thanks molly for helping me out too

Thoughts In The Night

It’s a cold night in November. Sherlock is standing on a bridge, looking down at the shining, dark water that flows without haste, to another, larger body of water.
Sherlock is standing on the bridge, looking at the water and remembers how it was to dance with John. As he is standing there, in the sobering cold of the night, this memory seems like a dream to him. It’s a memory of the kind which seems so unreal that you inevitably ask yourself, did that happen? He knows, yes, it happened. He has danced with John. Behind closed curtains. In the light of the fire in the fireplace. To slow, quiet music.
And he wasn’t prepared for it. Not prepared, for John’s gentle, careful touch. Not prepared to feel John’s warm hands, not prepared to be so close to John - almost intolerably close - and to feel his breath as he laughed a bit embarrassed.

The memory is clear. Warm and painful at the same time. Torture without violence.

 Sherlock sighs. His breath escapes before him in a steam cloud.

He realizes how tired he is. Exhaustion is becoming more and more apparent. His body feels heavy and light at the same time. It is more difficult for him to keep his eyes open.

But he does not want to go back. Back to Baker Street.

Back to all the memories. It is an apartment full of voices and shadows. Behind every door waits another memory.

It’s unbearable.

With a little cocaine it would be easier, whispered a voice in his head and Sherlock nodded to himself.
He begins to think about it.

At the same time he knows so much better. The drug is fleeting. The short, brief moment of oblivion and breath of happiness does not lessen the hours of depression and pain. It’s not worth it.

And yet … the thought is tempting. So tempting that Sherlock catches himself, how he already thinks about, where he could find his old dealer. Horrified and disgusted with himself, he strokes his stony face and shakes his head violently, as if he could get rid of the thoughts wtih this.

Of course it doesn’t work.

Sherlock swallows and after a moment of desperate thinking he takes his cell phone out of his coat pocket and takes a look at the contact list.
He sees John’s number standing at the top and swallows. It would be really nice to hear John’s voice again. But no. John is … busy. He mourns and has to take care of his daughter. John doesn’t have time to deal with Sherlock’s problems. John has also made it clear that he doesn’t want to see him. Anyone. Anyone but Sherlock, he said to Molly. No. John is not an option tonight.

His gaze glides farther, from Molly to Lestrade to Mike Stamford, whose number he has stored for some reason. Lestrade might … He had helped earlier.
But it’s night. The Inspector is surely sleeping already. Or does he have night shift at the yard? Sherlock nervously licks his dry lip. Then he presses on the receiver. If not now, his courage will disappear in a few seconds …
He pushes the phone to his ear. Hears it beeping. Once, twice …


Sherlock closes his eyes. He swallows. “Hello, uh, Lestrade. I wanted …”

“Sherlock, you know it’s late at night?” Asks Lestrade, sounding as if he were half asleep. So no night shift. Stupid. So stupid. Sherlock bites his lip.
“I’m sorry. I … I will not bother you any longer. Good night.”

“No. No wait. Why are you calling?”

Yes why? There is no case. What do you want to tell him now?

“I …” Sherlock presses a hand against his forehead. Hard. “I, uhm …”

“Sherlock? What’s the matter?” Now Lestrade sounds very much awake and worried. Worried. Why does I always have to cause problems for everyone?
Sherlock can’t say it and he feels cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, fear presses his throat, and all he can get out is a pressed, "I can’t …”
And then he begins to hyperventilate.

“God, Sherlock! Okay, breathe more slowly. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

Sherlock chokes out the address with difficulty. Lestrade tells him something like “Stay where you are,” and he sinks to the ground, his back against the railing of the bridge. He puts the phone away and hides his face in both hands.


Sherlock has no idea how much time has passed when Greg suddenly kneels before him and shakes him lightly on the shoulders.

“God, Sherlock. It’s ice cold. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Yes what? Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. He shrugs.

Greg sighs and rubs his neck. “Come on, get up. I’ll drive you home … ”

At the word home, Sherlock hastily shakes his head. “No,” he mutters. “Not Baker Street …”

Greg frowns but doesn’t inquire further. “Not Baker Street. OK. Then … my place, is that all right?”

