sherlock holmes put on your trousers

Can anyone else see the relationship of the Scamander brothers being very similar to that of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes from the BBC series?  Newt worked for the Ministry of Magic for a short time, but Theseus made a career out of it as a powerful Auror.

I can just see a day when the Ministry needs the expert advice of one certain Magizoologist who has no intention of coming back to Britain at the moment.  It’s up to Theseus to drag him from whatever little outpost he’s at in the middle of the night, putting up a complete fuss the entire way until he’s seated outside the Minister of Magic’s door, wrapped in nothing but his camping blankets in defiance.

Theseus:  We are in the Ministry of Magic, the very heart of the wizarding British Nation.  Newton Scamander, put your trousers on.

@asktheseusscamander

Hello Detective Chapter 26

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50 Part 51  Part 52  Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

Your eyes were closed. You couldn’t watch Sherlock pull the trigger. You’d made peace with the decision though. You and Sherlock were going to die, but so would Jim Moriarty, and that was enough for you.

You’re eyes burst open when instead of an explosion, you heard Stayin’ Alive playing throughout the pool. You looked to Sherlock questioningly, as he did the same to you. Neither of you knew where the music was coming from. You looked to Jim Moriarty who was rolling his eyes. Instead of being confused by the music, he was just annoyed.

“Do you mind if I get that?” Jim suddenly asked. It was his phone ringing, at a time like this.

“Oh no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.” Sherlock said, still pointing the gun at Jim. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” Jim said, annoyed. Did someone just seriously ask him ‘Is this Jim Moriarty?’.

‘Sorry’. Jim mouthed, as he slowly turned around.

“Oh it’s fine.’ Sherlock mouthed back.

“Say that again!” Jim suddenly shouted and a hush fell over the room. “Say that again and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you.”

Sherlock looked to you in disbelief. Jim Moriarty was a whole new brand of psychopath. Jim put the call on hold and began walking towards the two of you.

“Sorry, wrong day to die.” He spoke in a somber tone.

“Did you get a better offer?” You asked, rudely.

“You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” Was his only answer. Jim continued to turn around, and walk towards the exit.

“If you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.” Jim spoke into the phone before snapping his fingers and leaving the pool. As he snapped you noticed all the little red dots disappearing. He had called off the snipers.

“What the hell just happened?” You asked, in shock of the whole situation.

“Someone changed his mind,” Sherlock spoke, “Question is, who?”

You two immediately left the pool. Before hailing a cab Sherlock took off his coat and wrapped it around you. It was chilly outside and you were wearing very little. You looked like a high price call girl. You got into the cab and the two of you decided it would be best not to tell Lestrade about what happened. Jim would be coming back, you just weren’t sure how or when.

The next few weeks had been normal. No serial killers, no bombers, no Jim Moriarty. You had seen Sherlock a lot more though. Per Mycroft’s request you kept him busy. It wasn’t just because of Mycroft that you spent time with Sherlock, you genuinely like him and wanted to be around him.

Sherlock and John seemed to be solving some smaller cases together, which you enjoyed reading on John’s Blog. They had come to the Yard sometimes for some of the cases, but otherwise not much was going on.

You had run into both of them after the plane crash in Dusseldorf. An abandoned car was found with the body of a man who was checked on board the flight. The man should have died in a plane crash in Germany the day before, but here he was in a trunk in Southwark.

A couple more cases had come in, attracting quite a lot of press. Not due to the crime, but because Sherlock was there. The press specifically wanted photographs of Sherlock, he was an internet phenomenon. To that Sherlock complainted that he was a private detective, and the last thing he needs is a public image. In the papers the next day was a picture of Sherlock next to you, leaving the crime scene.

The next time you saw Sherlock you were facetiming him from a crime scene. A man had come to his apartment thinking he’d killed a man when his car backfired. Technically this was DI Carter’s case, but Lestrade sent you so Sherlock would be there. Sherlock of course didn’t think the case was important enough for him to leave the flat.

“You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?” You asked Sherlock through the camera. He was literally only wearing a sheet. A sheet. He had crawled out of bed and taken the sheet with him.

