multifandom & tagged

I keep seeing posts about Molly being either a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw if she ever attended Hogwarts and I’m sitting here thinking...

No.

Molly Hooper would be a fiery Gryffindor. She would be loyal and fierce, and on top of it all, every bit brilliant. She will stand up for what was right and show up for her friend at three in the morning if they needed her, but never — not even once — is afraid to call them on their crap.

So, no.

Molly Hooper won’t be a Hufflepuff because she’s sweet and caring, and timid. Hufflepuffs are more than that anyway.

And no.

She won’t be a Ravenclaw either, she is much too strong-willed with terrible coffee running through her veins. Ravenclaws would challenge her wit, but she’s so much more.

Though, she can be a Gryffindor. She might not have her nails painted red or cheer at a Quidditch match and could often chose the company of books over people, yet it won’t matter.

She is Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. She’s someone you think should be anywhere but Gryffindor, however, that’s exactly where she belongs.

No, you haven’t asked ^^

And umm… I’d definitely have to go with “Parent Trope” over the “Pregnancy Trope”. As nice as the idea of reading about my OTPs expecting, I find it far more hilarious to read about them being parents – especially if it’s Sherlolly. I mean, like, what would Sherlock do? Will he leave out his experiment? What are the chances their son would end up playing with severed body parts? Are we sure Sherlock is the one that would be the bad parent?

Seriously, I have this image of Molly being the terrible parent like because she’s busy and sometimes Sherlock gets on her nerves that she forgets things… Like a recital and their kid would just like tell Sherlock about it and Sherlock would have Molly’s schedule around it (with the help of Mycroft) because it’s easier than telling Molly their daughter has a dance recital next month.

I saw the prompt and I figured I’d humour myself a bit… And the reaction was based on a conversation I had with my mum about her adoption… So yeah…

* buy me coffee?

They exchanged a look again and then looking away to check the time. There was never the right moment and before they knew it, sixteen years have come and gone, and their precious boy would be leaving for university soon enough. It wasn’t as if they had purposely avoided talking about it, just that it seemed like there was always something interrupting their planned talks. Of course, there was also the fact that their son was attending Harrow like his father before him that they only see him when he’s home for the odd weekends and holidays. Even then he was an active child who rarely stayed put.

“We have to tell him,” she told him firmly with a nod.

He mimicked her movement. “Yes, of course.”

“Doesn’t make him less our son, Sherlock,” she replied, worrying her lower lip.

“No, not at all,” he said, agreeing with her.

Just as they finished talking, a young man barged into the room, looking all sorts of amused and sweaty. It was probably true what they say about nature versus nurture. Out of all their children, biological or not, he was the only one who was into football. The twin boys pretty much yawn the last time they were forced to attend their brother’s game. They loved their brother, they do, they just don’t love the matches.

“It wasn’t me,” the young man said as soon as he saw his parents’ faces.

Funnily enough, out of all the things their children should have in common, it was how they always denied it wasn’t their fault first without even knowing what it was they were being blamed for.

“Owen, you might want to take a seat first,” Sherlock gestured towards the empty chair opposite of where he and Molly were sitting.

“Okay…” Owen mumbled, dropping his kit by the entryway before claiming the seat.

A minute passed in dreadful silence as looks were exchanged between the three until Molly decided it was enough and she spoke first.

“We have something to tell you.”

Owen chuckled in response. His dimple deepened as a smile spread on his face. “I think I can gather as much, mum.”

“Your mother and I,” Sherlock tried to take over the conversation but chickened out, looking towards Molly for help.

“We should have told you sooner, I mean — this even a good time, you just come back from playing football with your friends—“ Molly mumbled.

“Mum,” Owen butted in. “Do you mind getting straight to the point?” he asked sheepishly. “After all, like you said, I just came back and I smell pretty bad.”

“Oh, right,” she said, chuckling uneasily. She turned to Sherlock to give him another look before looking back at their son and then brave on with the words. “I want you to know, we didn’t mean to keep this from you and we hope you understand that it doesn’t make you less of our son—“

“Is this the bit about me being adopted?” Owen cut off his mother mid-sentence again.

“You knew?” Both adults chorused.

Owen shook his head, clasping his hands together, nodding in affirmation. “You know dad, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. I don’t even look like either of you.”

“Oh,” Sherlock managed, surprised.

“W-when did you find out?” Molly asked, worried as to what would happen from now on.

“Umm… when I was nine. It wasn’t that hard to tell when everyone kept saying we don’t look alike. But, I didn’t care. You two are my parents as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think something like biology should have a say on who my parents are when you two are the ones who raised me.” Owen answered easily.

It was true, they looked nothing alike. Owen with his strawberry blonde hair and grey eyes looked different than anyone in the family. He might have the strong cheekbones like his siblings, but he looked softer than them as well. Not the kind Molly had either, more like a brand of his own.

She smiled at him.

“Your biological parents…” Sherlock tried to explain.

“I don’t need to know,” Owen said firmly. “I was your son from I was a baby. That was enough to tell me who wanted me and who didn’t. Whoever they are, all I need to know is their medical history for future reference, nothing else.”

Sherlock turned to look at Molly, as usual, having a silent conversation between just the two of them. The kind everyone grew used to over the years.

“They weren’t bad people,” Molly offered. “I think you should at least know that.”

“I know,” Owen said, smiling. “They gave me up to people who love me. But, they also never looked for me since and I figured that was enough proof to ascertain how much they didn’t want me in the first place yet still tried to give me the best.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Molly apologised, hesitating to move forward to even reach for her son’s hand to comfort him. She — they were out of their depths with all that had transpired.

“Eh, I figured it’s a mix of your busy life and not really wanting to admit that I’m adopted. I was confused for a little while, but I’m not mad,” he told his mother with a sheepish smile. “And I’d hug you, but I’m sweaty and smelly right now. Dad might not care about hygiene as much, but I do. Maybe after I take a shower, is that okay, mum?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, that would be fine,” she replied, chuckling as Sherlock yelped, “hey!”

Owen was on his feet without another word, bounding towards his room, managing to stop and drop a kiss on his parents’ cheeks before grabbing his kit.

“Well, that was not what I expected,” Sherlock was the one who spoke first after Owen disappeared up to the second floor.

“Not at all,” Molly agreed. “Do you think the twins and Bee knows?”

Sherlock was the one chuckling at this point. “I bet they’ve known for a while, just that they don’t care.”

“No, I suppose it’s nothing to them,” she agreed again, beaming up to her husband.

richard iii » o miserable thought!

Okay, I love Han and Leia. More than anything, I want Ben to find his way back to his family. But, that doesn’t mean Han and Leia didn’t fail as parents if that’s your best argument. If you’re using “they’re busy that’s why they couldn’t be there for him” argument, I really am worried about your offspring or future offspring.