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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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A Story To Tell - part two

Someone shoot me, I’m writing Teen!lock fluff.

Part one here

And both chapters also on AO3.

"She said what?"

John couldn't believe what Sherlock had just told him as they walked to school the next morning.

"Are you sure you understood her right?" he asked carefully.

It wasn't the first time Sherlock had misinterpreted something someone had said. Human interaction wasn't really on his list of strengths.

"Yes, I am quite certain," Sherlock answered staring blankly ahead.

"Wow, that's...,"

John didn't know how to finish his sentence. But somehow Sherlock seemed to understand.

"Yup."

"So, are you two dating now?"

"What?"

Sherlock stopped abruptly staring at John.

"Well, you know, that's what people do... normally," John shrugged looking back at his friend.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked.

Tilting his head to the side he weighed this new piece of information before continuing his quick stride towards the school

Standing in front of their lockers a few minutes later John scanned the corridor for his still quite new girlfriend. Spotting Mary with her usual friends he smiled broadly and waved her over. He didn't know if Sherlock was okay with him sharing the whole story with her but he needed to tell someone and Mary would kill him if he kept this thing a secret. The man himself had someone gone completely mute and stood like a frozen marble statue unmoving beside him, his face a blank expression.

"Heeeey!" Mary chirped kissing John soundly on the mouth.

"Hey," John returned smiling at her.

"Hey, Sherlock!" Mary said nudging him slightly with her elbow. "What's up?"

Still not moving Sherlock just gave her a side glance before rolling his eyes at the two of them.

"Moody morning?" Mary whispered at John entwining her fingers with his.

"When isn't he moody?" John replied chuckling slightly.

"You know that I can hear you, right?" Sherlock hissed without looking at them.

"Oh come on, Sherlock. Don't be like that," Mary teased him, "You're having double chemistry today. It must be a great day for you. And after that we can," she added snuggling into John's side, "maybe meet in the courtyard for a little walk during the break."

Knowing exactly what Mary meant John beamed from ear to ear. Suddenly sitting through double chemistry with an over-enthusiastic Sherlock beside him seemed a small price to pay.

"Could you please keep the PDA to a minimum. Thank you," Sherlock only growled as he glanced at them for another moment.

"Okay, Grandpa," Mary said sticking her tongue out at him.

But she did indeed step a bit further back from John. She knew that the two of them had been best friends since childhood days and that John going out with her was a big change in their dynamic. And she liked Sherlock. He was a weird fellow but underneath all the scowling and cold remarks there was a big heart. And she knew that it probably wasn't easy sharing his best friend with her now. But he had never tried to interfere and she respected him for it. He never let it show but she thought Sherlock actually liked her as well, on some level, in his own peculiar way. Trying to take the focus off the two of them she tried to think of a topic they could all talk about.

"So, have you started on your history revision yet? I don't know how we're supposed to remember all these facts."

"Easy. Mind palace," Sherlock said tapping a finger to the side of his head, "It's an easy enough memory technique. I never forget anything."

"He's not kidding," John added, "ask him what he had for lunch on the second Tuesday in fifth grade."

"I don't remember everything," Sherlock corrected, "only the useful bits. Lunch for example, usually isn't useful."

"But everything else?" Mary asked genuinely interested.

"Yup."

"Wow! How does that work?”

“Like I said it's a simple enough memory technique. I could explain it to you some day.”

Mary smiled to herself. She had successfully changed Sherlock's mood.

“Yes, I'd really like that,” she said, “I try anything that will get me through this history test.”

Laughing she turned to smile at John again who immediately smiled back. Focusing on Sherlock again she asked:

“So how about we all meet this weekend to study and you can show me that technique of yours?”

But Sherlock didn't seem to be listening anymore. Instead he was staring blankly ahead at something behind John and Mary. Without a warning he suddenly pressed his bag into John's arms, brushed past them and walked so quickly down the corridor that it nearly was running.

“Okay, what did I do now?” Mary asked John who looked just as confused as she was.

Looking after Sherlock John stood on his toes before letting out a small laugh.

“It's not you,” he said grinning, “I just think there's something our brilliant detective needs to do.”

Pointing to where Sherlock was heading John showed Mary what or rather who had caught his best friend's attention. Molly Hooper had just walked into school and was on her way to her locker.

“Wait? Molly? Is he? Are they?”

“Shhh, just watch,” John calmed her not taking his eyes of the two.

Sherlock reached Molly just before she got to her locker pretty much blocking her way.

“Oh, hi Sherlock,” she said happily.

As Sherlock didn't say a word but simply stared at her a manic expression on his face Molly started to be a bit worried.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Slowly taking a step forward she wanted to reach out to him but was nearly swept off her feet as Sherlock darted forward. Taking her face in both hands he pressed his lips to hers. Taken by surprise Molly nearly lost her balance but found herself securely fixed to Sherlock who now had one hand on her lower back pulling her closer to him. She couldn't have fallen even if she had wanted to. And maybe that was a good thing because as she fully realised what was actually happening her knees started to wobble slightly. Flinging her arms around his neck she pulled herself up standing on tiptoes now kissing Sherlock back with just as much eagerness as him. She let her hand travel up into his curls and she felt Sherlock pulling her even closer as if only an inch of space between them would be unbearable.

Emerging from their kiss a few moments later Sherlock kept his hands loosely on her hips while Molly still had her arms around his neck. Molly's pupils were wide as saucers as she smiled shyly up at him. Sherlock guessed he didn't look much better as he caught himself smiling as well.

“What was that for? Still trying to show off in front of everyone?” Molly asked.

“What?”

Sherlock took a look around and suddenly realised that quite a few pupils including his best friend John and Mary who were making big thumbs up at the other end of the corridor were watching the two of them. He hadn't realised that kissing a girl in the school hallway might draw some attention. But then again he didn't care much. Shrugging a bit he looked back down at Molly a soft smile on his face.

“No, I don't care about what others think.”

“Oh?” Molly said, “So then what was that kiss for?”

“I think I just wanted to say thank you,” he whispered feeling his face grow hot.

“Thank you? What for?” Molly raised an eyebrow.

“For yesterday. For understanding. For... being you,” Sherlock concluded tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear, “because you are incredible.”

Staring up at him Molly was lost for words. Biting her lip she felt her eyes fill with tears.

“Wait! What have I done wrong now?” Sherlock exclaimed evidently confused.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, you idiot!” Molly replied smiling broadly as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Flinging herself at Sherlock she kissed him again, this time slower and deeper, the world around them somehow vanishing as he lifted her off her feet. And they didn't stop. In fact they kissed so long that even the most curious students around them that had blatantly been staring before lost their interest.

A tap on Sherlock's shoulder brought both of them back into reality after quite some time had passed.

“Oi, we should be getting to class,” John said only barely able to keep form laughing.

“Yeah, and could you please keep the PDA to a minimum,” Mary added chuckling.

“Oh,” Molly said blushing as she disentangled herself from Sherlock who only stuck out his tongue at Mary.

#sherlolly #fanfic #sherlock #ficlet #teen!lock #where is all this fluff coming from?#molly hooper #mary morstan #john watson #all the fluff

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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A Story To Tell

This is entirely @mkhockeygurl ‘s fault. She said “You should write something” and here I am nearly 1 am and instead of sleeping I wrote something.

This is my first Teen!lock but I liked it hehe. Enjoy!

EDIT: this has a Part Two now.

Both chapters also on AO3.

