Older Sherlock and Molly making breakfast together.

Older Sherlock and Molly attending their children’s wedding.

Molly urging Sherlock not to deduce the mother of the bride.

Molly noticing how much more Sherlock relies on his spectacles and not saying anything but quietly comforting him all the same, waiting until he’s ready to talk about it.

Sherlock putting a hand on Molly’s lower back when she pauses at a certain part of the stairs, and letting her blame the builders for making it so high.

Molly attending the doctors with Sherlock when he finally admits he can’t see properly anymore.

Molly helping Sherlock choose a new pair of spectacles.

Sherlock getting grumpy about his spectacles, and Molly telling him he looks more handsome than ever.

Sherlock liking his new spectacles because now he gets to see Molly’s laughter lines.

Sherlock still cuddling Molly close in bed.

Sherlock laughing when Molly complains of a draft because even after all these years, she’s still the warmest person he’s ever met.

Sherlock giving a wide grin to try and get out of trouble.

Molly not having one second of it.

Sherlock immediately apologising as a result.

Molly watching Sherlock let his grandchildren draw on his face when he’s ‘sleeping’ because it makes them laugh.

Molly making sure that her grandchildren only ever use felt tip pens when drawing on their grandparent’s face by hiding the permanent markers.

Sherlock and Molly setting aside time every Sunday to dance together.

Molly making fairy cakes with her grandchildren.

Sherlock trying to steal one of said fairy cakes but being stopped via a quick flick on the wrist.

Sherlock being uber proud of his grandchildren for getting good grades at school.

Molly demanding a copy of every painting their grandchildren make so it can go on the wall.

Sherlock pairing up his socks weekly as a mental exercise.

Molly deliberately messing them up so he can do it again.

Sherlock showing his appreciation by making her a cup of tea.

Sherlock falling asleep in his armchair while reading.

Molly seeing him asleep and letting him be for the moment.

Molly regaling her grandchildren with funny stories about Grandpa’s exploits as a consulting detective.

Sherlock always telling the story about the case with the train guy.

Sherlock regretting he doesn’t have more stories about Molly solving cases with him.

Molly reassuring him that it’s okay; she doesn’t mind, because John was always going to be his blogger, not her. She’s his wife, after all. Can’t be a blogger and a wife.

Molly overhearing Sherlock tell his granddaughter all about how he fell in love with Grandma and smiling as he tells it.

Sherlock and Molly grieving the loss of John with Mary.

Sherlock helping Mary and her children act out John’s wishes.

Molly visiting Mary to reminisce about married life with John.

Mary laughing at all the funny things she and John used to do.

Sherlock making Mary laugh by retelling the story of her wedding day.

Sherlock calling John a hero during his speech at the funeral.

Molly hugging Sherlock tightly when he finally breaks down outside of the church.

Molly and Sherlock walking together every morning after breakfast, sometimes taking a shortcut through the graveyard to visit John’s grave.

Sherlock taking up bees as a hobby.

Molly tolerating the bees for Sherlock’s sake.

Molly taking pictures of Sherlock in his bee-keeping outfit and sending them to Mary.

Sherlock letting Molly take said pictures because he thinks he looks rather dashing for a beekeeper.

Sherlock teaching his grandchildren how to keep bees.

Sherlock hugging Molly when Mary dies a year after John.

Sherlock slowly losing his sight.

Molly describing the world around him.

Sherlock terming Molly his 'painter’.

Sherlock being uber-picky about which nursing home he goes to.

Sherlock insisting his chair be moved with him.

Sherlock going first.

Molly grieving.

Molly angry at Sherlock for leaving first when he promised not to.

Molly remembering.

Molly understanding.

Molly learning how to keep bees in Sherlock’s memory.

Molly going a few years after Sherlock.

Sherlock and Molly being buried side by side.

