miss hooper


If I could be anything in the world I would want to be a teardrop because I would be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips. 

I’m tagging the lovely @likingthistoomuch cause she encouraged me to start making Sherlolly edits and gifs, and ignore what haters think about them. Cause they’re not for the haters. They’re for myself and for people who like them.

ok ok but like imagine sherlock being left alone to care for the baby and him being all “uncle sherlock is better than uncle mycroft in everything right ?” and rosie just staring up at him with a confused face and him responding with “of course i’m the better one. obviously. now let’s go tell uncle mycroft that.”

One of the ways I imagine Sherlock would discover Molly's pregnant
  • Sherlock: Molly, I just don't understand why you've been so irritated with me lately.
  • Molly: (angry) .......
  • Mycroft: Sherlock, are you stupid?
  • Sherlock: (confused) .....
  • Sherlock: (realizes Molly looks different)
  • Sherlock: (deduces Molly gained weight)
  • Sherlock: (deduces it was gained in a very particular pattern) Oh
  • Sherlock: (deduces Molly was late to work at Barts that morning because she felt ill) Oh
  • Sherlock: (realizes Molly is pregnant) Oh
  • Sherlock: (deduces Molly is pregnant with HIS child) Oooohhhh
  • Sherlock: (deduces Molly is PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD) UUUUHHHHH
  • Sherlock: (deduces Molly is going to have his baby) UUUUMMMMM
  • Sherlock: (deduces he has fathered a child) John.....
  • John: Yes.
  • Sherlock: (deduces he will be responsible for a child) Could you move the table, please.
  • John: (moves table) Um, alright.
  • Sherlock: (deduces he will be a father) Thank you. (passes out)
You’re Going to Catch Such a Thrashing

Basically everyone wants to kick John’s butt for not answering his phone

“Men,” Mary Watson gritted her teeth, her legs bent as she keened, feeling another contraction. 

“Never mind them, they’re tossers,” Molly Hooper flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m going to give them such a talking to when I get my hands on them. For now, let’s just get you to the hospital.” Carefully, she eased Mary back into an upright position. “I texted Mycroft, he’s got a car waiting downstairs.”

“Mycroft,” Mary rolled her eyes, grinning. “John’s not going to like this.”

“Then he should have been here, not gallivanting off on a case he didn’t have to join.”

“He should have his fun,” Mary said, feeling a little generous, now that she wasn’t doubled over in pain. 

“Mary!” Molly nearly stopped, but Mary’s groans made her keep them heading down the stairs. “It’s your first child! Your baby daughter is about to be born and he’s nowhere to be found, is not answering his calls, I’d call that irresponsible, uncaring, and deplorable!” 

“Oh, believe me, I’m having words with both of them,” Mary grunted. “He knows better than to have his phone on silent.” 

They made it down to the car, and were surprised to see Mycroft actually waiting at the open door. 

“I didn’t know it was your car,” Mary said. 

“I was closest,” Mycroft replied, giving a hand to ease her into the back of the limousine. “Feet up or down?”

“For the moment down, I hope you’re not fond of the interior, I may not make the trip to the hospital.”

“We have assistance,” Mycroft nodded to the police cars waiting with lights flashing at the front and rear of the limo. 

“I make no promises.” 

“What can my brother be thinking?” Mycroft asked, following Molly into the car, once Mary was settled. 

“Don’t start,” Molly rolled her eyes. “He’s due a good thrashing from me once I get hold of him.”

The trio of cars pulled into traffic, Molly and Mycroft both angrily hammering a final text to Sherlock and John before turning their attention to Mary. 

Across town

“Uh-oh.” John was looking at his phone. 

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, then heard his own phone buzz. 

“Fifty missed calls and about thirty un-read messages.”

“Why is your phone on silent?!” Sherlock roared, taking off for the exit.

“Why is yours?” John shot back. 

“Mine is always on silent, now I’m going to be blamed for this! You’re going to get such a thrashing when we get there!” Sherlock bellowed over the noise of traffic as he hailed a cab. 

Molly: We’ve lost Sherlock.

John: Don’t worry, I got this



John: Found him.

Two Weeks Notice

His blood rushed loudly past his ears and he cleared his throat several times before finally managing to speak. ‘Two weeks?’

The firm nod from his soon-to-be-former-assistant brooked no argument.

Sherlock Holmes, self-made business mogul and genius with a knack for going through PR reps like tissue paper, was, for the first time, utterly baffled. 

‘I don’t understand.’ He stood and rounded his desk, a frown on his face, until he was standing in front of her. Molly Hooper. His assistant. His conscience. His voice of reason. The one person who, despite her diminutive stature and initial fumbling demeanor, had kept him in line and in good public standing for the better part of five years with a backbone of steel and an uncanny ability to charm even the most vicious reporter. 

She wouldn’t leave him… she couldn’t.

‘Are you no longer happy here, Miss Hooper?’

She turned her head before he could read her face, but he didn’t miss her flinch at his formal address. She took a deep breath before turning her gaze back to him. ‘I believe my services would be better utilized elsewhere.’

‘That’s not what I asked. Tell me, why are you leaving me?’

She looked down at her cherry-patterned blouse, tugged it straight, and cleared her throat. ‘Mr Holmes, the terms of my employment were clear in that, should either party be so inclined to terminate said employment, a notice of two weeks must be given. No where in the wording is it required that a reason be given.’