„Man, what a party last night, huh?“

„Yeah, it was crazy. And I finally got Tracey to make out with me. I'm telling you, that skirt she was wearing. Damn.“

„Yeah, but have you seen Anne's shirt today? Earlier she dropped a book in the hallway and bend down to pick it up and I could basically see all the-“

„Guys! Come on. Just try to be a bit more respectful, okay?“ John intervened shooting Dave and Jack a disapproving look.

They were standing in the school's hallway making the most of their short break before the next lesson began. Looking back at John Dave only shrugged and Jack laughed punching him playfully in the shoulder while Sherlock didn't seem to be following the conversation at all. He was deeply focused on the chemistry book in his hand.

„Oh look at you. Mr. Womanizer has become monogamous and suddenly we all have to change?” Jack teased him.

“Yeah, just because you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean we can't have any fun, right?” Dave added.

“And if I remember correctly you and Mary left quite early yesterday. Did anything fun?”

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” John only replied with a smug smile.

“Ooooh, so you did have fun?”

“I walked her home, that's all.”

“If you say so, mate,” Jack said winking at him.

“Well, if I ever get Anne to go out with me you will hear all the details,” Dave swore.

“Anything else would be a shame!” Jack agreed.

They both laughed again.

“Remember what I just said about respect, guys?” John tried but they didn't seem to listen.

“I think we should get going. The next lesson starts in five minutes,” Sherlock suddenly spoke up looking at his watch.

“Oh yes, and being late to chemistry would be so bad,” Dave shot back grimacing.

“I'm never late to a clas-” Sherlock answered confused.

“Of course, you're not,” Jack cut in. “But then again you have never talked to a girl either. So...”

“I don't see the connection between the two,” Sherlock replied his nose crunched.

“And that's why you will never get laid.”

“Guys, come on. Let's go to class,” John threw in looking a bit worried.

“Man, Sherlock, you're so focused on your chemistry, the only way you would ever get a girl would be if you drugged her,” Jack suggested earning a clap on the back from Dave.

“Yeah, I mean, who would ever wanna go out with a nerd like you.”

“Molly,” Sherlock said suddenly.

“You mean Hooper? We're not talking about doing homework together. We're talking about, you know what...” Dave whispered.

“Yes, Molly,” Sherlock only repeated. “In fact I stayed at her place just yesterday night when you were wasting your time at that stupid party.”

“Wait what?” Jack asked his jaw dropped.

“No way!” Dave added.

Even John looked at Sherlock in surprise.

“Her Dad is out of town and we were working on a lab project until late and then it was raining heavy and there was no bus anymore. So, one thing let to another,” Sherlock recounted shrugging slightly.

“Man I didn't think you had it in you!” Jack screamed punching Sherlock in the side.

“Yeah, I'm impressed man,” Dave added nodding, “and I bet Hooper is quite something. I mean, she's a bookworm but still waters are deep, am I right?”

Luckily for Sherlock the bell rang that moment and they had to run to make it to their respective classrooms in time.

John wouldn't let the issue drop though and while they were setting up their experiment he leaned over to Sherlock and whispered.

“You slept with Molly? And you didn't tell me?”

“I didn't sleep with her,” Sherlock said not looking up from his exercise sheet.

“But, you said...”

“I never said I slept with her. I said I spent the night at her place. You just assumed.”

“But the guys.”

“It's not my fault when people make wrong assumptions, is it?”

“Why would you tell people that you slept with me?”

Sherlock was pushed face first into the row of lockers he was standing in front of. He hadn't known that such a little person could possess such a strength. Rubbing his forehead he turned around slowly to face Molly.

“I never told anyone that I slept with you.”

“Then why is everyone talking about it?” she demanded her face red with anger.

“I just said that I spent the night at your place and maybe they assumed...” Sherlock explained looking to the floor.

“Oh and you didn't feel like correcting them, is that it?” Molly spit out stepping closer. “Well I did!” she added pushing a finger into his chest.

“But...”

“What? Did I destroy your image as a lady killer?” she asked her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'm terribly sorry.”

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock whispered not able to look at her.

“What?” she said surprised by his sudden change in tone.

“I'm sorry. For not correcting them myself. I didn't mean to … spread lies,” he admitted looking at her sadly, “I just. They were making fun of me and... it was stupid.”

Picking up his bag he started to walk away but Molly caught his wrist.

“They were making fun of you?”

Suddenly all her anger was gone and it was replaced by genuine concern and empathy. She knew only too well what it meant to be made fun of. She had been on the receiving end of people's jokes for years. She didn't want that to happen to anyone, especially not Sherlock, even if he had acted like a complete idiot.

“It's nothing,” he shrugged.

“It's not nothing.”

“It's just. The guys, they were talking about girls. And John has Mary now and I don't know, they said I could never have a girl. And I thought I could tell them that you and I... I don't know. It really was stupid. Because I think we're friends,” he said looking at her for a reaction, “and I like you, a lot, and now you probably hate me. And I understand if you don't want to spend time together anymore. And all because they said these stupid things. And I just... wanted to prove them wrong.”

Looking at him for a while Molly suddenly smiled. Taking his hand she squeezed it gently.

“It's okay. I don't hate you. And next time you stay over we make sure you have a real story to tell,” she said winking at him before strolling down the hallway leaving an utterly confused Sherlock behind.

#sherlolly #ficlet #fluff #stupid boys #sherlock #fanfic #molly is bamf #Sherlock is an idiot

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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Got a new fic out there. Read at own risk.

#sherlolly #fanfic #angst #loads of angst #and torture

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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New fic

I'm in the middle of drafting a new fic. It's darker than anything I've done so far and I love everything about it. It will have 6 chapters and an epilogue. Each chapter will focus on a colour and if I can write it as quickly as I hope to I will probably publish everything apart from the epilogue at once. This is the first fic I have planned from beginning to end. I have drafts for each chapter and a clear plot thread. I know where I'm going and how it will end and I just jotted down associated words and feelings I want to convey and I truely believe people will both hate it and love it. So yeah this is me giving you an update on this because I'm kind of excited.

#new fic #sherlolly

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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Sink or Swim

And I don't know if you know but I am one of those who looks like he can swim but sinks like a stone.

I don't know if you care but I am one them always on the other side always looking in. So open up the door and let me come back in show me the secret to sink or swim.

Knocking at the door. Loud, impatient.

Trying to ignore the noise Molly buried her head under her pillow. As the hammering continued and in fact only grew louder she turned around groaning. Fumbling for her phone in the dark she checked the time: 3:50 am.

“I’m coming!” she screamed towards the door rubbing her eyes.

Tip toeing barefoot through the kitchen she made sure to not bump into anything in the dark flat.

Taking one last deep breath she opened the door.

“What is it?!” she demanded angrily but stopped short seeing who was standing outside her door. “Sherlock? What in God's name are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”

“Can I come in?”

Shaking her head in slight disbelief she sighed stepping aside to let the detective pass. But Sherlock didn't move.

“You're angry.”

Glowering at him she ran one hand over her face.

“Great deduction,” she grumbled, “It's 4 in the morning. You just woke me up in the middle of the night. Of course I’m angry.”

“Maybe I shouldn't have come.”

“For God's sake, Sherlock, what do you want?”

Looking to the floor Sherlock didn't answer.

“Is there an answer coming anytime soon or?”

“I don't know.”

Folding his hands behind his back he straightened up.

“Sorry that I have woken you up,” Sherlock whispered turning around to leave.

Grabbing his coat sleeve Molly pulled him to a stop.

“Wait! Sherlock, are you okay?”

Trying to look at his face Molly moved in closer.

“You can talk to me, you know that, right?”

Sherlock looked down at her an unusual expression on his face. Somehow it seemed softer, more fragile, like the usual barrier she knew he put there so he wouldn’t end up getting hurt was gone, there was something unbearably raw about it. Taking his hand she led him inside closing the door behind them.

