the saturdays mollie

Fluffy Ball of Doom

Enjoy some fluff! (Ao3)


Ever since Molly had moved out on her own, she started every Saturday morning by watching Disney cartoons before starting her day. The tradition had taken its roots during medical school, where Cinderella, Aladdin, the Lion King, or A Bug’s Life, if the occasion called for it, were her buffers before she dove back into textbooks.

Moving in with Sherlock hadn’t exactly disrupted her routine. Requiring only about six hours of sleep compared to Sherlock’s need for nine, she was usually done with her morning ritual before he emerged from their room, wrapped in nothing but a sheet with his curly hair sanding up in odd clumps, as if Wolverine was having a bad hair day. He never bothered to really wake up, and she often got the feeling he rolled out of bed the second consciousness returned to him.

Molly curled up on the couch with a steaming mug of coffee warming her palms, dressed comfortably in one of Sherlock’s robes, and put on Lilo & Stitch. She smiled slightly, letting all her thoughts drift away from her, all her worries disappearing as she watched Jumba stand before the tribunal, trying to explain the existence of the fluffy little ball of doom. The mountain of paperwork, the autopsy of the child she’d performed, the pressures from on high to complete the report for a MP’s relative when there were so many more people ahead of him…all of it disappeared.

As Stitch ran around causing chaos but insisting that he was “cute and fluffy”, Molly suddenly started giggling helplessly, realizing she probably loved Stitch as much as she did because the love of her life ran around causing chaos the same way.

And he was cute and fluffy.

And curled into a petulant ball when he was displeased with something.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him, his bleary, light colored eyes not quite awake, his hair standing every which way, the sheet only wrapped around his lean waist, the alabaster skin of his chest marred by her love bites and scratches. Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like good morning, gesturing impatiently for her to move aside before plopping down next to her, his head in her lap as he curled into a ball. “What are you watching today?” he mumbled as she started stroking his soft curls between her fingers.

She told him the title, “it’s about this alien, this experiment that ends up in Hawaii, falls in love with Elvis, and finds a family all his own.”

“Sounds dull,” he commented, watching Stitch build the city of San Francisco and destroy it, “angry bugger, isn’t he?”

Molly bent down to kiss his cheek, her hand drifting down his body to rest on the curve of his backside, “no matter how annoying he gets though, he’s still shockingly lovable. Easily lovable.”

He looked at her with those indescribably shaped, light colored eyes, his brow raised questioningly, “are you drawing some sort of comparison?”

“Not at all,” she affectionately nuzzled his cheek, “but I do wonder what would happen if I put a lei around your neck.”

“Why?” he asked slowly, “or is that your way of telling me you want to go to Hawaii for our honeymoon? Or you’d like me to lay you, right here?”

Molly laughed, squirming as he suddenly sat up, the sleepy energy replaced by the manic one that drove him throughout his day, suddenly finding herself trapped beneath Sherlock Holmes, the sheet having fallen away in their tussle. “All of the above?” she grinned, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer.

He made a humming sound, brushing his lips against hers but Elvis’ “you ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog” suddenly blasting on the TV drew his attention. “He does seem to have your affinity for Elvis. I’ve always preferred ‘love me tender’.”

Molly closed her eyes as he put his lips next to her ear, softly singing the old song, grateful for the ball of manic energy that she would soon refer to as “husband”.

Originally posted by stitchholdsmyheart

Pairing:  Molly Hooper/Sherlock Holmes
For:  Anon Prompter
Prompt:  #16.  Blankets


Molly rolled over on her side, taking most of the blankets with her.

Sherlock sighed.  This was very much the reason he gave for not sharing a bed with another human being.  Dr. Hooper was very much the blanket hog.  

Of course, this gave him the opportunity to press himself against her very lovely backside, so mental complaints aside, it was shaping up to be a lovely night regardless.  

He tucked his head down into her hair and inhaled deeply, reaching across her body and tugging some of the blankets back.  Enough to cover his arse at least.  

“Is that a stray?” Molly asked.

Sherlock looked up from his phone. They sat outside a cafe one breezy, sunny day enjoying the warm summer air. A quick glance around until he saw what Molly was referring to. A dog, not at all caring if he was obstructing sidewalk traffic or not, lolloped down the way, not a care in the world. 

“Looks well-fed,” Molly commented. She began to rummage through her purse. “I wonder if I have anything to get hold of him. 

Without a word, Sherlock stood, undid his belt, (to Molly’s utter shock, and momentary confusion, until she realized what he was doing). He took a bit of her scone and whistled for the dog. “Here boy, come on, look here!” he clicked his tongue. 

The dog turned at the sound, then seeing Sherlock with his hand outstretched, trotted merrily over, happily accepted the bites of scone, not bothered at all as Sherlock quickly fashioned a collar out of his belt around the dog’s neck. 

“I’ll see if the management knows about the dog, maybe he’s a regular wanderer,” Molly said and got up. “Give him the rest of my lunch if you want.”

“There’s grapes on this sandwich, Molly, dogs can’t eat those,” Sherlock, with his dog-spit hands, fished through her lunch plate, pulling out the offending fruit, and then feeding the dog bites of the rest. 

A few moments later, Molly returned. 

“Management says yes, the dog is a regular, but the family is never home until after five. He’ll leave a message with them where to find him. I told him Baker Street, all right?” 

“Yes, that’s fine,” Sherlock nodded, then looked at the dog. “Well, shall we?” 


Having a dog in Baker Street was actually rather nice. Sherlock half-wished to discover the family was a never-home terrible type that didn’t really love the dog, that way maybe he and Molly could keep him. No such luck. The family turned out to be a single father and two little girls. The children came bolting in while the father waited at the door, and the dog wriggled and danced as the two girls showered the animal in kisses. 

“He was awfully good,” Molly said. 

“I’d suggest a better fence around your garden,” Sherlock advised. “He’s been getting out that way. As well as a collar and tags he can’t slip out of.”

“Right, ta for watching him. I’m sorry if he caused any trouble.”

“No trouble,” Sherlock assured him. Goodbyes were said and the family trouped off. 

Sherlock watched from the window as they went down the street, the father carrying the dog to prevent him from running off again. 

Molly went to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “You know, the shelter opens early on Saturdays,” she said after a long moment. 

“Hm?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Molly replied. “And the dog shelter opens early tomorrow.” she kissed his cheek, releasing him. “We could go tomorrow, if you want.” 

“Do you?” he asked, turning to face her. 

She paused on her way to the kitchen, smiling. “Well, I figure if you get a dog, I can get a cat.” 

He caught her by the hand, drawing her back to him. “Deal.”

~If Tom didn't exist~

*In the morgue*

Sherlock: So, Molly, I was wondering if you’d like to be my date to John’s wedding on Saturday?

Molly: *looks up from her post mortem* …Are you asking me out next to a dead person?

Sherlock: Yes…but I thought it would be okay since it doesn’t really smell.