“It’s okay, I’m fine. Now, show me to the stream.” He said, yawning and grabbing a cup of tea.

“I didn’t really mean for you.” You retorted. He carried his laptop out of the kitchen and to his desk, where he sat down.

“Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven.” Sherlock explained and you rolled your eyes.

Sherlock continued to have you point the camera in different directions so he could examine the scene. Suddenly you could hear the doorbell ringing through the phone.

“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled. Sherlock then instructed you to show him where the car was that backfired.

“If you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared along with the killer.” You told him.

“You’ve got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver.” DI Carter told you.

“Oh, forget him, he’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?” Sherlock asked.

“I think he’s a suspect.” Carter said, leaning into frame where Sherlock could see him.

“Pass me over.” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“All right, but there’s a mute button and I will use it.” You warned, handing your phone to Carter. You could hear his voice as you began to walk away.

“Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?” Sherlock asked.

“He’s trying to be clever. It’s overconfidence.” Carter argued.

“Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind? Don’t worry this is just stupid.” Sherlock said, turning around and saying that last bit to the man himself. The driver was sitting in his flat behind him in John’s chair, with a look of shock on his face that Sherlock had just said all of those things about him.

Sherlock instructed Carter to go to the stream as you took your phone back. You noticed Mrs. Hudson showing two men into Sherlock’s flat. They were both large and wearing expensive suits.

“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asked, still in his sheet.

“Sorry, Mr. Holmes…” the man said, approaching the computer and closing it forcefully, ending the facetime call. A young police officer approached you, holding a phone to his ear.

“Sergeant Gregson?” He asked.

“Yeah.” you answered, turning around.

“It’s for you.” He said, and you assumed he meant the telephone call.

“Okay, thanks.” you said, reaching your hand out for him to give you the phone.

“Uh, no, ma’am, the helicopter.” He said, tilting his hand towards the helicopter that had just landed outside of the crime scene. You looked at him questioningly to make sure you’d heard him right.

You slowly walked towards the helicopter where two large men, similar to the ones who had showed up at Sherlock’s flat, helped you into the helicopter before taking off again. You realized it was going back into the city when you started noticing things like The London Eye and Buckingham Palace. The helicopter then landed right behind Buckingham Palace. Your eyes grew wide and took everything in as the two men escorted you into the Palace and into a sitting room. As you turned the corner you noticed clothes and shoes in a pile on the coffee table. Next to them was a couch where Sherlock Holmes sat, still in his sheet.

You raised your hands, silently asking him what the hell you two were doing here, but in reply he only raised his shoulders and rolled his eyes. You entered the room and sat down next to him. You examined him, looking him up and down.

“Are you wearing any pants?” You asked.

“No.” He answered simply.

“Okay.” you said, processing everything. You then turned to look at each other, when you did you both burst into laughter.

“At Buckingham Palace. Right. I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” you said, causing Sherlock to laugh again. You shook your head, smiling.

“What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?” you asked, smiling.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered.

“Here to see the queen?” You asked, hearing footsteps approaching.

“Oh, apparently, yes.” Sherlock said as Mycroft entered the room. His comment made you burst into laughter again, earning a displeased look from Mycroft.

“Just once can you two behave like grownups?” Mycroft asked.

“He’s literally wearing a sheet. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” You answered.

“I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.” Sherlock said.

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft said.

“Transparent.” Sherlock said, and rightfully so.

“Time to move on, then.” Mycroft said. He picked up the pile of Sherlock’s clothes to hand to him but Sherlock refused to take them.

“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!” Mycroft scolded.

“What for?” He shrugged.

“Your client.” Mycroft answered.

“And my client is?” Sherlock asked, standing up.

“Illustrious, in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” Another man entered the room saying, Mycroft placed the pile back down onto the table.

“Mycroft.” the man smiled, shaking his hand.

“Harry. May I just apologise for the state of my litter brother?” Mycroft said.

“Full time occupation, I imagine.” the man said, rudely. “And you must be Y/N Gregson, my employer enjoys reading about you two on Dr. Watson’s blog.”

You smiled and shook his hand, not knowing how to respond. He moved on to Sherlock.

