#Sherlock and Molly and the hints at their long game romance Tumblr posts

[dragonnan]

Speaking at a panel at the London Film and Comic-Con today, the 41-year-old said that there could only be one character his detective could be coupled with in the BBC hit series.“Now, there’s only one choice, isn’t there? Come on,” he told the audience of fans, before jokingly adding: “Doctor Watson.” He continued on a more serious note, explaining: “I think it would have to be Molly, wouldn’t it? Love for him, after all, would be thinking more - maybe that’s asking too much - maybe thinking as much of someone else as he thinks of himself.”

Headcanon Times:

I know everyone, including the actors, have their opinions about the characters but this is one where I fully, fully agree with Ben.  I want to be clear, I don’t watch Sherlock for romance - though romance, in the broader sense, is integral within the series as a whole.  It is heightened and artistic and deep and exciting and adventurous and funny and witty and terrifying and, yes, heartbreakingly romantic, too.

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I had always viewed Irene as Sherlock’s first real exposure to love.  I think there was an immediate attraction and, possibly (without knowing a thing of his history and only going on what the series implied) his first physical experience as well.  I’m very much in the camp that believes he and Irene had a physical encounter after he rescued her from being executed.  I think he pined after her for many years but I also find it telling that he rarely engaged her no matter how often she texted him.  I think he didn’t know what to do with his emotions regarding her and, as has been his method regarding strong emotions, he set them to the side rather than face them head on.  “You didn't win, you lost. Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself, all those complicated little emotions, I lost count. Emotional context, it destroys you, every time.”

If the man Sherlock has become is his memory of Eurus then it’s no wonder than his view on emotions would be skewed towards seeing them as a crutch rather than a strength.  His connections with people were severely damaged between his two siblings - Eurus for her own inability to healthily relate to others plus, you know, murdering his best friend - and Mycroft, for keeping that truth hidden and for teaching Sherlock that human connection is something to despise.  At least Mycroft has begun to see how badly he’d wronged his brother, in that regard.

When he met Irene, he’d already begun opening himself up to humanity again.  John was a healer beyond his abilities as a doctor.  He was crucial to pulling Sherlock back from the edge -possibly - just in time.  It’s terrifying to imagine what would have happened to Sherlock had John not entered his life when he did.  Because of John’s influence and heart, Sherlock’s emotional walls developed a significant crack.  So, that, by the time he’d met Irene, he was already in a place where he could be blindsided by the power of these newly reborn feelings.  I think there’s even room to speculate that Sherlock’s emotions towards Irene were so incredibly powerful BECAUSE he hadn’t had much practice with them, yet.  To use the familiar cliche it was like gaining sight where once he’d been blind.  He was overwhelmed and, as much as Sherlock could be, nearly sick with his infatuation. (bear in mind, still, this is speculation.  Sherlock has always maintained an outer cool for a good portion of the series and there are very few times he’s shown his chaotic feelings - but we’ll get to that...).  

We know Molly, by this point, has had an ongoing crush on him and it is implied, based on his response to her, that Christmas, that he possibly wasn’t truly aware of that.  Or, at least, not the depth of it - given his shock at reading her card.  It makes me wonder, then, what, if any, real experience he’s had with attention from someone who views him in a sexual way.  Obviously, with John’s blog making him a celebrity, that would have begun to change quite quickly - not that Sherlock has ever had the desire for such distractions (that he’d have felt desire, in and of itself, is another matter entirely.  Ben has stated that he did not view Sherlock as cut off from things such as arousal - but that he’d have repressed them in order to put all of his energies into the Work). When he’d believed Irene to be dead, he came very close to using again - or, possibly, something even worse.  There isn’t time to explore what he may actually have done because she revealed herself soon afterwards.  It is clear, though, that his care for her developed very fast.  He’d met her just one time - was outsmarted by her - drugged by her - and then began receiving repeated suggestive texts from her.  And, shortly thereafter, he composed an incredibly moving and emotional sonnet for her.  Even Ben isn’t certain whether what Sherlock felt was more love or more lust.  I don’t know that it is always one or the other as so often those things are intertwined - though possibly weighted more heavily on the physical.  In any event, without delving too far into Irene’s relationship, it feels as though they have little to build on, between them, beyond the physical.  They play cat and mouse.  They have a game of outwitting one another.  But beyond wordplay and the occasional whip...  Irene would never be a true partner.  She has a life she loves and a career that, by its nature, does not mesh with the sort of partnership needed between a man and wife (not that I think she’d ever want something as domestic as that).  On top of all of that, she already has a steady female partner that she obviously loves and Sherlock is an aberration for her.  He’s a temporary delight but I cannot see any scenario where she’d want to be at his side, through ups and downs, falling off the wagon, getting lost in his work, family dramas... Well, point in fact, she never was.        

So, now to the part of this musing that I’ve been building towards.

I gave myself a series of questions and I’ve spent a few weeks, actually, thinking about them.  Faithful characterization is really important to me.  I want to see the honesty of how a character is represented without overlaying intent just because I WANT to see it.  (to be clear, this is not a comment on fanfiction or various pairings or anything of the sort.  This is me trying to parse the authentic character, based on what I've interpreted on screen, for my own creative process).  

Sherlock's relationship with John is a powerful friendship that has laid the groundwork towards developing his emotional balance. While he will always be a bit of an arse – suspicious of overt emotional displays – in short, he'll be himself – he has also warmed up in ways that would not have come about otherwise.

Molly is the first person that Sherlock, at least on screen, apologizes to. The reason being for his callous cruelty when he chose to deduce the reason for a gift she'd brought – correct motivations but incorrect recipient in that he hadn't connected the dots in that the gift was for him. Instantly abashed for causing her humiliation, he apologized, begged her forgiveness, and kissed her cheek.

Of course, Sherlock now starts to exploit her infatuation because, still, he doesn't really get what love is all about. He doesn't seem to see what it is to emotionally hurt someone because he's cut off proper access to his own heart. In fact, to leap ahead, it is amazing character growth to contrast his early interactions with her – faking interest in her hair and make up just to have access to bodies – against his honest pleading with her to say “I love you” and then having an absolute melt-down when he realized Eurus had used him to emotionally bludgeon Molly.

“You look sad, when you think, he can't see you.” Molly is one of the few people that Sherlock cannot bluff his way around. But this moment also reveals that she is one of the few people he trusts enough to show his real feelings. Yes, he will show John those feelings as well, but in this circumstance he simply couldn't afford to. But he had to be able to relieve some of that emotional stress with someone and Molly was the one he turned to – even if he wasn't initially aware that he was doing so.

Sherlock Holmes: [waiting for Molly in the darkened lab, she enters and is startled when he begins to speak] You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay.

Molly Hooper: Tell me what's wrong.

