and moved akwardly towards her, suddenly remembering the day he asked her to solve crimes with him. His own bizarre version of a date if he was honest, until he saw the ring decorating her finger. She didn’t had that ring anymore. She had broke off the engangement, finally realising how beneath her that Meat Dagger dude really was.

He stopped in front of her and tried to speak but he couldn’t form words out of a sudden. But as it turned out he didn’t need them after all. Molly was keep looking at him and he knew that she was deducing him. No one else could read him like Molly, not even Mycroft or Eurus. Mary was a close second but it wasn’t the same as Molly. For her Sherlock was like an open book. He tried to feel ashamed of it but he couldn’t. He only felt relieved about it. That someone else could see him so well and not running away screaming by what they saw inside him.

Molly lifted her hand and caressed tenderly and slowly his cheek. He bend his head and rested it in her forehead, his hands at her waist bringing her closer to him, Molly standing on her toes so she could put both her hands around his neck. They stood there, in each others arms for several moments.

Later that night, as Sherlock layed in his bed with a sleeping Molly in his arms, he decided that next time he would see Mary, he would give her a big hug and a kiss in her cheek and an offer to babysit Rosie for a weekend along with Molly. It was the very least he could do.

#sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #sherlock x molly #sherlolly #mary watson #sherlock x mary #sherlolly fanfiction #ship: sherlolly #ship: marylock #otp: you can see me #brotp/otp: that's my girl #marcceh #my otp's #my fics

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geekmama · 6 years

Text

Dream Baby Ch. 3: Tit for Tat

In which John Watson has the last laugh...

With thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for editing, feedback, and saving me from a fairly egregious error in continuity...

“Aaaaah! This is the life,” said John Watson as he eased onto the sun lounger, close beside that of his traveling companion -- or, really, one of his four traveling companions.

Cate Rushbury smiled in agreement, but didn’t otherwise move, not even to lower her sunglasses.

She might look relaxed, but appearances were deceptive and he knew Cate was keeping an eagle eye on the children.

Cate’s ten-year-old Jenny seemed to be taking good care of the toddlers, though. Two-year-old Jack Rushbury and John’s own darling Rosie shrieked with laughter as the edges of the cool, foamy waves caught their bare toes, while a half-finished sand castle stood waiting a few feet away, beside the enormous Finding Nemo beach towel that served as picnic, play, and nap venue. A green and white striped umbrella stuck in the sand provided shade for one side of the area, and its twin protected Cate and John from too much exposure to the tropical sun.

John reached over to take up his second fruity rummy concoction of the day. He said to Cate, “I feel a toast coming on.”

“Excellent.” Cate took her eye off the children long enough fetch her own tall, fruit-trimmed glass. “Fire away, Dr. Watson.”

“I may have done this one before, but it’s a good one. To new friends and unexpected holidays.”

“Hear, hear!”

Glasses were raised and cooling sips taken.

But then Cate added, “And to Mycroft Holmes, too. The man behind all this…” Cate waved a hand in a gesture encompassing sea and sand, green grass and waving palms, and their children’s simple delight.

John raised a brow, but agreed after only a moment’s hesitation. “Alright. To Mycroft. May he continue to be less of an arse and more human than one would have thought possible.”

“Amen,” Cate agreed, with great solemnity.

John would have chuckled, but knowledge of Cate’s situation kept his expression to a slight, crooked smile. Two months ago he’d known her only as Jack’s mother, just another parent with whom he had a nodding acquaintance at the nursery. But that was before Sherrinford, and before Cate’s husband, a top MI6 agent, met an untimely demise.

The one event had nothing to do with the other, of course. But Mycroft, who’d known the now deceased Rushbury, and was, of course, aware that the dead man’s son and John’s Rosie were mates at the Westford Little Becomers Academy, had actually uttered the words “kill two birds with one stone” when he’d suggested that John, Cate, and the children would benefit from a complete change of scenery at government expense. Then he’d actually coloured up with mortification at his use of such singularly inept phraseology and explained the details of the plan with much more care and consideration.

Sherrinford really had thrown Mycroft off his stride, John thought at the time. Lady Smallwood and Mycroft’s PA Anthea were both doing their best to provide stability and comfort in the difficult aftermath, but John was strongly of the opinion that Mycroft himself stood in decided need of a Tahitian holiday.

Not that that would ever happen.