“And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.” He said rudely.

“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend. Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning.” Sherlock said, beginning to walk out of the room. Before he could make it to the door Mycroft stepped on the sheet, which began to pull away from his body. Sherlock caught it at his waist before he was fully exposed. A blush spread over your cheeks at the amount of skin showing.

“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!” Mycroft scolded Sherlock.

“Get off my sheet!” He argued back.

“Or what?” Mycroft asked, teasingly.

“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock returned.

“I’ll let you.” Mycroft retorted.

“Boys, please. Not here.” You pleaded with them.

“Who is my client?” Sherlock asked angrily.

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God sake! Put your clothes on!” Mycroft yelled. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but complied. He returned to the room after a few minutes, you could tell that he was displeased that the secret service men had not grabbed his favorite coat, only a suit.

“I’ll be mother.” Mycroft smiled as he poured tea for all of us.

“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock retorted. You began to smile and then hid it. Mycroft seemed extremely displeased with his comment.

“My employer has a problem.” The man Mycroft called ‘Harry’ explained.

“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft continued to explain.

“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asked, rudely.

“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.

“Not to date anyone with a navy.” Sherlock returned.

“This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.” Mycroft said.

“You don’t trust your own secret service?” You asked him.

“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.” Mycroft smiled. Further making you raise the question of why you personally where there.

“Why am I here then Mycroft?” You asked.

“You have proven your trust and ability to keep my brother in line.” He spoke, you rolled your eyes.

“I do think we have a timetable.” Harry said, changing the subject.

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. He picked up a briefcase and began to unlock it as you picked up your tea and saucer from the table.

“What do you know about this woman?” Mycroft asked Sherlock, handing him a picture of a woman with bright red lipstick, brown hair, she was older but of course tried to hide it. If you had to guess you would have to say almost 40.

“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock answered.

“Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.” Mycroft spoke as you took a sip of your tea.

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock asked.

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” Mycroft explained.

“Professionally?” You asked.

“There are many names for what she does, she prefers ‘dominatrix’.” He explained, you raised an eyebrow.

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock repeated curiously.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft smirked.

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock retorted coolly.

“How would you know?” Mycroft smirked and spoke softly. You sat there extremely awkwardly, looking between the two brothers. “She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”

Mycroft handed Sherlock some more photographs. He examined them carefully.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?” Sherlock spoke as you took another sip from your tea. Your only purpose here was to make sure Sherlock was kept in line.

“You’re very quick Mr. Holmes.” Harry said.

“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?” He asked.

“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.” Harry answered.

“You can’t tell us anything?” You asked.

“I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.” Mycroft said, disappointingly.

“How many photographs?” Sherlock asked.

“A considerable number, apparently.” Mycroft answered, keeping his answers short and to the point.

“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” Sherlock asks again.

“Yes, they do.” Mycroft answers.

“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?” Sherlock pushed.

“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft said. Your eyes were wide in shock and you held your tea cup a couple inches below your lips.

“Y/N, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.” Sherlock instructed, rightfully so, as you were about to drop it.

“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.

“How?” He asked.

“Will you take the case?” Harry asked again.

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten.” Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and exiting the room.

“Nice to meet you.” You said to Harry, before nodding at Mycroft. You followed Sherlock out of the room.  

You followed Sherlock outside of the palace where the two of you began your walk back home. Baker Street was only about a 15 minute walk from Buckingham Palace.

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked you.

You glanced at your phone. “Uh, not really.” You answered absentmindedly as you noticed you had 10 missed calls from your mother and two from your sister.

“Shit.” You mumbled, hoping everything was alright. Sherlock looked to you questioningly and then looked down to your phone. He noticed the numerous missed calls as well. You quickly called your mother back, you continued walking as you wait for her to pick up. With the five hour time difference you hoped it wasn’t too late for her.

She finally answered but all you could hear on the other side were sobs.

“Mother?” You asked, afraid. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

Her answer made you stop dead in your tracks. Sherlock took a few more steps before turning around realizing you were a couple feet behind. The blank, drained look on your face caused him to rush to your side.