Sherlock cursed inwardly. ‘Miss Hoop-Molly, I thought we had developed an efficient rapport, even a friendship. If I have done something to cause you distress, please inform me so that I may rectify the situation.’ He slipped his hands into his pockets and ducked his head. ‘I have very few friends in my life and I would sincerely be loathe to lose you from my life.’

‘It is nothing you can fix, believe me,’ she replied, smiling sadly. 

Sherlock stepped toward her. ‘Molly-’

‘I’ve already begun vetting potential replacements,’ she interrupted, taking a step back. ‘Three months from now, it’ll be as if there was never any change. You’ll have forgotten all about me.’

Her smile was forced and a gnawing ache settled in Sherlock’s chest. No more chipper, bubbly smiles first thing in the morning as she brought him his coffee and handed him a folder with the relevant emails that had come through overnight. No more trying to hide his laughter in public spaces whenever she mumbled a sarcastic or morbid comment under her breath. No more watching her brilliantly smooth over his social faux-paus with a smile and perfectly-worded statements. 

No more Molly. 

‘What if I don’t want to forget you.’ His voice was dark and low. 

She replied with soft resignation. ‘We both know you excel at deleting extraneous information. And when I leave, that’s what I will become. Your work and empire will continue, your new assistant will do everything I’ve been doing for you, and nothing else in your life will change.’ 

Then with the strength he’d always admired in her, she straightened her shoulders and adopted a cool professional expression. ‘With that out of the way, I shall be off. You have a meeting with the Board in a half hour and I need to prepare the conference room.’ She turned on her heel and left the room, pausing at the door to call over her shoulder, ‘Don’t forget to wear the cufflinks Mr Haversham gave you; keeps you in his favour.’

The door clicked shut behind her with alarming finality and Sherlock fell back against his desk, stunned.

Two weeks. Two weeks and she would leave him. Why? Why was she leaving? He hadn’t offended her lately, insulted her clothing recently, or God forbid, forgotten to pay her! She had given no sign of discontentment or unhappiness working with him. If anything, she had thrived in her position, going above and beyond what he had even expected of her. 

So why would she leave?

Why would she stay?

The little voice that sounded a lot like his business partner, John, came unbidden to his mind. Sherlock froze. 

Why would she stay? If she received a better offer, he would understand that. But she gave no indication that she was looking for or taking a new position and no other company would dare even consider poaching her from him.

His legs were moving before he even thought to, propelling him across the room in record speed. He threw open the door and stormed out, sending a frightened intern scuttling after a flurry of papers she’d thrown in surprise. 

Sherlock paid the employees that parted around him like the Red Sea no mind. His singular focus was on finding his assistant and demanding a full explanation before talking her out of this irrational decision to leave him in the lurch. 

The lift was too slow and he bypassed it entirely, opting to thunder down the stairs to the ground floor. The conference room was in the center of the atrium and completely encased in glass windows that rose to the top of the three story-tall room. Transparency was the core of his business success; no underhanded dealings or hiding secrets. Made for a bumpy ride at times, but paid off in the long run. 

He straight-armed his way through the doors into the atrium; the steel doors slammed into the walls and echoed loudly in the tall room. Every head turned toward the sound and many craned their necks to watch as the C.E.O., President, and Notoriously Aloof Sherlock Holmes blew into the room with the force of a hurricane and narrowed in on the petite assistant who was speaking animatedly with the few board members who had arrived early.

He interrupted them unashamedly and furiously declared, ‘No. I refuse to accept your resignation.’

Molly looked over in surprise and a fierce blush stained her cheeks. Hastily excusing herself from the conversation, she hurried across the room. 

‘Mr Holmes, please-’

‘No, no more Mr Holmes,’ Sherlock snapped, uncaring that every ear was attuned to their discussion. ‘We have been on a first name basis for two years. We are friends, Molly. And friends don’t just quit. Not without reason.’

Molly looked around at their gaping audience and lowered her voice. ‘Sherlock, it’s…’ She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s complicated. Okay? You don’t understand and I get it, I do. Just… respect my decision.’ Her eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘Please.’

It was in that moment that Sherlock saw what he’d ignored for so long. The dilation of her pupils, the longing in her eyes, the soft way she would smile at him, putting aside her own personal life to help him, canceling dates at his last minute request when he needed her… the love that was woven in every word she spoke to him and every thing she did for him. 

And how deeply that love was reciprocated.

He reached out and caught her hand. ‘You’re wrong.’ He stepped closer and lifted his other hand to slip around the back of her head. Her breathing increased and her eyes widened. ‘I believe I do understand. Finally.’ 

‘Sherlock…’ The rest of her breathless words were stolen as he dipped his head and kissed her. 

Around them, the onlookers awed and cheered. Sherlock tuned them out, focusing all his attention on the woman in his arms and kicking himself for ignoring his heart for all these years.

And when John Watson, Sherlock’s business partner, arrived with the rest of the Board members minutes later, he smirked at the sight before him. A quick check to the calendar on his phone only made his smile widen. 

Seems he’d won the betting pool. 

The Christmas scene

Sherlock*proud as hell of himself*: Jeanette!  Ah, process of elimination.

Molly entering from the door.

Sherlock:*What the…? Makeup! Hair down! A ridiculous silver bow! Oh No! Under this thick coat there must be …*

Sherlock*shocked*: Oh, dear Lord.

Molly*smiling and shining*: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello… it said on the door just to come up.

Everybody is greeting her.

Sherlock (rolling his eyes): Oh, everybody’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful! 

