a question that was asked today at dinner being answered in one simple post

Auston Matthews #1.2


kaz-in-the-impala said: This was great! I hope you do a part two!! 💙

hotnhlplayers said: ^^

Anonymous said: Please continue the Auston Matthews imagine you just posted 👏🏻🙏🏻

Anonymous said: Auston Matthews part two please

Anonymous said: that auston matthews scenario u wrote was so cute lol i need a second part during their dinner date!!

A/N: In honour of the first part reaching 100 notes I decided to post this earlier than planned. I just wanna say thanks for the response on this imagine I did, I hope you all like the second part as much as the first :) it turned out to be much longer than intended and also I couldn’t kept writing soooo feel free to send me requests or request another part of this story cause why not 

Word Count: 2,520

The date was casual. That’s what you two had discussed via text messages for the past 4 days now. Since it was reading week, your whole week was free but spend stressing over the much anticipated dinner date with Auston Matthews. After Mitch was done teasing you, you hounded him with questions. 

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Chapter 19 - A Hot Mess

Chapter One & Two  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21

You shook your head and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. A week ago you could have just wandered upstairs or someone could have just come to you. Now, and at least for another week, you needed reasons to see each other. You had just finished a phone call with one of the managers who informed you that Kyungsoo was coming down to your apartment for a lesson.  You knew he was coming down to make sure that you ate dinner and he was cooking for you not only because he loved to cook but because he cared enough to make sure you ate well.  You weren’t sure if you were actually supposed to give a lesson or not so you still prepared one, just in case.

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Title: Gifts

 Summary: Bilbo expected it to be any day like the others, but the dwarves had other plans.

 Warnings: Fluff!!! :D

 Masterlist of FanFiction

Originally posted by kaipurge

Today was a fairly standard day, Bilbo thought as he rose from his bed, wrapping his robe around himself before padding down to the kitchen.  No reason for any fuss, he added mentally, trying to decide if he wanted to risk going down to the market today for some fresh ingredients.  

It wasn’t that he was deliberately trying to avoid anyone in particular, except perhaps Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, he just didn’t want any fuss today.  It was just another day, and he didn’t want anyone to treat him any differently because of it.  

But he knew, deep down, that if he stepped foot out that door, every passerby, every neighbor would be there to greet him and to give their congratulations.  And why would they you ask?  Because today was Bilbo Baggins’ birthday, of course!

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Curious (Soulmate!Jin)

Plot: Jin being your soulmate

Word Count: 728

A/N: so a couple people requested a string of fate with Jin so I decided to do it today !! This is gonna be in the same universe as Yoongi’s post (here) but of course it’s with Jin this time and btw I’m s o not fucking ready for Jin’s short film video thingy bc I’m not even over kook’s yet my brain can’t process all of this it’s too quick

It started with a string, simply tied around your smallest finger. It connected you to a man you wouldn’t meet until you’d moved out out of your parent’s home and into your very first apartment. It connected you to a man who you’d one day call your husband, your best friend and the love of your life.

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holdingcoldhands-deactivated201  asked:

Hi Amalie! I was just wondering how you split up your calories/meals in recovery? Thanks so much!

Hi! In recovery I ate like more or less like this;

Breakfast 08:00; 600-700 calories
Most oftenly; oats w/topping (my favorite was/is chia seeds and berries), bread, cripsbreads, fruits (both fresh and dried, often 1 apple and some dried figs) and chococoffee with milk and chocolate covered nuts. Yes, often all of these in one meal.

Snack 11.30; 500-600 calories
Most oftenly; nutrition drink or ½ liter full fat milk, nuts (yoghurt nuts or almonds) and banana OR a smoothie of bananas, pb, chocolate powder, milk, chia seeds,

Lunch 14.30; 600 calories
Here I varied more, but it was often cereal w/raisins and milk (obviously), bread, crispbreads, nuts, fruits (often mango or grapes), some dark chocolate, a glass of full fat milk or smoothie etc.