Sherlock nods. He stands up, noting how weak his legs are. He follows Greg to the car and leaves the bridge and the water behind him.


The ride is quiet. And short.

Lestrade doesn’t try to question him. He only switches the conditioning system on, to maximum level, when he notices Sherlock’s trembling. And the radio. There’s a quiet song from a band Sherlock doesn’t know. It’s quite soothing.  Warmth spreads slowly in the car and makes him even more tired, as he already is. His eyes almost close. He is frightened when Greg suddenly murmurs, “There we are.”

The two men get out and enter Lestrade’s small, tidy apartment.

Sherlock stands a little lost in the middle of the living room, while Lestrade rummages in a drawer.
“I’ll give you something to cover the sofa. Are you hungry?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “No,” he says hoarsely.

“OK. But You know where the kitchen is anyway.” Greg chuckles and pulls some sheets and a blanket out of the drawer and throws the things to Sherlock. He automatically catches them. “Thank you.”

“Yes.” Lestrade rubs his neck again. “Do you want to tell me … what happened?” He looks at Sherlock waitingly.

Sherlock looks down at his feet. “I … it was only, uhm, memories.” It is incomprehensible drivel. He knows it.

And yet, as Greg answers, he can hear understanding in the inspector’s voice.
“Mmh. You know you can call at any time, okay? Me. And also Molly. Or your brother. If you need help. If it gets too much.”

Sherlock just nods. He still stares at his feet.

“OK. So, good night Sherlock. I really need to get up early tomorrow,” Greg says and yawns.

“Good night,” Sherlock replies, listening to Greg leaving the room.

Sherlock covers the sofa and goes to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.

A few minutes later he lies on his back and stares into the darkness.
He is glad he didn’t take drugs. But somehow he feels that it will not be long before he has to fight this battle again.


Greg is already gone when Sherlock wakes up the next morning.

When he looks at the clock, he sees with horror that he has slept for almost 10 hours. It is noon and outside life is moving forward.

A plate of scrambled eggs and toast is in the kitchen. And a pack of orange juice.

Sherlock must smile involuntarily.

Orange juice. So he remembered that.

A little later he goes back to Baker Street.
And together with Mrs. Hudson he finds Mary’s message.

A few days later he goes to hell.

And suddenly there is no longer any reason to suppress the need for drugs.
He feels worse and more worthless than ever.

But I do it for John, he tells himself. It’s different because it’s for John. 

For John.

I’m not entirely happy with this ficlet, but I post it anyway. Maybe you can tell me what do you think about it?

Like always: Tags under the cut. Did I forget you, or do you want to be tagged in future works? Tell me :)

Thanks @thedoctor-johnlock for looking over it!