Sherlock:*I need any distraction, I don’t want to see this coat taken off, I CAN’T SEE THIS COAT TAKEN OFF!*

John: Let me … HOLY MARY! 

Lestrade: Wow! 

Sherlock (annoyed):* yup I was right, there is a sexy dress under this coat, which means … NO NO NO don’t go there now … just skip it!*

Molly (sweetly): Having a Christmas drinkies, then? 

Sherlock:*ok stay cool and answer with a smile*

Sherlock (trying to sound cool and epic-ally failing): No stopping them, apparently. 

Sherlock (sitting):*yessss the best distraction is John’s blog … let’s see what case he ruined this time*

Mrs Hudson: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it! 

John to Molly: Have a seat.

Sherlock (laughing bitterly in his palace) : *oh don’t worry about that … she’s not staying for a long time … she got better things to do*

Sherlock: John? 

John: Mmm? 

Lestrade: Molly?  Want a drink? 

Sherlock (huffing): and suddenly everybody is caring about Molly (he rolled his eyes)

Sherlock (trying to distract himself again): The counter on your blog still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.

John (mocking): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled! 

Sherlock *like I’m not suffering enough right now!*: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!

John: People like the hat.

Sherlock *it’s ridiculous!*: No they don’t. What people? 

Molly: How’s the hip?

Mrs Hudson: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking. 

Molly: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.

Sherlock (crazily laughing in his palace):*oh my god that’s a good one*. 

Awkward silence

Sherlock (wide eyes): *alright maybe not for everybody’s taste*

Molly (apologetically): Oh, God. Sorry.

Sherlock (finally looking to her): Don’t make jokes, Molly.

Sherlock (eyeing her sexy dress and feeling his heart sinking)

Molly: No. Sorry. 

Sherlock (eyeing her bags and feeling his heart sinking more and more):*a present wrapped in the same color of her lipstick, this is worse than I thought*

Molly to Lestrade: I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas. 

Lestrade: That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted. 

Sherlock (beginning to lose control): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.

Molly: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right? 

John: Yeah.

Molly: Sherlock was complaining. 

Sherlock (looking to her disappointed): *come on now that, was private between us*

Molly: … saying.

Sherlock (rolling his eyes and whining): *yeah yeah whatever, why are you even still here asking everyone how you’re doing, don’t you have a (mocking) date you need to attend*

John: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.

Sherlock (having an irresistible urge to ruin everybody’s day and letting himself): Nope. 

John: Shut up, Sherlock.

Sherlock: *ok time to put Ms Hooper out of her misery and let her reach the (mocking) date in time*

Sherlock (faking sweetly): I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him. 

Molly: Sorry, what?

Sherlock (boiling inside): *oh don’t play shy!*

Sherlock: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.

John (trying to stop him): Take a day off. 

Lestrade (putting a glass in front of him as another desperate attempt to shut him up): Shut up and have a drink.

Sherlock: Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag  perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.

He stood up suddenly, wondering which lousy wrapped present was his. 

Sherlock: It’s for someone special, then. 

Sherlock (blood began to heat): *more special than me*

He picked the gift suppressing the need to toss it in the chimney.

Sherlock: The shade of red echoes her lipstick either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has luuuuuve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.

Sherlock (fire surrounding him in the palace): *she’s putting effort in this relationship, she’s serious about it, it means she’s over me*

Sherlock: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.


Sherlock (playing with the card of the gift): *now let’s see what is the name of the new psychopath you chose this time, I hope he won’t be worse than Moriarty.

Sherlock: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breastssssssssss … 

Sherlock (reading the card for hundred times, checking the name for thousand times): *Sherlock, my name is Sherlock, Sherlock is my name, this is my present, it’s me the luuuuve in her mind, god help me she’s putting three kisses, I’m the romantic attachment, love Molly, she loves me, me she loves, and  I just (suddenly freezing in the palace)  … ooooooh dear lord*

Molly (getting him out of his thoughts with her voice that felt like a knife stabbing deeply through his heart): You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always. 

He tried to run as fast as he could, he wanted the floor to swallow him in this moment, but she was hurt, his Molly was hurt because of him, again.

Sherlock:*be a man and fix what you just ruined* (he admonished himself roughly)

Sherlock(trying to find his voice): I am sorry. Forgive me. 

He never apologized before, but the words didn’t feel weird, he was sincere.

Sherlock: Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.

She was very near, he could smell her perfume and the cookies she was baking, he couldn’t resist.

He leaned down to kiss her slightly on the cheek, he never imagined he would kiss her one day, there was no need to do so before or even now, but he just did, he wanted to, nothing could prepare him for the warm he felt around his heart, she was soft and warm, she was closer than ever, it felt good, it felt right.

 An erotic moan heard around the room, pulling him away from his alien thoughts.

Molly (terrified): No! That wasn’t …  I didn’t …

Sherlock (trying to pull himself out of this path and forgetting what he just felt, deleting it from his palace but failing, he convinced himself because it was new): No, it was me.

Lestrade (surprised): My God, really?! 

Molly (still terrified): What?!

Sherlock: My phone.

He thanked The Woman internally for the perfect rescue in the prefect time.

@choofbloof I saw your post about Molly possibly being part of the Moriarty organization  which is interesting because


And the contact_jm twitter (I don’t care if the writers say it is fake I take all their lies that they say with a grain of salt) always signs off with a single X and then we have Eurus who signed her name Exx… Something is fucky. Or Molly and her XXX is a total coincidence. But the universe is rarely so lazy.