Older. Sherlolly.

anonymous asked:

How can you not ship johnlock? Its the main ship! Cant you see all the sexual tension between sherlocak and john? And they are constantly eyefucking. And sherlock and molly dont even show affection for eachother? They only kissed in andersons reichenbach theory! And sherlock only told molly she mattered so that he could survive the fall, if she really mattered to him then a gun would have been pointed at her too. I dont blame your for shipping sherlolly, you wouldnt know any better.

Molly woke to the sound of tapping. Angry, quick tapping.

Blinking herself awake from sleep, she pulled the sheets closer to her chest and raised her head to see that her consulting detective was sat up in bed, laptop balanced precariously on his propped up knees. He frowned deeply as his fingers moved across the keyboard in a blur.

“Sherlock,” she asked with a soft sigh, propping herself with an elbow as she looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“Busy,” he growled, but the word was swiftly followed by a familiar chime of of an email notification. Molly gave a groan and fell back onto the bed.

“Not the chat rooms again.” She ran her hands over her face in a mild display of despair. “Please not the chat rooms.”

“Not the chat rooms,” he said curtly, briefly glancing at her. “Tumblr.”

“That’s even worse.”

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anonymous asked:

Drunk sherlock always manages to cheer me up.

Molly had looked forward to a quiet night in. The banging at the door indicated that would most certainly not be happening. When Molly wrenched it open however, she was met not by a cool and intense gaze but blurred, narrowed eyes and an expression that wouldn’t look out of place on a lost puppy.

“Oxygen!” Sherlock blurted out, slumping against the door frame. Her brows furrowed. He tried again.

“Oxy—Oxygen! No! Oxy—oxy somethin’…”

Molly raised an eyebrow. His eyes lit up.

“Oxytocin! That’s it! Oxytocin.” In a gesture she was sure he thought to be debonair and elegant, he took a stumbling step towards her, a lopsided smile on his mouth.

“You, Molly Hooper, are oxytocin. That’s what you are.”

Molly nodded slowly and allowed him to cup her cheek. Gently, she touched at his hand and kissed his palm.

“Of course I am, Sherlock. C’mon now—let’s get you to bed.”

With a degree of difficulty, she supported his weight (why were drunk people always so much heavier?) and steered him towards the bedroom. He dropped onto the bed with another uncharacteristic giggle and proceeded to make a mess of taking off his shoes—a mess that only ended in him stroking the wooden floor and mumbling about the time it would take for smoke inhalation to take place. Molly sighed and knelt before him, quietly beginning to unlace his shoes. Sherlock let out a whine as he leaned back.

“What is it?” Molly asked, slipping his shoes off from his feet.

“Should’ve… should marry you…” Sherlock muttered, touching at his neck. Molly smiled and got to her feet, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

"You did,” she whispered, sinking her fingers into his hair. When he narrowed his eyes in disbelief, she took a hold of his hand and held it up for him to see. His golden wedding band shone in the evening light.

“Oh!” he said and he looked to her, his expression having switched from lost puppy to happy puppy. “I’m cleverer than I thought.”

“Yes you are. Now go to sleep.”

Sherlock petulantly shook his head, his hands wandering towards her hips before he buried his face into her waist. “Want you. You’re warm.”

“I know,” Molly said softly as she pushed Sherlock onto the bed and, with a degree of effort, shifted him so he was stretched out. She turned to leave, but before she could react, she found herself falling back onto the bed and being pulled towards the sleepy drunken pile of limbs that was her husband.

“Oxytocin,” he murmured again, nuzzling his nose against her cheek and he dropped a kiss onto her neck before he slipped into sleep. Molly sighed, but couldn’t help but smile.

After all, there were far worse nicknames someone could have.

