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I don’t know if you would feel comfortable sharing this, but you have been very supportive of library workers and reading, so I thought I would ask.

Here in Ireland libraries are being targeted right now to remove positive LGBTQ+ content, specifically YA stuff. Library workers are being insulted and intimidated; there have been demands to remove books from shelves. This is a coordinated campaign, and there has been little media attention paid to it; I think it’s believed that if the people trying to get books banned are ignored then they will go away.

Having seen how these campaigns have gone in the US and the UK, however, I consider that unlikely.

If you could share information about this then it might help get more attention. I have tried to embed a video link from the Dáil (the Irish Parliament) in this ask as proof that I am not talking through my arse. It will not embed, but I can provide it should you need verification (which is understandable). If you can share this I would be very grateful, and if not I hope that you are well and enjoying a well-earned hot beverage, wherever you are. Also, Norse Mythology rocks.

With thanks,

An Irish Hobbit

The YouTube link about this is here: 

To repeat my request: if you are Irish, get in touch with your local authority and express your support for LGBTQA+ books for young people. You are the people the local authorities listen to. You are the people they care about. Make your voices heard to them, because at the moment the only voices they are hearing are those who want to ban books. 

Be kind, be polite but be clear: You Support LGBTQA+ Content in your local library. 

As for the people making these complaints, if you want to keep them from getting what they want, DON’T ENGAGE WITH THEM ONLINE. They are trying to get attention, and they are trying to play the martyr. They are enacting the Enoch Burke playlist- Don’t let them. Ignore them. Don’t give them any oxygen. If they’re being crap to a queer person or a library worker and you feel safe enough to intervene IRL or online then please do so, but other than that, ignore them. 

Show them that you know they’re making a show of themselves, and you have no time for them or their notions. Go full Irish Mammy on their arses. 

As a nation, we have a superpower: let’s use it. 

Ruins of the O’Davoren Law School | Cahermacnaghten, Co Clare

The Ó Duibhdábhoireann (O’Davoren) family were scholarly clan of Corcomroe, Thomond (modern-day Co Clare), active since medieval times. Famed for their sponsorship of schools and knowledge of history and Early Irish law, the Uí Dhuibh dá Bhoireann were known throughout Ireland as a literary family and held estates in the Burren down to the mid seventeenth century at the time of the Cromwellian…

Size of Britain compared to U.S.

Sherlolly + Incorrect quote.

SHERLOCK: (sighing) Well, no I didn’t.

(Molly pauses; she knows there will be more)

SHERLOCK: … but I DID tell SOME of London that we are having sex -

MOLLY: (gaping, as well she might, and gripping the bone-saw with intent) WHAT?!

SHERLOCK: … and lots of it. Quite often.

MOLLY: (faintly) SOME of London…?

SHERLOCK: (briskly) Well, Mrs Hudson, to be more accurate, but I understand her gossip saturation levels should reach 89% of the Metropolis by Thursday. Wednesday if Bridge Club has resumed.

(Note: most of London did, in fact, know of their liaison by Tuesday, except for John Watson, who was told by a taxi driver a fortnight later.)

~fin~

Doesn’t hate on Mark and Steven, and never send any hate to either our writers or cast members

Actually liked S4. It’s all good to have issues with it cause nothing’s 100% perfect, but hating on it is a different thing, so no hate, please

Doesn’t believe in TJLC

Doesn’t hate Mary Watson, Molly Hooper or both

irene has kids before being turned and is invested in her descendants

john was already with mary and has to see her age and pass

mrs. hudson is the vampire queen

2) Mary is also a vampire, she got turned at the same time as John, she and Sherlock have Wine Wednesdays every third Saturday of the month

3) Mrs. Hudson is immortal but she’s not a vampire and nobody can figure out what her deal is

4) absolutely 100% correct

#OTD in 2013 – World-renowned poet and playwright Seamus Heaney died in the Blackrock Clinic in Dublin following a short illness, aged 74.

“History says, Don’t hope On this side of the grave, But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave Of justice can rise up, And hope and history rhyme.” ―Seamus Heaney Seamus Heaney was awarded numerous prizes over the years and won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995. He was born to a farming family at Mossbawn near Bellaghy in Co Derry on 13 April 1939 and was the eldest of nine…

Brehon Law and Medicine

Physicians practised in Ireland from earliest times. The Book of Genealogies lists Capa and Eaba as the first male and female doctors in Ireland. The first historical reference to a physician is in the Annals of the Four Masters, where the death of Maelodhar Ua Tindridh, ‘the most learned physician of Ireland’, is recorded in 860. Medicine was a hereditary profession. In post-Norman Ireland…