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Weekly Update.
  • Sherlock: *Paces around the room.* Molly, my parents are coming over to the flat today.
  • Molly: *Looks up from book.* I'll get out of your hair. I am sure I can find something to do at the morgue.
  • Sherlock: No, I didn't want you to leave. I think it is time you met my parents.
  • Molly: What for. We haven't even gone on our first date yet. I can meet them after we know how it goes.
  • Sherlock: I know that the date will be spectacular. Will you just meet them?
  • Molly: Fine. But I must get dresses before they come. I will go home and get dressed in something more presentable. You better clean up this mess before they come.
  • Sherlock: I am on it. They will be here in two hours, so please hurry. I want you here when they come. *Gets up.*
  • Molly: I will. *Gets up, grabs coat and heads home to shower.*
  • Molly: I am sorry I took so long. *Walks through door, hanging up coat.*
  • Sherlock: It is fine. I had time to clean. *Walks out of kitchen.*
  • Molly: I never thought this place could look so clean. *Looks around.*
  • Sherlock: I had help.
  • Molly: From who?
  • John: Hello Molly. I must be the help he is talking about, even though I did it all.
  • Molly: Somehow I knew you couldn't do it all on your own.
  • Sherlock: I would take offence to that, but I have to get ready.
  • Molly: Aren't you ready?
  • Sherlock: It's my parents. I must be extra clean for them.
  • Molly: I feel under dressed know.
  • Sherlock: You look amazing. *Kisses her on the cheek.* John you should go home now. Your babysitter is charging more than they should. *Walks out of the room.*
  • Molly: Thanks again for helping with the flat. It looks great.
  • John: Thank you. I really must be going though. *Grabs coat and heads out.*
  • Sherlock: *Walks out with wet hair.* Can you help me with my tie? It looks better when others do it for me.
  • Molly: Yeah sure. *Stands up, and walks to him.* I think you do your ties nicely.
  • Sherlock: Thanks, but my mother always fixes it.
  • Molly: She might fix this one too. *Finishes tying it.* How's it look?
  • Sherlock: Looks amazing... Thank you.
  • Molly: Thank you.
  • Mrs. Holmes: SHERLOCK!
  • Sherlock: UP HERE!
  • Molly: Wow what an impression.
  • Sherlock: It always happens.
  • Mrs. Holmes: There you are Sherlock. Who is this lovely lady?
  • Molly: I am Molly Hopper. A good friend of your son's.
  • Sherlock: *Mumbles* A little more than a 'good friend.'
  • Mrs. Holmes: It is nice to meet you.
  • Molly: It is nice to meet you.
  • Mr. Holmes: There you are Sherlock.
  • Sherlock: Hello.
  • Mycroft: Sherlock, talk to mother. She thinks it dangerous to ride in a plane.
  • Sherlock: If it's your plane, it is.
  • Mycroft: *Mad whispers.* If you don't talk to her, no more free rides.
  • Sherlock: Mum, a plane it the best way to fly.
  • Mr. Holmes: *Looking at Molly.* Who is this.
  • Mrs. Holmes: Sherlock's friend.
  • Sherlock: Molly.
  • Mr. Holmes: Nice to meet you dear.
  • Molly: It is nice to meet you too.
  • Sherlock: I have made reservations for a new restaurant. We must be going or we will be late.
  • Mrs. Holmes: *To Molly.* He has always been like that.
  • Molly: Oh, I know.
  • Sherlock: ARE YOU COMING!?
  • Mrs. Holmes: Be there in a few.
  • Sherlock: Well then hurry up.
  • Molly: *Walks down the stairs.*
  • Mycroft: So did you get this reservation from one of your 'cases?'
  • Sherlock: Yes, I did. *Pulling Molly's coat on her.*
  • Molly: *To Sherlock.* Thank you.
  • Sherlock: We must go.
  • Mrs. Holmes: *Stares in shock.*
  • Mycroft: *Whispers to his mum and dad.* Are we not going to talk about that?
  • Sherlock: What is there to talk about? I did the case. He owes me a favor. Nothing to it.
  • Sherlock: *Pulls out chair for Molly.* Everything is free here, so get what you want.
  • Molly: Thank you.
  • Mrs. Holmes: *To Mr. Holmes.* Well I never thought I would see the day.
  • Mr. Holmes: *Back to Mrs. Holmes.* She must be something.
  • Mrs. Holmes: I think you are right.
  • Sherlock: Who is right?
  • Mrs. Holmes: No one dear.
  • Mycroft: So sence no one else seems to be asking it... Are you two dating?
  • Sherlock: We haven't gone on an official date, but yes.
  • Molly: *Blushes.*
  • Mr. Holmes: You are the first girl out of both these boys that we have got to meet.
  • Mrs. Holmes: It is so nice to know Sherlock found someone.
  • Molly: Thanks.
  • Sherlock: I think we better order now.
  • Mycroft: Changing the subject like always, little brother.
  • Sherlock: I am not hiding anything.
  • Mycroft: Yes you are.
  • Sherlock: No. I. Am . Not.
  • Mrs. Holmes: Stop bickering.
  • Waiter: What can I get you. *They all order there food.*
  • Mrs. Holmes: I want to know more about Molly.
  • Molly: There is not much to know about me.
  • Mrs. Holmes: Of course there is. Like tell us where you work.
  • Molly: I work at a morgue.
  • Mr. Holmes: Now I know how you two met.
  • Sherlock: We actually went to the same collage. Before I dropped out.
  • Molly: We were biology partners.
  • Mycroft: Sherlock never took biology.
  • Sherlock: Just because I didn't go to language doesn't mean I went home. I joined the class every day.
  • Molly: The teacher was always confused to why you were in her room twice.
  • Sherlock: I don't think I remember her name.
  • Molly: Mrs. Kigaman.
  • Sherlock: That's right.
  • Molly: I think I am going to use the restroom before the food comes.
  • Sherlock: Okay.
  • Molly: *Gets up and leaves.*
  • Sherlock: The food should be coming out in three minutes, if I am correct.
  • Mrs. Holmes: Sherlock, dear. Why have you never told us about Molly?
  • Sherlock: There is not much to tell.
  • Mr. Holmes: There is much to tell. I mean this is the first time any of you boys have even had a girlfriend.
  • Sherlock: She is not my girlfriend.
  • Mrs. Holmes: Then what is she?
  • Sherlock: The girl I am going to marry.
  • Mrs. Holmes: ...
  • Mr. Holmes: ...
  • Mycroft: ...
  • Mrs. Holmes: That is why you asked for grandmother's ring. It wasn't for a silly science experiment.
  • Sherlock: No. I thought I would give it to her soon.
  • Mr. Holmes: Well I am glad I brought it then.
  • Molly: Brought what?
  • Sherlock: Nothing.
  • Waiter: Your supper is here.
  • Mycroft: About time.
  • Mr. Holmes: Be nice Mike.
  • Mycroft: That is not that name you gave me. Use the name you gave me for haven sake.
  • Mr. Holmes: Be nice to your mum Mycroft.
  • Sherlock: *To Molly.* I am sorry about this. I mean my family can be a handful sometimes.
  • Molly: It's wouldn't be the Holmes family without it.
  • Sherlock: What is that supposed to mean?
  • Molly: It means I like your family.
  • Sherlock: Good.
  • Mrs. Holmes: What are you two talking about?
  • Sherlock: Nothing.
  • Molly: Well that was the best food I have ever tasted. Thank you for the night out with all of you guys.
  • Mrs.Holmes: Can't you stay any longer?
  • Molly: No I really must get home.
  • Mr. Holmes: Well then it was nice to meet you.
  • Molly: You too.
  • Sherlock: I will see you out then.
  • Molly: *Walks down the stairs.* Thank you again. I had a really nice time.
  • Sherlock: No, thank you.
  • Molly: For what?
  • Sherlock: Spending a whole dinner with my family.
  • Molly: I had a good night.
  • Sherlock: I did too. *Kisses her.*
  • Molly: *In shock.* Wha..What was that for?
  • Sherlock: My why of telling you I want to do this again sometime.
  • Molly: Thank you then.
  • Sherlock: Your welcome.
  • Molly: See you tomorrow Sherlock Holmes.
  • Sherlock: Good bye Molly Hopper.
  • Sorry this took so long. It took a while to write it all. Thanks for reading: )
Roadkill - Part 1