Dinner around 17-00-17.30; 600 calories
In most cases ½ plate with rice/pasta/potatoes, ¼ vegetables, ¼ proteins (seafood, Quorn vegetarian ”meat”, beans, chickpeas etc) and some sauce or dressing on the side, often ketchup, quark, butter or soy sauce. After dinner I usually had a snack of hot chocolate w/milk and some dried figs/a microwaved banana with cinnamon.

Supper around 20.00-21.00; 600 calories
Lots of rice cakes with all kinds of spreads (avocado, butter, salmon, pb, macerel, jam etc), dates, 1-2 eggs, fruits. 

= 3000 calories

I ate like this because it was simple and fit with my schedule. Sometimes I ate 700 calories for breakfast and 500 calories for snack, for example, but always 3000 in total. Oh, and obviously no exercise, I stayed mostly sedentary.

I planned all my meals the day before, but they were usually pretty much the same. I needed a very strict and detailed plan here because I was underweight and my main priority was to gain weight because so many of my symptoms, especially the extreme rigidity and obsessive behavior, were side effects of being underweight and undernourished. I was scared that I would make it a habit to be so obsessive around my meals, but I gradually got less rigid and obsessive the more I ate and gained. 

In the beginning I weighed everything, even cucumber. Awkward but true. I gradually stopped weighing and counting down to every single digit. For example, one week my goal was to stop weighing vegetables. Then I stopped weighing oats, and measured it by tbsp or dl instead. Then I stopped weighing bread etc.

So when did I stop eating after a 3000 calorie meal plan, and how? My psychologist wanted me to keep on eating this way until I reached bmi 20, and then gradually start eating after hunger cues. She said that a bmi of 20 or above made the risk of a relapse lower. Just like so many in recovery I had this little period where I though I could maintain bmi 17-18 and be ”healthy”. Yeah right. At that bmi I was still obsessed with food and body, I was extremely rigid and disordered in every way. No period and no wish to do anything besides analyzing my body and counting macros. It was hard to let go of my ED, and I kind of wanted to choose a ”lifestyle” where I could stay obsessed with food and body. I was actually close falling into the *scary music* .. Fitness trap!!!! Luckily I was surronded by a psychologist and family members who convinced me to recover. This could have gone so wrong, as society sees orthorexia and fitness as healthy. 

I gradually started eating after hunger cues at bmi 19. Risky indeed, but I was so close to mentally recovered as possible and my period was back. I did not made a goal of ”cutting down my intake”. I started to eat one meal on hunger cues, for example I followed my 3000 plan except for lunch, where I ate xxx calories. Then I did this with more and more meals, and suddenly I ate freely. It was amazing! Such a relief. What happened to my weight? I gained around 2 kg by eating after hunger cues, and then the gain stopped. I dont weight myself anymore, but I see that my weight is pretty much the same as half a year ago. If I had started eating after hunger cues early in recovery, I would probably not have recovered (I did not have much appetite) unless I got hit by extreme hunger.

A common mistake is that people think that when they are recovered they have to stop eating 3000 calories. Some days I eat way more than 3000 calories, and that is ok. That is normal. We are not machines who need exactly xxxx calories a day. If I sit on my ass all day I tend to eat less than if I move around a lot, not because I think ”gosh I dont need much food today, I dont move”, but because my body does not crave as much food as if I was active because I dont need it. And lets not forget my ovulation-extreme hunger! 2 weeks before my period (though my impression is that some get it right before- or during their period) I get extreme hunger that lasts for 1-3 days. It is scary, but I follow it because I know my body needs extra energy then. The EH passes. Everytime. My body does not magically change. My body is smart and I will listen to it.

Now I probably answered more than you asked for, but we get so many questions about when and how to eat after hunger cues etc, that I decided to write a longer post about it.