“It’s your father honey, he’s dead.” Your mother sobbed.

buttercup59  asked:

Hello dear! I see you're once again open for prompts. How about some Sherlolly angst with a fluffy happy ending? I love how good you are at tugging at my heartstrings, haha.

I kind of combined this with an idea I had for a Never Been Kissed au. Not terribly angsty, but just enough. :) And somehow it just wouldn’t stay a decent length. Oops. :) Hope you like it! 

I Think I’m In Love With You

‘Well, that was a spectacular arrest. Shouting it out in the middle of the year-end dance and tackling the suspects. Tell me, did you plan on waiting four months to solve it just to make a scene?’

Sherlock glared at the laughing DI over the roof of the car. ‘I had my suspicions, but I needed enough evidence to ensure that their guilt would be undeniable.’

‘A fraternity hazing gone wrong,’ Lestrade shook his head. ‘I didn’t see it coming.’

‘Of course you didn’t, that’s why I was called in.’ Sherlock flipped his collar up and smirked. ‘Best be off, those two have a life in prison to look forward to. Why delay it any longer?’

Lestrade chuckled and shook his head. ‘I still don’t know why you waited four months. We could have had this solved and put away. Did you enjoy playing frat boy that much?’

Sherlock sniffed and glanced away, not deigning to reply.

‘Oooooh.’ Lestrade’s smile grew cheeky and he waggled his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t being a frat boy you enjoyed. Is it possible that you finally discovered the difference between boys and girls?’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Sherlock asked in disgust at the implication.

‘Oh, come on, Sherlock! Tell me the truth, one of those girls has got your trousers in a twist! The dean’s assistant was a looker. Irene, right? Did she finally manage to seduce the unseducable Sherlock Holmes? Or was it the graduate assistant? The pretty one with brown hair? Mary… or was it Maggie?’

‘Molly,’ Sherlock corrected automatically, grimacing when he realized he’d given it away.

Lestrade banged his hand on the car roof in triumph. ‘I knew it!’

‘You know nothing.’ Sherlock casually shoved his hands in his pockets and quirked an eyebrow. ‘Molly was simply a means to an end. I needed access to the lab to run tests on evidence and alleviate my boredom. She required flattery as payment. That is the extent of our relationship, if it can even qualify as such.’

In his defensive disdain, Sherlock failed to notice as Lestrade’s face suddenly blanched and the almost frantic way the older man’s eyes widened, beseeching him to stop.

‘Oh.’

Sherlock froze at the quiet exhale. Lestrade was shaking his head as he slid into the car, mumbling a ‘well done, you idiot.’

As the car pulled away, Sherlock turned around and felt his heart fall somewhere into the vicinity of his stomach. Molly.

Her hair was falling out of its elegant updo and her gown that he had, not an hour before, been running his hands along as they danced around the floor, was covered in beer stains from when he’d pushed her out of the way of the panicked suspects. Still, to him, she was beautiful. But the moment he looked in her eyes, he broke. The brown eyes he’d grown to love were filled with tears and pain and betrayal.

‘Molly, I can explain…’ he began, his deep baritone cracking.

She held up a hand and shook her head, the lips he’d so recently almost kissed, were thinned as she bravely held it together. ‘I heard enough, William.’

Hearing her bitterly spit out the false name, Sherlock reached out, his fingertips grazing her bare arm. ‘Molly, please. It… I didn’t mean it…’

‘No one ever does, Mr Holmes,’ she sighed in resignation, moving out of his reach and turning to leave. ‘But what kind of fool would I be if fell for your lies twice?’


Two Weeks Later

‘For God’s sake, sit down and tell me what’s wrong!’

Sherlock ignored John’s first demand as he continued pacing around the flat. ‘She’s accepted a position in Edinburgh. Edinburgh, John! I know for a fact St. Bart’s offered her a better position, better pay, more authority, right here in London, where she belongs! Why would she possibly turn that down for Edinburgh?’

‘Molly,’ John groaned and placed his head in his hands when he realized what had the detective in a panicked strop. ‘She’s running, Sherlock.’

The detective froze and turned a questioning gaze to his friend. ‘Running? From what?’