Does anyone remember if Jim has ever sent a text that had an X as a signature? Help a girl out.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Molly Hooper. What are your demands now? Food? Water? A good education for the young?”

Molly clenched her fists at his mocking tone. How dreadful was to be diplomatic with him when the only thing that crossed her mind was to punch those sharp cheekbones.But she was the only one from the shelter that he was willing to talk to, and her people needed her. She cleared her throath.

“We… need medicines.”

“And I suppose that Magnussen is not as generous as I am, right?”

“I haven’t seen him yet”

He played with the coin in his hands, rolling it across his knuckles. He reminded her of an otter she had seen at the Zoo when she was a child and the world wasn’t fucked up.

“How charming that you’ve thought of me first. But as you know well, I don’t give anything free.”

She clenched her fists. What was going to be this time? updates on her researches? the corpses of the recently deceased at the shelter so instead they could be given to their families for a proper burial he could experiment on them? soldiers?

“What do you need?” She asked.


That word sent her shivers running down her spine in a way that she didn’t want to feel. For a second everything was normal again, he was the Sherlock she once knew, willing to sacrifice himself for his loved ones. How much she missed that Sherlock, but she had to come to terms that she would never see him again. Those two years he spent dismantling Moriarty’s web had turned into a different man. A cruel tyrant that before they were able to blink, had all England under his control. She had been heartbroken, but she vowed herself she would fight for freedom, even if it meant killing him.

“Excuse me?”

He raised up from his  black couch, the coin long forgotten on his desk. He approached her like a predator would to his prey. But she was no prey, she was a lioness.

“There was a time where you would do anything I ever told you to. I just had to ask. I miss those times.” He was so close she could smell his expensive cologne mixed with his masculine scent. It was intoxicating. He extended one of his arms and with his long nimble fingers, captured a lock of her now blonde hair.

“You were so pretty with your long  auburn her pulled up in a ponytail. It gave you an air of innocence. You can’t imagine how many times I have thought of pulling your hair while I fucked you mercilessly against an authopsy table.”

She pressed her red lips in a tight line, she wasn’t going to let his antics affect her. She was stronger now.

“Kiss me.” He purred against her ear.

She looked at him straight in the eye, defiantly, eventhough he towered over her. He let out a long sigh.

“Okay. I guess I’m going to be the one who makes the first move.”

Leaning down he kissed her with a passion that if Molly had allowed herself to move, she would have melted against him and held him so tightly he could never stop kissing her. She fought the urge to moan, when his tongue caressed her lips, but Sherlock wasn’t  one to contain himself  when it came expressing how much he was enjoying something. In an attempt to break her barriers he ground his growing erection against her, hoping to get a reaction. But she remained as cold as ice, at least that was the external image she was presenting to him. But he knew better, on the inside she was a mess of  emotions mixed with primal desire, and that pleased him.

Stepping away from her and breaking the kiss he looked into her chocolate brown eyes, the only part of her that showed any emotion.

“Outside, there are a couple of cars with boxes filled with vaccines, get inside one of them and they’ll take you back to the shelter.”

As she turned to leave without saying as much as a ‘goodbye’ he spoke once again.

“I still mean it. When I told you that  wanted you to be forever by my side, I meant it. And I always will.”

She clenched her fists in rage and despair.

“Kiss my ass.”

He let out a deep chuckle.

“As much as I’d love to have that pleasure, I’m afraid that we’ll need to leave that for… our next session.”

Molly bit her lip and stomped out of the room, ignoring his laughter, echoing on the halls.

So after seeing that amazing image of Loo I felt inspired, there was a sherlollian that suggested a Distopian AU (I can’t remember who it was sorry) and I couldn’t help but go along with it. Sorry for all the mistakes, English is not my first language. 

Also Sherlock with his curls slicked back and wearing a suit.

anonymous asked:

I love swaplock where Sherlock is the one with the crush and Molly is oblivious, but everything else is the same. :) May I humbly request?

“Any luck?”

Sherlock looked up, startled. “What?”

“With the flowers,” John nodded to the bouquet on Molly’s desk. “You bought them, didn’t you?”

Sherlock scowled, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Not according to her.”

“What’s that mean?” John asked, amused. 

“Means she didn’t read the card, obviously.” 

“Why not take her to lunch or something?”

“Because, John, she’s not that sort of…ugh.” Sherlock stalked off, glowering. He waited until John had caught up with him. “She doesn’t take hints very well.”

“Well, knowing you, you didn’t put the card in the flowers,” John said.  

“I…had it written out…”  

“Okay, but still missing the point.”

“Well…she should know by now nobody buys her flowers, she could have seen me walk in with them!” Sherlock blustered.  

“Okay,” John nodded, humoring him. “How?”  

“Well…when…through security feeds!” Sherlock tried.  

“Mm, right, and when does she have time to hack the security feeds, on her lunch hour?” John shook his head. “Sherlock, just ask her out.”  

“Ask who what?”  

Both men turned with a start.  

“Uh…” Sherlock flicked a nervous glance to John, then back at Molly.  

“Sherlock is taking you to lunch,” John said. “That’s nice of you, Sherlock, well I’m going back home, let me know if anything comes up!” he slapped his friend on the back, waved goodbye to Molly and jogged off. 

“So…lunch?” Molly asked, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

Sherlock followed the curve of her fingers, distracted. Blinking quickly, he shrugged. “Yes! No…I…had thought dinner…instead.”

“Okay,” Molly shrugged. “For what though?”