In any event, both John and Cate had been told in separate interviews that they would each be doing the British Government an enormous favor in accompanying the other on holiday. There was a 97.8% probability that they and the children would quickly mesh as a quasi-family unit (and how Mycroft had come up with that number John didn’t want to know), and they would doubtless return to London quite refreshed and ready to take up the reins of their lives with renewed energy.

That 97.8% probability had certainly come to pass, and not only because of the inevitable exigencies and the cooperation needed when traveling halfway round the world with three children. True, Jenny was ten and quite mature for her age, but Rosie and Jack were infants. However, after everything that had happened in the last year, Cate and John agreed that this new adventure seemed small potatoes. They would get through it, and be better for the experience. And so it proved.

He and Cate were friends, not lovers, which made the whole thing much easier. Neither of them was ready for a new, serious relationship. But it turned out they did have a lot in common, and the areas where they differed seemed potentially complementary. Certainly young Jenny was encouraging the two of them to go off to dinner and enjoy the moonlit nights after Jack and Rosie were settled in their beds at night, but girls were like that, seeing romance around every corner. Not that Cate wasn’t pretty, small and slim, with wide green eyes, neatly cut copper curls, and a scattering of freckles. And not that she hadn’t shown signs of appreciating John’s appearance, too – he was a little greyer, maybe, than he’d been at his wedding, but he’d lost those seven pounds Sherlock had accused him of putting on, and he’d taken care to keep himself fit even after Mary… well.

He looked over at Cate now. She was quite different from Mary (Oh, Mary! My darling torment…), yet she, too, had a strength about her, and a calm way of dealing with whatever came up. And a sense of humor. It was coming out, now that they were feeling more settled in this strange, delightful place.

Two weeks down, and two to go.

Going back to London would be a culture shock and no mistake.

Which reminded him…

“Ah! I see you got your phone charged,” Cate said with a grin as John retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his beach jacket.

“Yeah. Haven’t missed it, but it won’t hurt to check and see if anything’s been going on.” He pressed the button and the phone began to boot up. “They know they can send anything really important through the front desk of the resort.”

“Yes,” Cate agreed, and took another sip of her drink. She leaned back, her eyes on the children again.

But a minute or so later, John’s brows rose. “Sherlock called. Two days ago. And left a voicemail!”

“Really?” Cate said in surprise. “I thought you said he never calls, just sends texts.”

“He doesn’t call unless it’s bloody urgent.” John quickly accessed his voicemail as a shiver went down his spine. His worry deepened as the message came on, but gradually cleared and finally he had to exclaim, “I’ll be damned!”

“What is it?” Cate demanded.

“It seems… no wait, I’ll just let you hear it,” John said, and putting the phone on speaker he hit play again.

John! I suppose you’ve turned your phone off. Very irresponsible of you. What if there were some emergency? Well, we’ll speak of that later. I just called… that is, I just wanted you to know that I will be… that Molly… that I… um… we’re getting married. Lestrade suggested I should let you know right away, and indeed, he is the only person who knows – though I daresay Mrs. Hudson has guessed. And possibly Mycroft, you know what he is. In any case, Molly has made me the happiest man in the world, as the saying goes, and we’re off to shop for an engagement ring after brunch – and after this murder investigation Lestrade’s conducting. John Steed, murder made to look like suicide – I’ll give you the details when you return. I… I was going to suggest that, as Best Man, you begin making some plans, but… well, I do trust… that is… let me know if you would be willing… to… ah… In any case… enjoy your time away. Text me. If you like. Or call! It would be good to hear your voice.”

Cate had tipped her glasses down her nose and was staring at John by the time this convoluted and, finally, somewhat wistful voicemail had come to an end. “So… he’s marrying Dr. Hooper? I met her, you know. When she came to the nursery, once, to pick up Rosie. I take it from your expression that this is something of a surprise?”

“Yeah. I mean… it’s not entirely unexpected… they’ve known each other a long time. She’s his pathologist at Barts.”

Cate gaped a bit. “He has his own pathologist?”

“Basically, yes, that’s the situation. She does him favors, has done since they first met, years ago. She fell head over ears for him back then, and never really recovered, though God knows he gave her plenty of time and opportunity – he can be a real berk, to put it mildly. But her unrequited love for Sherlock is practically a Barts tradition. Probably has its own exhibit in the museum by now.”