- Amalie

covalent bonding

Gravity Falls || Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines || Part II
notes: i have a very strong feeling this story is going to get away from me and i apologize. also, this part takes place several months before the first installment; sorry for any confusion D:
warnings: none


Several weeks into Ford’s first semester at West Coast Tech, Stan parks his car in the visitor’s lot and follows Ford onto campus. Ford raises an eyebrow at his brother’s behavior—Stan had barely succeeded in earning his diploma, and is completely uninterested in high learning—but Stan shrugs the skeptical look off.

“What?” Stan asks, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn letterman jacket. He had boxed in high school, and earned a small degree of infamy among rival districts along with the crimson wool and white leather he wears now. “I don’t gotta work today.”

Ford ignores the defensive edge in his brother’s voice and drawls, “So you’re following me to class?”

Stan shrugs again. “Beats being bored all day,” he says.

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A Cyclone St. Patrick’s Day

This was bugging me and begging to be written. Right now it is 12:06 a.m. so technically it is St. Patrick’s day and thus this is appropriate to post. I hope you like it! 

“Please, Walter?” Paige was actually whining.

“I didn’t celebrate Pi Day, a so called holiday with mathematical origins, why would I celebrate St. Patrick’s Day?” He crossed his arms over his chest to prove his point, but Paige wasn’t backing down.

“Because you’re Irish. Your middle name is Patrick for God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’m aware of that.” He took a deep breath and she knew what was coming, an onslaught of facts.

“What began as a religious celebration of the patron saint of Ireland has now become a poor, commercialized excuse for drunkenness and public indecency. I will not be wasting time on a meaningless holiday.”

He was about to comment on how he was never fond of the color green until he decided he liked the way that Paige’s deep green top brought out her eyes.

Then Paige batted those eyes at him.

He was helpless against the puppy dog eyes.

“Do I really have to?” Now he was whining.

She laughed lightly but shook her head.

“You don’t have to, but I just think it would be fun.” She shrugged, trying to act impassive, but she was still flashing the puppy eyes.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.


Happy and Toby strolled into the garage, the only sound being the snickering coming from both Dineens.

They looked at each other before Toby spoke.

“What are we missing?”

The snickering intensified and Paige couldn’t control her laughter anymore.

“You’ll see.” Ralph managed to say between laughs.

Toby and Happy made their way to their workspaces, confused.

They worked in silence for a few minutes until they heard someone coming down the stairs.

“Oh my God.” Toby stuttered.

He was nearly choking on his words at what he saw.

Descending slowly down the stairs was Walter Patrick O’Brien, in a green top hat and an emerald t-shirt that reads “Kiss Me I’m Irish.”

Happy was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

No one said anything for a while until Paige burst out laughing again.

Then everyone, even Walter laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

That’s how Sylvester found them when he walked in.

He spotted Happy and Toby first, they’d somehow drifted closer to each other and were laughing as loudly as he’d ever seen them.

Then his eyes drifted to the other side of the garage where Paige was placing an oversized green tie around Ralph’s neck. She’d even gotten him to put on a green shirt for the occasion.

“What’s going on?” Sylvester asked, mostly directing his question at Paige.

Then he saw Walter.

“What the-” He stopped his own words by bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Wait a minute.” Walter stood up from his chair, his expression turning serious.

“What’s wrong, Walter?” Paige asked.

“If I have to dress up like an imbecile, so does Sylvester. He’s Irish by marriage. That counts.”

The smile that lit up Paige’s face made it all worth it for Walter.

Suddenly Ralph was pulling things from shopping bags and Sylvester had on a top hat similar to Walter’s and was carrying around a pot of fake gold.

He handed Paige the green feather boa.

He gave Toby a green fedora and a bow tie that matched his.

He even managed to get Happy to put on three different St. Patrick’s Day necklaces.

When Cabe arrived, he was promptly instructed to trade his regular sunglasses for lime green shutter shades.

Eventually, the tacky green mess had to be put away for a case, but once they were done and the world was safe, the St. Patrick’s Day party was back on.

“Mom, can we have breakfast for dinner?” Ralph’s small bit of recklessness surprised her.

“Sure, go ask Aunt Happy and Uncle Toby if they want to stay for green pancakes.”