“To…thank you,” he decided, mentally berating himself. “You’re quite singular, Molly Hooper.” 

Ah, better. 

“Sounds like fun!” she smiled brightly. “I’ve got loads to do, so lunch wouldn’t have worked out anyway, I’ll see you tonight, seven-ish?”

“Yes, I’ll pick you up-“

“Oh no it’ll be faster if I meet you, what’s the address?”

A plan quickly formulated in his mind. “You know Angelo’s restaurant?”

“I do, love it there.”

“Yes I know,” he murmured. 


“I said ‘Oh good’,” he answered quickly, flustered. “Yes. Angelo’s. Seven-fifteen.”

“Right. Okay!” she jotted down the time and place on the notebook she carried.

“See you then!”

Sherlock would have been lying if he said he’d nearly ducked his head to kiss her cheek, but she was past him before he could complete the motion. Well, there would be time for kissing later…he hoped. 

Sherlock Holmes was, for lack of a better word, utterly besotted. Molly Hooper, for whatever reason, either had no idea, or no interest. He felt rather sick to his stomach, the idea of her rejecting him, and thus ending their friendship. Perhaps she was oblivious, it was entirely possible, after all, it wasn’t as if he’d been clear from the start how he’d have liked their relationship to go. Well, he could and would clear all that up tonight. 

Later that evening, around seven-ish
Molly ran a hand through her still slightly-damp hair. The windy evening had mostly dried it, but she was all-too-aware she looked rather wind-blown as she stepped through the doors to Angelo’s restaurant. 

“Sherlock Holmes’ party,” she murmured, breathless, trying to comb down her hair. 

“Yes of course Miss Hooper, this way,” she was about to thank the hostess when she looked up, and suddenly wished she’d put on a nicer dress. Not that she was improperly dressed, but it was just an plain black sheath dress, one that allowed her to move freely while she worked. 

Looking around the restaurant, Molly couldn’t help but stare.
“Where um…where is everyone?” she asked.

“The restaurant is yours for the evening,” the host pulled aside the curtain to the outer patio. There was a single table, candles and paper lanterns decorated the patio. Wine was being chilled and a bouquet of heady peonies and roses decorated the table. “Enjoy.”

Molly couldn’t speak, still staring at the grand gesture that was spread before her. This was not a friendly dinner to say ‘thank-you’, and she felt quite foolish suddenly, for not having seen Sherlock’s attempted advances before. It all made sense! His spending time in the lab even if he had no cases or experiments, his assistance on her caseloads, the mysterious bouquet of flowers that showed up twice a month… 

Sherlock appeared, muttering to himself as he wrestled with a champagne bottle, clearly trying to get the cork out. He was dressed quite nicely in an rich aubergine button-down, and one of his nicer suites (though to be fair, all of his suits were nice).

“Oh…” Molly finally spoke.  

The cork finally popped out with a terrific ‘crack!’, just as he realized she was standing there. He cursed under his breath as the champagne foamed over, he grabbed the cloth from the handle of the bucket, wrapping it around the neck. 

She couldn’t move, or else she’d have helped him. Rooted to her spot, she again took in the beautiful sight. A lovely reserved restaurant for two, candles and flowers and champagne…and Sherlock, trying his hardest to appear blasé about half a bottle of wine foaming over his hand. 

“Molly,” he tried. 

“You meant me…” she finally managed, and he met her gaze. 

He quirked a smile, nodding. “Yes. All this time I’ve been making rather a poor show of trying to tell you but-“

“No, I’m just dense sometimes, you were lovely, and I’m sorry if I misunderstood,” she shook her head quickly. “I just…I never expected,” she gestured to their surroundings, then to herself. “I never expected anyone to do this for me and I’m…” she blushed, smiling at her feet for a moment. “I’m overwhelmed, if I’m quite honest,” she laughed, nervous, but she dared a step forward. 

“So…you’ll stay?” he too, moved nearer. 

Shy again, she nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry I’m not properly dressed,” she gestured to herself. “If I’d have known I-I’ve got a really beautiful dress at home, it’s dark green and velvet and not just an old work sheath.”

“You look lovely,” he said, quite honestly, and held her chair for her. “I’m just glad you came.”

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Sherlock,” Molly replied. “If I seem surprised it’s because…I guess I never expected someone like you to want someone like me.” 

He looked at her as if she had two heads. “I find that hard to believe, considering your brilliance, your fascinating line of work, to say nothing of your physical features,” the waiter stood by the doorway, and Sherlock noticed. “I could go on,” he said. “But there is the waiter with the menu, but I would like to discuss what our future would be, should we continue this relationship on a more intimate level.” 

“I’d like that,” she nodded, flushing, eyes shining at him.

From this list of Historical AU prompts.


“Mr. Holmes! Wh-what are you doing here?”

Sherlock Holmes, notorious rake and highly eligible bachelor, raised one elegant eyebrow before glancing down at the fan clutched so nervously in Miss Molly Hooper’s hand. “Ah,” he said, bowing slightly. “You were signaling someone else with your fan to meet in the gardens. I thought you were looking at me…well this is awkward.”

Miss Hooper’s cheeks turned red with mortification. “I was not…how dare…”

He had the audacity to laugh at her reaction. “However, I fear the object of your flirtation, Mr. Thomas Ashe, is untutored in the language of the fans, and is currently dancing with Miss Janine Hawkins.”