Sherlock Holmes: Molly... I think I'm going to die.

Molly Hooper: What do you need?

Sherlock Holmes: If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am... would you still want to help me?

Molly Hooper: What do you need?

Sherlock Holmes: You.

When Sherlock prepared to fake his death, one of the few people he implicitly trusted to help him was Molly. Not only did he trust her, he approached her in a very open and emotional way. He didn't simply ask her for help. I've thought a lot about the above lines and Sherlock's build up and what it all meant. What I end up with, basically, is him asking would she help him even if he wasn't the near legend that he has become... if he were the lie he's going to be forced to assume in order to make John think he's suicidal. And Molly doesn't hesitate. She will follow him into hell. And I think this might be a moment where Sherlock was still unaware of how MUCH she was devoted to him. Thus his hesitancy. And, yet, he trusts her completely.

Later, Sherlock spent time living with her while in hiding and sleeping in her room while she took the spare room. “We agreed he needed the space”. I don't, however, believe there was anything intimate going on between them and just given Molly's comments on it, it seems as though it was more awkward for her than anything.

Molly was the one Sherlock asked to go investigating when John was angry with him. He was very quick to understand that it was a one time thing because she was engaged. This was the second time he kissed her cheek; and followed it by saying she deserved every happiness. It's suggestible that he acknowledges her feelings for him by saying not every man she falls for can be a sociopath. Of course, one could read that he's referring to Moriarty but after such a tender moment that would seem a little crass. Though, this IS Sherlock and likely he would think that was a kindness. I find everything about this incredibly interesting. For one, though I've never thought there was anything romantic between John and Sherlock – there also were never any questions that John would investigate with Sherlock regardless as to whom he was seeing/married to. It simply wasn't a factor. For Molly, however, her being with someone else means she can't possibly do this with Sherlock. Why? Because of her feelings for him and, more, him recognizing and respecting that he cannot compromise that. While it doesn't say anything about his feelings for her, beyond friendship, it DOES show that he cares about her and won't ask her to do anything that makes her uncomfortable (another step forwards from series 1 Sherlock). It does, also, reveal something else. That if Molly hadn't been engaged, Sherlock would have welcomed her as a partner and that he'd enjoyed his day with her. Even if they weren't able to go out for chips after – his invitation.

The two people asked to be godparents of Rosie were Sherlock and Molly. If John also died, Sherlock and Molly would instantly be co-parents. I just wanted to throw that out there.

Molly is one of the people entrusted to look after Sherlock when he falls off the wagon. It's a short list.

When Sherlock is dying, it's a mental version of Molly who appears and saves his life. Now, for me, that IS telling in that John is the doctor and yet Molly is the one Sherlock's frantic brain latches onto first.

Finally, as was mentioned earlier, we have the infamous “I love you”. We've seen Sherlock fake emotion – fake tears – fake fear and very skillfully, too. He's gotten one over on John many times. With Molly, though, I feel as though he's learned a hard lesson about hurting her. He's trying to do better by her so he gives her his genuine feelings. And, certainly, in this moment he can't afford otherwise. He believes she'll die and Molly will not say the words unless he does first. “Say it like you mean it” may well have been stated “say it so I could believe it.” And, in fact, the first time he says it, she doesn't appear to believe it. She can tell when he lies and, I think for a long time now, she can tell when he's faking kindness to manipulate her. This is where my honest belief about this comes into play. That in order to get her to say the words to him, he had to speak truthfully. An I think that was why it was so tremendously devastating. It opened a wound he hadn't realized existed until that moment – something far deeper and FAR more demanding than that long ago emotion he'd felt for Irene. Irene would never be compromised by a declaration of love. It's possible she may even find it tragic because part of me thinks Irene, too, finds emotional investment to be compromising. I actually think there's a lot of evidence to support that. With Molly, though; who has carried this steady love for so many years – have carried Sherlock through his tragedies, has been emotional support and safety... he cannot wedge open his heart like this for the moment it takes to “save her”, only to close it once more. This is something that has ramifications for the both of them and there is every chance this forced enlightenment comes at the cost of something he wasn't given the time to figure out and act upon. In finally figuring out he loves her he may have lost her in that same breath.

If ever there is a season 5 I wonder that this would even be explored. It's hard to say. But if this is, really, the end of the show it is just as easy to see where it COULD lead.   

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘You Remind Me of Home’ Chapter 1: In My Heart is a Christmas Tree Farm

Based off Taylor Swift's 'Christmas Tree Farm.' Post TFP. Sherlock and Molly have been inseparable since the phone call--the best of friends. Both are afraid to cross the fragile line that separates friends from lovers. Sherlock whisks Molly away on a surprise trip where romance ensues.

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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               Molly Hooper loved Christmas, but she hated spending it alone every single year. It was why she made sure to be working Christmas Eve night through Christmas morning every year if at all possible. The dead kept her company although they weren’t much of an audience. Whatever family she had left, she was estranged from them. She grew up in a cosy tudor-style cottage on a Christmas Tree Farm. Her parents had a shared love of growing these magnificent trees. When the nights turned cold, the many strings of lights were put up, all aglow when people came from all over to find the perfect tree.

               Children bundled up so snugly would dance around beneath the lights, their eyes growing wide when they saw the biggest trees. Her parents always had complementary warm cider prepared for everyone who came ‘round. Molly loved her cider with whipped cream, a sprinkle of ground cloves and a cinnamon stick peeking out of the cup. Those were the best Christmastime memories she had. Molly became the sole owner of the farm and cottage when her parents passed on. She’s had several caretakers over the past few years, who kept the trees growing, but nobody resided in it currently, and financially, she was having trouble keeping up with it along with her flat. She sold it months ago to an anonymous buyer, and though it broke her heart to give it up, Molly knew she could never have kept it.

               Earlier in the year, not long before Mary died, she had droned on and on to Sherlock about the situation; not that he was listening, but it felt good to just get it out. Three months ago, things were such a mess what with the Sherrinford incident. The entire year had been a tragic with the exception of Rosie’s arrival in the world. Eventually, they all began healing. Sherlock had been so convinced he had lost her friendship over what his sister did to them, but instead, it brought them closer. They were the best of friends and absolutely inseparable. And both had the knowledge of what was true in their hearts. Yes, they loved each other—they were in love and aware of it—but neither one had the courage to cross that line whilst they were still so fragile.

               Work was getting to be a daunting task lately. Sherlock had tried to convince her to take a holiday already, but Molly worked right through the healing process. What surprised her, however, was that Sherlock had taken a hiatus from solving crimes. She was glad he gave himself the time to process things. He wasn’t fully back in the game yet, only solving a couple mellow cases a week, but he was making progress.