She falls asleep with her head on Sherlock’s shoulder, a drunken smile on both their faces. They’ve been celebrating, you see, another case closed and another jaunt away on Her Majesty’s business for John and Sherlock, why Sherlock brought her back her favourite biscuits from that place in Edinburgh that she loves and everything…  It’s his way of apologising for the bomb squad having to clear 221B again.  Molly thinks it would be, well, adorable, if they weren’t both snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.  Still, she says nothing, merely drapes a blanket over her husband and his favourite Not His Housekeeper and then tiptoes off to bed. It’s the next morning before they realise what’s happened, realise that one of their favourite people in all the world has been lost to them…  

“She had a smile on her face,” Sherlock whispers when he tells her, hands knotted together and tears in his eyes. He looks… He looks bewildered. Lost.  Without a word Molly wraps him in her arms and holds him tightly. 

Behind him, John’s talking to a paramedic, calling time of death.  *********

She leaves Baker Street to Rosie, of all people. In trust, of course, until she’s 25, and with instructions that she hopes the building will give the girl the financial stability to do whatever she wants with her life, “no matter how much your father grumbles.”

She leaves Molly her jewellery; to John she leaves her car.  Sherlock receives a sealed letter and a set of keys on the day the will is read, a private message he doesn’t share with Molly but which seems to break his heart. 

And yet…

One day,  months later, Sherlock calls Molly in sick to Bart’s and drives with her to the country. Sussex Downs, he says that’s what the place is called, a darling little cottage in the middle of nowhere with a stone apiary outside and a garden brimming with flowers.  It looks like something out of a fairytale.  “This is what she left me, Molly,” he tells her. “She… She wanted us to have it.” A twist of a smile. “I’m to put your name on the lease too, or else, apparently, she’ll haunt me.” And he laughs, shakes his despairingly.  It’s obvious to Molly that his pain is still fresh and aching. 

The pathologist stares at him, overwhelmed. Heart breaking and bursting and in that moment, oh in that moment she misses Martha Hudson so much more than she ever thought possible. More than she ever knew.  How could one person do so much for others, make such a difference?  Still, she reaches up. Presses a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “Best not disappoint her then,” she says, taking Sherlock’s hand. (They both have tears in their eyes, though neither of them are willing to admit it). Slowly, slowly, they wind their way up the path towards the cottage door. 

The air is thick with the scent of honeysuckle.  ***********   The next time Rosie and John visit, Molly is expecting… 

Things have been a bit weird this week, bit I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing. This chapter is something I have often wondered about, which is how would Sherlock explain to Molly about the coffin? We often elide that in fanfiction by having someone else tell him, but I wanted him to say it in his own words. As always please comment, like and share, and enjoy! This is always easier when I hear from people. 

The next time they wake up the sun is setting and Sherlock is fully awake, stroking his fingers gently through her hair. He freezes the moment she opens her eyes, his breath catching. Molly flops onto her front, looking up at him through her lashes and he licks his lips. Brings the hand which was in her hair up to stroke her cheek.

He looks nervous. “Did I wake you?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly quiet.

“No.” She huffs out a pleased breath, setting the straggly hair which haloes her face fluttering, and they share a smile. She feels rested, surprisingly so, especially given the drama of the last 24 hours. She sits up. “How long was I out?”

Sherlock’s eyes slide from hers, he drops his hand from her hair. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I wasn’t really paying attention to the time when I came here.” He takes a sharp breath through his nose and says the words quickly. “I just really wanted to see you.” And he leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Warmth blooms in Molly’s chest; she could get used to this.

“Because you love me?” She means it to come out teasingly, as a statement, but it’s a question- Good God, why is it a question-?

Sherlock notes her tone, shoulders dropping, expression turning haunted. It looks… It looks to Molly almost like he’s readying himself to take a blow and she hates that. It makes her reach for him, her hand finding his, interweaving their fingers.

This seems to settle him. “Because I love you,” he says quietly, nodding. “Because I had to see you after what happened…“

“What did happen?”

Things have been a bit weird this week, bit I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing. This chapter is something I have often wondered about, which is how would Sherlock explain to Molly about the coffin? We often elide that in fanfiction by having someone else tell him, but I wanted him to say it in his own words. As always please comment, like and share, and enjoy! This is always easier when I hear from people. 

The next time they wake up the sun is setting and Sherlock is fully awake, stroking his fingers gently through her hair. He freezes the moment she opens her eyes, his breath catching. Molly flops onto her front, looking up at him through her lashes and he licks his lips. Brings the hand which was in her hair up to stroke her cheek.

He looks nervous. “Did I wake you?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly quiet.

“No.” She huffs out a pleased breath, setting the straggly hair which haloes her face fluttering, and they share a smile. She feels rested, surprisingly so, especially given the drama of the last 24 hours. She sits up. “How long was I out?”

