What even is this blog?

In which Sherlock & Molly talk with his mum’s prompting. Post: “The Finale Problem”. Slight spoilers. Sherlolly.

“…my body betrays me”

MOLLY’S HOUSE. I found where they filmed it and got the rest of the house pictures. So you fanfic writers can see the rest of her place, sort of. I know it’s not cannon that the whole thing is her place; as this is a 5 bedroom house in Wales. But it’s a starting point.

And yet everyone in the Sherlolly fandom know and love Molly as a unique, fully formed character. Her first scene is declaring cheerfully that she knew the corpse personally when he was still alive, that he was a nice guy. No remorse or disgust, just a ball of sunshine that treats death as a commonplace thing. Molly Hooper, a doctor who spends her time around dead bodies and body parts while calling her friends up to plan a wedding, a loyal friend, morbid and sweet, caring, funny, supportive and gentle. Puts Christmas bows on her hair, loves colorful jumpers. Dated Jim Moriarty. Broke up with Jim Moriarty. Lonely, yes, but will always be there when you need her. Earnest. Faithful. Beautiful.

What a beautiful, intriguing character.

So when she finally became the “love interest”, it feels so oddly satisfying, because it feels like Sherlock has finally realized what we have all seen all along: That Molly Hooper is one awesome person.

Now, I ask, to those who feel that Molly was degraded, whose characterization of Molly Hooper is apt? We see Molly Hooper differently than you. That’s the reason why you will never convince us that she had it bad. Poor Molly? Fuck you. Poor Sherlock. Poor Sherlock for not realizing what was in front of him. Until now, that is.

So you know, try harder. 

First Season: Black, two sugar. BTW I’m manipulating you.

Second Season: I don’t count? I don’t cOUNT? WHERE THE HECK DID U GET THAT IMPRESSION YOUNG LADY??!?! You do count. Now that we established that… would you mind help me fake my death? I need you.

Third Season: Help me solve cases because I’m not good with thank yous. Also… you’re the one who matters the most. Chips?

Yeah, I know. Jumping the gun but here you go. My first post season four fliclet. Blame @therealbucky05. And… spoilers…

“So, John came by,” were Molly’s first words as she walked into the newly repaired 221B Baker Street.

“Did he? That’s good.” Sherlock hadn’t moved from his seat. “Did you have a nice chat?”

“Yeah, of course. I updated him on Rosie’s doings whilst he was gone. You know, being briefed by MI5 can be a bit daunting. I remember how incredibly tedious that process is. Did I ever tell you about my conversation with Mycroft’s…”

“Molly…stop,” Sherlock interrupted.

“Right,” she said, focused on the replacement rug. Not exactly a perfect replica, but damn close.

“What did John tell you?” Sherlock asked.

She took a deep breath then deposited her bag and jacket on the settee then took a seat to them. “Well, he told me about your sister. She sounds…”

“Murderous? Continue.”

“Right…”

“You said that. Get on with it, please.” The suspense was killing him.

“Ri- he said that… he told me why you said…what you said.” She finally looked up and made eye contact. “I understand.”

“You do? That’s good. That’s at least one of us.”

“I’m sorry?”

He got up and crossed over to the window. Looking out, he took a minute to gather his thoughts. He’d had days. Days and more contemplation than he ever frankly wanted. “Actually, on second thought, I don’t think you really do understand,” he said as he turned.

“Oh.”

“I meant…that.”

“What?” she said with a very small smile.

“I have to do it again, don’t I?”

She stood and crossed the room until she was right in front of him. “I’m afraid so.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat (for absolutely no reason) then looked her in the eye and said, “I love you, Molly Hooper.”

She expelled a deep breath.

“See? Not forced. No guns or explosives. Just…”

“Us?”

“Just us,” he replied as he took both her hands in his.

“Well, you know how I feel…” she started.

“But you could say it. In person. Without calling me a bastard first.”

“Well, if I must…”

“You must,” he said.

“I love you. I do.”

“Right…”

“You said that already.”

“And there’s the cheek. Do you have anywhere to be?” he asked.

The fact he expected her to answer the phone because it was him.