‘From you, you great, big prat! She’s running away from you!’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Sherlock scoffed. ‘Molly graduated first in her class, two years early, with honours. She is intelligent, unlike you-’

‘Oi!’

‘-and she would never make such a life-altering decision because of a man.’

John shook his head exasperatedly. ‘Women… people, in general, don’t think like you, Sherlock. If you hurt her enough, and you did, she might very well run to another country to nurse her broken heart.’

‘But I tried to explain…’

‘It doesn’t matter. You lied to her about who you were, then you admitted to using her and that all the compliments you showered over her were lies. Congratulations, Sherlock. You’ve become just like any other man, flattering a woman to get into her knickers. Or, in Molly’s case, her laboratory.’

Silence settled between them as John’s words hit Sherlock hard. Had he really used such a primitive male technique on Molly? Sweet, generous, loving, brilliant Molly? Molly, who smiled at his deductions and blushed at his praise, who knew when he needed silence and when he needed distraction, whose lips looked just perfect for kissing and whose hands deftly stole his heart away.

‘I love her,’ he breathed.

John quirked an eyebrow. ‘Yep.’

‘And I broke her heart,’ Sherlock murmured in horrified realization.

‘Yes, you did.’

Sherlock turned pleading eyes to his best friend. ‘What do I do?’


The last box was packed and the movers were coming in the morning. Molly looked around the small flat that had been her home all through Uni. That chapter of her life was over and the next was beginning. Instead of feeling excited and free, she felt oppressed. She didn’t want to leave London; turning down St. Bart’s had been one of the hardest decisions of her life. But she knew that he would be there. And she couldn’t face him, not after everything. She needed a new start.

Her cell beeped and she pulled it out to read the message.

HAVE YOU READ IT YET? OMG!

Molly read the text from her, now-former, flatmate Meena twice before responding in confusion.

Read what?

Within seconds, Meena had sent her a link, along with another chorus of ‘OMGs!’

Pulling up the page, Molly glanced at the unfamiliar blog with passive curiosity. But when her eyes fell on the most recent blog post, her heart stuttered to a halt.

The Personal Blog of Dr John H Watson

A note from Sherlock Holmes

I have mocked John for his use of a personal blog, yet here I am using it for what is possibly the most personal entreaty I’ve ever given, privately or publicly.

My most recent case was a four-month investigation into the death of a Uni student. For those interested solely in the details of that investigation, I assure you John will soon have that post out as soon as he’s finished making a mockery of my current situation.

For those who care (of which I’m sure there are few), in the course of said investigation, I hurt someone I care about.

To this woman, you know who you are.

I lied to you and I manipulated you.

And I am sorry.

They may be mere words, but rest assured, they are deeply felt.

Sentiment and emotion are two things I locked away and refused to indulge in, believing them to be detrimental to my mind and my career.

I was wrong.

You proved me wrong.

And one more thing…. I think I’m in love with you.

I’m ready to close the chapter on my lonely past and begin a new one, with you at my side.

If my apology is accepted, I ask that you meet me tonight, five minutes before the 7:00 press conference in front of 221 Baker Street.

Please.


The crowd outside Baker Street was growing. Sherlock peered out from behind the curtain, his brow furrowed. ‘There’s more than usual.’

Behind him, John snorted and stood, carrying his laptop over. ‘Well, considering the amount of traffic on the blog after your love letter, I should think so.’

‘What traffic?’ Sherlock grabbed the computer. He gaped at the counter on the side, which had risen nearly 2000 counts and was ticking away steadily. The comment section was abuzz with guests wishing him luck, offering themselves if he was rejected, and… oh, he’d have to have John delete that one. He swallowed and glanced up at John. ‘So, they’re not here for the press conference?’

‘Afraid not, mate,’ John chuckled and took the laptop back. ‘You opened up the door to your personal life and now everyone wants a front row seat. I told you to send a letter or an email, instead.’

Sherlock shook his head, panic setting in. ‘She might not have gotten a letter in time. Or read her email. She might not have even read the post!’

John glanced at the clock. 6:54. ‘Well, let’s hope she did.’

