he's been working double time

This time of year is always hard for me. Not only is it my birthday, but the anniversary of my father’s death. A couple of years ago I wrote a story about it, and so for my own selfish reasons, I’m reposting it. It helps, believe it or not. 


~February 22, 2010~

Sherlock was just about to knock on Molly’s office door to ask for her assistance in the path lab when he heard a strange sound coming from the room. He really didn’t need her help, but Dr. Stamford had made himself quite clear that while Sherlock was allowed access to the facilities, it wasn’t without restriction and he would have to be supervised. He had only been out of rehab for eight months and had finally gotten the attention of Scotland Yard for his assistance with a murder investigation that would have frankly gone cold, had it not been for him. His new relationship with Barts and the powers that be was all too tenuous to muck up, just yet. He had no choice but to grin and bear it, as it were.

He didn’t know Dr. Molly Hooper very well, she seemed competent enough, certainly more intelligent than most of the half-witted idiots that surrounded him. It also didn’t hurt that she made a damn fine cup of coffee and followed his instructions to the letter, that is when she wasn’t stuttering and blushing like a teenager. But now, she was behind a closed door… crying. How was he to handle this?

He wasn’t fond of crying. He knew very little about the pathologist, but he was certain if he marched into her office while she was in the middle of a crying jag she’d be even more of a blushing, stammering mess than usual. In the end he decided that his experiment could wait until tomorrow. He turned on his heels and left.

~February 22, 2011~

Sherlock sat at his preferred microscope looking at abnormal plant cells when Molly came in looking worse than normal. They hadn’t spoken very much since the Christmas incident, but when they had it seemed that things were back to normal. Surely she didn’t think he was going to melt at the sight of her in that awful dress and overly done hair and make-up? He was slightly confused by his guilt, however. Why did he still have an odd feeling in his stomach every time he looked at her? He couldn’t figure it out, and he hated not being able to figure something out.

She came in carrying a stack of files, paying no attention to him whatsoever, then tossed them on the counter. She then picked up something from the corner of the room, retrieved the files and scurried out of the room, without so much as a glance in his direction. Clearly she was still upset. He didn’t want to have to do it, but if her emotional state was going to affect their working relationship, he’d just have to address the situation once again. He finished what he was working on then went to find her. He deduced that she’d be in her office.

That was where he found her an hour later. He heard her sniffle as he approached the door. He rolled his eyes once before knocking, reminding himself not to do that in her presence – living with John Watson did have its advantages – John was constantly reminding him that the general public didn’t like his patronizing eye rolls.

“Come in,” he heard Molly croak out. She clearly had been crying for some time, as her voice sounded hoarse and strained.

He walked in and immediately felt the guilt once again. This is getting very old, he thought. “Molly, I thought perhaps we should talk,” he said with a sigh.

She wiped her eyes as she stood up, then she removed her lab coat and cleared her throat. “Oh, ah, Sherlock- um did you need me for something? I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Yes, you’re clearly upset and…” He paused and looked at her desk. She had her bag sitting atop a blanket. Perhaps this has nothing to do with me, he thought. “Well, if you’re leaving then I’ll just speak with you some other time.”

“Are you sure? Is it very important?”

Not about me at all, then. “No, no. It can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” She put on her coat and picked up her things.

Sherlock was at a bit of a loss. He was certain that she was still emotionally distraught over the Christmas party. He had no idea what she was actually upset about and for some reason, he wanted to find out.

“Well, I’ll see you… later, then,” he said, then he turned and left her office. He didn’t go far though, just hid out of Molly’s sight and waited for her to leave. There was a mystery a foot and he decided he would solve it. He had no case and his experiment was finished, not to mention his curiosity had been piqued. And there was still that lingering feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach, even though her current mood had nothing to do with him or his Christmas cruelty- no honesty... he hadn’t been cruel, had he? Uncalled for perhaps, yes, that would do.

He followed her to the Tube, staying a safe distance away, then sat down several seats behind her. She kept her head down, not noticing anything around her whatsoever. It was shockingly easy to follow the pathologist. He was disturbed by the amount of attention she paid to her surroundings, which was next to none. He considered trying to ‘gift’ her self-defense lessons, but decided that perhaps he should just ask Mycroft to assign her a security detail instead.

Soon enough she stood up and he once again followed as she walked through the crowds. He thought he would have to intervene at one point when she very nearly stepped in front of a lorry, but she looked up just in time to jump back to the curb. She finally (carefully) crossed the street and entered a cemetery.

Within five minutes Molly had found what she was looking for. Sherlock tucked himself behind a nearby tree, close enough to see her and hear her, but obscured from her sight (not difficult considering her poor observation skills). She spread the blanket on the ground at the end of the grave and sat down. It was a cold day but not wet, thankfully.

