Molly Hooper Appreciation Month

Sherlock played the final notes of auld lang syne and turned from the window to face his little family.

Molly held little Rosie's hands in hers helping her clap for uncle Sherlock.

Mary and John gave each other a quick midnight kiss.

Lestrade lifts his beer to Sherlock in mimic of a toast.

Mrs. Hudson wipes away a few tears. She tells him over and over how beautiful it was.

Sherlock looks around at his little family and silently agrees. It is beatiful.

...

Deception

Somehow I have found myself writing my first Victorian AU fic! This first part is for Day 5 of @mollyappreciationweek - Green. Part two to come… 💚

Thanks to everyone who has read and shown some love to the things I’ve published this week (and to A Good Heart, too ❤️) xx

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33520771

Fandom: BBC Sherlock Pairing: Molly Hooper x Greg Lestrade Rating: T Summary:  Molly and Greg marry on Valentine’s Day. Words: 675 Notes: Written using Flash Fiction Friday’s Prompt #86 Wheel of Time and Molly Appreciating Bingo Square ‘Valentine’ Tagging: @flashfictionfridayofficial​ & @mollyappreciationweek​

Read @ AO3

Molly and Greg marry on Valentine’s Day.

She can’t quite believe that this Valentine’s Day marks their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. And as she looks back, she finds that she doesn’t have an unkind memory of their anniversary. Greg has always been a great husband.

She can remember clear as day, that for their first anniversary, he’d gotten her an antique book she wanted and he had observed the traditional anniversary gifts by year. And that was not counting the small Valentine’s gifts he always gave her.

He had treated her much better than anyone, she loved him deeply and that love she felt had only grown with time.

And time had flown with them, two years after their wedding, they had welcomed their only daughter. And she had seen him grow into an amazing father, someone who their daughter always had in her corner, he loved her so much and was always so proud of her that, she couldn’t help but to love him even more for it.

And I think this is my last fic of the night! Well, more of an oversized drabble, but here you go, some Sherlolly goodness for you!

Home Is Where Molly Is -In a profound moment, Sherlock realizes something quite important about his budding relationship with Molly.

Read @ AO3 | Series Page | Help Me Survive? | Commission Me?

The smell of salt spray was nearly overpowering, and yet it was calming to walk hand in hand on the beach, even if it was cold and getting colder as the sun set. But they were alone and healing and things were…better. He had no idea if he’d ever be able to say things were well, but better he could personally attest to.

It had been a simple case on the coast and he’d thought she might enjoy a bit of a holiday. Not that there would be time for sunning on the shore, but a break from London seemed to be something they both needed. A break from prying eyes of the tabloids, invasive questions from friends and family, the ever-present CCTV that he knew his brother and Andrea were monitoring..this was what they needed to collect themselves more and simply heal.

He stopped in his tracks, gathering her close, and her arms slipped around his waist as she settled in. If he’d considered it, he might have opened his Belstaff to keep her warm, keep her…safe? He had no idea how a coat could keep them safe, keep her safe, when he couldn’t even manage to keep his sister from…

No.

Irrational a thought as it was it flitted through his head and he held her tightly, burying his nose in her hair. New shampoo, something lavender scented. Product, though not anything heavy. Mousse? It had a fruity tinge to it. And the salt spray had embedded itself in her hair as the cold sea breeze whipped around them.

"What Love Is For," a Mollcroft fanmix

don't wanna fall in love - jane child | all by myself - eric carmen

how do i get there - deana carter | my cherie amour - stevie wonder

i want you to need me - celine dion | if i can't love her - terrence mann

glory of love - peter cetera | it is you (i have loved) - dana glover

accidentally in love - counting crows | walking on sunshine - katrina & the waves

in the arms of love - michael bolton | that's what love is for - amy grant

my confession - josh groban | cartography - seanan mcguire

she's all i ever had - ricky martin | feels like home - josh groban

Will be on FFdotNet and Ao3 later (probably tomorrow because I’m tired and I’m going to bed now)

On FFdotNet and Ao3

Completely unbeta’d and also not great, but–again–I’m tired and I’m going to bed now.  And that reminds me that I forgot to thank @lilsherlockian1975 for looking over Day One’s fic.  She is awesome.

