“It was supposed to be a game,” Rosie says tearfully. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Sherlock… I’m sorry, Aunty Molly…
I thought you liked pirates… ”
And she looks away from Hooper and back to the man who was supposed to be minding her. The man now curled up in a ball on 221b’s kitchen floor, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His breath coming, harsh and shallow.
Though the little one doesn’t realise it, he’s giving every indication of having had a panic attack.
Rosie stares at her uncle in shocked silence: her plastic pirate cutlass hangs forgotten at her side, a felt tricorn hat hanging, half-forgotten, on an elastic string around her neck. The kitchen is a shambles where Sherlock lost his temper.
Even his experiments have been disturbed, his upset had been so great.
Molly exchanges a look with John and he nods, whispers to Rosie to come with him, that Aunty Molly and Uncle Sherlock need a minute alone together. Still muttering apologies the little one nods, throwing herself into her Daddy’s arms and burying her tear-streaked face in his chest.
She says she wants her dollies.
Muttering soothingly to her, John carries her towards his end of the flat, rubbing her back and telling her everything will be alright. That Uncle Sherlock will be OK, that Aunty Molly will sort him out…
As soon as John’s through the door, Molly drops to the floor. Opens her arms to Sherlock.
After a brief, ashamed moment of hesitation he gives in. Crawls towards her. He hauls her into his lap, holding her close and tight. Burying his nose in her neck until his tears wet her blouse.
“I thought the nightmares were gone,” she says quietly and he shakes his head. Tries to calm his breathing.
“Has this been going on long?” she asks, and again he shakes his head. Again he tries to breathe deeply.
She can feel his heart pounding against her palm.
For a moment she thinks that will be the end of it, that Sherlock has closed himself off totally, but then-
“She’s six,” Sherlock murmurs. “She’s six, and she likes mysteries, and pirates, and she says her favourite is Redbeard.” He shakes his head. Squeezes his eyes shut again.
The pain in his expression is almost too much to bear.
“She’s no idea what could happen to her,” he murmurs, “no idea at all- And what if I can’t protect her either? What if I fail her the way I failed..?”
Victor Trevor’s name goes unsaid, but then it doesn’t need to be. Molly knows he’s been on Sherlock’s mind. The detective lets out another harsh, angry sob, pulls her closer. Kisses her insistently. She strokes her fingers through his curls and lets him get it all out. He needs this. He needs to get used to telling her, instead of bottling it up. It’s for the best, she knows that, and she can only hope that some day he’ll accept it too.
Later, he’ll be embarrassed.
Later, he’ll take her to bed and lay her beneath him. Kiss her. Take her. He’ll be masterful and demanding, in search of distraction and deniability for his own vulnerability… Determined to take control of himself once again, and to make up for his supposed weakness right now with pleasure for her…
But that’s for later, not for now.
For now he merely worries. About her. About Rosie. About the savage East Wind and all it might yet take from him. Tomorrow he’ll be Sherlock Holmes again, but for today he’s Will and today he needs her.
He needs someone to cry with.
So Molly winds him in her arms and softly promises him that she wouldn’t have it any other way…
6 SARCASTIC GUYS’ CONVERSATION (SEVERAL FANDOMS CROSSOVER): Fanfic? (because I wanted to write this ever since I saw a post similar to this)
Who’s in the house?
- Jack Sparrow
- Tony Stark
What do they have in common?
(You don’t have to know all of the characters)
Narcissism, sarcasm, some are
genius’, most are experts in their work, all of them have drinking/drug
dependencies, most have childhood issues and are secretly full of angst, etc.
Summary: This is just them, trapped in a room together, with no idea how they got there or how to get out. There may be more characters to come…
Warnings: Not much, a bit of swearing.
Comments are well appreciated (nice comments, helpful comments etc.)
Jack: Now, the real question remains:
Where is the rum?
House glared at him.
House: That’s not the real
question, dumbass. I wanna know what the hell we’re doing here.
Tony: Maybe it’s a house
Sherlock is bent down by the
door, his nose alarmingly close to the floor.
Tony: Ok, curly, what’re you
Sherlock looks up frowning,
realising he’s being addressed.
Sherlock: I’m checking to see what
substances there are in order to determine where
we are, which is a lot more than any of you
lot are doing.
Tony: *huffs* Well, excuse me,
House: There’s no way of
getting out of here.
House is sat by the window,
and everyone looks up to him. He motions to the window with his cane.
House: These windows are fake. That door is impenetrable, the walls are made with considerable strength, as we’ve found out, and none of us geniuses have any
idea why we’re here, where we are, how we got here, or who sent us here.
Everyone was quiet.
Jack: Well, Ifor one, am not
a genius – just to clarify.
Sherlock sighs and sits up
against the wall.
Tony: Find anything?
Sherlock: No. There’s no
evidence, no substances, no clues – just nothing.
He looked sullenly ahead.
Tony: Well, my Iron Man suit
should be here anytime now.
Sherlock: It’s not going to
Tony screwed his eyes at him.
Tony: Well, I don’t think your
‘sniffing around’ is exactly doing to much to solve this problem either-
Jack: Ok, ok, ladies, lets
settle down, shall we? Look, we only have each other in this neat room of ours,
and if we start fighting, it all goes downhill from there, and frankly, I think
we’d all know who would be the only one standing after that.
Jack smiled smugly to himself.
House sighs and mutters something like ‘imbecile’.
Jack: What was that now?
Sherlock looked over as House
sighs, and rubs his leg with his hand, his cane to the side.
Tony: What happened to you?
House looks up and replies sarcastically: I tripped.
Tony: Well don’t get your
knickers in a twist, Doc, I was only
Sherlock: He got shot.
House looked over to him.
House: How the hell do you
Jack: Oh, God, don’t ask him
for an explanation, I’m beggin’ you.
Sherlock: Well, it’s clear from
the way he holds his leg that he’s in obvious pain-
Jack: Here we go..
Sherlock,ignoring the interruption: and he’s used to it
according to the heavy bags under his eyes from sleepless nights, and he’s
bitter, a sign of long-lasting pain, so why wouldn’t you do something about it?
Well, it’s obvious he’s tried drugs-
House: Shut the hell up.
Sherlock: – takes one to know
one – but they didn’t work out, did they? Got too dependent on them, so now you
just have to take the pain – and by yourself – I mean, it’s obvious that you’re
House stands up with his cane:
I said SHUT UP!
He went over to Sherlock and squared up to him.
Tony and Jack looked at each
House: You think you’re some
big genius, who can just figure
everyone out by one look-
Sherlock: Well, yea, pretty much-
But suddenly there was a big BANG
as the door came flying inwards.
They all shielded themselves as the door was smashed down and smoke covered
them, some of them coughing, as Sherlock quickly walking over the new body that
was now on the floor, coughed through the smoke and went through the door, just
to see another door a few feet behind it.
House looked around.
House: Everyone alright? Jack: Just dandy
House grimaced as he put his
cane down and knelt to the man on the floor, turning him onto his back so they
could see him, Tony kneeling next to him.
Tony: You know him?
House leant down to check the
man’s breathing, when suddenly he snapped up and looked around frantically, his
golden necklace swaying across his chest.
Man: What the hell – oh, son
of a bitch.
He held onto his head, wincing slightly and
cursed to himself.
House: What’s your name? Do
you know how you got here?
Sherlock and Jack crowded round to listen.
Man: Name’s Dean Winchester.
And I have no clue, man.