otp: sherlolly

*arrives a month later with Sherlolly  fanfiction that takes place - of course - in the aftermath of ~that episode~*

“Molly”

“Go away, Sherlock”

“Mrs. Hudson sends biscuits.” He blurted out, ashamed of the way his tongue rushed to bribe her with sweets. He noticed, as he noticed (almost) everything else, the fact that she loved sweets. Always during her visits to Baker Street she took her tea with not one but two of Mrs. Hudson’s treats.

“You go down there and you talk to her.” John had said. “Fix it, Sherlock, as you fix everything else. Look, Mrs. H brought biscuits. That’ll get you inside. The rest is up to you.”

Her icy command came through the closed door.

“You can leave them at the door on your way out.”

“No, Molly. You have to let me in”.

He immediately regretted his poor choice of words.

“You know, I really do not have to do anything, just because you ask”.

“N-no, of course not.”

In a manner very un-Sherlock like, he faltered. Against her good sense, she was drawn to the door at this sign of vulnerability in his voice. It was as if her presence could make it better, which was, of course, a ridiculous thought.

“I just-I really need to explain-”

The door suddenly burst open. Molly Hooper stood before him, looking at him directly in the eye. His towering form wasn’t so intimidating now, she noticed, and, in turn, he didn’t feel very powerful standing before her.

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There are several reasons why fans of BBC’s Sherlock are utterly mad, incurably creative, and horny as hell. First and foremost, they are hungry. Devotees of American TV dramas get twenty-two episodes a year. Fans of most British drams enjoy six, eight, maybe a dozen. The Sherlock fandom gets three. The Sherlock fandom gets three television episodes every 18-24 months. The Sherlock fandom is deeply, abidingly, and very inventively starving.
—  Anne Jamison, Fic: Why Fanfiction is Taking Over the World.
10

p a r a l l e l s

You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.

3

That is suggested by the economy of choice, acquainted with the process of death, but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. The lining of the coffin… Yes, very good, Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid. Only it isn’t a name. So it’s for somebody who loves somebody. It’s for somebody who loves Sherlock. This is all about you, everything here. So, who loves you? I’m assuming it’s not a long list. Irene Adler. Don’t be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone. Molly. Molly Hooper.

4

Emotional context, Sherlock, it destroys you every time.