“Originally Finn Juhl designed this sofa for Baker Furniture Inc. in USA in 1951. The sculptural forms are inspired by the modern free art, which interested Finn Juhl very much. The sofa has an upholstered body divided in two, resting upon an elegant and light construction of wood – a typical example of how Finn Juhl separated the elements in order to create a visual lightness. The sofa is upholstered in wool fabric, of customer’s choice and in two colors if wanted, delivered in walnut or teak.”
Molly batted away the large hand that was slithering into her popcorn bucket.
“You said you didn’t want any,” she whisper-snapped.
“My exact words were ‘it’ll be stale and soaked in yellow sludge.’” Sherlock shot back.
“Which implied you didn’t want any.”
The previews were just ending and the theater had gone dark and quiet. Molly winced under the angry glare of the woman seated in front of them.
Sherlock leaned forward. “It’s definitely syphilis,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “I’d recommend you see your doctor for antibiotics immediately.”
The woman gasped and jumped from her seat. Realizing that she now held the attention of most of the crowded theater, she squeezed past the others in her aisle and rushed from the room.
“My god, Sherlock!” Molly whispered. She felt his shoulder shrug against her own.
“She glared at you.”
“I deserved it; I was talking.”
A few insistent “shhhs” came from somewhere to their left.
Molly clamped a buttery hand over the detective’s mouth as he turned his head. “Don’t you dare.”
As their eyes met, Sherlock pressed a kiss against her palm and Molly drew her hand away.
“You be good,” she mouthed. Another shrug. But Sherlock’s eyes drifted lazily to the screen.
Just then, a latecomer showed up at the end of the aisle in front of them. Everyone shifted a few seats down, placing an unusually tall man right in front of Molly. She wiggled and squirmed, but she couldn’t see a thing.
“Sherlock,” she whispered. “Switch me seats.”
Molly wondered why Sherlock couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of lowering his voice.
“I can’t see. Switch me, please.”
Sherlock hesitated. “No,” he finally said.
“The man on my other side fancies you. He was admiring your backside when we came past him.”
They were getting shushes and angry glares from all directions now. Sherlock stood and glanced around the room. Molly bent to collect her bag. She knew how this was going to end.
An hour later they were seated on the sofa at Baker street. Sherlock’s hands were roaming again, but this time it wasn’t popcorn he was after
Molly giggled. “I suppose this is better anyway.”
I was just looking through my writing folder and stumbled upon this little drabble I wrote forever ago.