She watched as her son pulled Happy and Toby by their conjoined hands toward the kitchen.

They were cleaning up after dinner when Toby pulled Walter aside.

“Do you know why you did this or do I have to tell you?” Toby watched Walter’s defenses go up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked at him, trying to feign confusion.

Toby rolled his eyes.

“Why would someone who vehemently hates holidays dress up to celebrate one?” Toby’s eyebrows hitched up, daring him to answer.

Walter’s mouth opened and then closed again. He couldn’t formulate an answer that made any logical sense.

“I’ll tell you why, you, Walter O'Brien, dressed up and played along because the love of your life wanted you to. Your whole world used to be centered around math and science. Now, it’s centered around people. It’s centered around your family. Especially, those two.” He says, pointing at Paige and Ralph.

Walter does nothing to deny it, but he doesn’t accept it either.

“You put on that stupid shirt because you knew it would make Paige and Ralph happy. Look at her.” He nodded toward Paige.

She smiled as she met Walter’s eyes.

“Math and science be damned, you’d do anything to see that smile.” Walter looked down at the floor and Toby knew he was right.

“How did you know that?” Walter asked.

“You’re easy to read, and I’m the same way. I’d do anything to put a smile on that pretty face.” He looked at Happy.

“It’s strange how something so simple made everyone so happy.” He spoke quietly.

“Everyone is happy because we’re together. We may look like idiots, but we’re all content to look like idiots as a family.” He clapped Walter on the back and rejoined his family, kissing Happy’s cheek somewhere along the way.

“Paige?” Walter called out.

Paige slowly made her way towards him, a wide smile on her face.

“Hey.” She said almost too quietly.

“Thank you, for today. Everyone had a great time, even me.” Walter smiled at her, it was that crooked grin that she couldn’t love more.

“I’m glad you let yourself have some fun. You deserve it.”

“You know, maybe since you bought the shirt, maybe you should be the one to do what it says.”

Her eyes widened at his proposition, but she quickly gained her composure.

She closed the gap between them in one long step and placed her hands right over the “Kiss Me” on his shirt.

She pressed her lips to his gently and he barely had time to kiss her back before she was two steps away.

He’d be damned if he waited until next St. Patrick’s Day to feel her lips on his again.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! :)

How to Interact with Actors/Idols Appropriately on Social Media

Fellow 2.5D fans.  You may have seen this post floating around, about foreign fans replying to actors on social media in inappropriate ways.  I agree with pretty much everything that post has to say, but I’m not here to reiterate what’s been said before.

As inappropriate as they are, those tweets are sent by fans, right?  Fans who like the actors and want to support them, right?  That’s fine!  It’s okay to respond to them on Twitter!  But there are certain boundaries you don’t want to step over or you (or worse, foreign fans as a whole) will be seen in a negative light, canceling out the support you’re trying to send.

So today let’s talk about reply etiquette.

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sharing is caring (it can be fun); SQ, 8k, explicit

Written for Swan Queen Week 5 prompts, “bed sharing” and “best friend romance”. Set about a year after the season 4 finale.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

Regina turns her head sharply at Emma’s words, eyebrow raising at the sudden request. “Excuse me?”

Emma’s slumped back into the corner of her couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table (Regina’s glares don’t put quite enough fear in her these days, it seems), and she’s picking at the label on her beer bottle with her thumbs. Her head is angled down watching her own movements, but she repeats, “Tell me something about yourself.”

Eyes narrowing, Regina watches Emma closely, an uncomfortable prickling sensation running up her back at the thought of sharing about herself, even after all they’ve been through. Besides, “What is there left to say, Emma?”

Her throat feels thick with the unspoken rest of the sentiment: You know more about me than anyone.

Now Emma looks up, looks over at her, and her thumbs pause in their movement. Emma’s eyes are a little wide, open, and she doesn’t seem drunk but she must be tipsy for her to look so vulnerable.