Word Count: 2261

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warning: Language

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Dean rolled over in the motel room bed and swung his arm out expecting to drape it over you and kiss you good morning. Instead, he was met with cold unruffled sheets that didn’t look like they’d been slept on at all. He sat up and looked around the room but saw no signs of you anywhere. He heard noise in the bathroom and hoped it was you, but gave a look of disappointment as Sam walked out. “Have you seen Y/N?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “I woke up around 3 and she was at the table on her laptop.”

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How Long? - Rated T -

Sherlock Holmes, The Great Game

“Listen. This is my hard drive and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. And that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”

I think I do Sherlock, yes, and I think Molly does too..

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study In Scarlet

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

This is for my darling @stryper-mike-stand cause she loved Coffee? and she’s marvellous. 💓 💕💓

Prefer to read on AO3 or FF

Molly stood leaning against the door in the lab, watching the most infuriating man she man she had ever met.

He sat in front of his favourite microscope, mumbling to himself while fiddling with ash samples. “Sherlock?”

Without bothering to look up, he responded, “Hmm?”

”Why are you here tonight?“ She asked curiously.

Clearing his throat, "A case, Molly.”

Taking in the various forms of ash arrayed in petri dishes, she agreed, “Ah, of course,“ just as if she actually believed him. Casually, she smoothed down her lab coat and made her way to the lab bench.

Leaning back against the countertop, she wondered aloud, "Have you eaten?”

