Molly shuffled sleepily through her flat, tugging the hem of the oversized shirt down over her bottom. She wished she hadn’t had that second cup of tea. Up all night pissing. As she crossed the hall to the toilet, she gasped, flattening herself against the wall.
The lean figure straightened up, if that was even possible. He held in his hands his mobile phone.
She stepped away from the wall, moving towards the elder Holmes. “What on earth are you doing here? It’s three in the morning!”
His expression was urgent, fear in his eyes as he towered over her.
“What is it?” she asked, somehow finding strength. Sherlock was away on a case. Lawks what if something happend? “Is it Sherlock? Is it John? What’s happened? What do you need?”
He thrust his mobile out to her. “I need you to teach me how to use emojis.”
Molly let her jaw go slack, staring at her brother in-law. “Mycroft Holmes…you wake me up, scare me half to death…I’m barely getting any sleep because the baby is teething-”
‘Please!” Mycroft begged. “How else am I going to communicate with my niece when she’s a teenager?”
“What?” Molly asked, laughing, incredulous. “Mycroft Holmes…” she shook her head. “I am positive that Charlotte will happily talk to you well before then, but even as a teen, I should think with the family she has, she’ll be using mostly the ordinary alphabet in her texts to us.”
“She might send me one though, and I won’t know what it is!” Mycroft insisted. “What if she sends me that fecal matter one with the eyes? What emotion is that supposed to convey?”
Molly looked at her brother in-law, somewhat touched, if not very befuddled, by his request. Mycroft Holmes wanted to learn the most insipid form of communication on the off-chance that Charlotte would communicate solely by emojis (like hell she would, if Molly had anything to say about it). Molly remembered Sherlock, not too long before the birth, learning several different genres on his violin, not just classics, because Charlotte might not favor the classics as she grew up.
Shaking her head, Molly went to the kitchen, filling the kettle. “Go on, sit down, and whatever you do, be quiet. It’ll be your head if you wake the baby.”
@janes-ives i couldn’t decide on spring or eddie being a hypochondriac, so i picked both! hope you like it!!
“Ma, I—Ma! I’m okay, Ma.”
Sonia Kaspbrak circled her son, lips pursed and hands folded behind her back as she paused in front of him. She slicked back another one of Eddie’s blonde cowlicks, making a small, disgruntled noise as Eddie flinched away. She didn’t like this attitude of Eddie’s at all.
Eddie, however, wasn’t aware he even had an attitude. To Sonia, anything except strict compliance was an “attitude.” She was sure Eddie’s friends were destroying her little boy, but after the incident in the hospital, she didn’t dare refuse him the right to see them. Her little boy had… well, not seemed so little.
JAWN is really fuckin drunk lol maybe he'll bang me lol please bang me I'm desperate
sherlock. Sher-lawk heh he's so gorgeous. I wonder what would happen if I just...
lol smooth. That was really good he thinks it's an accident
holy fucking hell John Hamish Watson is GROPING my KNEE oh god okay okay play this cool. Play this down. Look in your mind palace for "how to flirt" and "how to have sex" calm down this is going to be fine. Whew. Okay. Oh no he's leaving i have to erm
ok ok ok ok ok ok calm down. Sherlock is right tHeRe and he's ALLOWING this. Okay how to proceed. Okay okay um just say something. Um. Get him to the couch yes okay good
THERE IS A CLIENT
oh for fucks sake sherlock and John were FINALLY going to get it on and now they have a client oh-just fuck it all. I've tried. I'm tired. Just fuck it.
who the fuck is this I think she's trying to make a move on John
@themarieffectasked that Mary, Anthea and Molly are besties and John, Mycroft and Sherlock find out! Mythea, Warstan, and Sherlolly. This is the last prompt! Turns out I had six prompts, and I couldn’t pass this one up!!! Prompts are closed now though. But stay tuned for more fic giveaways in the future!
There was an awful lot of commotion coming from Molly’s
flat. Loud music, glassware clinking and now and then some kind of thumping
following by hysterical laughter.
“Oh my Lawks, ‘Thea, you’re going to break something!”
“No I’m not shut up!”
“I wish you’d just wait for Sherlock to come over, he’s tall
enough, he can hang them up when he comes over tomorrow-“
This was met by a chorus of whistles and shrieking noises.
“Oh shut up!” Molly shouted, laughing.
John, Mycroft and Sherlock stood on the stairway leading up
to Molly’s flat.