               “Ah, Molly!” he exclaimed, sweeping in through the doors ever so gracefully. He looked well—much healthier than Molly had ever seen him. Over the last few months, he had gone cold turkey on smoking and drugs. He had been attending every meeting at the rehabilitation center, and had been seeing a therapist regularly. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had never looked better. “You’re coming with me,” he told her in a playful manner, attempting to drag her away from the paperwork left on her desk.

               “I’m not going anywhere until this paperwork is finished,” Molly replied, ignoring how he gently tugged on her hand.

               “Leave it,” he told her, “someone else is coming in to finish it.” Now, he knew he caught her attention.

               “What are you talking about?” she asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

               Sherlock grinned like the Cheshire cat, mischief written on his face. “We are going on holiday, my dear Molly! I’ve already packed your things—yes, I have your favourite pairs of jeans ready to go.”

               “What about my—?“

               “Favourite pairs of knickers? Packed.”

               If Molly had been drinking her bottle of water, a spit take would have definitely occurred. “How’d you figure that out?”

               Sherlock smiled cheekily. “Not telling.” He grabbed her hand. “Now, come on, we’ve got a train to catch, Molly! Don’t worry; I worked it all out with Stamford who agrees you need a holiday, by the way.”

               She had no idea what had gotten into him. Not that she didn’t enjoy this playful side—she loved it—but it was so unexpected. It was almost as if he was Scrooge at the end of A Christmas Carol. “Say, Sherlock,” Molly began as they made their way out the hospital, “did three spirits happen to visit you overnight?”

               He laughed in amusement. “Possibly,” he quipped, leaving her wondering what in the hell got into him. Whatever it was, Molly knew she was going to enjoy the adventure that lie ahead.

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               Molly watched the scenery outside the window of the train. Sherlock sat across from her, reading one of Molly’s books. She turned to him, noticing that he was quite engrossed in the story. Molly hadn’t a clue about where they were going. It had only been half an hour since they boarded, but the anticipation was killing her.

               “Okay, you’ve got to tell me where we’re going,” she told him, interrupting his reading. “Please?” She batted her lashes for full effect.

               A hint of a smile appeared on his face when he looked at her. “I don’t think so.”

               “Sherlock.” Her face was serious now.

               “What?” he replied, clearly enjoying the situation.

                 She knew he wouldn’t budge, so she turned back to the window with a sigh. Another half an hour passed, and their surroundings were beginning to feel familiar, though Molly couldn’t place it. She felt parched, in need of a drink.

               The trolley was coming by, and Sherlock set the book aside. “Thirsty?” It was as if he read her mind.

               “I would kill for a cup of tea,” she joked.

               When the man pushing the trolley approached their seats, he inquired if they wanted anything.

               “Yes, a hot cup of that tea, there,” Sherlock replied. “She’s threatened to kill for it.”

               As Molly took the steaming cup in her hands, she questioned Sherlock. “Can you at least tell me how much longer we have?”

               “Oh alright,” Sherlock sighed. “About another half an hour.”

               “Have I been here before?” she asked.

               “I answered one question already, that’s enough,” he teased her. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”

               Molly took that as a yes. So, she’d been here before—their surroundings feeling familiar, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She shrugged, awaiting the end of their journey. She was too curious for her own good.

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               The remaining time passed quickly, and by the time they stepped off the train, Molly couldn’t believe it. She was home.

“We’re in Wellingborough?” Molly asked in disbelief as they moved their bags into their rental car, her voice small as she took in the familiar surroundings of where she grew up.

               “Yes,” Sherlock replied. “I thought we could stay in the cottage on the Christmas tree farm your parents left you.”

               Molly’s face fell. “Oh, Sherlock,” she cried. “That was such a lovely thought, but I’ve sold the property. I couldn’t keep up with it without any tenants.”

               After placing the last bag in the boot, Sherlock wrapped her up in his arms. “Molly, don’t be upset—there’s a part of the surprise you don’t know.” He grinned at her then, a pair of keys dangling from a key ring—the keys to her parents’ cottage.

               “What—how?” she asked, clearly confused.

               “I was the anonymous buyer,” Sherlock confessed. “You thought I wasn’t listening to you, but over the months since I’ve bought it, I’ve had the property well taken care of.”

               Molly looked at him in bewilderment. “I know I didn’t send the keys to Baker Street. Who exactly did I send the keys to?”

               “My parents,” he told her. “I let them know ahead of time of my plans.”

               Her face lit up as she laughed, not quite believing what she heard. “Sherlock Holmes, I could kiss you!” Her heart felt so alight, and in that moment, before either of them knew what was happening, she stood up on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

               He was shocked to say the least. Never did he experience receiving such gentle affection. His mouth was slightly agape, and from the way he was looking at her, he was clearly befuddled by her actions. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes, well…we should be going. We still have a bit of a drive to the countryside.”

               Molly noticed his discomfort—or perhaps it was just shock. She hadn’t meant to allow her impulses to overcome her, but it felt good. Besides, he had kissed her twice on the cheek before…why couldn’t she return his friendly affections? It was only a kiss between friends…right?

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph :) I've been discussing the idea of Johnlock with my dad, and while he's not homophobic, he's very strongly against it and believes Sherlock is in love with Irene (???). His only arguments are along the lines of "they're not gay because it's never said", and he thinks I'm making "false accusations", etc. So basically I need a little help writing a convincing argument. Mainly to explain to him why we think he's gay. (He can be convinced but he needs the undeniable facts.)

Hey Nonny!

Sorry you have to deal with that, and honestly sometimes it’s best to just drop the issue to prevent arguments in the family, but many people can have empathy for seeing things your way with the right discussion points. I can understand how your dad sees Sherlock as attracted to Irene, but I assure you Sherlock was not at all interested in her at all aside from “playing the game”. 

It’s absolutely heteronormativity that makes people blind to the glaring obvious, and sometimes people just need to the stuff written down about it. 

Here’s a few posts that I think can get you started:

This September 2018 post here, I discuss Sherlock’s asexuality, and in turn it also has a lot of links to Sherlock’s Sexuality posts, so check that one out first!

Sherlock and John’s Sexualities: This post is a masterpost to a bunch of links relating to how the fandom reads Sherlock and John’s sexualities; they’re coded gay and bi respectively.

Irene is Sherlock’s Mirror: This is the aforementioned “Irene Masterpost” I talked about, that has links to posts about how Irene is NOT Sherlock’s love interest, but rather is his personification of his sexuality. There’s posts to OTHER masterposts and some discussions about Irene’s importance to the narrative. See also: [Why Does Sherlock Play Irene’s Theme When Eurus Says “Play You”?] | [Irene in the Pocketwatch] | [Why Mention Irene But Not Molly or Greg?] | [Irene’s Death: Why Did it Affect Sherlock?] | [Irene’s Theme is About John] | [Irene’s Nakedness was for John, Not Sherlock] | [Irene Is Gay.]