Instead of wilting, Miss Hooper straightened her (delightfully bared) shoulders and gave him a look of cool appraisement. “The same Miss Hawkins who has been seen much in your company as of late, Mr. Holmes?” She snapped open her fan and fluttered it in front of her (impishly lovely) face, so that only her (large, doe-like) brown eyes showed above the yellow lace.

Sherlock studied her through narrowed eyes. Clumsy as her use of the fan had been when attempting to signal to the young man for whom she’d presumably set her cap - and as nervous as her reaction to him had been when he instead of the insipid Mr. Ashe had joined her - he’d anticipated a corresponding lack of spirit in her responses to him. Instead, he found himself facing a very spirited young lady, not at all the wallflower society whispered her to be.

“Miss Hawkins finds my company tolerable only in that I am able to steer her towards the unmarried young bucks who might best suit her temperment,” he said, surprising both Miss Hooper and himself with his honesty. “She believes me to be, shall we say, uninterested in the charms of the fairer sex, despite my reputation to the contrary.”

“And why would she believe such a thing?” Miss Hooper asked, her fan lowered and her face bright with curiosity. “Could it be because you have deliberately led her to such an understanding, in order to keep her attention away from you? I have heard that you are not much interested in putting aside the freedoms of bachelorhood in order to take on the role of husband.”

“Well, Miss Hooper,” he replied, dropping his voice an octave and quite enjoying the way she swallowed and moved a nervous step backwards, “I find that you are much more interesting than you have presented yourself at these tedious functions.”

He took a deliberate step forward, causing her to back up yet again, until stopped by the presence of a pear tree. He leaned one arm above her shoulder and dipped his head low. “Tell me, Miss Hooper,” he purred as his mouth hovered just above hers, “what other fascinating things shall I learn about you this night?”


A Scurry of Squirrels and John’s New Girl

This is for @dmollyc. Love you, sweetness! Thanks go to @mizjoely and @mrsmcrieff for looking it over for me and making some great suggestions. Bless! It’s rated K+ and there is an element of truth to the case mentioned (or at least I heard that it was true!). You can also read it on AO3 and FF.net. Enjoy ~Lil~

“And then I realised that it wasn’t a random attack.” Sherlock said smugly before taking a drink of his wine.

“How!?” John’s date asked, clearly impressed. “He was attacked by wild squirrels!”

“It’s obvious,” Molly interjected causing all three heads to turn toward her.

Angela, John newest girlfriend, looked thoroughly shocked. “It is?”

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, Miss Hooper. Enlighten us.”

Holding up a hand, Angela said, “Wait! You already know, right?”

“No,” Molly answered. She hadn’t heard about this latest case, having just returned from a conference in Edinburgh. “I haven’t been in the lab for nearly a week.”

“But surely he told you,” the other woman said. “I assume he tells you about all of his cases, just like John tells me.”

John turned to his girlfriend. “I didn’t tell you about this one.”

“You said you wanted to give Sherlock something to talk about. How did you put it? Oh, yes. He’ll want his ego stroked,” she said, doing her best John impersonation (which was pretty good, much to John’s dismay).

“Ah, sweetheart…” the doctor started.

“It’s okay, John. I’m quite used to your pejorative description of me,” Sherlock said, looking only slightly offended. “At any rate, Molly was about to dazzle us with her deductive skill.” He winked at her as he spoke.

Molly giggled and rolled her eyes.

“All right. It was the ex girlfriend,” she proclaimed proudly.

“You’ve talked to Lestrade,” John accused.

“No. I just got in this afternoon. Barely had time to unpack before this one,” She motioned to Sherlock. “came storming into my flat, demanding that I accompany him to meet the new girl. His words.”

“Okay, okay. You’re clean. Now, how did you know it was the ex girlfriend, and furthermore, how the hell did she do it?” Angela asked.

“Elementary my dear, Angela,” Molly said cheekily. “The ex was a retired…” She paused, looking around the restaurant, then her gaze landed on Sherlock and she finished, “…lion trainer.”

John gasped, Angela squealed and Sherlock beamed.

“Go on,” the detective encouraged, leaning closer to his pathologist. “How did I figure it out?”

“Wait a minute,” Anglea protested. “Maybe John figured it out.”

Everyone laughed in unison, including John himself.

Sherlock waved his hand toward Molly. “I can’t wait to hear how you got that from the little I told about the case.”

She turned toward him, tossing her napkin onto her finished plate. “You said he was attacked by a scurry of squirrels. Was bitten… twenty-four times?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Squirrels aren’t pack hunters; they eat nuts, for God’s sake. And even if they can be somewhat aggressive, I’ve never heard of an organised squirrel attack.” She turned to her dinner companions. “Have you?”

John and his date both shook their heads.

“They must have been trained. Like those squirrels in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” she continued.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Never mind. It wouldn’t make sense to you even if I explained it,” she said to Sherlock, then turned and addressed the couple across the table. “Anyway, she must have somehow lured them into her house and trained them to attack the ex.” Tapping her index finger against her chin she said, “But how…”

Sherlock started to speak up, but was stopped when she whipped her head back to him.

“You found a standee of the boyfriend in her home!” she proudly proclaimed.

Bloody hell,” John mumbled. “Now there’s two of them.”

Sherlock paid his blogger no mind, his eyes completely focused on Molly. “How?” he asked, in a gruff voice.

“I worked it out,” she said proudly.

“Impressive,” Sherlock said, leaning closer, putting his arm on the back of her chair looking her directly in the eyes. Molly was staring back just as intently.