“Tea?” Molly asked as Sherlock took off his coat and scarf.

Sherlock only nodded sitting down at the kitchen table. Molly put the kettle on and prepared two large mugs on the counter. Pouring the boiling water into the cups she took both and sat one down in front of Sherlock who was silently staring into space. Pulling up another chair for her she sat down next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Swallowing hard Sherlock looked at her for a moment. Then looking back at his steaming tea he started to talk barely audible.

“Remember how you said… when… you know. If I ever felt like…”

Trailing off he cleared his throat.

“You said, if I ever felt like it might happen again. If I couldn’t control it anymore. If I felt like it was controlling me. You said, I could come to you.”

Eyes wide with shock Molly took a moment before she could answer. She knew how hard this must have been for Sherlock. Coming to her with his addiction, actually admitting that he had a problem. Sherlock Holmes, here on her doorstep, admitting to having a weakness. And she had been complaining about the time. Suddenly she hated herself for it.

“Yes, and I meant every word I said,” Molly assured him pulling her chair a little closer looking at his profile closely.

Turning his head slowly Sherlock stared at her. He looked so vulnerable, so helpless, so utterly alone, Molly had to hold herself back from just encircling him in a big hug.

“Molly, I think I need help.”

Discarding her mug on the table Molly slowly reached out resting both hands on his.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

#sherlolly #angst #or something #fanfic #ficlet #sink or swim

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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A Clean Shot - Chapter 6

A Clean Shot by Selena_Guardi (read on AO3 instead)

Word count: 4847

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Additional Tags: Angst, Shooting

Summary:

I.O.U. that was what Moriarty had said and this time he is going to keep his promises. With Moriarty's return a normal case solving afternoon turns into Sherlock's worst nightmare as his world comes crashing down around him and all he can do is watch helplessly.

The last two days had gone by in a blur. They had been full of happy visitors, relieved sighs, smiles. Quite frankly it had been a bit too much commotion for Sherlock but he had just stepped back and watched while Molly was showered in flowers, good wishes and chocolates she couldn't possibly all eat; and he had observed. It seemed like there wasn't a soul in the whole hospital that didn't show up at her bedside and even though Sherlock had always believed her to keep to herself she seemed to have far more friends than expected. Of course the Watsons came by as soon as they heard the good news and Mrs Hudson visited one afternoon, too. And even though he didn't really join into the happy chatter, he felt better than he had for days. Seeing her laughing and smiling and simply being alive, had lifted a weight off his back he wasn't sure he could have carried much longer. The test results had been rather good and Molly's recovery seemed to go along fine. Maybe the universe was on their side for once which of course was a silly sentimental thought that Sherlock dismissed immediately. Miracles didn't exist and there was no such thing as fate, it was all nonsense.

Mary and John had offered to drive Molly home when she was allowed to go, and so the four of them were sitting in the small hospital room again waiting for the doctor to finally discharge her.

“How are you feeling, Molly?” Mary asked smiling at her.

“Oh, already much better. I mean, I'm still on those pain killers, so I don't really know how bad it might get once they are finished,” Molly answered laughing a bit.

“You will be fine,” John threw in.

“Anyway,” Molly said sitting up a bit , “How's little Charlotte doing?”

From the corner Sherlock couldn't repress a small smile. Despite being the one that had been shot and nearly died, Molly didn't like to be the focus of the conversation. Being the centre of attention seemed to make her feel uncomfortable and she always found a quick way to lead her visitors onto other topics. While John recounted the latest achievements of little Charlotte - a subject he only too eagerly delved into whenever the opportunity occurred - Sherlock checked the time on his phone. The doctor would be here any minute and as far as he could tell Molly was feeling healthy enough to leave this very afternoon. He couldn't pros-pone it much longer.

“... and then she-”

“Yes, John, our daughter is brilliant. But maybe you want to save some of the stories for later,” Mary intervened seeing the slightly tired look on Molly's face.

Confused John turned to his wife and seeing her raised eye brows shrugged and nodded.

“He gets a bit overexcited sometimes,” Mary explained regarding him with a soft smile before turning back to Molly.

“No, it's okay. I love hearing about her,” Molly replied.

“See?! She is interested,” John protested folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Yes, but the woman at the supermarket check-out wasn't, and neither was the post man you basically held hostage this morning.”

“I didn't...,” John grumbled sinking a bit deeper into his chair.

Fidgeting with his phone Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other in the corner while going through the conversation he was about to have. He didn't want to make this call but he really had no choice.

“So, are you looking forward to getting back home then?” Mary asked.

“Mh, yes. I can't wait to sleep in my own bed again. A hospital is just not the same, you know?”

“Oh, I bet. And I mean I couldn't sleep either with him,” she laughed pointing at Sherlock behind her, “watching over you like a hawk all the time.”

Looking up from his phone's screen Sherlock watched the two women closely.

“What?” Molly asked a confused expression on her face. “He never stayed here overnight.”

“Oh?” Mary replied turning around to look at him in the corner her eye brows raised. “Didn't he?”

Ignoring Mary's knowing stare Sherlock simply gave her a tight smile and then excused himself to make the dreaded call. Closing the door behind him he let out a breathe before dialling the familiar number.

“Oh so he is alive after all,” his brother's voice snarled immediately after picking up.

“I was occupied.”

“Too occupied to reply to any of my texts or take one call?”

“Yes.”

For a moment neither spoke.

“So now that you are not occupied anymore. What made you grant me the pleasure of a call?”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock spit out through gritted teeth.

“I am serious, Sherlock. You are unreachable for a week and now you suddenly call me. You must have a good reason.”

Swallowing down the rude replies that went through his head and fighting the urge to just end the call Sherlock didn't reply instead pacing down the hallway.

“Mh, dear brother, shall I venture an educated guess?” Mycroft mocked at the end of the line. “Our dear Ms Hooper is being discharged today.”

“That wasn't a guess. You looked into her files.”

“I might as well have,” Mycroft admitted. “But that still doesn't bring us to the root of your call.”

Seeing Doctor Twight appear at the end of the corridor Sherlock nodded to him before the doctor vanished inside Molly's hospital room.

“I need your help,” Sherlock spit out.

“Mh? I thought as much.”

“Then why did you make me say it?”

Sherlock could basically hear his brother smile at the other end of the line. Before Mycroft could reply anything he continued.

“She needs protection. He will find a way to hurt her again. I need one of your teams to keep her safe. I never was the target, - “

“- she was, I know. The sniper could have easily shot you, he waited for her to jump into the line.”

“So you know that she can't be left alone. And my homeless network isn't trained for a job like this. I don't care how many favours I have to do for you in the future but you have to help me with this.”

“Everything is already in place.”

“What?” Sherlock asked perplexed.

“I took care of everything. As soon as Ms Hooper returns home, she will be surveyed 24/7. I personally insured that our best people are watching over her.”

“But...”

“Sherlock, I am not a fool. I do understand how important she is to you. I might have overlooked that fact in the past but if anything the last week has been prove enough.”

Another silence fell.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered.

“My pleasure. I do hope you know that our parents' next visit will be your call of course.”

“Of course,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Good,” Mycroft replied cheerily. “Oh and maybe you could introduce Ms Hooper to them. Now that you two are-”

“Don't even try to finish that sentence,” Sherlock growled.

“I am not the one getting involved, Sherlock.”

“Neither am I.”

“Mh... if you say so,” Mycroft mused.

After another pause the older brother added.

“You might still be fooling yourself but you're not fooling Moriarty you know that, don't you?”

As Sherlock stayed silent Mycroft tried again.