Rainbows in Sherlock are often used to code characters as gay. Guess who has a lot of rainbows? (Hint: It’s Sherlock.) See also: [Colour Symbolism in Sherlock] | [Sherlock’s Glowing]

TPLoSH and ACD Canon: A silly post that started as “what has the gayest content” and turned into a masterpost for links discussing the queercoding of both of these series.

TJLC Analysis of ACD Canon: Seems a lot of my posts are just masterposts to other posts, LOL, sorry. This one here has links to other posts about canon Holmes and why it’s gay.

Is it True That ACD Couldn’t Make Them Gay Because of the Time Period?: Self-explanatory. See also: [Any Resources for ACD Canon Relationship?] | [The Conan Doyle Estate: In Depth Explaination] | [Did Doyle Not Write the Relationship Clearly because of Society?] | [Is ACD Gay?] | [What’s Under Copyright?]

And, if you feel like browsing a tag, here’s my “Sherlock and John’s Relationship Arc” tag which is essentially every meta and masterpost I find or write that contains anything pertaining to their relationship in the series.

And I have a Massive S4 Masterpost as well for further perusing; not necessarily related to them being gay but it does link to OTHER posts talking about the characters.

And Some Meta that’s not mine:

Irene in ACD Canon had literally THREE INTERACTIONS IN TOTAL with Holmes, and not ONE of them were romantic. It’s heteronormativity that makes people think that there was something there. A short community discussion that gets salty but to-the-point.

For People Who Think Sherlock Had Feelings For Irene: This is basically a breakdown of all the interactions of them in ASiB and shows you that, when looked at directly, that there was nothing but contempt for her.

How is Irene Attracted to Sherlock if She’s Gay?: What it says on the tin. See Also: [BBC Irene is a Mess of a Character]

Straightwashing the Characters: Discussion about people going into the Johnlock tag and saying that it never happened. Crow talks about the original canon and how it couldn’t be blatant in ACD’s time.

Female Reading of the Male Gaze, and Sherlock: Really interesting meta, that, actually may explain why your dad doesn’t see it. 

The Unabridged Dictionary of Johnlock Tropes: 157 Romantic Tropes Used in the Gayest Show on TV - This is a FANTASTIC READ. It uses actual examples from Sherlock for EVERY ONE of these tropes to support Johnlock. It’s long but TOTALLY worth the read. *Link goes to the Wayback Machine.

Sherlock & Romance, AKA Why So Many People Ship Johnlock: Classic Fandom Meta, that goes through the show and points out many of the moments in it that, if it were a man and woman, would be romantic.

Sherlock and John’s Romance Arc in BBC Sherlock: Ditto with this one.

Watson and Holmes Were Never in a Relationship in the Books!! This is another classic, this one by Tiger, totally worth the read.

“OH MY GOD DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT JOHN IS FUCKING MARRIED TO A WOMAN IN THE BOOK?!?!??!”: THE Fandom classic epic takedown of an anti by Brontë. A must read.

I hope these help your dad see why you read Sherlock the way you do! Let me know if you need anything else, I’ve tonnes of tags and archived posts I could probably find for you. I just chose the ones with the most compelling evidence from credible sources such as ACD canon (which is why I link to a lot of ACD canon). 

Sorry for all the Post-ception XD I know I link to a lot of other masterposts, but it’s the best way to get ALL the info you’ll need! Cheers!

[geekmama]

This Bud of Love

Still another post-Sherrinford/Musgrave offering, a series of seven drabbles of varying lengths using the prompts for Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Fall 2018 (in slightly altered order). I'm late to the game with this one, this is the last day of posting, but it was fun to revisit these situations.

 Prompt: "Free For All" - 150 words

It wasn’t long before Molly realized there was something very strange going on… something very wrong. Her ‘bad day’ was cast into the shade as she tried first to reach John, then Mycroft, to no avail. Third time’s the charm, she thought as Lestrand picked up, but the information he gave -- 221B blown up and some covert operation in progress -- almost left her speechless.

Almost..

She told Greg about the phone call.

After that it was sirens, screeching tires, pounding feet, kind eyes, sharp orders; hidden cameras, at least, and who-knew-what at most. She was hustled away as they began to take apart her house, just like that phone call had taken apart her heart -- and she could not help but wonder about Sherlock’s heart, the desperation in his voice, and if he would forgive her the disastrous moment of stubborn pique that had forced those words from his lips.

 Prompt: "Touch" - 300 words

The ‘safe house’ that Mycroft’s P.A. arranged was not at all what Molly had expected, so elegant that, when she was finally left alone, she could only hug herself and stare about her at the luxurious appointments, beautiful antiques, and the fire in the grate, her eyes beginning to sting nonsensically. However, when a tear escaped to slip wetly down her cheek, she came out of her stupor, exclaimed, “Stupid!”, swiped it away, gathered her little courage, and began to look about her.

She’d been told to get some sleep, that she’d be kept abreast of developments, but alone, frightened, and worried was not a formula designed to produce such an outcome. She did what she could. She found a soft sleep tee, a fluffy dressing gown, and a bathroom both incredibly posh and fully stocked with the finest toiletries. She would have enjoyed herself very much indeed in the time that followed, if she had not been so thoroughly heartsick.

There was a television but, though she clicked through the channels for hours, it told her nothing to the point.

It was nearly 2AM and she was finally sinking into a troubled slumber when there was a knock at the door. She silently scrambled up, out, over the thick Aubusson carpet, and peered through the peephole.

Sherlock. Looking as ravaged as she felt.

She unchained and unbolted the door, threw it open, and they gaped at each other for a long moment: fraught, electric; paralyzing.  

Then Sherlock breathed, “Molly… Molly, I--”

But she threw herself at him, almost yelping, “I’m sorry!”

Wonder of wonders, he caught her and hugged her close, solid and safe under the rough wool of that coat. “You’re sorry!” he said, almost laughing. “Oh my God. Molly… I love you!”

She began to sob.

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Prompt: "Scent" - 700 words

The delicious scent of fresh coffee woke them.

Molly’s eyes blinked open to find that she was still nose to nose with Sherlock, both of them sharing the same pillow, and his arms were loose about her. He was awake too, his brow stormy as he listened intently.

“Anthea, I think, but you stay here while I go see.”

He slipped silently out of bed and moved out, toward the tiny kitchen. However, Molly refused to be left out and followed, after a moment, straightening her sleep tee and running her fingers swiftly through her disheveled hair. There had been a great deal of extremely satisfactory cuddling in the wee hours of the night, and she could not help but smile to remember it, even with an unknown stranger having invaded their nest.

But it was indeed Anthea, Mycroft’s insouciant P.A.

