#fluorescentmortem

The   solution   to   the   height   difference   between   them   is   a   rather   simple   one;   all   he   needed   to   do   was   to   find   a   surface   that   was   taller   than   Molly’s   midriff   and   plop   her   onto   it.   Of   course,   Sherlock   could   always   lay   her   down   on   a   bed   or   a   couch   or   even   the   floor,   but   somehow   his   mood   didn’t   call   for   it.   Mouth   still   sealed   with   hers,   his   tongue   pleading   for   further   entrance   by   licking   against   her   lower   lip,   Sherlock   pushes   the   front   door   shut,   shrugs   out   of   his   coat   and   gets   his   hands   on   her   waist,   walking   her   backwards   towards   the   kitchen,   a   specific   goal   in   his   mind.   

And   when   he   finally   reaches   it,   when   her   bum   is   just   a   couple   of   inches   away   from   the   kitchen   counter,   Sherlock’s   hold   on   her   hips   tightens   and   he   hoists   her   up   with   barely   any   effort,   setting   her   down   on   the   marbled   worktop.   His   neck   would   be   thankful   for   the   change   in   position   if   his   mouth   hadn’t   decided   on   traveling   down   from   Molly’s   lips   to   her   jaw,   leaving   heated   kisses,   making   its   way   down   to   her   collarbone.   His   hands   have   a   job   of   their   own   too,   working   on   popping   the   button   of   her   trousers   open,   lowering   the   zipper   until   of   them   can   push   past   the   hem   of   her   underwear,   fingers   instantly   finding   purchase   between   her   folds,   starting   with   slow,   languid   strokes,   working   up   that   wetness   between   her   legs.  

MEME | ACCEPTING

"—Mm, tell that to your FUMBLING hands. Haven't ACCIDENTALLY embalmed yourself have you? Touched too many corpses that RIGOR MORTIS has started to prematurely set IN?"

To   say   that   he   was   fascinated   was   an   understatement.   Of   course,   the   situation   was   not   entirely   ideal,   considering   he   had   no   intentions   of   impregnating   Molly in the first place,   or   any   female   for   that   matter,   but   now   that   it   happened,   and   he   had   some   time   to   accept   the   fact,   he   was   intrigued.   Mary   hadn’t   been   around   enough   to   allow   him   to   track   the   changes   in   her   body,   so   he   missed   out   on   that   opportunity.   But   now   with   Molly   pregnant,   and   with   his   child   no   less,   he   had   a   nearly   unrestricted   ability   to   observe.   He   could   have   more,   easily,   but   to   achieve   that   he   would   have   to   enter   into   a   committed   relationship,   and   he’s   not   sure   if   that’s   possible.   

Sherlock’s   desire   to   be   in   one   is   not   the   problem.   It’s   what   comes   along   with   him   should   he   commit.   Molly   and   their   unborn   child   were   already   a   weak   point   to   him;   if   the   whole  of   London   was   to   find   out   about   them,   there’s   no   telling   in   what   sorts   of   danger   they   would   be   put   into.   Anytime   he   thinks   of   asking   for   more   from   her,   the   names   of   all   those   who   swore   revenge   on   him   flood   his   mind,   names   of   those   who   would   have   no   qualms   with   using   her   as   a   bargaining   chip,   who   would   abuse   her   without   a   second   thought.   Only   the   idea   of   that   makes   him   ill   enough   to   keep   his   mouth   well   and   truly   shut   about   the   matters   of   a   public   relationship.   

Of   course,   if   he   truly   wanted   her   safe,   he   never   should   have   gotten   into   bed   with   her   in   the   first   place.   It   was   a   moment   of   weakness,   walls   torn   down   as   he   surrendered   to   her   embrace,   and   he   couldn’t   find   it   in   himself   to   regret   it.   Still,   perhaps   he   should   work   more   on   resisting   her   further   on,   as   much   as   he   was   unwilling   to.   It   would   be   for   the   best.   

For   the   time   being,   Sherlock’s   knocking   on   the   door   of   her   flat,   bouncing   on   his   heels   and   full   of   energy.   Half   an   hour   ago   he   was   informed   via   a   text   message   that   Molly   had   felt   the   first   kick   of   their   child,   and   he   was   eager   to   see   if   it   would   be   repeated   for   him   to   feel   against   his   own   hand   as   well.   Another   bout   of   rapping   his   knuckles   against   her   door,   an   impatient   huff   rushes   out   through   his   nose.   In   his   hurry   he   had   forgotten   to   grab   her   spare   key,   and   he   was   in   no   mood   to   hear   admonishments   about   his   lock   picking   skills   either.   “Molly!   For   Chrissake   what’s   taking   you   so   long?”

@fluorescentmortem

Someone had broken a rule. Lucifer and Amenadiel had told her on multiple occasions that it was forbidden for any celestial to bring death to a human, to their father's lovely creation. It was forbidden, but that didn't mean someone couldn't do just that.

She needed to cover this before anyone else started snooping around, before anyone discovered the truth that angels and demons did roam about on Earth.

fluorescentmortem asked: ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ !! I admire very much even when I'm not on this blog too often ( which will change I swear )

Thank you, Pom! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing! I very much enjoy yours too!

THEY'RE WALKING BACK to the mortuary. He's not in need of anything in particular, simply a place to think, and he caught Molly in the hallway.

Incidentally, they both reach for the door handle to the next sector of hallway, and when Molly SAYS THAT, all Sherlock can do is blink rapidly before pulling on the door to throw it open. He narrowly avoids hitting her with the door in the process, but he still gestures for Molly to walk ahead of him.

CARING FOR STUBBORN MUSES. for when the person you’re trying to care for insists they don’t need your help.

            With a towel hanging on top of Sherlock's hair, it covered the emotion that appeared on his face upon hearing those words from Molly. His eyes widened and his lips falling open almost when he heard those words.

Send me “Date?” and i'll answer...

Who asks for it:

[ ] Your muse asks mine

[x] My muse asks yours

Type of date:

[ ] Platonic Date

[ ] Romantic Date

[x] First Date

[ ] Double date with: ____ & ____

Location for the date:

[ ] Movies   • [ ] Romantic Comedy   • [ ] Adventure Movie   • [ ] Animation (Pixar/Disney)   • [ ] Horror   • [ ] Drama   • [ ] Buddy Movie   • [ ] ___ (other options)

[ ] Restaurant   • [ ] Expensive/High Class   • [ ] Small and familiar   • [ ] Fast Food

[ ] Nature   • [ ] Beach   • [ ] Park   • [ ] Forest       • [ ] …and having a picnic

[x] Visiting a Museum

[ ] Visiting an amusement park

[ ] Visiting a haunted location

[ ] Staying at home   • [ ] Watching movies   • [ ] Playing Video Games   • [ ] Reading

[ ] ___ (other options)

The date might hopefully end with…

[ ] …holding hands

[ ] …a kiss

[ ] …in bed

[x] …knowing each other better 

[ ] …sleepover between friends 

[ ] …a marriage proposal

[ ] __ (other options)

Should you reblog this?:

[x] Yes. I want to send you one.

[ ] Yes.

[ ] No.