"He knows of her importance.”

“That's why I need you to keep her safe until I am finished with him.”

“And then?”

“And then she will be safe.”

“There will be new Moriartys.”

“I know.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Both brothers knew what being important to Sherlock Holmes actually meant. Molly would never really be safe, somehow she would always be in the line of danger. Unless... Sherlock would cut her out of his life.

“I will make sure that she never gets hurt again,” Sherlock murmured making a decision. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock? Be careful, would you?” Mycroft pleaded before Sherlock could hang up.

In response he only got a non committal half sigh but at least he had finally spoken to his brother again.

Sherlock let his phone slip back into his pocket feeling slightly relieved now that he knew Mycroft would protect Molly. But there were heavier decisions ahead and he would have to track down Moriarty. The fight wasn't over. As he slowly walked back to Molly's room Mary slipped out and stopped him in his tracks.

“So you haven't been watching over Molly every night?” she asked a cheeky grin on her face.

“You heard Mo-”

“Yes, but then I wonder why Mrs Hudson said you weren't home since the shooting. And don't even try to lie, Sherlock, you know who you're talking to.”

Letting out a deep sigh Sherlock looked to the floor.

“I couldn't leave her alone,” he admitted, “She was defenceless.”

“So you camped outside her hospital room every night?”

“One night I did some experiments in the lab on the card Moriarty left me. Only basics, trying to find out where it might have been. Didn't find much. Wiggins watched her for me.”

Looking up again he found Mary still smiling.

“I don't need your mockery,” he grumbled.

“Oh, Sherlock, I'm not mocking you. No,” she said softly giving his hand a light squeeze, “I actually think that was quite thoughtful and.... sweet of you. But why didn't you tell Molly?”

“She doesn't need to know.”

“I think I disagree on that.”

“She doesn't need to know,” Sherlock only repeated this time more fiercely.

Seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere Mary nodded and gave him another smile.

“Okay,” she said turning around, “Shall we get our patient home then?”

Molly's things were packed in no time and Sherlock brought in the wheelchair the hospital had supplied for her.

“Who is that thing for?” Molly asked immediately.

“For you of course,” Sherlock replied his nose crunched. “The nurse brought it round so we can get you to the car. I thought that was obvious.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking. Thank you,” Molly snapped and stood up abruptly.

Seeing her sway a little Mary held out a helping hand but Molly refused.

“I'm fine.”

“You don't have to walk to the car,” Mary told her gently trying to argue with the pathologist. “You will only tire yourself out.”

“Listen to her,” Sherlock added, “she's a qualified nurse.”

“She's right, you know?” John chipped in looking a bit worried at Molly's resistance.

“There you go,” Sherlock said as if that had settled things. “You can't argue with your personal doctor and nurse.”

Pushing the wheelchair next to her he motioned for her to sit down but Molly only shook her head.

“I walked around the hospital yesterday,” she protested. “To the coffee machine and back. I can do this.”

“But you had me for support,” Sherlock whispered suddenly very aware of Mary's stare again.

“Well, I have you now, too, don't I?”

Frowning down at her Sherlock didn't know what to reply. Somehow he just knew that Molly wouldn't budge on this issue. Of course she knew that she wasn't in the right, she definitely knew that her request was stupid and that using the chair would be best for her. And yet something seemed to compel her to stand her ground and not give in. She could be so illogical sometimes. Sighing slightly he pulled the chair out of her way.

“Have it your way,” he grumbled snatching her bag from the bed and exiting the room without another glance leaving a slightly forlorn Molly behind.

“Let me,” John immediately offered and stepped forward offering his arm which Molly only too gladly took.

Fifteen minutes later the four of them were in the Watsons' car making their way through London's traffic to Molly's flat. Mary had already made up a plan to trick Sherlock into taking the back seat with Molly by the time they had reached the parking lot but to her surprise no trickery was needed as Sherlock climbed in after her. Checking the rear-view mirror she smiled slightly seeing Sherlock watch Molly's profile.

“It might take some time,” Mary said making Sherlock jump slightly which earned her a disgruntled look through the mirror. “Traffic around this time is just hell.”

“Don't worry, Mary. We are in no rush,” Molly replied still gazing out the window at the sky. “And thanks again for taking me.”

“Don't mention it,” John said turning around to face them. “Music?”

“Why not,” Molly answered regarding him with a smile for a moment before returning her attention to the street.

“Good,” John said switching the radio on.

As the car was filled with music Molly leaned back into her seat and exhaled deeply just to find Sherlock still staring at her.

“What?” she whispered.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock replied also in a low voice.

“Yes,” Molly replied instantly but she couldn't hold his gaze too long.

Staring back outside the window she fidgeted with her hands in her lap.

“You sure?”

Turning sharply to face him again she frowned up at the detective.

“Yes,” she hissed more defensive than was really necessary.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Molly trying to look as indifferent as possible while Sherlock having difficulty figuring out what exactly was wrong with her. The small dispute they had had about the wheelchair surely couldn't have caused this. She wouldn't hold a grudge over a little thing like that. And she had seemed just fine the day before in the hospital. This sudden change in her mood and behaviour was most suspicious. It was so unlike Molly to be that defensive and hostile in her reactions. Maybe he had done something, something that had escaped him, something that had upset her. Apart from the fact that he was the reason she had gotten shot in the first place of course. Was this why she pushed him away now? Was this what it was all about?

“I'm sorry,” he tried looking at her concern clearly written on his face.

“You don't have to apologise.”

“But you're mad at me.”

“Actually, I'm not,” she replied a puzzled expression replacing her frown.

Crunching up his nose he studied her again. She was still fidgeting with her hands in her lap and her whole body language seemed tense, as if she was ready to jump any second. Following Sherlock's gaze Molly looked down at her hands as well, stopping herself immediately.

“I'm fine,” she repeated barely audible, “really I am.”

Staring stoically out of the window at the passing traffic again Molly ignored his look that she could still feel on the back of her neck. Unconsciously she began wringing her hands again. After checking that both Mary and John had not been listening nor were paying attention to what was happening on the back seat at all, Sherlock slowly reached out to Molly gently resting his hand over hers bringing her nervous fidgeting to a stop. For a moment Molly seemed to tense up even more under his touch and Sherlock was about to pull his hand back when he felt her fingers entwine with his. Neither said a word nor was it apparent from their body language that anything had passed between them as Molly was still gazing out of the window while Sherlock looked straight ahead but still something seemed to have changed in that little moment and Sherlock contently heard Molly's breathing getting gradually calmer beside him.

Post-traumatic stress disorder short PTSD is a mental disorder that a person can develop after being exposed to one or a series of traumatic events. While being mostly associated with victims of warfare or terrorism, it can also be caused by sexual assault, traffic collisions or other threats on a person's life. Symptoms include avoidance of trauma-related cues or places, alterations in general behaviour and self-perception, numbing, re-experiencing or hyper-arousal. Patients can seem easily startled or distanced while certain triggers might cause them to relieve the traumatic event all over again.

After the tedious and long ride through London's jammed up streets the four of them were happy to finally have made it to Molly's flat. Outside Sherlock noticed the black surveillance car parked in front of the apartment block and made a mental note to thank Mycroft again when the possibility occurred. They took the elevator together and silently walked down the corridor Sherlock carrying Molly's bag, while Mary had interlinked her arm with Molly giving her a bit of support while she walked. Inside the flat Sherlock went straight into Molly's bedroom unpacking her things and putting them away in her wardrobe as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can do that, Sherlock!” Molly shouted from the kitchen.

“Oh let him be helpful for once,” he heard Mary say, “I bet it won't happen again too soon.”

