#saw2021

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021 💝🫀🧠❤️

Thanks so much @sherlollyappreciationweek for another gorgeous event full of love 💕💕

Here’s a little something new I managed to put together in celebration of all seven days and all seven beautiful moments. If you read, I hope you enjoy. ❤️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021024

“I’ve seen healthier people on the slab.” She wrinkles her nose, looks over at him. “Though I suppose that’s not surprising, in your case.” 

And Molly shakes her head, starts laying out her stethoscope and swabs. 

Sherlock stops, looks at her. The door of the ambulance is closed- which surprises him, given what he’s just heard. What he suspects. Could she-? But no, he tells himself. She’s mortal. She has no reason to think that he isn’t either. She has no reason whatsoever to imagine he’s anything more an an extraordinary human...

Does she?  As he’s thinking this he sees her hand move towards her bag, sees the outline of the hazel wood stake within it. His eyes are drawn from it to the crucifix she’s wearing- it’s new, cheap, a sucking-up present from the hated Tom- and he reacts in instinct. He can’t really help it. He’s on his feet, fangs bared, adrenaline flooding his body as he prepares to fight or flee. He covers the length of the ambulance in the blink of an eye, his hand on the door only to hiss and pull back in pain as soon as he touches it-

It’s been dusted with pure iron.  He turns back to a Molly, a lot closer to panic than he’s comfortable admitting. He tries to think of a way out of this without hurting her, tries to come up with a plan that means he gets to keep the life he’s built, his friends, his name... 

“It’s ok,” she says softly. “I’m not-” She moves to touch his arm and he flinches back, unable to stop himself. Hurt flits across her face and he feels a stab of remorse but what does she expect?  Surely she knows what people like her do to people like him using stakes and crucifixes?  She must do because she clears her throat, changing her body language to seem less threatening (as if that were possible). “I’m not going to hurt you,” she says carefully. “I just thought we should talk.”

“Talk?” He can’t believe what he’s hearing.  “Talk,” she nods. “I know... I know why you’re so skittish but I really do just want to talk, Sherlock.”

He gestures imperiously to the ambulance door. “Is that why you laced this place with iron?” he snaps. She winces. 

“That wasn’t my idea,” she says softly. “Nor was this.” And she takes the stake from her bag. Lays it within arm’s reach beside him.  It is now be far easier for him to reach it than she.  Slowly, suspiciously, Sherlock sits back down. Draws his fangs in. A deep breath as he steadies himself and though he keeps his eyes fastened on her he tells himself to listen.  This isn’t Ravenna, this isn’t Petrograd.  “So what do you want to talk about?” He says and at this she smiles. At this she looks like his friend Molly again.  “I have a proposition for you,” she says. Another smile, one  that dimples her cheek. Those lovely brown eyes meet his and hold. “It will mean the chance to end Magnussen once and for all...” She bites her lip. “If you agree to help me.”

And she tells him of a hidden book, a great secret that keeps Magnussen safe even from people like Sherlock, even from people like her. 

“What do you need?” And he sits down on the bed beside her. Sweeps the (sweat-soaked, knotted) hair back from her face. She looks tiny under the covers despite the baby bump, her skin pale, her eyes huge. As he looks at her Sherlock feels such a sudden, sickening helpless surge of love that were he not already sitting down he suspects it would floor him.  Not, of course, that he has any intention of telling her that.  He sees her eyes narrow, her brow crinkling in that sweet, Mollyish way she has and nevertheless he knows she’s seen it. She always sees it.  He takes her hand, brings it to his lips before she can ask. 

“What do you need?” he murmurs again and though he can tell that she knows what he’s about she lets it pass. Instead she squeezes his hand. Smiles at him. She looks so wan and so tired and yet she’s still fighting.  She is indomitable, his Molly.  “I need you,” she tells him, her voice quiet. “Just you...” And she brings his hand to her lips, this time. Kisses it. His other hand she takes and brings to rest against her pregnant belly. “We both need you here,” she says softly and Sherlock knows he might be imagining it but he swears he feels their baby kick as if in agreement.  Again he feels that helpless, hopeful wash of love. Again he thinks it could floor him.  “If it’s me you need then you’ll have me,” he says simply. He slips off his shoes, his jacket. He opens his cufflinks, rolling up his sleeves and crawling onto the hospital bed to curl beside his Molly. To wrap her in his arms.  And it’s for this reason that he’s there when his daughter decides to make her first appearance. It’s for this reason that he’s there when the doctor finally places their baby in Molly’s arms. She feels small and fragile and utterly, utterly precious... 

Light To Night Festival 2021 Singapore Art Week Victoria Theatre and Concert Hall ⁠⁠ Art skins on national monuments. 📸 Photo by @maureen.mai.photo

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