“What the devil are you doing, sneaking in here?” Sherlock demanded.

Anthea was unperturbed by his threatening tone. “Can I help it if the pair of you were dead asleep? I’ve brought you breakfast and a message from your brother.” She glanced over at Sherlock and saw that Molly was there, too, just behind and to the side. Anthea smiled. “Good morning, Dr. Hooper. I hope you rested well?”

Sherlock turned to scold, but Molly ignored him and slipped past, into the kitchen. “Yes, thank you. After Sherlock’s arrival, at least. Is his brother all right? And John?”

“John is home with his daughter and seems none the worse for his experience -- physically, at least. And Mycroft came into the office this morning as usual.” She shook her head in disapproval.

“What’s his message?” asked Sherlock. “And, more importantly, what have you brought us for breakfast? I haven’t eaten since before the flat was blown up.”

“I thought you hadn’t. Catering straight from Christopher’s in Covent Garden, probably more than you can eat -- they seem to have sent a little of everything. Your coffee’s black with two sugars, correct? And would you like coffee, too, Dr. Hooper, or do you prefer tea?”

“Coffee, please!” Molly said, sitting down at the little café table in the corner of the kitchen. “Is there cream?”

“Certainly,” said Anthea. “Sit down, Sherlock, and I’ll serve you both. Then I have to get back to the office. Mycroft is exhausted, but is full of plans for the next few days.”

“My parents,” Sherlock said, morosely, sitting down beside Molly and taking her hand under the table. He gave it a squeeze, and they exchanged a look that made Molly light up inside. And outside, too, apparently. Sherlock lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Then Anthea was there with a tray and a knowing smile for them both. Molly felt herself blushing a little, but Anthea said only, “A car’s being sent for your parents. Mycroft believes it would be best if they were told as soon as possible.” As she laid out their breakfast, she added, “He says there is no need for you to attend the initial meeting, Sherlock. That the responsibility is his and his alone.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He would, of course. Idiot.”

“You’ll come back with me then?” Anthea asked, hopefully, with an apologetic glance at Molly.

Molly’s heart gave a twinge, but she forced a smile when Sherlock said, “Yes, I’ll have to. Mycroft’s made mistakes, but much of it was initiated by our uncle. But knowing Mycroft, he’ll try to take the full blame, which will ultimately only confuse matters.

Anthea sighed. “That’s what I think, too.” She set the tray aside. “I’ll leave you to enjoy breakfast and wait for you in the car. Dr. Hooper, your home has been cleared and our people have done their best to put things back in order. We can drop you there before going on to the office.”

“Yes. Alright,” said Molly, the twinge increasing. She watched Anthea leave, heard the door close behind her, then turned slowly to Sherlock…

Who looked as unsure as she felt.

He said, “I… my flat’s not habitable at the moment…” His voice trailed off.

“Would you… like to stay at mine?”

His uncertainty vanished, and he smiled again.

 Prompt: "Sound" - 100 Words

It was hours before the sound of the front door opening brought Molly rushing  into the foyer. Then she hesitated. Old habits.

Sherlock closed the door behind him, looked as though he wanted to rush to her, but hesitated, too. Then held out his hand.

She came to him and took the hand (big and warm, yet elegant, with the calluses of an accomplished violinist) and after a brief, still moment, he pulled her into his arms. An imperative finger was presently set beneath her chin, raising it. She took the hint, and stood on tiptoe, melting into his kiss.

 Prompt: "Taste" - 200 words

He was not entirely untutored, what with He-Made-Me-Wear-The-Hat Janine, John’s hackable computer password and eclectic taste in porn, and Molly’s own predilection for the steamy romance novels that Sherlock had occasionally picked up as light reading, usually in the wake of particularly intense criminal cases. Yet there was a wonder and innocence in the way they proceeded that afternoon and well into the evening.

Never had Molly wanted to give herself so completely. Never had a man been so attuned to her needs, and ready to give of himself.

She lay there, boneless, the echo of her cries fading as he moved up to cover her, one hand urging her thighs to part once more, the other tangling in her hair. His face blurred before her as she murmured his name, and then she arched, gasping as hypersensitive flesh was gently grazed. He kissed her, open mouthed, messy, and delicious with the taste of them both, and, amazingly, desire rekindled deep within her.

He moved his lips, trailing kisses in a path to her ear: “Now, my Molly?”

She could only reply, “Yes, please,” and, reaching down to guide him, turned her head and caught his lips in another kiss.

    Prompt: "Sight" - 300 words

“I never thought I’d see live to see it,” John said with a grin as Molly and Sherlock approached the table in their favorite “cake place”. Rosie was eighteen months old that day. It had to be celebrated.

The toddler gave a happy cry, and Molly swept her up, letting Sherlock take the brunt of John’s observation for the moment. A glance showed that he bore some heightened color, but there was a happy glow about him, a kind of pride that could not be hidden. Certainly John had seen it.

“A lot has changed,” Sherlock said, simply. “It’s good to see you. No ill effects?”

“None to speak of,” John said, shrugging slightly. “More thankful than ever to be alive, to tell you the truth. How’s Mycroft doing? What’s he think of… er… all this? You and Molly?”

Sherlock gave Molly a crooked grin. “He’s the one who goaded me to it. After you left that night, he showed up and told me how… how concerned Molly had been. What else could I do but go to her, and see that she was well.”

John chuckled, but shook his head, too. He looked over and caught Molly’s eye. “Was it worth the wait? For him to grow some bollocks, I mean.”

Molly frowned at the use of such language around her innocent goddaughter, but she laughed, too. “Sherlock’s bollocks have always been just fine, John. And of course it was worth the wait.”

She would have said more, but at this point, Rosie pushed a little away and said to her father and godfather, quite clearly, “Bollocks!”

Molly gave a cry of dismay and laughter, Sherlock groaned, and John said, “Oh, my God. Okay, maybe we’d do better to just shut up for now and eat some cake, yeah?”

 Prompt: "Feelings" - 250 words

Mycroft stood watching his little brother and sister playing their violins. Sherlock was good, but Eurus was brilliant, incandescent, as was her nature. Such brilliance, yet her powers had been used to do so much ill.

He glanced at his mother and father, who sat entranced. So many years wasted, his mother had said, tears in her eyes.

But he had done the best he could. There was nothing else he could have done but acquiesce to Uncle Rudy’s arrangements.

And protect his vulnerable little brother. Or at least that’s how it had seemed. Sherlock had been brilliant, too, but where Euros was cold, their brother had burned and burned. The boy might have gone up in flames -- had been close to it a number of times in fact -- if Mycroft had not taken control of the situation.

And yet… speaking of wasted years.