Sherlock’s eyes slide from hers, he drops his hand from her hair. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I wasn’t really paying attention to the time when I came here.” He takes a sharp breath through his nose and says the words quickly. “I just really wanted to see you.” And he leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Warmth blooms in Molly’s chest; she could get used to this.

“Because you love me?” She means it to come out teasingly, as a statement, but it’s a question- Good God, why is it a question-?

Sherlock notes her tone, shoulders dropping, expression turning haunted. It looks… It looks to Molly almost like he’s readying himself to take a blow and she hates that. It makes her reach for him, her hand finding his, interweaving their fingers.

This seems to settle him. “Because I love you,” he says quietly, nodding. “Because I had to see you after what happened…“

“What did happen?”

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Thanks to everyone who has commented, reblogging and liked- it’s lovely to hear from you all. And now, the next chapter! 

BLOWBACK 

He’s still there the next day, when she wakes up.

One arm slung across her belly, his larger form tucked around her smaller one, he’s the first thing Molly sees when she opens her eyes.

For a moment it’s completely discombobulating to find him here.

And yet, he is. He’s here, and of his own volition. His words from last night whisper in her head and despite herself Molly flushes. Ducks her head, feeling ridiculous, as she stares up at him and smiles. Breathes in the warm, sleepy scent of him. In rest he looks younger, more fragile; long dark lashes sweep his cheeks and the hollows of his cheekbones look deeper, like caverns. The dark purple smudges underneath his eyes underline to the effect. The hand at her stomach is heavy and warm, the long fingers spread across her flesh like a starburst and on his knuckles she can see torn skin, red flesh, as if he had been punching something…

She reaches out, fingers hovering mere millimetres from the wound and in his sleep he frowns. Sucks in a breath.

His expression turns pained, head shaking from side to side- It’s obvious that he is in distress. Molly pulls her hand back, tries to think what to do. Slowly, carefully, she wraps her own arms around him. Pulls him closer. As she does so his expression clears, his grip on her waist tightening. He breathes out something that sounds a lot like her name, nuzzling into her.

“Molly,” he murmurs again, “have you, Molly… Won’t let her take you away…”

She can’t help the reaction this provokes, her name on his lips, his hands on her. She closes her eyes, laying her forehead against his and curling into him. It’s been a long time since she’s let herself behave so trustingly as this. She tightens her grip on him, tucks her head beneath his chin. She feels so small and so… so fragile, like this. So like and unlike herself, when she’s with him.

It feels both lovely and a little bit peculiar.

Think there might be more to this but not sure. Feedback appreciated. And no, not anything to do with any of my WIPs, dammit… Ah well… **************************************

“So, so… So you’re saying you meant it?”

And Molly stares up at Sherlock. Bites her lip. Stares some more because really, how can she not? With what he just told her? With what he… admitted to? From far away she hears an ambulance wail, makes out some drunk singing loudly; It’s four in the morning and she’s in a safe house in central London, far away from her lovely little house and her lively little life and now Sherlock’s saying… Why, he’s claiming…

“I meant it,” he says firmly. Nodding.

He swallows sharply and then he’s crossed the floor to her. Stopped right in front of her.

There’s an arm-span of space between them as he stares down into her eyes.

He takes a deep breath, licks his lips nervously, and then… “I. Love. You,” he says. A smile, bright as sunlight splits his face as he says the words and Molly can’t help it, she lets out a yelping, disbelieving little laugh of delight. Covers her mouth with her hands, astonished, until Sherlock reaches for her. Curls his fingers through hers. He pulls her towards him, their hands entwined and, slowly, slowly, holding her gaze he leans forward. Kisses her.

It’s as slight as the brush of a butterfly’s wing.

Since I haven’t been able to do something for every day of SAW2020, I decided to combine a couple of the prompts. This is for the prompt “confined space,” and “rivals to lovers.” Enjoy!

London,

St Bartholomew’s Morgue

1895

Hooper knows as soon as she hears the door shut.

There is a particular click to it when it is locked, and that click is currently echoing through the morgue.

Well, she thinks. Blast.

Holmes’ head flicks up sharply, eyes going to the door and his frown tells her that he heard it too. He straightens up, the cadaver he’s examining momentarily forgotten.

“Anderson?” He inquires, his tone irritated.

When something goes amiss in the morgue, Anderson is usually to blame.

Hooper shakes her head. “LeStrade wouldn’t let him act the jackanape,” she points out. “Nor would Doctor Watson.” Both of whom were in the morgue with Holmes a moment ago- Curious that they should take their leave without saying anything. As she speaks she moves across the morgue to the door. Pushes it, just to be sure.

It doesn’t budge.

“Let me try,” Holmes says impatiently, bustling her out of the way in that peremptory, irritating way he has, and putting his shoulder to it.