The Stages of Trying to Get Your Little Brother to Solve a Case for You:

Important documents have been recently been lost. Suspected mole in the Cabinet. The Prime Minister wishes you to retrieve them. – MH

It has been three weeks since your last case. Surely you must be getting bored by now. – MH

The freedom of the Western world is under threat, Sherlock. Answer your phone. – MH

I will tell Mummy. – MH


Sherlock AU: Sherlock Holmes is forced to go to rural France and oversee the selling of his parents’ old chateau and vineyard. He thinks it’s going to be a quick process, and that he’ll be out of there within the week. However, when he clashes with a stubborn yet sweet woman, he discovers that, sometimes, it’s better to slow down and savour the moments life throws at you.

The tiny car zoomed easily along the quiet country roads of rural France, its small engine barely making an interruption against the tranquillity of the fields and the meadows. Yet the driver, sweat dripping from his forehead, growled deeply as he punched a series of numbers into his phone. On the driver’s console, a map, intelligible and unreadable, flashed up uselessly.

“Aller tout droit,” the soft voice of the satellite navigation commanded. “Aller tout droit, aller tout…”

“Shut up!” the driver snapped, pressing the phone to his ear. Only two rings sounded before the intended recipient of his anger answered.

“Mary Watson speaking.”

“You did this deliberately, admit it.”

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anonymous asked:

Still taking prompts? Love your fics :)... Another detective starts coming to see Molly regularly as his go-to pathologist. I wonder if anyone might be jealous of that? ;)

Also for the anon who requested Jealous!Sherlock. So sorry for the delay in filling this prompt! My inbox has been a bit stuffed lately.

“Molly!” Sherlock barked as he swooped inside the morgue. “I need that body, believe the name’s Tara Jen—” He stuttered to a halt at the sight that befell him. To anyone else, it would have seemed perfectly innocent. Just Molly helping out another detective. To Sherlock Holmes however, it was akin to a subtle declaration of war. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, tapping Molly on the shoulder. She smiled briefly at him.

“Just a minute, Sherlock. Wait outside, won’t you?”

Sherlock frowned and looked to the man opposite him. He was tall, muscular in build with short cropped hair. Former military then.

“Who are you?” he asked shortly, tucking his hands behind his back.

“Oh!” the man said brightly. He moved around the table towards Sherlock, sticking out his hand. “Name’s Barker. You’re Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you? Big fan, big fan.”

For a long moment, Sherlock stared at the man who had so brusquely and clumsily invaded his morgue. He didn’t take his hand. Barker chuckled nervously and let it drop back to his side.

“I was just getting some help from Molly, with my latest case. Very efficient—much more than some of the others around here!” he said with another banal chuckle.

Sherlock departed without another word.

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You can blame Benedict Cumberbatch, Louise Brealey and Letters Live for this.

EDIT: Molly’s replying letter can be found here.

Dear Molly,

The journey towards the front has been arduous, at best. The other men have been singing Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again” almost non-stop since our company’s departure. John has joined in once or twice with them; he claimed it was to boost morale, but I doubt it. I’ve caught him looking at his picture of Mary once or twice.

I find myself thinking of you.

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Uncle Mycroft is my weakness.

Mycroft meeting his niece/nephew for the first time.

Mycroft immediately falling in love with his niece/nephew basically as soon as they smile at him.

Mycroft pretending he isn’t actually as emotionally attached as everyone knows him to be but still sending anonymous gifts to 221b on the regular, all of them top of the range and obviously from him.

Molly and Sherlock deciding not to say anything, but allowing the gifts to continue, because they’re actually really rather helpful in the raising of their newborn baby.

Mycroft visiting 221b with increasingly rubbish excuses, just so he can see his niece/nephew.

Mycroft finally being told by Molly that he doesn’t need an excuse to visit, much to Sherlock’s consternation, who loves seeing his older brother squirm.

Mycroft and Sherlock competing over who gets to hold the baby.

Mycroft and Sherlock arguing over every last detail of the child’s first birthday party, and consequently all the birthday parties after that.

Molly allowing the Holmes brothers to argue whilst she actually organises the birthday parties with Mary and John’s help.