MHAW Day Two - Scent

A Small Comfort

John crept up the stairs to 221b, utterly exhausted and more than a little worried about what he might find waiting in Sherlock’s rooms.

Rosie had taken ill during the night. Even though she seemed to be much improved by the morning, day-care policy said she had to be fever-free for twenty-four hours which meant John had found himself scrambling for childcare.

If the clinic hadn’t already been short-staffed he would have called in, but that hadn’t been an option.

“I’ll watch her,” Sherlock had offered when John had stepped by to see if Mrs Hudson was free.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”  As a matter of fact, it seemed like an incredibly bad idea, but Rosie had already started reaching her arms out to the other man and John was in a bind.

“I am her Godfather, John.  I am perfectly capable of watching over her for the day.”

“Right.  Okay.  I can’t believe I’m doing this, but promise me you will call for help if you get into trouble.”  John set Rosie’s bag on the sofa and bent down to kiss her daughter goodbye.

“How much trouble can one sick little girl be?” Sherlock had scoffed.

John hoped that Sherlock hadn’t actually found out.

He made it to the landing without hearing Rosie (or Sherlock) fussing, so he took that to be a good sign.  The sitting room door eased open to show him Sherlock stretched out on the sofa with Rosie sleeping on his chest.  

“Has she been out long?” John whispered as he took in the relatively unscathed state of the flat.  Only a few of Rosie’s toys were spread out on the floor, there was a mound of pillows and blankets that had either been a nest or a pillow fort at one time, and a nearly empty sippy cup on the coffee table next to … A bottle of shampoo?

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open.  “What time is it?”

“Half five.  Rough day?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed in agreement. “We were fine until after lunch. She kept insisting she wasn’t tired, and I didn’t want to push the matter-“

“Rookie mistake,” John interrupted.

Sherlock grimaced.  “Yes, well, lesson learned.  I tried everything I could think of to get her comfortable. Pillows, blankets, juice, Molly.”

“Molly’s here?”  John spun around as if expecting to see their friend sitting in one of the chairs or standing in the kitchen.

“No.  She’s at Barts.”  Sherlock carefully sat up and transferred Rosie to the sofa cushion.  The little girl barely stirred and immediately dropped back into a deep sleep.  “But that’s her brand of shampoo.  I thought the scent of it might be enough to comfort Rosie.  And it worked.”

“She does love her Aunt Molly.” John smiled down at Rosie.  “But why do you have a bottle of Molly’s shampoo just lying about the place?”

Sherlock waved his hand.  “I’m sure she must have left it one of those times she stayed over while I was recovering.”

It was a plausible explanation, Molly had ended up with more than her fair share of overnight shifts while Sherlock had been detoxing, except …  “Hold on tic, this place blew up after that.  Are you telling me that survived unscathed and still smells enough like Molly to calm a cranky toddler?”

“Well, perhaps it wasn’t this bottle.” Sherlock leaned down to snatch it up an out of John’s sight.  “But she did leave a bottle, at one point.”  He flushed and looked anywhere but at John.

“And, what?  She brought another one by just in case she needed to pop into the shower?”  Was there something going on between Molly and Sherlock, something he’d completely missed?

Pairing: Molly x Greg Rating: T Summary: When Greg told her ‘Let me spoil you’, Molly wasn’t exactly sure what he had planned. But this, wasn’t it. This, as it turned out, it was a bubble bath. Words: 564 Notes: For @mollyappreciationweek‘s Winter Bingo, square: Bubbles. And this makes my bingo. 

Read @ AO3

When Greg told her ‘Let me spoil you’, Molly wasn’t exactly sure what he had planned. But this, wasn’t it.

This, as it turned out, it was a bubble bath.