Cate laughed. “Poor little pathologist! But now… apparently it’s not unrequited?”

“Apparently not,” John mused. “You know, Mary thought… that was one reason she wanted them both to be Rosie’s godparents. Along with Mrs. Hudson – Sherlock’s landlady.”

“Yes, I’ve met her as well. And her Aston Martin.”

John grinned, but went on, “Nothing came of it, though. Being co-godparents. Or so it seemed. Sherlock, for all he’s the smartest man in the room, is pretty slow in some areas. But then… well… there was this incident between them. During the… ah… Sherrinford thing. Can’t really give you the details. Sherlock would murder me, and maybe you, too -- with Molly’s assistance.”

“I see.” Cate looked quizzical.

“Do you really?”

“No.”

John laughed. “It is what it is. But now I suppose I’d better call him back. Wish him happy and all that. And tell him I will be his Best Man.”

“Yes, from the sound of it he’s probably been anxiously awaiting your reply. When did he call?”

“Two days ago.” He looked up the exact time. “Or, hang on, two nights. It was two in the morning here when he called!”

Cate smiled. “From what I’ve gathered, he can be a bit scattered? Probably had no idea.”

“Sherlock? Oh, no. That’s the sort of thing he would know.” John considered, his eyes narrowing. “Would’ve been pleased as punch to have awakened me at two in the morning – not to mention you and the kids. Bastard.”

“John!” Cate sounded shocked.

“Well, he is! Or can be, even now. I mean, he’s a lot better than he used to be. But still…” An idea occurred. “What time is it right now in London?”

“They’re ten hours ahead? Or is it eleven?”

“So two or three in the morning!”

“John, you’re not going to call him now!”

“Oh yes I am.” He hit Return Call.

“You might be waking Dr. Hooper, too,” Cate pointed out. “And it’s even possible they’re … in the middle of something.”

“Oh, yeah!” John gave an evil chuckle. “All the better. And it serves her right for agreeing to marry him.” The phone in distant London began to ring and John, the enormity of the occasion really sinking in, said to his now resigned and even amused companion, “Tell you what, this’ll be worth every penny of the roaming charges! Every bloody penny!” And then the call was connected, a sleepy voice muttered something unintelligible from half a world away, and John, grinning, shouted with hearty cheer, “Hello, Sherlock!”

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly

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your-loss-would-break-my-heart · 6 years

Text

Trying to save you from yourself (Part 1)

in which Sherlock goes missing and his brother has to go find him

Mycroft was half-asleep, looking at top secret CIA files and finding places to store the important information in his mind palace. Next to the current files, he also had a stack from the Russian secret service and some documents from Italy's and Taiwan's government. And a newspaper he would read when he was done. Mycroft loved newspapers, because they gave him insight to what the public thought. He always knew that if he couldn't see a fault in an article, he didn't have enough knowledge of the occurence.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a "Mr. Holmes, it's Anthea. Can I come in?" Mycroft quickly stored the last few facts, then threw all the secret documents in his desk drawer. "Yes." Anthea came in and closed the door behind her. She looked a bit worried, but not scared. Obviously whatever she had to say was important, maybe even nationally so. "The video surveillance people asked to meet you immediatly.", she said, "I have no idea what is going on, but they said it's 'of personal interest and significance'." Sherlock. He was the only person under surveillance who fit that description. And if he did something significant enough to make the department call for an immediat meeting, then... "Anthea, I'm going to need you to reschedule my afternoon tea with the prime minister. Set it to Thursday, 4 o'clock." Anthea nodded and stepped outside of the room. Mycroft quickly checked if everything was safe, then grabbed his umbrella and made his way to the surveillance building.