Mycroft learning of Sherlock’s sewing competition with the leader of the Yummy Mummy club at his niece/nephew’s primary school and helping out, smugly pointing out how much better he is than Sherlock at it.

Mycroft casually remarking how alike his niece/nephew is to Sherlock in his younger years.

Mycroft learning and using the secret handshake from The Parent Trap with his niece/nephew.

Mycroft’s niece/nephew handing him a splodged painting of a stick man, proudly claiming it to be a portrait of him.

Mycroft congratulating them on the painting and Anthea finding it stuck to his fridge later on.

Mycroft encouraging his niece/nephew with every achievement they make, all way through nursery and up to university.

Mycroft secretly helping his niece/nephew find their very own “goldfish” and denying everything when his niece/nephew finally twigs what he’s up to.

Mycroft giving a little smile as he watches his niece/nephew getting married, knowing that his mission to look after them is now complete.

Sherlock staring at the wallpaper for hours on end.

Sherlock tracing the shapes of the wallpaper pattern with his fingertips.

John asking what the hell Sherlock is doing.

Sherlock explaining that he’s channeling his Man Pain for Molly through the wallpaper.

John wondering what planet his friend’s landed on.

Sherlock claiming he must say nothing because of Man Pain.

John telling Sherlock he’s an idiot.

Mary forcibly dragging Sherlock to St. Bart’s by the ear.

Molly greeting them in surprise.

Mary locking Sherlock and Molly in the lab.

Sherlock rattling off deductions to Molly in a rambling attempt to tell Molly how he feels.

Sherlock comparing Molly to the wallpaper as he rambles.

Molly raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock apologising.

Molly raising another eyebrow.

Sherlock saying he didn’t mean it.

Molly giggling.

Sherlock frowning, confused.

Molly saying she loves him too.

Sherlock grinning.

Molly doing what she’s always wanted to do and kissing him.

Sherlock taking Molly back to 221b.

Molly suffering a fit of giggles at seeing the wallpaper.

Sherlock blushing beetroot, before rolling his eyes and dragging Molly to the bedroom.

Sherlock tracing the shape of Molly with his fingertips.

Molly being far more responsive than any wallpaper.

Sherlock saying “sorry” over and over again.

Molly telling him to shut up and kiss her.

anonymous asked:

Mycroft finds out his sister-in-law is pregnant before anyone does,even before world's only consulting detective. And he gots a little enthusiastic over the thought of being an uncle,of course in his own way. Maybe in a family dinner...

Although Molly had attended many of the Holmes family dinners during her relationship with Sherlock, this was perhaps the strangest one she had experienced yet.

It was the fault of Mycroft. Usually at these types of things, he would pick at his food and occasionally threaten to start a war whenever his mother began to discuss (what he believed to be) a particularly boring subject. This time however, Mycroft seemed to be fully engaged with the conversation, chatting airily with his parents whilst he sipped at his wine and took regular bites of his roast dinner.

“Yes, terrible business about the Miller daughter, I’m sure Mother. But her marriage was only in its infancy, after all, so I doubt there’ll be too much damage,” Mycroft said with a smile. Molly frowned as she stabbed at another roast potato. Although he was smiling at his mother, she couldn’t help but feel that the elder Holmes brother’s comment had been directed at her in some way.

Violet Holmes gave a sympathetic sigh. “But think of the children. They’ll have two addresses now. And they’re so young too.”

“Practically babies,” Mycroft said, nodding slightly.

“Divorces happen all the time,” Sherlock said shortly, quickly losing impatience with his family’s idle chatter. “And why are you so interested in the Millers, dear brother of mine? I believe they were on your list of boring subjects last year.”

Mycroft shrugged. “I admit I was a little bit immature, yes. Some might say I was… childish, even.” Another comment Molly was sure was directed at her. Sherlock frowned and he circled a hand around Molly’s free one, his thumb subconsciously stroking over her silver wedding band.

“I’m sure she’ll back on her feet in no time at all,” Gregory Holmes said brightly as he rose to his feet. “Anyone for some more wine?”

