flyaways for days

anonymous asked:

Are you still doing ficlets? Can you do Hoopkins? Possibly with Sherlock trying to set them up?

The door opens and Sherlock nearly walks headfirst into her, and Stella’s heart sinks. She thought she’d had the perfect opportunity and now-

Sherlock blinks. “What are you doing here?”

She sets her jaw, gaze challenging. “Collecting files.”

Sherlock’s lips twitch. “Files,” he deadpans.

And she’s not giving him the satisfaction of giving up, now. “Files.”

Sherlock sighs and glances behind him, making sure the door is fully closed. “You know…” he says. “Molly and I… talk.” 

Stella bristles. “What’s Molly got to do with anything?”

But Sherlock continues to speak as if he hasn’t heard the interruption. “And, recently, she’s been saying… an awful lot. About someone. Not that she’s said it outright but, well-” And now, he stumbles a little, a slight blush on his cheeks. “-I recognise the pattern.”

Stella tilts her head in confusion.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I mean. I mean. I-I talked, too. About…about John.”

And Stella has had it with these riddles, she just wants him to be done with and shove off, already. She raises her eyebrows. “So…?”

Sherlock sighs again, all haughty drama. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m saying you have a chance. A very very good one.”

Her heart leaps. “Sherlock. I-oh God. You have to be sure, I-”

And Sherlock is just smiling fondly, now. “Come on, then,” he says. “I have a case. Well, you have a case, rather.”

“I do?”

“Yup. I was just about to help you get those files, when- oh, damn, would you look at that.” He brandishes his phone screen at her, which is quite obviously blank. “I have a call. Got to take it, terribly important, I’m afraid, so that means-”

And, without warning, he grabs Stella by the arm and opens the door, pulling her into the lab. It’s an utter whirlwind, and she hardly even registers that she’s practically been thrown into Molly’s arms.

Oh God.

Vaguely, Stella hears the door slam shut again, and Sherlock’s upbeat footsteps- the bastard- fading away. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I was- looking for-um-files,” she babbles, her mind screaming to move away, but still hanging onto Molly’s arms for balance.

Her face is growing hotter and hotter, and Jesus, Molly looks stunning, hair all with soft flyaway strands from a day at work, and her lips curving into a gorgeous smile and-oh God, has she been at the door the whole time?! Has she heard-

“Stella!” Molly exclaims. Her voice is somehow both shaky and firm. She squeezes Stella’s arms and Stella tries to keep breathing.

Molly takes a deep breath. “Yes, I’ll go out for dinner with you.”

Stella gapes. “How did you- I haven’t even-”

And Molly exhales, finally sounding as nervous as Stella feels. “If- if you don’t want- of course that’s fine but- but. If you do…um. Shall we say, Friday, seven ish? There’s an Italian I’d like to-”

And Stella can’t help it as the relieved giggles spill out of her. “Slow down, Hooper,” she says, finally letting go and reaching for her phone. “I haven’t even given you my number yet.”

Excerpt of a little Gatsby-era Nalu

“…it was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the last ones left on the train…”

The window was cool on the young woman’s cheek as she rested against it; the scenery whipping by so fast she couldn’t fathom how so many poets managed to write stanza after stanza on their behalf.

The very back of the train had always been her favorite compartment, because there was always, always an empty corner where she didn’t have to worry about poise or perfect posture. She could sit as slumped as she so desired and rest her perfectly styled hair against the dew-covered glass without worrying of frizz or flyaways.

All day, everyday single day, due to her social status she was expected to always shine bright in the public eye.

 But in the back of this train car, she could rest. 

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