Regina tries not to scoff at the thought of Emma being the vulnerable one as she asks Regina to spill her secrets.

But Emma keeps looking at her for a while, and then she shrugs. Picks at the label again. “Not—I’m not asking for the big stuff. Just tell me something I don’t know.” Regina’s still staring at her, tucked into the opposite corner of the couch with her feet tucked between the back of the couch and the cushion beneath her, a glass of wine resting on her bent thigh. Emma licks her lips. “Like your favorite color, or something.”

“Why on earth would you need to know that?” Regina’s eyes narrow in confusion and the smallest hint of suspicion.

“Jesus, Regina,” Emma breathes out a laugh, and slips her socked feet from the coffee table to the floor. Angling her body toward Regina, she grips her beer bottle tight in her hands. “What could I possibly do with that infor—” she looks up at Regina and her easy smile fades a little as she quiets. Then, “I don’t know. It’s what friends do. Share.”

Read the rest on AO3 or below.

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chocolate-chip-cumbercookie submitted:

(I’m no anonfairy, but I saw this post: http://2by2handsofblue.tumblr.com/post/72620995825 and I just had to write something based on it. And this blog is perfect. So.)

“So was it a good day at the morgue?” Tom asked when Molly came home that evening.


“Yes, actually, it was fantastic. We identified more bodies today than we have in the last month.” He kissed her lightly and she smiled. Tom was so, so good to her. Why couldn’t she have met him sooner, and ended her string of unhealthy relationships with sociopaths? Especially… No. She banished the thought from her mind. She had moved on.


“That’s wonderful,” he said, returning to whatever it was he was cooking on the stove top. As soon as they had realized that he had the remarkable ability to not burn whatever was cooking (which could be as simple as a sandwich) he had taken over the kitchen in their flat. “What about that one guy… Jason, was it? Any progress on his case?”


Molly was setting the table when she answered. “No, and I don’t see why you’re so interested in it. It was a simple murder over drugs. They already caught two of the guys.”


“Yeah, but what if the others are still at large?” he said, ignoring the boiling pot for a moment. “What if you’re in danger? I mean, these people might do anything to keep from being arrested, like kidnap you, or-”


“Oh, stop it, Tom. I’ve dated sociopaths before, and they don’t even know who I am. And considering you thought someone killed themselves with a meat dagger, I don’t think you’re in any position to plan out their next move.” It was sweet, really, how concerned he was. Nobody had worried that much, albeit mostly needlessly, over her anytime in her recent memory. It was a nice change.


Tom sighed. “I just want them behind bars, is all.”


“I should have the DNA report on the last one involved in by tomorrow morning. He’ll be behind bars before you know it.”


Tom shrugged and turned back to pot, saying nothing else as she got the table ready.




“Sherlock, the DNA will be ready by morning. Why are you thinking so hard about it? Your inbox is filled with other, probably more interesting cases…” John muttered. Sherlock had become obsessed with the case Molly Hooper was currently working on, the drug killing with one currently unknown murderer. He wouldn’t shut up about it, even though the DNA was almost ready. John suspected it was because the other two had been identified right away - it had to be frustrating him to no end.


“You don’t understand, John! I know this man! I know him, I know him, but I can’t place him, he isn’t anywhere in my mind palace, and I-”


“Sherlock. Calm down,” said John, grabbing him by the shoulders in an effort to stop the ceaseless pacing. “What’s the rush?”


“What’s the rush? If I know the man from somewhere he must be connected to someone else I know, and depending on who that person is they could be in very grave danger. Tomorrow will be too late; I need to know!” He began pacing again.


No matter what he tried, John couldn’t calm him; he refused to do anything but pace and mutter. He was about to abandon him to his mind palace and chair when he suddenly sprained up.


“Good Lord, John, I’ve solved it and we need to find him right now.” He ran out of the flat and pounded down the stairs without bothering to put on his coat, despite the chilly autumn rain outside. John had no choice but to follow, struggling to keep up with his partner’s much longer strides.