But it was all water under the bridge now. Sherlock and Molly might be older, but the happiness they were currently experiencing and would, no doubt, continue to experience had its seeds in Musgrave, and had come to fruition at Sherrinford.

Nothing was ever wasted, it seemed.

Mycroft roused himself from his musings to find the eyes of his little sister upon him. The laughter in them was quite visible through the protective glass.

We are all fools in love.

He wondered vaguely where he’d heard that. A quote from some novel?.

He’d have to look it up.

Or ask his soon-to-be sister-in-law. She would know.

 ~.~

[an-affectionate-heart]

Alternatively...

Sherlock was staring at him as though he was an idiot, and John wanted to scream.

It was too much. It was all too much. John could feel the tight ball in his chest tensing even more, to the point of it being painful. With each word he said, he could feel himself inching closer and closer to an explosion.

“She’s out there, she likes you, and she’s alive.” He was shaking. When did he start shaking? “Do you have the first idea how lucky you are?”

He wasn’t even upset to learn that Sherlock had deceived him into thinking Irene – the Woman – was dead. At this point, it was just another disappointment, another tiny, piercing lie to add to the pile of other piercing lies that had accumulated over the years. Lies told by Sherlock, by Mary. By John himself.

But he was upset that Sherlock was wasting the very opportunity John so desperately wanted. Although upset didn’t seem like the right word. Angry. Angry was good.

Furious was better.

“Just text her back,” he said.

“Why?”

John gritted his teeth together. His fingers itched at his side. Somewhere, deep down, he felt sick.

“Because High Wycombe is better than you are currently equipped to understand.”

Sherlock looked down at his mug. His lower lip jutted out just a little. “I once caught a triple poisoner in High Wycombe.”

John’s fingers curled into fists as he willed himself not to release every ounce of rage bundled up inside him. The need to make Sherlock understand was overwhelming. John could feel it welling up, threatening to swallow him whole. It was terrifying. It was what happened to him in the morgue, when he unleashed his emotions and struck Sherlock repeatedly. He’d hurt someone who – admittedly – did not deserve it. Someone who was – for a time – his best friend and maybe something more. Even now he regretted it. The healing cut on Sherlock’s face was a sharp reminder of what he was capable of when he lost control. It sickened him. The self-loathing had always been there, but he was certain it had reached its peak at that moment.

“That’s only the beginning, mate,” he said, relieved at how calm it came out.

Sherlock sighed, looking almost annoyed at the conversation they were having. “As I think I have explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people-”

“Would complete you,” John said, “as a human being.”

Sherlock looked up at him, and John saw something unfamiliar in his eyes. His long fingers tightened around his mug.

“I have no desire,” said Sherlock slowly, “to be in a romantic relationship with Irene Adler. Leave it alone.”

“Why?” In all the years of them knowing each other, John believed he could count all the arguments he’d won on one hand. It was petty of him, but he was determined to win this one. There was a burning sensation in his gut that needed to be put out. “I saw the two of you together, I saw your connection.”

More than I’d needed to see.

“What connection?” spat Sherlock. “We played a game. A game I won because her ridiculous feelings got in the way.”

“Feelings she had – has – for you! For God’s sake, she entrusted you with her metaphorical heart!”

Sherlock set his mug down on the tiny table beside his chair and stood up. He swayed a bit as he did, his hand reaching out to steady himself on the armrest. John’s heart clenched at the sight.

“For the last time,” Sherlock said, “I do not have feelings for Irene Adler. She is the last person I would ever be interested in.”

John laughed humorlessly. “Are you serious? She’s got a brilliant mind, she’s gorgeous, she loves playing games. She’s perfect for you.”

“She’s also a woman.”

He was so caught up in the idea of winning that he missed the implication. “The Woman, as you always put it.”

Sherlock stared at him. He seemed both defiant and nervous, an odd mixture that seemed wrong on his face. His words finally sunk in for John, and he felt his jaw slacken.

“Wait… You mean you’re…”

Sherlock looked away. He snatched up his mug and strode into the kitchen, leaving John to stare at his back.

“I told you girlfriends weren’t my area,” Sherlock said, his voice quiet as he placed his mug in the sink. John forgot to be proud of him for it. “On that first night.”

He knew exactly what Sherlock was referring to. He’d replayed that moment in his head countless times.

“I thought you just meant you didn’t like relationships. Or that you weren’t good at them.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked into a small, self-deprecating smile. “That’s still true. But so is the fact that I’m gay.”

Hearing him actually say it out loud was like a jolt of electricity. John felt like an idiot – and a terrible friend – for not realizing it. His previous anger and determination to make Sherlock see reason had dissipated the moment he caught up with the conversation, and now he was just desperate to fit together all the puzzle pieces that made up Sherlock Holmes.

“Why did you never tell me?”

Sherlock shrugged. There was something looser about him now, something resigned. “I thought you knew. And even if you didn’t, it was never relevant.”

“How could I have known? I mean, aside from that first night, the only things I had to go off of for you and romance were Irene and Janine.”

Sherlock made a face. “Janine wasn’t a real relationship.”

“Still.”

Sherlock scratched the cut on his brow, and John’s stomach gave a little lurch. “What does it matter? So I’m attracted to men. That doesn’t change the fact that romantic relationships are unappealing to me.”

There was something in his voice that made John pause. A terse note, a slight unevenness.

“It also doesn’t change the fact that loving someone – being with someone – would do wonders for you.”

“You make it sound as though I’m broken. Like I need to be fixed.”

John recoiled. He’d always made it a point to make sure Sherlock knew he wasn’t defective in any way. But now that he pointed it out, it was clear to John that he’d ruined that.

“I’m just saying,” he said, his words lame even to himself.

“I think you’ve said enough.”

John looked at him. Sherlock wasn’t looking back, but at the kitchen table, which looked startlingly empty without its usual clutter. Mycroft’s people had disposed of everything harmful in the flat, something John was begrudgingly and immensely grateful for.

“Look, Sherlock,” he said. “You know you’re not broken-”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Sherlock said. “Yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with me, I know romance would change my life, blah blah blah. Thanks for coming, thanks for the birthday wishes, how very kind of you, do say hello to Rosie for me.” At the end of this, he walked over to the door and gestured out it. John could feel his anger pricking up again.

He couldn’t tell if it was anger toward Sherlock or himself.

“I just have one more question,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He stood still in the middle of the sitting room, feeling surprisingly calm at the center of his roiling emotions. The eye of the storm.

“What?”

He didn’t know what possessed him to ask, but the need to ask it was very much there. It was probably what fueled him to start the conversation about The Woman. It was definitely what fueled him to start the conversation. He had always been desperate to know.

“Has there ever been anyone you’ve loved?”

Sherlock’s face remained blank, but John saw something in his eyes. A hint of surprise, a bit of fear. John stood his ground, watching Sherlock.