When he re-emerged from the room he found Molly sitting at the kitchen table looking rather exhausted from the little journey and Mary reading a text on her phone.

“Oh, we'd rather get going. Mrs. Hudson is looking after Charlotte and we promised to be back in time so she won't miss her bingo night,” she exclaimed looking at the time. “I'm so sorry, Molly.”

“Oh no, that's okay. I understand,” Molly replied immediately smiling at the Watsons, “you were already too nice. Thanks so much for driving me home.”

“No problem at all,” John said giving her a broad smile. “I hope you'll feel better in no time.”

“Yes, Molly, and if you need anything. Just call me, okay?” Mary added wrapping the pathologist in a careful hug.

“I will.”

“Okay, we really have to dash. Goodbye and take care of yourself,” Mary said giving Molly's hand another squeeze while John smiled behind her.

“Sherlock, you need a lift?” he asked but the detective only shook his head slightly.

“I'll be fine.”

“Good. Goodbye then,” John said with another nod before both Mary and him were out the door.

With the Watsons gone the flat seemed awfully quiet and Molly restlessly drummed her fingers on the kitchen table.

“Tea?” she asked for lack of anything better on her mind and rose instantly to put the kettle on.

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock replied wondering off through the open plan kitchen into the living room.

Drawing the curtains to the side he glanced down into the street watching the Watsons' car pull away and once again checking on the surveillance team. Earlier he had already inspected all windows in both the bathroom and the bedroom to make sure that they were securely shut and nobody had been in the flat since Molly last was home. As far as he could tell everything seemed completely normal and with all precautions in place Molly was completely save. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from worrying. The easiest way to ensure her safety would be staying himself of course, but with Moriarty on his tail that would put her into more danger than ever. Maybe he should just stay a little longer making sure that Molly was in fact alright. Or at least that was what he told himself.

“The tea's ready.”

Walking back to the kitchen he gladly took one steaming cup from Molly before taking a seat opposite her at the table.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. A little tired maybe,” Molly admitted between sips, “but David said that the pain killers could make me drowsy.”

“Mh.” Sherlock nodded.

After a short pause he added. “Mycroft's men are downstairs. In a surveillance car, I mean.”

“What?”

“For your protection,” he explained, “just in case, of course. But I thought you should know.”

“Okay...” Molly answered looking rather more worried than reassured.

“So, you should be completely save in here. Nobody can get to you. No reason to be worried.”

“Okay...” Molly said again taking a large gulp of tea.

Watching her mug and the rising steam instead of Sherlock she spoke again after another pause.

“I'm not worried, you know? I'm fine.”

“Good.”

“I mean, I survived this,” she said pointing at her stomach chuckling slightly, “what else can happen?”

Looking straight at her Sherlock couldn’t quite figure out if she was being serious or not. To him it definitely was no laughing matter.

“You shouldn’t take this too lightly,” he mumbled more to himself than to her but it did stop her laughter immediately.

“That's not what I meant,” Molly shot back a tinge of anger mixed in her voice. “I was just trying to make a joke.”

“Well, don't. We both know how bad you are at those,” Sherlock spit out regretting his words instantly.

Looking at the mug in his hands he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said without looking at her.

“Would you stop apologising?”

“Sorry.”

Realising his mistake he gave her an apologetic shrug and half smirk. They continued drinking in silence glancing at the other once in awhile.

“Oh,” Molly exclaimed suddenly jumping up, “you must be hungry. You haven't eaten a thing all day.”

Before Sherlock could even reply she was at the fridge trying to find something edible which was - after a week long absence - of course nearly impossible.

“Molly, I’m fine. You don’t nee-”

“I must have some cookies somewhere,” she cut him off starting to rummage through her cupboards.

On one of the top shelves she finally found the box she was looking for. Standing on tiptoe she tried to reach it wincing slightly as she stretched her body more than she should. In a split second Sherlock was behind her one hand on her shoulder.

“Wait, let me ge-,” he started but couldn't quite finish his sentence as Molly whirled around freeing herself from his grip and accidentally landing her elbow in his stomach.

Eyes wide with shock Molly stared at Sherlock while he rubbed his ribs.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

“It's okay. I had worse,” Sherlock told her already reaching for the cookies again.

“No, really I am sorry. I don't know what got into me. I -”

“Here.”

Holding out the box he smiled at her but Molly didn't take it. Staring at her own hands she seemed to be frozen in shock.

“Molly?”

Reaching out for her he tried to grab her hand but she pulled away backing away from him. Worried Sherlock halted in his movement trying not to upset her any further.

“Are you okay?”

Jerking her head to the side she seemed to shake off an unwanted thought before turning her back to him.

“I'm fine,” she said her voice oddly hoarse.

Trying to get a better look at her again Sherlock slowly edged around her but he could only get a glimpse of her face and her slightly shaking hands before she rushed off in the direction of the bedroom.

“I will be right back!” she reassured him.

Following her silently Sherlock made his way into the bedroom stopping in front of the locked bathroom door. Pushing one ear against the wood he listened to the sounds coming from inside but the only thing he could make out was the tap running.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Molly returned from inside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Molly shouted.

Still worried Sherlock decided to give her some time and returned to the kitchen instead. Keeping himself busy he took a handful of cookies stuffing two directly into his mouth before putting the rest on a plate. As their teas had gone cold by now he refilled the kettle and started it again. After a short search he found some peppermint tea and dropped one bag into each mug. Molly definitely didn't need any more caffeine tonight. The kettle had just boiled when he heard Molly come back into the room behind him. Turning around slowly he gave her a small smile.

“The tea had gone cold,” he said holding up the kettle as an explanation before pouring the boiling water into the cups.

“Oh,” she said, “thanks.”

Taking in her appearance Sherlock could make out traces of tears on her face: the remnants of smudged mascara, the slightly reddened nose. But she seemed adamant about hiding the fact that she had been crying so he thought it best to not address the subject. Instead he handed her one mug and set down the plate of cookies on the table. Taking his seat again he watched her closely as she sat down as well.

“Sorry for that,” she said after a while.

“It's okay.”

Sipping their tea they both nibbled on a biscuit but somehow they were both not particularly hungry anymore. A heavy silence hung between them. As Sherlock finished his cup of tea he stared at the empty mug for a while.

Trauma is common in women; five out of ten women experience a traumatic event. While men are more likely to feel angry or have trouble controlling their frustration, women tend to be jumpy, can't seem to feel emotions and avoid things that remind them of the incident. Furthermore, they are prone to feel depressed and anxious partly because they are more likely to blame themselves for the traumatic event than men who are more drawn to alcohol or drugs when experiencing PTSD.

Yet, on average women are more likely than men to seek help after a traumatic event. Studies have shown that women respond to treatment as well as or better than men. This may be because women are generally more comfortable sharing feelings and talking about personal issues than men.

"Okay, so I'll better be getting home then," Sherlock said looping his scarf around his neck. "Thank you for the tea and... the cookies."

"You're welcome." Molly replied getting up from her chair.

"Don't get up," Sherlock protested holding up one hand, "I know where the door is."

Giving her a lopsided grin he looked at her for a moment.

"If you need anything. Just call me or send a text or..." he trailed off shrugging slightly.

"Thank you. I will."

Although all seemed to have been said and there really was no reason to stay any longer Sherlock was rooted to the floor unable to move. He simply didn't want to leave her alone. Not in the state she was in. And yet, he didn't want to push himself onto her. And she seemed much calmer than before.

"So..." Sherlock said wrapping his coat tight around him. "I'll let you get your rest."

"Yeah. I'll probably call it an early night," Molly replied smiling slightly.

"Good."

Another pause followed before Sherlock finally found it in him to leave.