“Sounds like a hen party,” John said at last.
“For…what?” Mycroft asked, still staring at the door, quite
unused to his wife making crass jokes…or talking about hisposterior outside of
their bedroom, and to other ladies.
“That’s more than I care to hear about your bottom,
“Well now we know,” John said, shutting his eyes with a
shrug. “Everyone agrees you have a fit bottom, that can also be described as ‘cute’
and ‘perky’, Mycroft,” he slapped him on the shoulder and went on up the
“You don’t mean you’re actually going up there!” Mycroft
“Look, Mary texted me, it must’ve been important. What are
you doing here anyways?”
Both Holmes brothers shifted, trying to square their
shoulders in the narrow hall.
“Molly texted me.”
“I received a text from my wife,” they both answered at
once, then glanced at each other.
“Well then…maybe they need ice or snacks, and nobody wants
to drive or get dressed or something.”
“Get dressed?!” Mycroft again looked alarmed.
“Yeah,” John said, pausing at the door. “Girls do that. They’ll
hang out in their pants all day if they like…doesn’t Anthea do that?”
Mycroft couldn’t speak, eyes glazed over somewhat.
“Molly does that sometimes,” Sherlock volunteered.
John gave a ‘there you go’ nod to him and then knocked on the
“Oh I told you!”
“You haven’t checked yet!”
“Ten to one it’s John-“
There was a ruckus as they all went running across the flat,
and fairly ripped the door open. The three of them stood there, half-dressed,
Mary and Molly had rollers in their hair, and Anthea was blowing on her nails.
Clearly, all of them had been drinking.
“Who did we say wins if all three came at the same time?”
“We do, because we’ll send them for food,” Mary said, and
reached for her wallet, pulling out a wad of cash. “Kebab shop is fine! You
boys get something for yourselves to eat as well!” with that the door shut,
leaving all three of them once again on the landing, wondering what in the heck
was going on.
“Were we just-“
“Played like a fiddle, yep,” John nodded, pocketing the
money. “Come on, we’ll get the girls something to eat, and then I suggest we go
and find a pub.”
“I concur,” Sherlock agreed. “No chip butties though, they
make Molly sick.”
“I…I don’t-“ Mycroft was still fumbling for words. “How long
has this sort of thing been going on?”
“What?” John laughed. “I dunno. Does it matter?”
“Not in the least!” Mycroft replied. “I am only surprised…”
“That Anthea’s a woman?”
“No, I’ve always been quite aware of that,”
“Then what?” Sherlock asked now, curious as to why his
brother was so flustered.
“Well, I always knew you two were idiots,” Mycroft said. “I
never expected that I would fall for something as benign as a ‘Come quickly,
you’re needed’, text, when I know for a fact there was nothing urgent about.”
“Then why did you come?” John asked. He and Sherlock
Again, Mycroft looked at them both, weighing the options of
telling them the truth or not. Instead he alighted up to the kebab shop door. “Right,
so dinner will be on me then,” he declared and headed in.
“You think he was hoping for…”
“A booty-call, yes,” Sherlock nodded.
“I don’t know if I want to let him forget that just yet,”
John said, laughing.
“Nor do I, leastwise not for the rest of the night…”
Victorian!lock. Mycroft removes his sister from the mental asylum Uncle Rudolph placed her in. Can Eurus be trusted? Was the damage done to her in the asylum irreparable? Sherlolly, Warstan, eventual Mythea. Mollcroft brotp. Protective Mycroft is protective. Rated ’t’ for description of victorian mental asylums
“God in Heaven…” Molly covered her mouth with a
“I am afraid the smell will only be worse on the inside.”
“Who runs this facility?” she couldn’t help but ask her
“I am afraid I did,” Mycroft answered, quietly, humble and
ashamed. “I was not personally aware of the goings on, not until I paid a visit
at the insistence of my brother. It was Sherlock who discovered the depravity
of the staff.”
“What ties do you have to such a place?” Molly asked,
Mycroft looked to his new sister in-law, steady, quite
accepting of the truth of his words: “My sister is an inmate.”
So I don’t like the ending of the new movie Ben C is in. I sherlollified it, and made it better. Enjoy!
Some angst, a happy ending.