"What is it?", he asked, slightly out of breath. "We've lost him, sir.", one of them said, "We haven't seen him leave the house in the last two weeks." "Are you sure he's left the house at all? Have you spoken to the landlord?" Mycroft's voice was sharp. For goodness' sake, he thought, I need to hire some better people for this job. But then again, these are all people who won't be much of a problem, even if they end up spilling secrets. Others might behave differently. "Yes, I have.", a woman behind him on a desk said, "Sherlock Holmes no longer lives in Montague Street. The landlord kicked him out." This was news to Mycroft. He had obviously known his brother couldn't keep living there for long and even let his connections play to find a better suited place. But he wasn't aware that it already happened. "And why,", he said in a threatening tone, "Am I only hearing about this now?" Everyone shrugged. "We're sorry, sir.", the one guy said, "We kind of thought you knew already." "Yeah,", the woman added, "You told us yourself that he would get kicked out." "But that doesn't mean I know the exact date when!", he groaned in frustration. The team just looked at him. There was no guilt in their faces, only light amusement. Mycroft definitely had to hire some better people. People who valued their jobs, and who were even slightly concerned by his power in the british government. "Alright,", he said, "I'm going to give you a list of my brother's hiding spots in London. If you find him, contact me immediatly. If he's not at any of these places, contact me immediatly. Do you understand?" They mumbled words of affirmation, and Mycroft wrote down a list of Sherlock's weird hide-outs, directly on someone's game of sinking ships. Then, he left the room again. This time, if things were as he thought, he would have to do the detested legwork by himself.

As soon as he walked out of the building into the pouring rain and opened his umbrella, he called the police. "Hello, Detective Inspector.", he said. Lestrade greeted him with slight worry in his voice. So there were people intimidated by him after all. "I would like to inquire: when was the last time my brother helped you with a case and consequently, when was the last time you've seen him?" Lestrade answered that it was over a month now and that he had sent Sherlock a message asking for help recently, but haven't gotten a response. "I thought he was maybe just uninterested,", he said, "But now that you're calling, I'm pretty worried about him. Can I help you with anything?" Lestrade is a peculiar fellow, Mycroft thought, how in the world can a policeman care for my brother when he has always treated the police force so poorly? "I'm worried too,", he admitted, "But I would rather not get authorities involved." "I didn't mean that- I mean I could help you as a friend." "Oh." Now he didn't really know how to respond to that. He didn't need a civilian out there searching through all of London, but he was sure there was sentiment involved in this offer and if he were to decline, it would have a negative effect. And maybe he did have a job for him to do... "If I send you a list of drug dealers known to governmential surveillance, can you question them? I'm certain at least one of them has had contact to my brother, and their information might be extremely helpful." Lestrade took a second. "So you're telling me that you have a list of drug dealers?", he asked, "And you've been sleeping on that?" Mycroft sighed. "Yes, and I will ask you not to arrest them. As a matter of fact, they are the least dangerous ones we know about and it would be a shame if they got taken away and replaced by their more power-hungry fellows." As so often, Lestrade was dumbfounded. "And here I thought drugs were illegal.", he mumbled. "They are." "I know, but-" This time, Mycroft cut him off. He didn't have time for banter like this, he didn't have time to talk to Lestrade at all. "We can discuss this later. For now, will you help me question these people or not?" I might come off as harsh, he thought to himself, but the situation really is dire. "'Course,", Lestrade said, "I'll help you find Sherlock. I mean he's my friend." "Excellent." He ended the call and quickly sent the aforementioned list per text. Not particulary safe, but he didn't have time to dictate it.

He'd been walking while on the phone, and was now at his first destination; St. Bartholomew's Hospital and Medical College. He entered and closed his umbrella, then made his way to the morgue. The corridors showed no signs of Sherlock's presence, but then again, they were frequently cleaned. The only thing Mycroft could make out was that a group of students went this way, and before them the employees. He recognized Dr. Hooper's footprints along them, but couldn't see Stamford's. Wednesday was probably his free day. Well, at least Dr. Hooper was present.

"Excuse me, sir, are you searching for anything?", a young woman asked. Finally, Mycroft thought. "Yes. I'm from the police,", he lied and handed the helpful lady his (quite fake) police license, "I would like to speak to Doctor Molly Hooper." She looked confused, giving the license back. "O-okay, but can I ask why?" Mycroft smiled at her, hoping that it would come off as friendly and not arrogant. "Certainly not,", he said, "But let me assure you that your coworker is in no trouble herself. I only have to ask her when she has last seen someone." Now the lady looked worried. "Oh- I hope it's nothing bad, geez. I'll get her, wait here a second." She was gone and Mycroft was on his own again. The morgue made him uncomfortable, but he didn't bother acknowledging it. After all, who likes being around dead people? Except his brother. And all these people working here, who were desensitized to no end. He checked his phone, but there weren't any messages from Lestrade or the surveillance. He sent Anthea a quick text, telling her to get a car. If Dr. Hooper didn't know anything, he'd have to ask Stamford, or find a way into his brother's network of homeless people. He hoped it wouldn't come to the latter.