“You two are absolutely adorable,” Angela said, pulling them out of their ‘moment’.

“I’m sorry, what?” Molly asked, confused.

John, on the other hand, knew exactly what she meant. And it was trouble.

Angela looked at his friends dreamily. “How’d you guys meet anyway?”

Sherlock finally pulled his eyes off of Molly and explained, “It was her third day at St. Barts. I came in with Lestrade to examine a body that we thought was the latest victim of a serial killer.” He looked off into the distance. “Not nearly enough of those anymore.”

Sherlock…” Molly admonished.

“Right, I keep forgetting that it’s considered unacceptable to wish for more killings. Anyway, Mike Stamford introduced us. I instantly realised that I had a chance to work with a highly skilled and intelligent pathologist. I was thrilled,” he said with a smile.

Molly scoffed. “You deduced me, you great git!”

“Of course I did; it’s what I do.”

“You pointed out the cat sick on my shoes and said that I hadn’t had an intimate relationship in over seven months. Then you said that I needed to change deodorant!” Molly proclaimed.

“Yes, but I said nice things too. You’re just being negative.”

John, having seen the look on his girlfriend’s face, knew where the whole thing was heading. So he tried to change the subject. “Anyone want dessert?”

“No. I want to hear more about Molly and Sherlock,” Angela said, leaning forward. “Then what happened? Doesn’t sound like you were very fond of him at first.”

Sherlock laughed. Molly cut him a nasty glare.

“Quite the opposite,” the detective said with a grin.

“Yes,” Molly said picking up her wine glass. “I thought he had a fine arse and a bad attitude.”

“You were smitten!” Sherlock protested as he topped up his glass.

“I might have been a little naive those first few years, I’ll admit that.”

“You asked me out after watching me beat a corpse with a riding crop,” he said, turning to her fully, bracing one hand on the table and the other on the back of her chair.

“Oh my God! As if you didn’t know that you were being distractingly sexy that day!”

He leant forward. “Distractingly sexy, ah?” His voice was suddenly lower.

Angela was drinking it in like she was watching a romcom, live and in person.

Molly tossed her head back. “HA! Don’t, Sherlock! It doesn’t work anymore.”

“Why doesn’t it work anymore?” Angela asked, riveted.

Molly sat her glass down. “Well see, about a year ago, I get this phone call…”

“I had no choice, Molly, you know that,” Sherlock interrupted.

She waved him off. “I know, I know. Back to what I was saying…” Then Molly launched into the tale of Eurus, leaving out the parts about her being Sherlock’s sister and killing his childhood friend, she basically just gave the pertinent points. “He came round my flat two days later, explaining that he didn’t mean to hurt me and we’ve been fine ever since,” she said, finishing the story, a satisfied look on her face.

Angela, on the other hand, looked crushed. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” Molly answered. “What were you expecting?”

“You two aren’t a couple?”

Molly laughed, a little too loudly in John’s opinion. “Oh, good God no!”

Sherlock didn’t appear amused at all.

“But…but…” poor Angela tried to form a sentence, but seemed too heartbroken to continue.

“It’s not that ridiculous, Molly,” Sherlock said, draining his glass.

She turned to him and said, “Yes it is. Worse than that, it’s impossible.”

“And why is that?” he asked, obviously offended. “Once was a time, Molly…” Again, his voice dropped an octave and John considered dousing the man with a glass of water.

“Yes, once was a time… But that time is no more,” she said emphatically.

“Are you absolutely certain, Dr. Hooper?” Sherlock said, his voice dripping with so much sexuality, it was actually embarrassing.

Molly opened her mouth to respond, but John tried to pull everyone’s attention to him as he stood. “Go to the restroom with me, Sherlock.”

Not taking his eyes off of Molly, Sherlock replied, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

The detective turned and sneered. “Because we aren’t fourteen year old girls.”

“I need to…” Damnit… He couldn’t think of an excuse. Then one hit him. “I need you to look at a mole on my back!” Oh, bugger, that’s stupid and a little gross.

“Shouldn’t you see a dermatologist for that, John?” Molly asked, looking concerned.

“No, no. He’s right. I can spot a melanoma from twenty yards,” the detective said as he stood. “Lead the way.”

John breathed a sigh of relief as they walked to the men’s lav.

Once they reached the hallway outside the restroom, John grabbed his friend’s arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You asked me to come…”

“No, you idiot. With Molly. Stop flirting with her, stop it with the voice trick and for the love of God, don’t try to convince her to fall in love with you again. It’s cruel!” he said in a frustrated whisper.

“I’m not…” He paused, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, fine. I was. But really, what’s wrong with it? We’re on a double date, are we not?”

“NO, no we’re not! This is me introducing my girlfriend to my two best friends. My two best friends who are NOT in a relationship and never will be. Those aren’t my words, Sherlock, they’re yours.”

John Watson may not be observant, but he had a good memory and he clearly remembered a very long and painful conversation between himself and his best friend not six months ago…

“I think might have made a mistake, John,” Sherlock said as they sat in Baker Street one afternoon.

“About what?”

“Telling Molly that I didn’t mean it when I said I loved her,” the detective explained.

“You… do love her?”

“Maybe?” he answer, confused.

John sighed. “You know, if you were anyone else, if Molly were anyone else, I’d say go for it. See if it works. See how you feel. But this isn’t a good idea, Sherlock.”

“You don’t think…”

“I’d say, in this case, maybe isn’t good enough.”