“I suppose I love my parents,” said Sherlock, flatly. “And I might say I love my brother, but only if under extreme duress and possible threat of life. There’s also Mrs. Hudson, and-”

“Shut up,” interrupted John. “Just shut up. I’m so tired of playing this game with you. I just want a straight answer. Yes or no. It’s not hard.”

Sherlock’s shoulders drooped. John waited.

“Yes.” It was no more than a whisper. “Yes. There’s – someone.”

“A man.”

“Of course a man.”

John stepped closer. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still see him?”

“Yes.”

John almost laughed. “Then it’s simple, isn’t it?”

Sherlock glared at him. “No, it’s not.”

“Why not?”

Sherlock apparently gave up on trying to make him leave, because he turned away from the door and stalked further into the sitting room. John didn’t move from his spot. There was an odd feeling spreading throughout his body, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

“He’s straight and often relishes the opportunity to say so.”

“But have you ever-”

“Yes, John!” The suddenness of his shout startled John. He was shaking again and John didn’t like it. “I am absolutely certain he has no interest in men because he married a woman, he’s only dated women, and every time people insinuate he and I are a couple, he insists he is completely straight.”

John stepped back. Let out a breath and took in a new one. Opened and closed his mouth. Sherlock watched him with keen eyes.

“Figured it out, have you?” asked Sherlock, his voice low. “Are you quite pleased with yourself? I should hope you are. As you know, your happiness is very important to me.”

John felt as though he had been punched. Sherlock seemed unfamiliar to him, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the new information flooding his brain or Sherlock’s gaunt appearance that still made him want to cry every time he saw him.

He knew, of course he knew, but he had to confirm it. “Me?”

Sherlock’s silence said it all.

“I don’t – I never meant to – I didn’t know.”

With a shake of his head, Sherlock walked past him and into the kitchen. “Molly will be here in three and a half minutes. I promise I will behave myself until she gets here.” John could hear Sherlock’s footsteps retreat down the hallway until they were swallowed up by his bedroom door shutting.

And then he was alone.

Part 2

[groupkiller]

“I LOVE YOU” ANAL-ysis :)

In this meta I presumed that The Final Problem is John’s version of The Abominable Bride, and that he is hallucination this episode while he is bleeding to death on the floor after being shot with the totally real gun we saw in The Lying Detective. Not a tranquilizer gun.

And that Sherlock is rushing to save him after having finally gotten the miss me clue and knows someone might be trying to burn his heart out. And this is why in the well-scene Sherlock insists he is finding John, while John says he doesn’t have long. John is counting on Sherlock to come and save him.

On to the meta which gives you my queer reading of the *I love you* scene, and how to interpret it in a romantic johnlock way:.

“I LOVE YOU”

JOHN: So, it’s for somebody who loves somebody. MYCROFT: It’s for somebody who loves Sherlock. This is all about you. Everything here. 

Like in The Sign Of Three. "You, it’s always you." And in John’s mind everything is centered around Sherlock as well :)

Mycroft: So who loves you? I’m assuming it’s not a long list.

JOHN: Irene Adler. SHERLOCK: Don’t be ridiculous.

Like Sherlock told Mycroft not to be absurd in the bond plane when he hinted, that Sherlock loved Irene. And Sherlock allready told John, that he doesn’t text her but ok… Sherlock did say he texted her sometimes.

Sherlock: Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone.

JOHN: Molly. SHERLOCK: Molly Hooper. EURUS: She’s perfectly safe, for the moment. Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes … unless I hear the release code from her lips. I’m calling her on your phone, Sherlock. Make her say it. JOHN: Say what?

Yeah let’s clarify this.

Release code! The words “I love you” will set John free. Here said over the phone (remember phone=heart metaphor)

If John’s mirror doesn’t say “I love you” she (and John) dies. (Only there are no explosives, no danger. But it takes a potentially life threatening situation for John to even let his mirror character reviel his love for Sherlock. She’s even wearing an… ehm interesting jumper, like John so often does, and that Sherlock mentioned in his Best man speech, that he could go on all day about. Oh, and Eurus says John’s mirror’s place is going to explode in 3 minutes. Though there is no explosion litteraly… figuratively in 3 minutes the heart bomb goes off in an orgasmic release when the three little words are spoken.

EURUS: Obvious, surely? JOHN: No. SHERLOCK: Yes. EURUS: Oh, one important restriction: you’re not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger. You may not – at any point – suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?

So it OUGHT to be normal to say these words. John and his mirror OUGHT to be able to just say these words without the threat of death hanging over them. Molly has been crying. In stead of picking up the phone, she makes tea. In The Six Thatchers after Mary’s death. John’s left his phone ringing when sherlock called, back then it was next to a tea cup. If tea is a metaphor for gay romance, at least tea is being made now. And Molly WILL pick up the next time.

SHERLOCK: What’s she doing? MYCROFT: She’s making tea.

John’s mirror is preparing for gay romance… thank you Mark! Now get the hell on with it. Look at that HUGE gay-romance-tea-cup waiting for us!

SHERLOCK: Yes, but why isn’t she answering her phone? JOHN: You never answer your phone.

So is John acusing Sherlock not to listen to his heart? :) oh the hypocracy

SHERLOCK: Yes, but it’s me calling. MOLLY’s VOICE MAIL: Hi, this is Molly, at the dead centre of town. Leave a message.

I know it’s a punn because she works in the mourge. But in the center of town John is bleeding to death on the floor and can’t pick up the phone, just wanted to remind you. And the camera gives us a shot from the back so we can se John close to a coffin, thanks Mofftiss… subtle much?

EURUS: Okay, okay. Just one more time.

JOHN: Come on, Molly, pick up. Just bloody pick up.

John is urging his own mirror to speak through the heart/phone to Sherlock, after he himself ignored Sherlock in TST and found out during the hug-scene, that he feels much better after having a talk with Sherlock.

MOLLY (after adding a sour but deliscious flavour to the gay-romance-tea): Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent, ’cause I’m not having a good day.

No, you are John’s mirror, John is bleeding out on the floor, of course in John’s dream his mirror is having a bad day! And there is a coffin right there in the middle of the room marked for John/his mirror, shitty day in deed.

SHERLOCK: Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why. MOLLY: Oh, God. Is this one of your stupid games? SHERLOCK: No, it’s not a game. I … need you to help me. MOLLY: Look, I’m not at the lab. SHERLOCK: It’s not about that. MOLLY: Well, quickly… Sherlock? What is it? What do you want?

JIM: Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick.

Yeah, hurry up Sherlock, john is dying.

SHERLOCK: Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words. MOLLY: What words? SHERLOCK: I love you. MOLLY: Leave me alone. SHERLOCK: Molly, no, please, no, don’t hang up! Do not hang up!

