#mollythepathologist

@paintedlies​ (Sherlock) said, “Stories like this can’t come true.”

For a few stunned seconds she simply stood in silence, tongue stilled in disbelief. What she was seeing had to be impossible and her mind reeled as she tried to wrap her head around what she was seeing.

“No, no you’re right.” she started, eyes unmoving from the lighted screen, lips pressed tightly together as the urge to pace grew with every anxious breath. “There has to be an explanation. Well-” here her brows furrowed, the very words strange and wrong on her tongue. “Other than he somehow survived.”

      Exterior  calm  and  collected,  mind  raced  to  find  all  the  possible  explanations  and  scour  through  them  until  he  found  the  one,  most  logical  version  of  what  had  happened. “ He  didn’t  survive.  No  one  can  survive  shooting  their  own  brains  out. ”  Quick  to  cut  off  any  impossible  theories,  Sherlock  turns  his  eyes  away  from  the  television  screen.  He  had  seen  enough,  and  there  was  no  new  information  being  broadcast.  

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 / @mollythepathologist​

Track 33: Love Story (Taylor’s Version) - Taylor Swift (Fearless (Taylor’s Version))

Oh,  dear.  Sherlock glances at Molly with an innocent air of surprise.  Was she really asking him that?  Him,  of all people.  He sighs,  and almost has an automatic ‘no’ on the tip of his tongue,  but then reconsiders.  He follows her gaze,  seeking the source of her comment,  to the flurries of snow and the lights that brighten a well-decorated shop.

@mollythepathologist​  asked  :   “You happened to go get lunch and ‘bought too much’ huh?”

      He’s  got  no  clue  what  has  gotten  into  him.  The  moment  he  saw  the  necklace  in  the  windowpane  of  a  jewelry  store,  he  walked  right  past  it,  giving  it  no  more  than  a  glance.  And  then  for  two  days  it  had  plagued  his  thoughts,  running  through  his  mind.  It  would  look  so  lovely  around  Molly’s  neck.  Perhaps  he  should  get  it  for  her,  Watson  had  informed  him  long  ago  that  a  man  should  treat  his  wife  to  delightful  surprises  every  once  in  a  while.

       And  so  he  did,  and  here  they  were.  At  least  to  himself,  Sherlock  couldn’t  deny  that  his  chest  expanded  with  the  feeling  of  pride,  and  something  even  warmer,  making  his  heart  beat  wilder.  That  same  heart  almost  leaped  out  of  his  throat  the  moment  Molly  asked  him  to  fasten  the  chain  around  her  neck.  

      “ Not  at  all.  Here, ”  a  swallow  of  the  lump  in  his  throat,  Sherlock  gently  takes  the  necklace  from  her,  fingers  brushing  against  her  hand  in  a  fleeting  moment,  He  circles  around  her,  the  weight  of  the  gold  chain  carefully  settled  on  her  collarbones,  tugged  up  just  enough  to  grant  him  enough  space  to  fiddle  with  the  clasp,  until  it’s  done.  Doesn’t  even  resist  the  urge  to  brush  his  hands  over  her  shoulders.  “ There  you  are.  Like  I  thought,  it  suits  you  splendidly. ”  

SHERLOCK  SURRENDERED  HIMSELF  TO  HER.  His  lips  tangling  in  hers  in  an  explicit  display  of  sentimental  affection.  Oh,  what  a  strange  feeling  this  was  -  to  be  indulging  in  the  very  thing  he  had  once  avoided  with  high  esteem.   He  breathed  into  her  lips  at  the  sensation  of  her  hands  in  his  hair,  how  surprisingly  pleasant  it  was.  

Several  long  minutes  past  and  he  ate  her  up,  his  hands  eventually  wandering  to  her  chest  against  the  protests  of  his  mind.  As  soon  as  he  felt  her  breasts  under  his  hands,  he  suddenly  rescinded.  Breathless.

THE  DETECTIVE  STOOD  A  METER  OR  SO  AWAY,  eyeing  her  intensely.  The  room  was  dark,  as  always  seemed  to  conveniently  happen  when  he  was  having  a  moment  with  her.  He  did  love  a touch  of  dramatic. 

His  eyes  pierced  her  entire  form,  but  there  were  no  cruel  deductions  or  smartarse  comments  running  through  his  mind,  no  -  only  an  unfamiliar  twitch  in  his  trousers,  his  stomach  churning.  He  wasn’t  good  at  this  sort  of  thing,  and  even  worse  at  allowing  himself  to  surrender  control.  But  he  was  taking  a  slow  ( unbearably  slow )  step  towards  her,  then  another,  silence  in  the  room  filled  by  the  sound  of  his  shoes  clicking  on  the  tile  floor.