The worst twelve hours of her life, of all of their lives. Molly had been at the shops, Rosie Watson hanging onto the hem of her coat while Molly reached for some boxes of macaroni and cheese off the top shelf. Rosie knew to always hold onto Molly’s coat, always. Something must have caught her eye, because the next thing Molly knew, little Rosie was gone. Gone in the crowded Tesco and no one seemed to know where she’d gotten to. Molly had thrust her phone into the face of every employee and person in the queue, begging them to identify the smiling little girl who decorated her phone’s background.
If I'm in time, Mollcroft, fake relationship. Also hi, new-ish follower here!
Mycroft did not like social functions, especially uselessly
boring ones. Not that weddings were useless. Just ones where he did not know
anyone, and certainly did not care to. Still, Anthea had texted him and said
that Molly Hooper was in dire straits. Sherlock was still out of the country
pretending to be dead, Inspector Lestrade was involved with Lieutenant Donovan,
and Doctor Watson had just begun a relationship, one that Mycroft did not
relish being ruined by a misunderstanding. Watson was in a delicate enough
state of mind that even Mycroft balked at suggesting the good doctor. As for
workmates, Stamford was married, and the intern was a driveling idiot, far
below Molly’s IQ level.
“Why must she go to this insipid affair at all if she feel
so compelled to bring someone?” Mycroft groused.
“It is a matter of pride, sir,” Anthea said. “Try and put
yourself in her shoes. Her father was the only one of her immediate family that
loved her. Her sister is…for lack of better words, an idiot, and her mother
is…difficult. Very difficult.”
“Hm. Yes, and with Miss Hooper’s rather lackluster history
with men, her mother’s domineering qualities, demand for grand-children coupled
with her distaste for her younger daughter’s career, singlehood and
‘weight-gain’-“ he used the term in quotations with a roll of the eyes. “I
suspect Mrs. Hooper would be less than pleased for her daughter to come sans
escort to her second wedding.”
“Or even at all,” Anthea added. “Even if, in our opinions,
it would be forgivable.” Anthea gave him a sharp look. “Are you backing out?”
“Certainly not!” he bristled at her evening thinking he
could be that callous to Molly. “She’s
done more than enough to earn a favor,” he paused, and Anthea caught a hint of
sentiment behind his words.
“She’s done enough to earn a lifetime of favors, sir,”
Anthea added gently. Mycroft nodded somberly.
“There is not enough money in the world to thank her for her
services, I doubt she would accept it anyway.”
“She could do with a friend, sir.”
He grimaced, unused to the word. “I am not the ‘friend’
“How do you know?” Anthea asked. “Your brother is very keen
“Yes, so it should be him doing this, not me,” Mycroft
“But he’s not here, and she needs someone,” Anthea added. “It
should be you. It shows you’re grateful for what she’s done, and your support for
her and Sherlock.”
“I know,” he sulked. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“You never know,” Anthea smiled. “You might have a good
“I hardly think so.”
Orangery in Kew
Gardens, West London
Mycroft was pleased to note, glancing down at the woman on
his arm, that Molly looked about as bored as he felt. He’d been to his fair
share of dull parties, but this was, undoubtable, the worst.
“Is it crass of me to say your family has a very boring idea
of a party?” he murmured in her ear.
She shifted, smiling up at him, genuinely amused. “Mother
does love a proper soirée.”
“Nothing about this is proper. The ice sculpture is hideous,
I don’t know what the pâté is made of but it’s revolting and resembles tinned
corned beef rather than liver, the champagne tastes like soda water, the
flowers are wilting due to not being properly cut, and the caviar is…” he
tilted his plate over the garbage bin. “Caca.”
Molly snorted into her champagne flute, trying her hardest
not to laugh and failing miserably. “Mother also likes to cut corners.”
“Which in itself is not a bad thing,” Mycroft agreed. “But
in the case of food, where one risks food poisoning everywhere one looks, I’d
“Agreed,” Molly nodded. The hors d’oeuvres were, from a
distance, attractive looking, but upon closer inspection, there was a faint
smell of tinned meat, less-than-fresh lox and caviar that was certainly not the
beluga variety her mother had been bragging to everyone about.
“Molly!” her mother waved her over.
“Oh dear, tin hat on,” Molly muttered, and waved back.
Mycroft gave her hand a comforting squeeze, knowing too-well the dread that was
in the pit of her stomach. He plastered a pleasant smile on his face, allowing
Molly to go ahead of him through the crowd, keeping a hand on her lower back,
gently guiding her from the more obtuse relatives.
“There you are dear!”