Frowning, he clicked his tongue before changing slides and making a notation in his moleskin. “No, Molly.”

Pursing her lips and twisting them, Molly pretended to consider, “Hmm, maybe I’ll go pick us up something, you know, for when you finish the case.”

Peering at the slide, then at his notes and back again, he nodded absentmindedly.

Molly took a breath, scuffing her shoes and smiling. “Fancy a curry?”

Either engrossed, or pretending to be in his adventures in ash, he shrugged, adding off-handedly, “Sounds great Molly, whatever you want.”

Pulling out a stool for herself, she sat down and silently drew patterns on the bench top with her fingertips. Carelessly tossing out, “And do you mind if it’s hot, spicy?”

Reaching out to draw a new box of slides closer, he replied, “No, that would be fine.”

Arching a brow, she teased, “Good, I like a bit of…heat.”

Apparently sensing danger, he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw, suddenly still.

Easing up, she schooled her tone back into a helpful chirp. “And I’ll order it to go? You’ll come to mine?”

Visibly relaxing at this, he sighed, “Thanks Molly.”

One last question to be sure, “Naan bread too?”

“Yes please,” he replied politely, having been refined in Miss Molly’s Finishing School for rude detectives.

Gotcha. Continuing in the same reasonable voice, she pulled out the coup de grâce. “Right and how long have you fancied me now?“

Presumably running on auto pilot, his mind retrieved the data and he rattled it off tonelessly. "Three years, eight months and four days.”

Triumphant, Molly went on, “Hmm, I see, and when were you planning to do something about that?”

Sherlock froze, head tilted, his eyes swivelled from side to side, clearly replaying the entire conversation in his head.

Straightening, he turned to Molly. Unleashing the full intensity of his gaze on her.  

Thoroughly pinned in place, she began to panic. His piercing gaze was electrifying but utterly terrifying, the feelings increasing each other exponentially.

The intensity triggered fight or flight and every cell, every nerve, every hair follicle was responding to him. He was the moon and she the sea, inexorably dragged along in the pull of his orbit.

Twisting in his seat, he inclined his head and smiled, “Nicely played Molly.” An unmistakeable glint of pride flashing in his eyes.

“Thank you Sherlock,” she replied smiling shyly as she sketched a quick curtsy.

“So, now that you have that information, what are you planning to do with it?”

“Same as I was five minutes ago,” she answered nonchalantly with a shrug.

Frowning slightly, his disappointment clear, he moved to stand in front of her. Bracketing her neatly between himself and the bench top. Arching a brow, his eyes darted to and fro, trying to deduce what she was up to. “Is that so?”

Nodding, Molly arched her body into his and sighed contentedly, “Hmm, yeah. Curry, me, you, my place…clothing optional.”

“Why Miss Hooper,” he mock scolded, “Was that an invitation into your bed?”

Molly bit her lip, shaking her head slowly, “No Sherlock, that was not an invitation into my bed, you’ve been in there many a time. It was an offer, for you to have me. And no, it’s not a slip of the tongue.”

“Molly, the first time was no slip, I was just too stupid to see it for what it was.” Leaning down, he nipped at her neck playfully.

Sinking her nails into his bicep through his gorgeous black shirt, pulled a hiss from his throat that matched her own.

“Sherlock?” She panted out, as he painted her collar bone and décolletage with worshipful kisses.

“Hmm?” He asked, without ceasing his full frontal assault.

“Oh, ah,” reverberations from his deep, deep baritone sparking lust, “Kiss me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Tugging her hair at the base of her neck, he tilted her head up and met her lips with his own.

Thanks for reading!!! ☺️

anonymous asked:

Sherlolly prompt: Molly is almost mugged. Sherlock tries to come to her rescue, but it turns out she can fight for herself. Sherlock is rather impressed.

Thanks for your prompt, Nonny! And sorry for taking so horrendously long to fill it. I hope you like this. :)


Sherlock Holmes did not get turned on. He simply did not. It was not who he was, and it would be hard-pressed for anyone to catch him in such a situation. He had learnt to cage all of his desires into a large iron box in his mind, not to be touched. And not to be touched it remained.

Until that very afternoon.