“But you didn’t… even say… where we were going!” he shouted, panting as he attempted to match his speed. Wherever he was going, he was going to get there before the police ever could.




“Tom, honey? Is it done yet?” Molly was positively starving; she had had hardly any lunch at the morgue because she had been so busy. Surely it couldn’t take him this long to make a simple pasta dish, could it? She decided to check on him. He was rather clumsy. Maybe he had hurt himself and she hadn’t heard it.


“Tom? Are you-” She stopped short when she saw him standing there, the food ready, just staring at a point just above her shoulder. If the food was done, in bowls even, why hadn’t he called to her? “Tom, I’m really very hungry, and the table is set, so we should-”


“No, we shouldn’t,” he said, interrupting her nervous ramble. “You know, I was thinking, sweetheart. And you said you had already identified two of the suspects in that drug hit. Right?”


“Right…” she said, wondering where he was going.


“Well, you all know it was only three men. And three minus two equals one, right? Only one left. And you know who it is. Or, you will tomorrow, that is.”


“Right. Again.” Could they just eat? She appreciated his fascination with her work, but he could ask all these questions and make silly hypothesis’s at the dinner table.


Tom leaned over now, whispering in her ear. “You know how I said some men will do anything to stay out of jail?” Molly’s stomach tightened when she felt the gun pressed against it. “I’m one of those men.”



John had finally managed to catch up to Sherlock, who had abandoned him on a bike. He was thinking hard, nose furled in concentration, trying to remember where, exactly, the killer might be.


“Sherlock, do you mind telling me now where the hell we’re going?”


“If I could just remember where… They moved, and I didn’t want… Tried to block it out…” Sherlock muttered, giving him no straight answer like every other time he had asked him a question in his life. As if he was clever enough himself to figure out the garbled meanings.


“Maybe I know, just tell me!”


“Molly Hooper!” Sherlock shouted, causing passerby to stare, then move on. “Molly Hooper,” he said, quieter now. “It’s Tom, John, it was always Tom, he was using her. I don’t know how much of a fool I was not to see it before and now she’s in danger, she must be. He’ll know what she’s about to discover and he can’t let that happen, no. No.”


John rattled off the address which sent Sherlock in a mad race again. How did he know? Did it matter? Because he was right, always right, and now one of their best friends was in danger.




“What do you want, Tom?” Molly asked. Her voice was steady, somehow, and she wasn’t one bit afraid. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was because this had happened before. This time, she wasn’t going to let him get the better of her.


Besides, he couldn’t kill her, not yet. It would just be more evidence to dispose of, including the DNA at the lab that he had no way to get to. He would use her to get to it, which he must have been waiting for the entire time, and then he would kill her.


“I want you to get the evidence and destroy it. I want to watch you do it. I don’t care how. And if you move, or scream, or try in any way try to out me, I swear to whatever is holy that I will shoot you right then, right there.” He was still whispering, and it broke her heart to know that instead of love, this same familiar voice was spewing such terrible hate.


“A-alright. I’ll do it,” she said, her voice finally stuttering a little. How had she not seen it? How could anyone be such a good actor? “But remove that nasty gun. I have to get the spare key, and you can shoot me if it’s against my stomach or across the room.” Tom hesitated, but obliged while she went to find the key watching her the entire time.




“It’s number 527,” said John, sure that a soaking wet Sherlock still remembered from what he had told him earlier. Sherlock refused to wait for anything and bounded up the stairs three at a time.


They were just passing number 521 when they heard the high-pitched scream coming from down the hall. Sherlock ran faster, a feat John thought would have been impossible a moment ago, but it was no use. They were just outside the door, about to force it open if need be, when the crack of a gunshot pierced the air and caused utter silence.


John could see the moment that all the fear and pent up emotion in Sherlock changed to rage. It took a fraction of a second for those eyes, that so often only changed colour, to change emotion. An entire spectrum within a second, something unheard of for Sherlock. When there were still no other sounds coming from Molly’s home, and Sherlock had gotten over the shock, he jiggled the handle. Locked.