One that was of nice hot water – not scalding, but hot enough to be relaxing –, rose petals on the bathtub, and whatever soap it was that Greg had dumped had produced a wonderful mix of rose and lavender scent. Not counting, of course, the bubbles that rose to her chin.

But of course, Greg had not stopped there, he had also added lavender and rose scented candles in the bathroom, a glass of fine champagne and dark chocolate truffles for her to nibble on. He had also had calm jazz music playing from his phone and she was quite grateful. No one had ever done such a considerate thing for her.

She smiled as she relaxed against his chest. She had insisted he get into the bathtub with her, he should also enjoy the fruits of his labor, why not? And while they were a bit tight, she was not complaining. There was something to be said about leaning comfortably against her boyfriend’s naked and wet chest. To feel his hands wash and massage her limbs, always respectful of not crossing any boundaries. Not tonight, tonight was simply for her to relax and wash away her troubles.

It was true that she didn’t have many troubles, but as she laid against Greg’s chest, feeling the water and bubbles against her own skin, taking little sips of champagne, she wasn’t going to complain. How many women were lucky enough that their boyfriends did this for them?

She was also eyeing the new bathrobe Greg had gifted her, it was white and fluffy, and she could see her initials embroidered and it looked so comfortable, she couldn’t wait to wear it. It was soft, she knew because she had held it before getting into the bath, it had been impossibly soft and she wondered just how much it had costed, because there was no way that bathrobe was cheap.

“This, is very, very nice.” She purred out, tucking her face against Greg’s neck. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, love.”

She wiped her hand and grabbed a truffle, she savored it and offered another to Greg, “These are delicious, and the champagne is also very nice.” It was true, the sharp of the champagne contrasted quite well against the slightly sweet chocolate truffle, even when it was a darker chocolate, it was still sweet.

“Some sweets,” Greg said as he kissed the top of her head. “For my sweet.”

“You are a romantic.”

“And damned proud of it.”

“Well, then, I am very glad that I am the lucky lady who gets your attention.” She kissed his cheek, she meant that. Dating Greg was something she had never imagined, but now that she was with him, and saw what a great man he was, she knew that she would not regret the relationship, one she now hoped would last.

“And I am a very lucky man.”

My vaguely Cinderellaish, vaguely Regencyish Sherlolly story for Day 6: Royal Purple. Enjoy reading about Sherlock in Ye Olde Fashioned Purple Tunic of S*X!

To Rush Headlong/A Flight of Fancy

He stood on the ledge, staring down as the wind blew his hair into disarray, down, down, down to the pavement below where his passion for the truth - and, yes, his own arrogance - had led him.

I owe you a fall, Sherlock.

Moriarty was dead, brains blown grey and grisly on the roof behind him. But the moment had been prepared for - why did that ring a faint bell in his memory? Was he echoing someone else's words, yes, a character from a nearly forgotten childhood favorite show, someone else who was dying, who had taken a fall but was about to be reborn.

Project Lazarus is a go.

Mycroft believed they had everything under control, but what was control, really? Nothing but an illusion. Even now, anything could go wrong; people failed - look, there was John Watson, stepping out of a cab as Sherlock slowly, slowly raised his mobile to his ear and spoke the lies that would cause his friend so much grief.

Lies that could all too easily become the truth; there were so many factors, so many variables in this chancy subterfuge the Brothers Holmes were undertaking...

I don't count.

He steadied himself with a breath.

There was one variable he could absolutely rely upon with rock-solid certainty, bone-deep and undeniable.

You've always counted and I've always trusted you.

Governments might crumble, financial institutions crash, consulting criminals blow their own brains out on a whim, but nothing could shake his absolute faith in her.

What do you need?

"You," he whispered as he flung his mobile aside, raised his arms..

...and jumped.

This leap of faith, in the end, was no leap at all, and he fell, secure in the knowledge that all would go exactly to plan, if only because Molly Hooper had been so integral to those plans.