holding stories inside

  • *in a cab; on the way to the christening*
  • Molly: *happily* Oh isn't this exciting? I bet she looks lovely. And John and Mary are wonderful parents...
  • Sherlock: *on his phone* Mmm.
  • Molly: *sighs* Oh, her name is just beautiful *giggles* I always wanted to name my daughter Persephone.
  • Sherlock: *glances at her*
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* Hey, I was eleven at the time and really into all that mythology stuff.
  • Sherlock: *still typing* There are worse names for a child than Persephone Holmes.
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: *raises an eyebrow* Why would it be Holmes?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* I always assumed you'd take your husband's name.
  • Molly: *scoffs* Yeah, well, I'm not going to marry Mycroft!
  • Sherlock: *confused* We've been sleeping together and you think-
  • Molly: *giggles* No, I mean, I just thought you weren't the marrying kind.
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Sex, Molly. I don't do that with just anyone.
  • Molly: *raises an eyebrow* You love me?
  • Sherlock: Obviously.
  • Molly: *smirks* I'm sorry? I didn't catch that.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* I love you.
  • Molly: *takes his hand* I love you too.
  • Sherlock: *coughs* So you'll...marry me, then?
  • Molly: *kisses his cheek* Of course I will.
here by the settled shadows

summary: ghosts linger. 

(excerpt: phil meets two hundred and forty eight versions of himself by the time he’s twenty-three, and they never leave, trailing after him with phantom smiles and paper-thin skins that hold their stories inside.)

notes: a 2012 christmastime fic. because apparently i’ve started an unhappy christmas fics tradition, and this has been sitting in my folders for too long.

a quirky, strange, angsty little thing that started as me toying with realistic sci-fi and turned into some kind of elaborate metaphor for 2012!phil. warning that this fic mentions/deals with the vday vid, because i figured, you know. if i go mia might as well look taboos in the eye. also read on ao3.






In one world, Phil’s uncle takes him hunting as a child. This Phil becomes a vet, and he sits at the foot of the bed with running red hands and leaves marks on the duvet, blood and guilt and apathy. He isn’t fond of houseplants, and his cold eyes are unchanging as he glances over Phil’s shoulder at pictures of cats online.

Phil never does last his vet internship. In the end, he packs his things and goes back home, to his room and his bed and the red marks on the duvet. The Phil of the universe where he lasts through the internship still sits at the foot of the bed, judges. His judgement leaves dents in the cushions, but Phil bleaches the duvet white and no longer cares.

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If you want me, my friend
Let me tell you it might be risky
I am not a prize for the taking
Won by courage masked by whiskey
If you flirt with me, my friend
Let me say something bold
I refuse to play a single game
For it is all the cards I hold
If you ask for my name, my friend
Let me hesitate for some time
Before you taste it in your mouth
Like tequila chased down with lime
If you hold me close, my friend
Let me melt into your touch
I don’t do well with intimacy
It doesn’t happen much
If you catch me looking, my friend
Let my starry eyes take you home
They’ll tell the story I hold inside
The one about how I feel so alone

So if you still want me, my friend
Know the package come with flaws
I am not a prize for the taking
I am not a girl who waits for calls