With one minute to the countdown, Sherlock marched down the stairs. He had to hope that Molly had read it, that she forgave him… he didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t.

As soon as he stepped out onto the stoop, dozens of photographers and reporters rushed him, shouting questions and flashing lights in his eyes. Behind him, John closed the door and pushed aside a reporter who got a bit too chummy with the detective. Sherlock ignored all the lights and sounds, his eyes darting from person to person, looking for the one who mattered.

But he didn’t spot the sparkling brown eyes or the familiar ponytail.

He glanced at his watch.

6:56.

When the reporters realized he wouldn’t be answering questions, at least until the mystery girl arrived, they fell silent and stood watch.

6:57

Several murmurs rose up, speculating as to who the girl was. But as the minutes slowly ticked by, they began to lose hope at ever finding out.

6:59.

Sherlock swallowed thickly as the second hand began its final trek around the face of the watch. She wasn’t coming. His heart caved into his chest as the minute hand flicked over one last time, the harsh motion oddly final.

7:00.

The crowd watched, respectfully and surprisingly silent, as the detective allowed himself a moment to accept the rejection of his apology. And his love.

Suddenly, from the edges of the crowd, an excited clamoring began spreading. John tugged rapidly on Sherlock’s sleeve until he finally looked up.

Following the crowd’s direction of attention, Sherlock saw a figure in the distance running down the sidewalk towards Baker Street. Hope sprang in his chest at the familiar ponytail swaying back and forth and he stepped down, pushing his way through the crown but never breaking his eyes away from the girl running toward him. Molly was close enough now for him to see the pyjamas under her coat and the mismatched shoes on her feet, but all he cared about was the bright, laughing smile on her face that breathed life back into his heart. Breaking free of the crowd, he burst out in a run, easily closing the distance between them.

Just before they collided, he braced himself and caught her around the waist, burying his face in her neck and lifting her off her feet. Her laugh of delight rang out down the street as he swung her around, her arms wrapped around his neck.

When he finally set her down, she smiled up at him softly. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

Sherlock cupped the back of her head and leaned down, telling her without words that she was forgiven.

The couple was suddenly surrounded by the excited shouts of the reporters and the rapid clicking of cameras. But neither particularly cared, too caught up in their first kiss.

“we are in buckingham palace, the very heart of the british nation. sherlock holmes, put your trousers on!" 

"what for? you’re my pockets, aren’t you daddy?" 

  • Molly: It’s just dinner.
  • Sherlock: Just dinner?
  • Molly: Yes, hurry up we’re already late.
  • Sherlock: It is a dinner with my parents. You don’t want that, trust me.
  • Molly: To be honest, I am kind of excited to get to know them.
  • Sherlock: Nope.
  • Molly: Yes, I am.
  • Sherlock: No.
  • Molly:
  • Molly: Sherlock Holmes put on your trousers and your shirt and then get your butt out here. They’ll think we are late because of me and I can’t risk that.
  • Sherlock: Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
  • - Later at the dinner -
  • Mommy Holmes: Oh it is so lovely to meet you, Molly. Finally someone who can make my little boy happy. I thought that it would never happen. Dear God that would have been horrible. At least one of my boys finally found a girl.
  • Molly: -awkwardly smiles- Uhm it’s a pleasure to meet you, too.
  • Sherlock: Mother. -sighs loudly-
  • Mommy Holmes: Oh come on, Sherlock. Just try to have some fun.
  • Sherlock: I already tried. It didn’t work.
  • Molly: -kicks him under the table to make him shush-
  • Mommy Holmes: Oh by the way. I heard Mary had her baby. She and John are so happy. What about you two? I can’t wait to become a granny.
  • Molly: -blushes and looks at Sherlock-
  • Molly: Well uhm….
  • Sherlock: -looks at Molly and grins slightly- I told you that you wouldn’t like it.

anonymous asked:

Top 5 favorite lines from Sherlock

  • “WELL IM NOT NOW”
  • “high functioning sociopath, with your number” *creepy smile*
  • “sherlock holmes, put your trousers on” “what for?”
  • “in a world full of locked rooms, the man with they key is king and honey you should see me in a crown”
  • “there’s an east wind coming”