“Is it vintage?” Mycroft inquired, but his father shook his head.

“Only got it in today, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, so it’s a rather youthful wine.”

Gregory nodded. “The vintage wine I’m keeping for a special occasion.”

Mycroft considered this for a moment before he gave a quick shrug. “Some might consider this a special occasion, Father.”

Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft, what are you talking about, this is a—” He stopped short, glanced towards Molly, back to his brother and back to Molly again, where his hand shot out and covered her wine glass. When she spluttered for an explanation, he continued to glare at his brother.

“You complete and utter arse. You could’ve said earlier!”

Mycroft smiled innocently. “I was simply waiting for the right moment.”

After a moment of silence, Molly cleared her throat and tapped her husband on the shoulder. “Okay, Sherlock. You’re going to have to update me. Why are we cross with Mycroft? I mean, I get that you’re normally cross with him but—could you please get your hand off my glass?”

Sherlock shook his head, still glaring at his brother. “Not possible.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Violet said with a wave of her hand. “Let your wife drink her wine, Sherlock.”

Mycroft turned his trademark thin smile towards his sister-in-law. “Molly, I wouldn’t become too cross with your husband. He’s only being his overly protective self.”

“I still don’t get it.”

The elder Holmes looked back to his young brother, and arched an eyebrow. Sherlock humphed slightly and looked to his wife. A hidden smile twitched at his lips and his gaze dropped momentarily towards her stomach before he looked back to her.

“Molly, it seems that we are to have a baby.”

Slowly, Molly nodded as she looked around at the shocked faces sat around the table—except Mycroft who merely looked utterly pleased with himself—and she swallowed slightly.

“Oh. Baby. Okay. Right.”

There was a small thump on the floor as Molly quietly fainted.

anonymous asked:

sherlolly prompt : Sherlock solves a crime in his mind palace with molly's help and when he solves it , she give him a kiss.

This prompt fill is also for mollyandherjumper, who expressed the need for a Sherlolly AU of this scene from The Tudors. (Yeah, I’m the weirdo who reads tags. Sue me.) This therefore means that I might have strayed from the prompt a little bit…

Despite the progress he had made in terms of love and sentiment and relationships, Sherlock would be the first to admit that he still did not quite understand them. Crimes of passion were easy to understand—hatred was far more logical than love—but crimes of genuine, heartfelt love? Those he did not understand.

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anonymous asked:

Sherlolly prompt if you're still taking them: everyone thinks Sherlock is screwing with Molly the way he did with Janine, and after a while even Molly thinks so. Turns out he's just really shit at showing her how he feels. Angsty fluff with happy endings please ^_^

Sherlock Holmes was not a conventional man. Logic would therefore dictate that a relationship with the man would be as far from conventional as possible.

Molly guessed that was why she felt so… hollow. She was happy, of course she was—who wouldn’t be? She was in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes for God’s sake! She just didn’t think it would… it would be so easy. She’d prepared herself for being woken at two in the morning; for having deductions thrown at her left, right and centre; for being roped into experiments that really should’ve been done in a professional lab; for being so obviously sweet-talked for a body part; for being completely and utterly frustrated.

It was puzzling then that Sherlock was acting so well and truly conventional. Like any good boyfriend, he visited her after work, and together they curled up on the sofa and watched television until they fell asleep. He took her out for chips. He affectionately kissed her forehead before he scurried off anywhere.

It wasn’t that it was boring. It was just the fact that, well, that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t being Sherlock Holmes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding something back.

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I will always love the headcanon of Sherlock going super overboard when trying to propose to Molly but I can just imagine, after like, a whole week of failed attempts, Sherlock ends up so frustrated that it just bursts out of him like -

“Why is this so hard?!” He slams the dinner table, and Molly calmly looks up, though he doesn’t notice, his mouth running a mile a minute. “I’ve done everything - seven bloody attempts, all of them failed - it shouldn’t be this hard!”