"Good," he repeated, "Goodnight then."

Walking down the hall toward the door Molly followed him leaning against the wall. Giving her one last nod Sherlock reached for the door handle when Molly suddenly spoke.

"Stay."

Turning around he let the door fall back shut again behind him.

"What?"

Looking to the floor Molly fidgeted with her jumper.

"Would you... I mean just for tonight... I don't know... It's just... It's silly, really it is. It's just I..." she stammered.

Shaking her head slightly she straightened up while taking a deep breathe looking like she made a decision.

"You know what?" she laughed, "Forget what I said. I'm being silly. I'm fine. You can go."

Regarding her with an intense stare Sherlock didn't move an inch.

"It's okay, Molly. You have been shot. It's okay to feel scared," he whispered his voice unusually soft.

Taking a tentative step forward he continued.

"It's a perfectly natural reaction."

When she finally looked up at him again he could see tears forming in her eyes.

"Just for tonight maybe?" she admitted a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm being totally silly, aren't I? I don't even know what I'm scared of. I know I'm totally save but still..."

"It's okay," Sherlock repeated stepping even closer.

"I'm so afraid," Molly sobbed her body starting to shake as she buried her face in her hands.

Slowly Sherlock reached out to her pulling her gently towards him until he held her tightly in his arms. "It's okay," he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

#sherlolly #fanfic #sherlock #a clean shot #angst

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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An update for A Clean Shot? After nearly two years of nothing? Yup. I’m sorry.

#a clean shot #sherlolly #fanfic #sherlock #multichapter

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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I’m writing the next chapter for one of my multi-chapter fics and God it’s so hard. How did I ever manage to write an in character Mycroft?

#grumbles #he sounds wrong #everything sounds wrong

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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Everything, mh?

Who is this person writing Victorian Sherlolly fluff?

I don’t know where this came from but the special definitely has left me with a truckload of feels that need to get out. So here we go.

Also on AO3

Hearing the steps on the stairs Holmes slowly got up from the chair and took a position close to the door his hands folded behind his back while he patiently waited for Doctor Hooper to reach the landing.

„Holmes!“ the doctor exclaimed surprised by the detective’s presence in the room.

Recovering from the first shock quickly Hooper took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks next to the door.

„What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be solving a triple murder?“

A small smile playing around his lips Holmes answered with a short „I am.“ while crossing the room. Encircling Hooper's waist from behind he leaned in closer and whispered.

„But I missed you.“

The doctor instantly turned around freeing herself from his embrace and pushing Holmes back.

„Don't,“ she protested. „Let me get changed first. I look hideous.“

Looking to the ground she hid her face from his gaze waiting for him to step aside and let her pass. But instead Holmes took a tentative step forwards again while reaching out for her with one hand.

„You always look beautiful to me,“ he said gently lifting her chin. „And you do forget, my darling, this is the face I first fell for.“

Finally looking up again she was met with a smile and a softness in his eyes that was so seldom visible.

„Even the moustache?“ she asked timidly.

„Even the moustache,“ he confirmed pulling her closer to him.

“Everything, Doctor Hooper,” he added in a low voice happily observing the broad smile spreading on her face and the glow in her eyes return that he loved so much.

“Everything, mh?” she replied raising one eye brow and pulling him down for a gentle kiss.

Separating again Sherlock bit his lip his brow furrowed.

“What is wrong?” she asked immediately alarmed.

“I might have to correct my earlier statement,” he admitted quietly.

“About what?”

“That moustache... it... erm, it scratches.”

Looking up at the all too worried detective Hooper couldn't help but laugh. Wriggling out of his embrace she swatted his arm playfully before making her way over to the stove to prepare some tea.

“Now you can comprehend the anguish I was in when you grew that horrible thing for your last undercover case,” she retorted still laughing slightly before pulling the fake moustache from her face.

Contemplating her answer Holmes nodded.

“No moustaches anymore then. Duly noted.”

Stepping up to her again he gently placed his hands on the side of her head and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“You have to leave already?” she asked knowing him only too well.

“Unfortunately there is still a case to be solved.”

In response she only nodded silently.

“I could...” he started unsure how to finish his sentence while playing absent-mindedly with her hand. “... if you want...I could -”

“- come back later?” they finished at the same time.

A mischievous lopsided smirk on his face he pressed her hand once more before fetching his coat and collecting his hat and gloves from the kitchen table. Halfway out the door he suddenly halted once more and turned around.

“Molly, I love you.”

And before she could reply anything he had rushed down the stairs and was out the front door the next minute.

#sherlolly #ficlet #tab #spoilers #victorian sherlolly #sherlock #fanfic

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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Sonnet #1

My love, I do not count, I know it well

For your cold looks and words do hurt me so

And yet I find myself under your spell

I would follow wherever you might go

I know I’m nothing but a tool for you

An easy way to get just what you need

But please remember I have feelings, too

When you once more forget me in your heat

I shall forgive your jibes and let them slide

I’ll hold my tongue and stomach all the blows

As long as you don’t throw your gifts aside

And don’t you lie, I am the one who knows

And if you need me you can have me whole

For I am yours, love; mind, body and soul.

#molly hooper #sherlolly #sherlock #sonnet #shakespeare

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 8 years

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This will be our truth

Happy Birthday @addignisherlock!!! I hope you will enjoy this little ficlet.

Also here on AO3.

„It was an accident.“

Nobody contradicts her. There is no use.

„He would never have...“

Molly's voice trails off and once again the only sound that is heard is the constant splatter of rain on their black umbrellas. Most guests already made their way back to the entrance of the graveyard, turning up their coat collars against the biting autumn wind. It really is a horrible day.

The turn out was bigger than he would have expected though. He never was the best at keeping on the good side of people. And yet, a considerable number came.

A speech, a procession, another few words from the minister. He would never have wanted all this religious nonsense, at least that's what he thinks. Who could really know for sure. But it's for the parents, probably. His brother's speech was crisp, to the point, distant. But Greg can see the pain in his face, the tiredness that only sleepless nights can have caused, the sleepless nights that come with grief and guilt. But nobody could have stopped him. He is sure. No one had ever stopped Sherlock Holmes from anything.

Mrs Hudson reaches out and squeezes Molly's hand.

„I'm sure you're right, my dear.“

Molly just nods and the elderly woman turns around as well after looking one last time at the mount of fresh earth. Wiggins holds her umbrella and steadies her as they walk back over the muddy grass towards the car park. He seems to have taken to the old lady lately, maybe that's a good turn. After all that has happened. The detective inspector watches them until they are at the gate, a small dot in the foggy autumn air. Mycroft reappears at the gate. He escorted his parents to their car, Mrs Holmes was crying. He gives the inspector a quick nod. Lestrade nods in return and Mycroft is gone the next minute.

Now it is only them.

Greg notices a spot of dirt on his shoe, a splash of muddy earth perfectly round. He had polished them this morning. It had felt wrong to take them out of the wardrobe again so soon. It only seemed like yesterday that they had all lined up in their black ties and dresses, following the body of another great man and yet it was nearly two months now. He understood Mary. She didn't have to go through all of this again, not so soon after...

“You found him. You must know.”

Ripped from his thoughts Greg looks up from his shoes.

“Mh?”

“You found him,” she repeats.

“Well, Wiggins found him. But he didn't want to be in the report for … reasons,” he admits.

The pathologist nods.

“But yes, Wiggins didn't touch anything. He called me right away.”

“So you know?”

There is so much hope in this simple question, so much weight in the answer. For a moment he looks back on the spot on his shoe.

“He would never have killed himself. He still had so much to live for,” she whispers a little sob escaping her.