“Hello, congratulations mother, the hall looks beautiful.”
“It should for what it cost,” her mother said. “So! You final
caught someone who can put up with your job?”
“Erm, yes,” Molly flushed. “Mycroft, this is my mother,
Diana Collins. Mother, this is Mycroft Holmes, he works for the government.”
“Oh!” Diana brightened immediately. “How good to meet you! What
do you think of this Brexit business? Obviously we need to be separate!”
Mycroft blinked, and Molly saw the unmistakable poker face
of the Holmes men take over. “I never discuss business at parties, Mrs. Collins.”
He smiled at her amused laughter, glancing at Molly, who could only shrug.
“Well that may be so,” Diana allowed. “But you must talk to
Molly about finding a different job.”
“Mother,” Molly began.
“No I mean it. Cutting up bodies as if she enjoyed that sort
of thing. It’s a wonder she’s found someone like you!”
“I happen to believe that whatever makes Molly happy, so
long as it is within the confines of the law, has little to do with my opinion
of it,” Mycroft replied coolly. “As it happens, she is very good at her work,
and it was, in fact, how we met.”
“I still don’t see any use in your work,” Diana shook her
head. “It’s depressing, it’s disgusting, how anyone can have a life-“
“Your daughter is quite brilliant,” Mycroft interrupted, now
genuinely annoyed at this woman. Who on earth berated their daughter at a
wedding, let alone in front of their significant other (the fact that they were
only pretending was moot at the moment). “She’s been published all over the
country, and indeed in several other countries for her findings in the medical
field. She often speaks at Cambridge and Oxford. We’ve a better understanding
of the human body thanks to your daughter. I, for one, am quite proud of her.
Due excuse us.” With that, Mycroft tucked Molly’s hand into the crook of his
elbow and led her away.
“I’m sorry I dragged you to this,” Molly said, once out of
hearing of her mother. “You didn’t have to make such a speech.
“I am sorry if I embarrassed you,” Mycroft replied. “But I
am not sorry I said those things.”
“She has a way of getting under people’s skin,” Molly
shrugged. She glanced around at the party. “Would you like to go? It’s still early
enough we can get something proper to eat.”
“Lawks, yes, please,” Mycroft sighed. “I am famished.” He paused.
“And in need of a stiff drink.”
“Agreed,” Molly laughed and leaned her head against his
shoulder briefly, a kindred moment between them.
They ended up directing the driver to a posh kebab shop in
“Sherlock took me here,” Molly said. “There’s Michelin chefs
and a short wine list too.”
“As long as the meat is not green, I’ll eat anything,”
Mycroft replied. He looked at the kebab shop uneasily, but Molly seemed
confidant, and he knew her enough to know she didn’t muck about in bad
restaurants. It turned out, she was right, and they took their orders to go, at
“I dislike sitting in small restaurants,” he confessed.
“How about the bench over there?” Molly pointed to a small
patch of greenery and a clean-looking place to sit.
“Very well,” he motioned to the chauffer, and the man
nodded, pulling his mobile from his pocket. “Security,” he said, noting Molly’s
questioning look. In a moment two security guards appeared and took up posts
“Is it always like this for you?” Molly asked, unwrapping
“Eating on a bench? No.” Mycroft smirked. “But it is…well it
isn’t a welcome change, but it is different.”
“Thanks for humoring me,” Molly laughed.
“Only for you, my dear,” he acknowledged.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’ll enjoy it
while it lasts.”
“My dear woman, you’ve done quite a bit over the past year
for a life-time of favors from me.”
Molly looked at her food, then at him. “I don’t want you to
do nice things because you feel indebted to me, Mycroft. I’d like you to do
them, if you feel so inclined, because you want to. Because…because you’re my
He shifted in his seat, looked at the take-away container
and then at her. “Then…then I shall endeavor to be so to you, Miss Hooper.”
“Good,” she nodded. Taking a bite of food, she smiled at
him, her mouth full. “You’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes, I don’t care what your
“Hmm, yes,” he murmured, swallowing a mouthful. “So…Anthea
tells me you two have finally seen common sense and are a couple?”
Molly shook her head. “Not officially, not until he gets
back,” she shrugged. “I don’t hear from him, if that makes you feel any better.
We decided communication would be a bad thing, didn’t want to risk anything.”
“I shall have him contact you when it’s safe for him to do
so,” Mycroft promised. She looked up then, eyes shining at him.