They went back and forth for over an hour, Sherlock trying to express his feelings, John trying to figure out if his friend was really in love or just lonely.

Finally frustrated and hurting for the other man, John said, “Molly’s been through enough. She deserves to be loved completely, Sherlock. If you can’t do that, then you have to let this go.”

Sherlock was lost in thought for a solid ten minutes; eventually he stood up and said, “I won’t ever pursue Molly Hooper. You’re right, John. We won’t be in a relationship. Ever.” It sounded like he was confirming it for himself, more than for John’s benefit.

He then went to the kitchen to start an experiment. John worried about the fallout, but there was none. Even though Sherlock spoke very little for the rest of the day, he acted completely normal the next time John saw him. And the first time the pair walked into the Path lab to ask for Molly’s assistance, it was as if nothing had changed. John was incredibly relieved.

“You’re right, of course,” Sherlock said, the same defeated tone in his voice that John remembered from six months before. Then he seemed to shake it off. “I just got carried away. You and Angela seem so happy and…” He cleared his throat and fiddled with his cufflinks. “I’ll apologise later, when I drop her home. She’ll understand; she always does.” He started to walk back toward the dining room. “Though I blame your new girl, John. She clearly ships us.”

“Ships?” John said, as he jogged to catch up with the man. “How do you know about shipping?”

“I know a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but ships?”

“I’m a man of the world, John. And I’ve been on Tumblr.”

John was happy to see that Sherlock seemed to be right back to his old self again.

But as soon as they reached the dining room once again, everything went straight to hell.

Molly was standing next to the table talking to a man who looked to be in his late thirties. Why does he look familiar? John wondered. He was average height, had light brown hair and brown eyes. He was also, unfortunately for him, pretty good looking. When he and Sherlock were about five feet from the table the man grabbed Molly around the waist, hugging her tightly and kissing her on the cheek.

John had no time to react. Sherlock took the man by his shoulder, spinning him around to face him. Molly tried to speak, but before anyone could do, well, anything, Sherlock had punched the man square in the mouth.

“What the hell, Sherlock!?” Molly exclaimed.

The detective turned to her and said, “I don’t know why I ever listened to John. He’s always wrong!”

Molly looked horrified. “What?!”

“It’s not maybe, Molly. I do love you! And I won’t have some random man groping you during our date.” He finished it off, dramatically of course, by pulling her close and kissing her passionately. The whole scene looked like it had been scripted by some first year film student.

John groaned and Angela cheered as the restaurant staff tried to help the 'groper’ up off the floor. Thankfully he looked fine (except for the bloody lip).

The kiss ended, finally, and Molly stepped away, she seemed a bit bewildered. She walked over to the man and asked if he was okay. Sherlock looked crestfallen. The man nodded as Molly whispered to him while she examined his lip. Seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention back to Sherlock.

“Can you explain what that was about?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

“Ah, well… you see…” he trailed off, never really finishing the sentence.

“Great. Suddenly you can’t speak.” She turned to look at John. “Any idea?”

“He’s an idiot?” John said.

“Yeah, I get that. But why did he just punch my cousin Bernard?”

Angela simply couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Oh God! He’s so stupidly in love with you he didn’t even recognise the family resemblance! It’s so freaking adorable!” she practically squealed and John wondered if he could break up with her on the ride home, or would he have to wait until the next day.

Molly looked at Sherlock. “Is that true?”

A hushed silence fell as the entire restaurant seemed to be waiting for the answer.

“Yes,” he returned in a small voice.

“And when did you realise this? Was it the squirrels, because that was mostly just dumb luck.”

“It was not and you know it,” he said. “And I’ve been thinking about it for…” The last words were mumbled, completely unintelligible.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He sighed. “First of all, I need to make it clear that this is entirely John Watson’s fault. He said I shouldn’t pursue a relationship with you when I talked to him about it six months ago.”

Molly glared at John for a moment, then turned back to the detective. “Because you always listen to John.”

“About things of which I have no experience? Yes.”

“Continue, and make it good or I won’t try to talk Bernard out of pressing charges.”

He studied her for a long moment before moving toward her, taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry I punched your cousin in a… fit of jealous rage.” Molly nodded. “And I’m sorry that I asked an imbecile for dating advice.” She nodded again. “But mostly, I’m sorry I didn’t do all of this years ago. Forgive me, Molly.” He kissed her cheek then moved back to wait for her reply.

After several tense moments she said, “Okay. I suppose you’re forgiven. And you know very well how I feel about you, Sherlock. Don’t expect me to proclaim it in the middle of a restaurant with my injured cousin looking on.”

“I can accept that.”

“You’ll have to.” She turned and addressed Bernard. “You want us to run you to the hospital?”

“No! God no! And please don’t invite me to the wedding,” he said, slowly backing away.

“I’m going to go speak with the owner and try to intercept the police,” Sherlock said.

“Well, that was the best date I’ve ever had,” Angel said as she picked up her handbag.

“A day in the life…” John said, as he helped her with her jacket.

Molly walked up to him. “You told Sherlock Holmes not to ask me out?”

“Ah, yeah. I was worried that he would hurt you, Molls. You’re not mad, are you?” He laughed uncomfortably.

She grabbed her bag and wrap then said, “Let’s just say you have a long way to go if you want to be invited to the wedding, John Hamish Watson.” Then she stormed away.


“Oh, she’s pissed off,” Angela said, taking his arm. “Maybe avoid parks and hiking trails for a while. She seemed pretty keen about that squirrel trick.”