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Dear napkin I found on a table,

Hi! I am having such a wonderful time at the Heart’s and Hooves dance! Mommy let me go with a really pretty mare named Miss Pearl, and we are having lots of fun eating snacks! Oh and I met an old man too! I think he said his name was Mister Wrench TechWizard? I hope I can find him later to ask but he took me out for a dance and we had a lot of fun too! Best part is I didn’t have to kiss any pony, so I am cotee cooyeee cootie free too! I can’t wait to get home though, I sure am sleepy.


Molly Dianna? Maurice?? Dolly!

P.S. Miss Pearl just helped me with that I’ll have to remember to thank her

((Sorry but I have been out all day and I couldn’t resist. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, if it’s still here for you like it is for me, and I hope you had a nice day uwu))

The Snowball

The exhausted Molly Hooper walked out of Bart’s Hospital with the famous Sherlock Holmes. She had stayed late on the white Christmas night to help him with a case.

Sherlock: Give me your hands, Molly.

Molly: Hmm? What for? (Gave him her right hand)

Sherlock: Both hands.

Molly: What are you playing at, Sherlock?

Sherlock: Come on, Molly…please…

Molly: Hmm…Okay…here…

With a gentle smile, Sherlock placed a heart shaped snowball on Molly’s hands.

Sherlock: Merry Christmas, Molly.

Molly: Oh…thanks, Sherlock…Merry Christmas to you too. This is pretty…Em… (Gave him a cheeky grin) Although I would prefer a peck on the cheek more.

Sherlock: (confused) Hmm? A peck…on…your cheek?

Molly: (chuckled) Just kidding, Sherlock. This snowball will do just fine. Thank you!

Molly gave him a warm smile and about to walk away when Sherlock swooped down to place a sweet kiss on her lips.

The surprised Molly could not find a word. She looked at him with wide eyes and blushed prettily.

Sherlock: (grinned brightly) I hope you find my gift sufficient now, Molly Hooper.


benedictsolo this is for you!

anonymous asked:

I do hope you're not that busy because I have a prompt for you! John had asked Sherlock to babysit little Watson for the day while the former and his wife were out doing things (You decide! lol). Just as Sherlock was babysitting, a case came up and it was too good for him to reject, so he calls Molly for help. Maybe, for some reason, they have to act like a family for the case. And! If you can also add a scene where SH and MH are at the lab conducting experiments while the girl watched. Thanks!

Sorry, this prompt is kind of too long for me to do it justice in a drabble. I’ll write a scene though! 

Oh man, it’s been so long since I’ve written non-established sherlolly

“Stop sticking your finger in her mouth!" 

"Babies need something to chew on. Besides, she’s teething." 

"Yeah, no.” Molly pulled his hand away from Billy’s mouth, giving him a pacifier instead. “I thought you were concerned about sanitation." 

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Teen!lock. Sherlock asks Molly to go to the prom with him and she thinks that they're going just as friends ;)

Hello Nonny! Well this took time. Hahaha! I hope you like it though! If they’re a bit OOC and you don’t like that, I’m sorry haha! ENJOY! xx

“We’re just going as friends, Meena!” Molly said from inside of the dressing room. There were only 3 days left before Prom and she has yet to find a dress. She had no plans on going, partly because no one had asked her out. That changed, however, two days ago when Sherlock Holmes sent her a text message only consisting of the word; ‘Prom?’. At first she asked what about prom did he want to talk about, confused at what he’s trying to say until he had told her that he was asking her to go with him. It was a bit of a shock to Molly (knowing how tedious and asinine things like this are for him) that he asked her to go with him. She could’ve said no but that would seem ridiculous because even if she had no plans of going, that doesn’t mean she didn’t want to go. She called Meena the next day to help her find a gown, they’ve been looking for days with no such luck. Meena, being the ever supportive best friend, kept insisting on finding the perfect gown because Sherlock totally has the hots for her.

“You keep saying that. We all know it’s not true.” Meena said shrugging.

She rolled her eyes as she walk out of the dressing room. “Okay, how bout this?” She sighed as she showed her friend the seventh dress she tried on today. Meena’s jaw drop at how perfect the dress was for her best friend. “That’s totally it!”

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