Greg looks up. The tears are back in her eyes. They are silent, slowly making their way down her cheeks. Her eyes are big and fearful, like his answer could shatter her world or make it whole again.

But she knows the answer, just as well as he does. Because she knows... knew Sherlock. She knows how far his knowledge of chemistry went, she knows how much experience he had with drugs. She knows. And yet, she wants nothing more than to forget. To lie to herself. She wants to believe in something that is just that little bit less hurtful.

“I'm not an expert on this,” Greg says calmly.

“But what did it look like to you?”

He could tell her what it had looked like to him. He could tell her about the way Sherlock's body had been lying on the floor of his flat, slipped out of his chair, a plastic band tied around his arm, stopping the circulation, the needle next to him. The way the flat had looked, John's journal entries scattered across the floor, the empty bottles on the table. He could tell her that he had known the minute he had entered the room what had happened. He could tell her how he had seen a similar sight so many times before, too many times. He could tell her that the only thing that had been missing was a letter to make the picture whole. He could tell her that he had no doubt that Sherlock Holmes had killed himself. He could. But he doesn't. Instead he hears himself talking about what must have been a terrible accident. Comforting her, lying to her. And he can see it in her eyes, the gratitude, the little bit of hope returning that had been missing for the last days. Something passes between them, not in what is said in particular but between the lines. A silent understanding, that this will be the version they will believe. This will be the version of events they will cling to. Just to make it bearable.

In silence they watch the mount of earth.

#sherlolly #johnlock #kind of everything #cw: drugs #cw: suicide #sherlock #fanfic

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 9 years

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Home

When he enters the hallway it's like nothing has changed. It's like the two years he was away, away from home were nothing but a bad dream. He traces his fingers along the wallpaper, takes in the familiar scent in the air. When he comes to the landing in front of the living room door he pauses for a moment. Maybe Mycroft was right, maybe he wasn't welcome here anymore but where else could he go, where else would he want to go. He only had one home and it didn't matter how long he went away, he knew he would always come back to it. Letting out one final breath he opens the door and steps inside. And there he is, standing at the kitchen sink watching the kettle as if that makes it boil quicker. Really nothing has changed. Still the same blue and white plaid shirt, still the same cardigan, still the striped socks he likes so much. For a moment he just watches him, taking it in. That sight that he tried to bring back to life before his eyes whenever his mission became too hard, whenever his hideouts were too damp and cold and lonely. That sight that kept him going; through everything. But now it seems that his mind has betrayed him all this time, because the image he conjured up in his darkest moments was nothing like the man standing with his back to him, leaning slightly onto the kitchen top. That man was so much more, it made his own memories look like faded pictures, lacking the colours and shine of the original. Nothing compared to actually seeing him, him in person, so close to him, breathing the same air.

For lack of any appropriate words Sherlock simply coughs and John's shoulders tense up for a second before he turns around.

The moment he recognises Sherlock a myriad of emotions washes over John's face. It changes so quickly that even Sherlock has trouble keeping up. There is the surprise, the confusion so clearly visible in his raised eyebrows, the second of realisation, maybe even relief that vanishes in an instant to make room for a frown, a frown filled with disappointment and anger and sorrow and then there is something new, a deeper sadness that shines from his eyes just long enough that Sherlock can see it before John closes them and shakes his head. There's a moment when neither of them says anything, where the kitchen is completely silent except for John's heavy breathes as he tries to come to terms with what is actually happening. He is shaking, trembling with emotion and Sherlock has to fight hard to not just reach out and- he doesn't even know what he would he do, what he should do. When John finally looks up there is still hurt in his eyes.

"Two years."

Sherlock nods.

"Two years."

The tears glisten in his eyes, only seconds from spilling over.

"Two bloody years," John says a third time and leaps forward.

But Sherlock doesn't defend himself he doesn't step out of the line. He just braces himself for the blow, for that punch in the face he definitely deserves, closing his eyes before John's fist connects with his chin. But there is no punch, no knuckles on his bones, instead he feels John's arms encircling him, pulling him towards his body. He is holding him so tightly that it gets hard to breathe. But Sherlock couldn't care less and after the first surprise he returns the hug. He holds John and John holds him and suddenly everything seems alright.

"I hate you," John murmurs into the fabric of Sherlock's coat.

"I understand," Sherlock replies with a smile on his face.

When they finally losen their grip on each other it is a slow process. Neither being willing to let go of the other quite yet. After all it still seems like a dream, them standing there, in the kitchen, alive, breathing, and so close. Sherlock's arms still rest around John's waist when their eyes meet. John reaches up and feels the fabric of Sherlock's coat collar.

"That stupid coat collar," he whispers, "Always turned up-"

"-to make me look mysterious," Sherlock finishes John's sentence, a mischievous grin playing around his lips.

In response John just glowers at him. But the frown fades quickly and is replaced by a warm smile.

"John, I'm -"

"Don't."

"I have to say it."

There is a moment of silence, then John nods.

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine what I have put you through. I.... I am sorry."

Sherlock swallows hard. There are no explanations or words that could make John's pain of the last two years go away. So he doesn't even try. This is all he can offer: an apology. And so he stands there hands now losely hanging by his side, a bit defeated, a bit lost, worried that his best friend, the best man he has ever known and will ever know might still reject him, might not be able to forgive him. And for once he doesn't hide it. For once he lets his emotions show, just for once he lets John Watson see how much is actually going on behind this cold facade, the mask that he usually puts on. Right here in this moment he has nothing left to hide and he doesn't want to.

And suddenly John pulls him down again. Suddenly John's hands are at the back of his neck, burrowing into his hair. And there are his lips, John Watson's lips on his. Eager and greedy and so warm. It takes Sherlock a second to react, to realise what is happening. For a second he is frozen, in shock, unable to compute. The next moment it all comes rushing in, a wave of emotion and sensation he never knew he could experience. And he pulls John closer, a firm grip on his waist as if one millimetre of space between them would be killing him. Maybe it would. The kiss is like a heatwave, an electrical shock that travels through his body, making him feel more alive than he has in years, maybe he has never felt so alive. And there is this warmth, this unfamiliar warmth that is spreading within him, while John's hands travel across his back, pulling him in even closer. Yes he is home. Finally he is where he belongs, and it wouldn't even matter if it was at the other end of the universe or in the dimly lit kitchen of 221B. Everything around them is only a blur anyway, fading to black and white, while colours dance before his closed eyes. It doesn't matter, time and space have lost all their meaning, nothing seems to matter anymore. Because he is finally home. Home, tightly wrapped in John Watson's arms. And in that moment nothing else is important, no hurt he might have caused, no old mistakes and grievances, nothing matters, because there is this undeniable warmth inside him that drowns out all the rest. This highest of highs he will ever be on.

And it doesn't even matter that it's all a lie. It doesn't matter that the high is coming from the needle now forgotten and discarded on the floor beside him. And it doesn't matter that John isn't there, it doesn't matter that it's all in his head. None of that matters anymore, because he never planned to come down from this high. This was always a one-way trip, no return ticket required. Because one thing Sherlock knew when he settled down in John's old chair, his head resting so close to the blood stain that hadn't even started to fade yet, this place wasn't his home anymore. Maybe that had been John's thought when he had put the gun to his head only three weeks ago in the same spot. Somehow that had seemed comforting in an odd way as Sherlock had held up the needle to the light. Yes, this was going to be his last trip. He was going home, because without John Watson there was no home.

also on AO3 here

#johnlock #tw: drugs #tw: suicide #sherlock #fanfic #John Watson

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 9 years

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Rattling Trains

The personal blog of

Dr. John H. Watson

My therapist told me to write. As if that was the solution to everything. Bloody writing.

