50th anniversary + Modern Doctor Who parallels and references.
The Five Stages of Grief: Sherlock Holmes is dead
Dr Molly Holmes glanced at the mantle clock once more before letting out a sigh and snapping her book shut with a snap. Standing up a bit stiffly from her chair, she tossed a bit of ash over the dwindling flames in the fireplace, leaving just a few embers glowing before she turned down the gas lamp. It was apparent that her husband wasn’t going to come back home any time soon and she supposed that the conversation she wanted to have with him after the events of today could wait.
Her slippers muffled her steps into the darkened bedroom, where she didn’t bother with a light before reaching for the tie of her dressing gown.
"You’re wrong you know."
His deep voice made her jump right out of her skin with a small gasp, but she recognized Sherlock immediately. What the blast was he doing sitting in the dark of their bedroom? When had he come back home?
"You do count," he continued. "You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. But you were right. I’m not alright."
Molly felt a lump form in her throat at his words, her eyes finally adjusted to scant moonlight, seeing him silhouetted by it. He stood as a dark spot on the other side of their bed.
"Tell me what’s wrong," she commanded, taking a step in his direction just as he walked towards her.
"Molly, Molly. My Molly," he whispered as he stood before her, still dressed in his coat, his eyes hidden from her in the dark. She stood still.
"Molly, I think he’s going to destroy me," he whispered.
A chill ran down her spine. Moriarty.
"What do you need?" she breathed. Whatever this was, she wasn’t about to let anything happen to her husband, not if she could help it.
"If I wasn’t everything that you think that I am, everything that I think that I am…would you still stand by me, Molly? Would you still help me?"
"What do you need?" she asked again, firmer and louder this time.
He took a last step in her direction, and now Molly could fully see his face. There was a real fear in his eyes as he approached her, but still full of that same sadness she’d observed of late.
He reached for her then, his fingertips ever so lightly touching her cheek. “You.”
It wasn’t clear who’d pulled the other in first, but it didn’t matter as they clung to each other tightly. Sherlock pulled back enough to turn her face towards him, capturing her lips with his, fusing their mouths together frantically for a few moments before he pressed her against his chest again.
"I don’t know what will happen exactly, but you have to be ready," he was saying to her.
Molly nodded against his shoulder. “Anything, anything at all, darling.”
"I have to go to Switzerland," he said and he cut her off before she could offer to come along. "You have to stay here, it’s not safe for you. I have to know he won’t come after you. Everything has to carry on as normal." Sherlock pulled back to kiss her forehead. "Promise me that whatever happens after that, whatever you hear, whatever anyone tells you, you’ll have to pretend to believe. Moriarty can’t know, can’t even suspect, do you understand?"
Molly nodded. “Yes. Alright. How long will you be gone?”
Sherlock pulled back from her, holding her nearly at arms length, his eyes scanning over her….not deducing, but rather seeming to be committing her to memory. She felt the tears she’d been holding back finally begin to fall from her eyes. He brought up his thumb to wipe them from her cheek. He wasn’t holding back from her at all, laying himself bare before as he so rarely did. She cupped his cheek with her hand, knowing full well that she might never see him again.
"What about," she asked, her throat closing up around the words, unable to finish.
As always, she didn’t have to finish her thoughts as he already knew them. He seized her free hand in his, letting her see the tears that war about to escape his eyes as well. “I will find a way. I promise you. Somehow…”
"I know you will, I know," she said, doing her best to pull herself together, for all their sakes. "Now, darling. What do you need?"
They worked quickly and silently and just before dawn, Sherlock kissed his wife goodbye and slipped out of his own home undetected, walking off to meet his fate, while his wife begun a long wait for him to return.
Victorian!Sherlolly: The Night Before
*Sigh* I barely got any writing done today. I should have woken up earlier and started writing. Then the Sherlock trailer came out and I knew I wasn’t gonna get anything done today.
Oh, well. I’ll just try to write this week.
John & Mary
The Equality Illusion (via lesilencieux)
BUT SEXISM ISN’T REAL Y’ALL WE’RE JUST MAKING IT UP. THIS ISN’T LITERAL OBJECTIFICATION. NAH. (via longdivisionnnn)
Horrified but not suprised. Not in the least.