And Molly blinks for a second. “What?”

“Marriage,” he bites out. “I. Want. To. Marry you.”

“Oh.” A bit more blinking. A small smile, quickly widening. “I want that too.”

“You do?” He swallows and clears his throat, noting how surprised he sounds (he shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a consulting detective). “You do.”


“Good. Great.”


“Yes, that.”

And Molly calmly resumes her crossword, and Sherlock goes back to experimenting. With huge Cheshire Cat size smiles on their features.

Sherlock and Molly’s six year old daughter comes home from school crying because she’s been teased about the fact that Molly and Sherlock haven’t yet got married. And when Sherlock and Molly realise this, they cuddle her and tell her that marriage isn’t exactly a necessity, but more of a choice that some couples make and others don’t, and love exists anyway–regardless of name or marital status.

And then Molly remarks that living with Sherlock Holmes for 10 years doesn’t necessitate a marriage certificate but more of a medal, causing their daughter to giggle and agree, leaving Sherlock to playfully pout.

anonymous asked:

Molly killing someone out of self defence and to protect Sherlock, maybe Moran or something. He doesn't seem to take notice of her distress until much later.

Her hands are shaking, droplets of blood spattered against her front. The body lies in front of her, still and pale, and he sidesteps it, surging towards her. She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay.

“He – oh God – he was—”

“Hush,” he murmurs, smoothing his palm against her hair. He peels off his gloves and reaches forward. His hands slides easily against her cheeks and he holds her there. Her breathing’s heavy. 

“He’s dead,” he says firmly.  He repeats his words. Over and over, he repeats them. He only stops when sirens wail and police flood the building and take her away from him and he wants to snap at them, tell them all to bugger off, he can handle this, he doesn’t (they don’t) need them.

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weasleygirl928 asked:

Sherlock misses Molly while she's visiting her mother and shows up at her mother's house to see her.

This didn’t make sense. He pushed the gate to the house open, throwing away his cigarette. His footsteps scrunched against the gravel. The drive was longer, or felt longer, than he’d believed. It did not, could not, make sense. Molly Hooper was a friend, andhe’d had no trouble when she’d announced she was visiting her mother for the Easter weekend. After all, he was going to his parents (his mother had insisted, and after the fiasco of Christmas, he’d found himself with little wiggle room on the subject) and, on seeing her youngest son, his mother had smiled widely and drawn him into a hug.

“Happy Easter Sherlock! Mike’s already here, just through the living room – your father’s somewhere in the kitchen.”

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anonymous asked:

There still needs to be a John's best man speech in the sherlolly wedding. Can you help us? Thanks xxx

“Ladies and gentlemen, please pray silence for the best man.”

The hushed whispers and light chatter of the guests faded away and John Watson got to his feet, clearing his throat and rubbing at the back of his head. An encouraging nod from his wife and an impatient raise of an eyebrow from his best friend was what enabled him to speak.

“Right, um – okay. First things first, for a kick off, I should probably let you all know I’m not entirely great at this sort of thing. In fact, I’m pretty sure Sherlock’s got a bet on with Greg about how long it’ll take me to mess things up.”

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anonymous asked:

Hi! I absolutely love your writing! Thanks for being a wonderful person. :) I have a prompt. Sherlolly as ex-wife/husband?

Thank you very much Nonny! I hope you find this prompt fill to your liking. It’s angsty though, and dark too, I’ll give you fair warning for that.

She’d always shown interest in reconciliation. Her smiles, her light tone of voice, her jokes followed by hesitant offers of a date. All signals that she deeply regretted their split. He brushed every single one of them away. She wasn’t his wife anymore. In divorcing her, he had divorced himself from sentiment, or indeed any force of emotion that could weaken him as she had weakened him. Sherlock Holmes had done relationships. He wasn’t going to do them again.

Yet that didn’t stop his own mind from betraying him.

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