About five minutes later, Dr. Hooper came around the corner, all her movements frantic. Mycroft suspected she was going to have a panic attack. "Doctor Hooper,", he greeted, trying to be the least threatening he could be, "Thank you for coming here so quickly. I'm sorry to disturb you at work, but I'll have to ask you some questions." She scanned him and Mycroft could almost hear the millions of sudden thoughts racing through her brain. He could see that she was worried to no end, despite not being sure who this was about. She was looking for a policeman and Mycroft's greeting confused her, because he looked nothing like someone who would interview witnesses for Scotland Yard. Furthermore, there was a bit of disappointment. She thought that for something so personal, the police would at least send someone she knew. And lastly, there was that nervousness of not at all knowing what she had to do. She'd obviously been part of police investigations before, but always as a medical professional, never as a witness. "Y-yeah, sure.", she stuttered, "Who is this about?"

"Sherlock Holmes.", Mycroft said. She gasped and the worry in her eyes deepened. "What about him?" "He's missing." "Missing?", she asked, "Who reported him as missing?" "That is not your concern." She blinked in confusion. "Sorry, I know, but... he's Sherlock Holmes, isn't he? He's always missing until he comes in again. No one knows where he spends his time, especially now that he's homeless." Mycroft didn't expect that. To his knowledge, Dr. Hooper was the closest to a personal assistant his brother had, and it was odd that he wouldn't inform her on his presence or absence, especially because he often collaborated on projects with her. "So... you don't know about his current whereabouts?" She shook her head. "No, not really. I don't think anyone knows. To be honest, I don't think even the police could find him if he really wanted to stay hidden. Did Scotland Yard not tell you about him?" At this rate, Mycroft couldn't keep asking. She obviously knew nothing, and had grown a bit suspicious. He probably should let her know he wasn't with the police, otherwise she would ask them questions they wouldn't know how to answer.

"Sherlock Holmes is correct when he says the police are idiots.", he stated, lowering his voice and trying to be a bit more intimidating than before, "I would never consult them." That was true, he didn't want to get authorities involved. His brother was probably not doing things within the law. Dr. Hooper looked really confused now, so Mycroft decided to keep talking before she could form a sentence. "No, my interest in finding Sherlock Holmes comes from a... personal grievance." Personal grievance as in 'he ran away and now I have to run after him because I'm his brother and apparently also his babysitter', but personal grievance nonetheless. Dr. Hooper came to a different conclusion though. "So he's- he's hiding from you?" Good enough. "Possibly." But if this is only an eleborate game of hide and seek, I'd be enourmously relieved and angry to no end, he thought. "Who are you?!" Her voice trembled between irritation and the realization that if Sherlock was hiding from him, he really must be dangerous. "Someone who's concerned about him,", he said. This was completely true, but it was always funny to see how twisted this statement became when it reached the other person's mind. Dr. Hooper looked more angry than scared now.

"I'll let you know,", she said, "That there are security cameras here and if I'm not able to report you to the police myself, then the recordings are enough to send them your way." Wow. This was the first (not high or drunk) one to threaten him. He couldn't say if she was immensily stupid or if that was just sentiment speaking, but it didn't matter anyway. He looked around very slowly, so that Dr. Hooper could follow him. He'd chosen a place where there were two conveniently placed security cameras. Both were obviously turned the other way and not moving at all. She gasped a little. Mycroft found it odd that she hadn't noticed before, given that these cameras were not only always moving in the corner of one's eye, but also making a quiet buzzing noise whenever turning. Nevertheless, it worked in scaring her. He decided that this would be a good impression to leave on. "I don't think I have to tell you what kind of danger you are in, Doctor Hooper, do I?" She shook her head.

"Why are you doing this?", she whispered. Mycroft smiled, and this time he was sure it would come off as fake. "Don't be worried.", he said in his 'friendly police officer' voice. He let his smile linger a few seconds and then dropped it to say the next sentence dead serious. "I will inform you when I find him." She was taken aback and he used the time she had to think to smile again. "Good morning." And without anything left to do here, he turned around and walked outside, leaving Dr. Hooper baffled.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #molly hooper #trying to save you from yourself #there's gonna be a part 2 #i mean obviously #and to your left you see mycroft not being able to talk to people #i'm sorry the part before the cut is so long but it's really the earliest one I could make

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