Sherlock waited and listened. She didn’t speak for several minutes, she was crying softly. Then finally…

“Hi Daddy. Sorry it’s been so long, work’s been… well work.” She sniffled. “I should have visited sooner but… oh and sorry about my little breakdown at Christmas. That was uncalled for. This year was, as you know, a tough one. I won’t go through that again, you don’t need to hear about all that rubbish with Sherlock over and over. He’s, of course, acting like nothing happened. Don’t know what I expected.” She fished a tissue out of her pocket.

“Sometimes, like today, I feel so lonely, Daddy. It would be nice to have someone just to…” She didn’t finish the sentence, instead she cleaned her nose and took a deep breath. “I used to love my birthday. But now… No one knows, I don’t want them to know, but…” She paused and blew her nose again. “I told Mike when I started not to mention it and he’s been good about it. He’s a good man Daddy, a good boss.” She started crying harder.

“I called Mum. She’s… well she’s worse. She wasn’t very kind. Didn’t want to see me, so…”

There was a long pause filled with soft whimpers and sniffles. Sherlock knew he was witnessing something completely personal and private, he knew he had no business being there, but his feet were rooted to the spot. The guilty feeling in his stomach had been replaced with something so distractingly foreign, he couldn’t begin to name it. He couldn’t, however, take his eyes off of the petite woman in front of him.

It was her birthday, of course. He didn’t care for his birthday, none whatsoever, but some people, he was aware, did. She was sad and lonely and seeking comfort from her father’s grave. For a split second, he wished he were the kind of person that could go to her and wrap his arms around her. He wished he had words of comfort and kindness to end her sadness. He wished he knew how to make Molly Hooper happy, if for only a moment. But he wasn’t that kind of person and he had no idea how to heal her hurt, so he watched as she finished visiting with her father, then picked herself up. She folded the blanket, put her bag on her shoulder then walked to the grave marker and pressed a kiss to her fingertips then to the stone. As she walked away, Sherlock walked out from behind the tree and closer to the headstone.


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You (Chris Evans x Reader)

Originally posted by natashasromanoff

Prompt: Chris Evans, telling him your pregnant after a rough patch in your relationship? Thanks

A/N: Chris Evans, making everyone emotional since 1981. I DON’T LIKE WRITING HIM SO SAD. But yes. Here is some angsty fluff. You have been warned. Thank you to the sweet anon who sent this! 

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Imagine FaceTiming Chris while you’re painting the nursery.

A/N: Hello, hello. Thank you to the anon who asked about the series, definitely pushed me to sit down and write. Anyway, this is the next part of the series; it’s called ‘Memory Lane’ and you’ll understand why soon. The first two parts and their masterlists will be linked here (‘Drunk Minds, Sober Hearts’ and 'Baby Fever’) Hope everyone enjoys this. X

Your paint roller strolled up and down the white walls, transforming its neutral shade into a darling baby blue for your son that was due in a few months. It amazed you how quickly the past six months had past, it felt like just yesterday it was Christmas and you were telling Chris you were ready to have a baby with him. It was insane to you that you were now actually pregnant and starting to prepare a proper nursery in the spare room where you had the mock nursery for your baby niece while you babysat her for the week. Chris was right when he said, “times flies when you’re having fun.” Since you found you were pregnant with the love of your life’s child, you’d been having more fun than you’d ever imagine. To think you didn’t want kids, thank God for Chris because you would’ve missed out on the biggest adventure of your life.

Speaking of Chris: he was away and had been for the past four- nearly five months, filming 'Avengers: Infinity War’. Without his help, the nursery was coming along rather slowly. You didn’t want to go shopping without him because you wanted him to have a say too, though he would agree with everything you chose- you felt it was nice for him to be there anyway. As for the painting, you both agreed the nursery’s color would be based on the gender of your future child. The fact that you’d only just found out the gender two days ago, made his offer to paint the room before he left redundant. He said he’d paint when he returned- which wasn’t long now- and that you- in no circumstance- were to do it yourself. You chuckled softly as you continued to paint, “yeah, right.”

Your music was cut short when your phone starting ringing. From the ring tone, you knew it was Chris calling through FaceTime. You lowered the roller into the paint dish and answered, turning your camera to a unpainted wall because you were yet to tell your husband he was having a son. Your face popped up on the bottom right of your screen, whereas Chris’ face filled the rest. You smiled when you saw his blond hair and clean shaven face; it didn’t matter how long the two of you’d been together, you still felt awe every time he became Captain America. The thing that amazed you the most wasn’t how different he looked, it was that Captain America was yours and yours alone.

“Hey baby,” Chris smiled brightly when the connection stabled.

“Hey Cap,” you smiled back. “How’s the movie coming along?” You asked and he chuckled.

“I understand that you’re a Marvel fan and you’re really excited about the movie,” he began and you suppressed your laughter, knowing what he was going to say next. “But can we talk about you first?” He asked and you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Great, fantastic, the same as yesterday,” you assured him, giggling. “Stop worrying about me, Chris. I’m pregnant, not dying.” You reminded him in a playful tone and he chuckled. “Now answer my question, how’s the movie coming along?”