He kicked the door in with a ferocity and venom that John was unaware he was capable of holding in. Actually, it sprang back so hard that it almost hit John in the nose when he tried to follow. Sherlock closed his eyes, taking in one deep breath through the nose, mentally preparing himself for how he would find Molly. There was only one shot. Had it killed her instantly? Had Tom, for whatever reason, shot himself? Unlikely.


But he needed to know. Sitting here and thinking of possibilities wouldn’t make Molly any more alive or Tom any less a murderer. He examined the room like he would any other crime scene, trying to block out any personal traces of Molly he could see - which was difficult, because she and Toby and even Tom were plastered all over the walls.


Blood. Blood was dripping out from what had to be the kitchen, even though he couldn’t see it. He reached for the edge of his coat, to pull it around him, only to realize that in his haste he had forgotten it. It was just him and the scene. He had to examine it. For Molly.


He thought he was prepared for it, prepared to see Molly’s lifeless body with Tom standing over her, that look on his face that every experienced killer gets when they’ve snuffed out a soul. He wasn’t prepared for Molly, face passive, holding the gun in her hand while Tom lay unconscious on the floor, his leg sporting a bullet wound and his head something from hitting the counter.


Molly lowered the gun when she saw Sherlock and John, not bothering to offer an explanation. She still held fast to it, but they could all tell that Tom wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. He wasn’t going to be able to hurt her now.


“You came,” she said. The two simple words were enough to snap everybody to action. John was calling an ambulance - criminal or not, they couldn’t let Tom die - and the police, while Molly retreated to her room, trying to contain herself.


How could she have let this happen again? Fallen for another criminal, someone who only wanted to use and hurt her. That was all she could seem to find. Maybe sociopaths really were her type. Maybe she just needed to give up.


Sherlock came and sat next to her, allowing a few inches between them. He stared at the wall, she stared at her hands. Neither of them spoke for awhile.


“So… What exactly happened back there?”


“Why did you come?” They both asked their question at the same time, but Molly decided to answer first. “Well, I figured out who our last guy was. Mostly because he had a gun to my stomach. He wanted me to get the evidence and destroy it before anybody realized it was him. But I couldn’t let that happen, of course, so I wrestled the gun away from him and before I knew it he was on the floor, a bullet in his leg, and you two were there, watching. Why did you come?”


Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of an adequate answer. “Simple. I finally figured out who it was, knew he lived with you, and suspected you might be in danger.”


“Why didn’t you just call the police? Why did you have to come and personally knock down my door, without even your coat?” Molly was puzzled. She knew that she had helped Sherlock, making her important, but since she had moved on, they had just maintained a steady but distant friendship.


“Too slow,” was his only explanation. They sat there for moments more, the clock ticking, when Molly told him what was really on her mind.


“Why, Sherlock? Why do I always choose the guys that want to use and hurt me?” Why she thought Sherlock Holmes, the man who had barely three friends, would have the answer, she wasn’t sure. But she had to let it out before the advancing tears finally forced their way out and her voice was as broken as her heart.


“Oh, Molly,” Sherlock whispered, now looking not at the wall but directly at her, “not every man in your life wants to hurt you. They can’t all want to use you. I mean…” Here he hesitated. “You matter, Molly. You matter so much.”


Molly stared at him for a minute, trying to process this. He had told her that she had mattered, once. But since then, she had figured it was just a ploy to get her to help him - another guy wanting to use her. This time, there was no subtext, no hidden riddle. He meant it. She mattered to him. She had always mattered.


She was still thinking of this when he reached down and kissed her. Not a light peck on the cheek like the last two times, but a full kiss, one full of longing and relief and her own tears that were now flowing freely. At first she thought it was pity, that he would stop and let go, but she was wrong again - it was desire and love and all those funny emotions he had never really been able to express.


She had no doubt when he pulled back that she mattered in a way that nobody else did. And she had no doubt that, this time, he was going to make sure he didn’t let her go.