But there is nothing I could write about. Not anymore. What could I possibly put down on paper now? I could describe my work at the practise, the endless days, the job that miraculously pays the rent but that's about all it does. I used to like being a doctor, didn't I? But now, it doesn't seem to make sense anymore, there is no meaning in anything really. So the days pass by, empty, meaningless, one after the other, hour after hour, minute after minute. And I exist. But nothing ever happens. Should I describe the seemingly endless commutes on the train? The unbearable closeness in rush hours, like all the air has been sucked out of the carriage. The noise and bustle of life around me. The rattling of the trains as they pass from one station to the other. That rattling. I never really noticed it before. You hear but you do not listen. That's how you would have put it, wouldn't you? But maybe I didn't hear it for other reasons. Maybe the blood pumping through my veins was drowning out all other noises around me. The game is on! Yeah, not anymore. Now the game is over and I hear the rattling of the trains. But I have grown to like it. That constant noise, if you focus on it long enough it seems to fill you up. It makes everything else disappear, the annoying chatter of the group of teenagers next to me, those endless conversations you can only have at that age when everything that happens to you seems to be of the uppermost importance. Or the student's headphones on the other side that are clearly turned up too much, I wonder if he will still be able to hear anything by the time he's my age. But the rattling of the trains drowns them out, it soothes me in a strange way, it's not like waves crashing onto a beach or the crackling of a nice fire but when you live in London it's the closest to a calming sound that you can get. And so I sit there everyday listening to the rattling trains, while life happens around me, while London never stops moving, while everything is exactly as it was before, and yet nothing is for me. I sit here staring at the tunnel walls flashing by outside, unable to understand how this whole system, this endless grit of a city can still be busy, and alive, and so unchanged, when I feel like it will never be the same again.

So here it is, this is my life now. Rattling trains and a city that feels far away and disconnected from me, a foreign world that has nothing to do with me anymore. And I exist. But nothing ever happens, and nothing ever will again. Because my best friend Sherlock Holmes is dead.

For hideouspumpkin, addignisherlock & fiftysevvenacademics for reasons.

#John Watson #blog entry #ficlet #Sherlock #fanfic #I don't even know what this is #but put me on the tube for an hour and I'll come up with something like this

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we-re-all-storys-in-the-end · 9 years

Text

Second best

When she comes over, slightly off-balance, he doesn't need a second look. The faint pink glow on her cheeks, the slightly lop sided smile, it's telling him enough. Three glasses of red wine have worked their magic and shy, quiet Molly Hooper has gathered enough courage to stumble over to him, the fourth glass precariously close to being spilled all over her nice yellow dress.

“Nice party, isn't it?“ she asks leaning against the wall next to him.

Her speech is just a little slurred, a stranger wouldn't notice, but he knows this voice too well. This voice he has grown accustomed to over the years, a voice of knowledge and trust and most of all a voice of loyalty.

Not fully turning he just glances down at her one eye brow raised.

“If you say so.“

There is a bit of a pause. She seems unsure what to say and gulps down a big part of her glass instead. More liquid courage.

“Where's....” he searches his mind palace for the right name, “...David?“ he asks gazing back at the slowly moving crowd on the dance floor.

“Oh...“ Molly starts and he can see her looking at her hands at his side. “Yeah, the sod didn't want to come.“

There is hurt in her voice, she clearly is trying to cover it but the alcohol flowing through her body is betraying her. And anyway, she couldn't have fooled him, Sherlock Holmes isn't one to overlook things.

“Actually...“ she breathes out, “that's kind of... over. It probably has been for a few weeks. But, yeah, this morning he just took his bags and...“

“And?“ Sherlock repeats regarding her with another glance.

“And that's that,“ she states before finishing off her glass.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she reaches past him to dump the empty glass on the little party table next to him. There is an awkward moment as loses her balance and bumps slightly into him, her face instantly turning a deep shade of red. He doesn't care that much, actually he had anticipated it given her intoxicated state. He just gently helps her regain her balance, pushing her at the shoulder until she once again leans against the wall next to him.

“Oops,” she giggles.

For a second he envies her. It must be nice to numb your brain with alcohol. How easy it must be for normal people. He knows that to shut his mind up completely he needs more... much more. And then he remembers John's stag night and the memory makes him wince ever so slightly.

“He said he couldn't take it anymore,” Molly suddenly blurts out and rips him from his thoughts.

“Who?” he asks perplexed.

“David.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock doesn't really understand but experience taught him that giving the impression of a certain amount of understanding usually shuts people up. Usually...

“He said I'm not really there,” she goes on, “like what does that even mean? I never was anywhere else!”

She is angry now, her cheeks red from both the wine and her emotions. This is not the conversation he wanted to have. Not now, not ever to be honest. Why is she telling him this?

“He said something like I didn't appreciate him. He was fed up with being second best.”

He can hear the tears in her voice but he doesn't look at her. The dance floor seems like a saver bet now. This is not his area.

“He said I will never be able to fully love him when I'm still in love with someone else.”

And suddenly it clicks. Oh.

There is another silence. The dancing crowd seems further away than it was before, like the happy party going on around them is not in the same dimension anymore. A silly thought, of course.

“Sorry,” she says wiping at her face, “I'm being silly. This is...”

He turns to look at her.

“... silly.” she finishes looking up at him.

Meeting his eyes she smiles shyly before she looks to the floor again.

“I shouldn't have had that last glass...” she admits laughing slightly. “Maybe it's time to go home. I think Mary and John will understand. Can you tell them I was tired?” she asks and without another look she turns around to leave.

He could let her go home. He could let her walk away. It's easy. But maybe it's time. She's his friend after all. Reaching out he grabs her wrist pulling her to a stop.

“Molly,” he whispers. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?” she returns the faintest glimmer of hope in her eyes.

He swallows hard, because he knows that this will not be easy.

“I can't. I wish I could. But...”

He watches as the confusion on her face slowly turns into something else. Sadness? Defeat? Hopelessness?

“It wouldn't be fair to you. I wouldn't really be there,” he says hoping that she understands. “I don't want you to be second best.”

“Second best?” she repeats.

“I can't love anyone if I'm in love with someone else,” he murmurs and looks away.

Following his gaze to the dance floor it hits Molly like a blow to the stomach and yet she isn't even really surprised. Maybe she had known all along, maybe she just didn't want to know.

“Oh.” is all she can answer.

“Yes,” he says letting go off her hand.

Leaning back against the wall they resume their earlier positions as if nothing has passed between them but the thick silence that follows speaks volumes.

“Did you...” she starts but trails off unsure.

“...ever tell him?” he finishes for her adding a quick “No.” shaking his head slightly.

“Mh...”

Another silence falls as they watch the happy couple dancing just a few metres away.

“We're two idiots, aren't we?” Molly states flatly and can't suppress a little laugh.

Looking at the small pathologist next to him Sherlock can't help but smile. She understands, she understands more than he would have ever expected. And despite everything, she still manages to laugh.

“Thank you,” he says his gaze on the dance floor again.

“What for?”

He takes a second to think about it, feeling her watching him intently. Turning again to face her he just shrugs.

“I don't know,” he admits a crooked smile on his face, a smile that is not quite reaching his eyes.

And somehow she just mirrors his look, smiling sadly, the drunken glow long gone from her cheeks. Another moment passes before they both lean back again watching the people around them.

“You're welcome,” she whispers.

So this is what happens when you spent all your time with Johnlockers... this is entirely hideouspumpkin, addignisherlock and fiftysevvenacademics fault.

#sherlolly #johnlock #or whatever this is #fanfic

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