“Great, fantastic, the same as yesterday,” he responded similarly then laughed when you scowled. “I’m sorry,” he said with a cute pout. “You know I can’t tell you anything about the movie, Marvel’s got snipers ready to gun me down if I spill anything. As much as I’d love to tell you all the secrets, I’d like to be there for the birth of my future son or daughter.”

Your smile reached your eyes when you realized you still hadn’t told Chris about the gender of the baby. You were excited because you knew he’d be too; he could finally have someone in the house to talk Patriots with him. He did talk about wanting a daughter so he could spoil and treat her like a little Disney Princess, but he also did say he’d love a son he could raise like a mini-him. Having a husband like Chris made things easy because you really couldn’t go wrong with him; his love for children was too strong. Yeah, you were having a boy, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try for a girl the next time.

“Can I show you something?”

“It better not be something you baked,” he warned playfully. “I’m still drooling from yesterday’s brownies.” He told you and you giggled. “You have to make them for me when I’m back and on break and don’t have to watch everything I eat.”

“I will,” you promised with a nod. “Now close your eyes for a second, I want you to be surprised.” You told him and he rolled his eyes but did as you instructed. “Okay, just keep them closed.” You said as you flipped the camera so you could show him the blue wall. “Now open.” You instructed and his eyes fluttered open.

“Why are you showing me a blue wall?” He asked with narrowed eyes. You giggled then watched him as his eyes widened with realization. “Oh my God!” He exclaimed excitedly, leaning closer to his screen. “We’re having a boy?!” He asked and you flipped the camera back to you so you could nod and grin. “Y/N! That’s amazing, I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” you agreed.

“Wait- Did you start painting without me?” He asked; his eyes narrowed and you winced. “I told you to wait till I got back, you shouldn’t be doing any hard labor.” He said and you chuckled. “Stop laughing,” he scolded but was chuckling himself, “I’m serious.”

“I know,” you giggled. “But I’m fine, Chris. It’s not hard labor, it’s just rolling the sponge thing up and down the wall. It’s honestly the easiest thing,” you tried to assure him but he didn’t look very assured. “Stop worrying about me,” you chuckled at his frowny face. “I’m not that fragile.”

“Just promise me you won’t try and climb anything, if you can’t reach- just leave it until I get back.” He told you, his face contorted with anxiousness and concern because he knew you all too well. “I mean it, Y/N.” He warned in a stern tone and you nodded. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, or the baby. I’m not home, so don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” you promised.

“Good,” he bit then huffed. “I miss you,” he admitted with a heavy hearted smile. “I really, really can’t wait to get back home to you. I’m like literally-” he shifted his computer to show you the pug theme calendar you got him, “counting down the days.”

“Same here,” you felt your eyes tear up.

“Don’t start,” he chuckled, feeling his own eyes water. “You know if you start crying then I’m going to cry too and- I can’t afford to do that because I have to go film a scene soon.” He told you and you chuckled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “God, I wish this movie wasn’t schedule for now. I want to be there with you, going through the pregnancy with you. I mean- I’ve missed everything,” he said with a sigh. “I haven’t even felt the baby kick and that-” He huffed, “it sucks, Y/N. I’m so sorry, you must be feeling so alone.”

“Hey,” you smiled to make him smile. “Don’t do that to yourself, it’s your job. Plus- you’re home soon and we can experience the rest of the pregnancy together. You’ve only missed the yucky stuff, the morning sickness and the mood swings.” You joked and he chuckled. “And I haven’t felt alone once, with an amazing husband like you- how could I? You call me all the time, text me good morning, good afternoon and good night, and leave me little baggies of Gummi Bears all around the house. Even though you’re not here physically, you’re still here with me.”

“I love you,” he smiled. “And I can’t wait to see you.”

“Right back at you,” you smiled.

You heard Chris’ trailer door open in the background. “Yo, Chris.” Sebastian’s voice came through and Chris turned as he walked into the frame. “Anthony and Joe-” He cut himself off when he saw you on Chris’ laptop screen; you smiled and waved, drawing him closer to the screen. “Y/N, hey!”

“Hi Seb,” you chuckled. “Have you come to take my husband away from me?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian chuckled. “Sorry, but Captain America is needed.” You smiled and shook your head, as if to say “it’s okay”. “You look great though, the pregnancy must be coming along well.” He commented and you nodded. “Chris is very excited to wrap up so he can get back to you, he’s been pouting about missing the experience since he got here. Everyone’s working double time so he can go home early and we can stop listening to him whine,” he said then laughed when you did.

“Shut up,” Chris chuckled, shoving Sebastian away from the laptop. “I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart.” He told you and you nodded; you smiled and waved at Sebastian, who was behind Chris waving at you. “Take it easy, alright?”

“You got it, Cap.” You saluted him and he chuckled. “Bye Buck,” you gave Sebastian a two finger wave and he chuckled, returning it. You blew Chris a kiss and he blew you one before he hung up the call. You slipped your phone back into your pocket and returned to painting, patting your belly ever so gently and whispering. “Your daddy will be home soon.”

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