Just look at John being heartbroken Along with his mirror.

EURUS: Calmly, Sherlock, or I will finish her right now. MOLLY: Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?

John has caught Sherlock’s mixed signals in the past, but it allways comes back to Sherlock playing the sosciopath card in the end, and the romance never gets a chance.

SHERLOCK: Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me. EURUS: Softer, Sherlock!

SHERLOCK: Molly, this is for a case. It’s … it’s a sort of experiment. MOLLY: I’m not an experiment, Sherlock.

Yeah. John doesn’t want his (his mirror’s) I love you to be a game, an experiment or a case. This is serious shit. John’s self worth is so extremely low as demonstrated in the next scene with the elimination round, that he can’t bear to be toyed with.

We are currently in a huge prison, this is where John keeps his OK self confidence and self esteem as a capable soldier (what he can do) - and his insignificant tiny self worth (who he is). So John is not ready for games, when it comes to “I love you”.

SHERLOCK: No, I know you’re not an experiment. You’re my friend. We’re friends. But … please. Just … say those words for me.

John is actually experimenting here. Can friends say I love you without blowing the friendship up? John clenches his fist here, we are gettting closer to the painfull stuff?

Is this a safe way to land the plane? (Sherlock learned in TAB that it’s not the fall that kills you, but the landing. John hasn’t learned that yet.

MOLLY: Please don’t do this. Just … just … don’t do it. SHERLOCK: It’s very important. I can’t say why, but I promise you it is.

Yeah John, your life might depend on speaking these words.

MOLLY: I can’t say that. I can’t … I can’t say that to you. SHERLOCK: Of course you can.  Why can’t you?

Here John and Mycroft look Down. John finds this part particularly hard to face. But as soon as Sherlock tells John’s mirror that of course she/he can say “I love you” John’s head jerks up.

MOLLY: You know why. SHERLOCK: No, I don’t know why.

Aaaaand John looks up, he needs to see Sherlock’s reaction, DOES Sherlock know how John feels?

MOLLY: Of course you do. JIM: Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick …

John is testing if Sherlock ACTUALLY knows John’s feelings for him.

In his mind here, he is sure Sherlock doesn’t know. They are just “friends” after all.

SHERLOCK: Please, just say it. MOLLY: I can’t. Not to you. SHERLOCK: Why?

Sherlock needs to press this point. John never ever said how he felt about Sherlock out loud. Not to his therapist after Reichenbach, not even at Sherlock’s grave, and last time John thought he was about to be blown up by a (heart shaped) bomb, he only foregave Sherlock, told him he was wise and the best man John had ever known. He never ever said he loved Sherlock, (apart from when he asked him to be best man, but there it was quickly put in the perspective of being the best-friend-kinda-love) so these words don’t come easily not even from his mirror. And John is fidgitting uncomfortably in the background at this point.

MOLLY: Because … because it’s true.

(She whispers, like John usually does, when he is very emotional and serious)

MOLLY: Because … it’s … true, Sherlock.

John lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers at this point. He can’t face to see Sherlocks reaction. This also mirrors the hug-scene nicely. When John admittet he wanted to be the man who saves Sherlock.

MOLLY: It’s always been true.

SHERLOCK: Well, if it’s true, just say it anyway.

Here Sherlock looks emotionless. And this might be part of why they loose this round? Or is this just the sherlock-logic John is trying to apply to his own thoughts: if you love him, tell him, even if he doesn’t return your feelings, just get it out, John. You can stay friends and nothing will be worse than it has been up til now. Later Eurus tells Sherlock they lost this round, because Sherlock made John’s mirror misserable. How quickly you forget John! Just days ago you got a huge load off your chest, hugged Sherlock and everything got better. But here in the seller of your self worth prison you let Eurus tell you that friendships are destroyed by confessions like this. But maybe the fact that Sherlock throws a huge fit hints to us, that John knows that Sherlock like John wishes for a way for them to say the “I love you” without anyone needing a coffin.

MOLLY: You bastard. SHERLOCK: Say it anyway.

Here John looks up. He needs to see how his experiment goes.

MOLLY: You say it. Go on. You say it first.

Here Sherlock almost turns to look at John.

SHERLOCK: What? MOLLY: Say it. Say it like you mean it. EURUS: Final thirty seconds. SHERLOCK: I-I …

John through his mirror presses the heart/phone to his ear.

SHERLOCK: I love you. I love you. Molly?

John is still looking, Sherlock said it, can he make himself/his mirror finally say it?

SHERLOCK: Molly, please.

John thinks death is eminent (and it is if he is bleeding to death in real life.) Sherlock is begging and john cries as he finally let’s his mirror say it. As she looks into the heart/phone and cries, John cries too.

MOLLY: I love you.

Almost orgasmic sigh of relief at the RELEASE code

MYCROFT: Sherlock, however hard that was … SHERLOCK: Eurus, I won. I won.

Sherlock cuts Mycroft off. Was it really that hard?

SHERLOCK: Come on, play fair. The girl on the plane: I need to talk to her.

Yeah, back to the theme about how We are gonna land.

SHERLOCK: I won. I saved Molly Hooper.

(Read: I saved John Watson, just like Mary said on the dvd)

EURUS: Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy?

(Wonder if this is going to corespond with John "only" being shot in the shoulder... but if he IS bleeding out, it IS life threatening. So that will make the Garridebs-moment more intense)

EURUS: You didn’t win. You lost. Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time.

Villain reminding John that Sherlock is an emotionless machine, the sociopath, and emotions is supposed to be bad.

EURUS: Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn’t going to be so easy. In your own time.

(The screen turns to the pouring water/emotions)  

Sherlock picks up the lid and turns and walks towards the coffin while Mycroft and John head for the open door.

It seems like the villains won. Sherlock is supposed to be emotionless.

Sherlock puts the lid into place on top of the coffin.

JOHN: Sherlock? SHERLOCK: No. No. (His face starts to twist with rage and he pulls back his right arm and smashes the lid. Eventually he lets out a long anguished scream.

No! The villains wont turn Sherlock into an emotionless psyko. Frustrated Sherlock? Shoot the walk, Karate the fridge, stab the mantle piece and destroy the coffin. We’re not gonna leave this room as if the “I love you” didn’t happen. “I love you” DID save John and his mirror, even if there were never any explosives. The coffin will be destroyed in a fit of emotions, because it wont be needed for John or his mirror, because John is now saved.

Mycroft the iceman might be ready to move on to the next room, but Sherlock needs to show everyone, that he has emotions, and that this "I love you" was very important, not something we just move on from in the blink of an eye.

JOHN: Look, I know this is difficult and I know you’re being tortured, but you have got to keep it together. SHERLOCK: This isn’t torture; this is vivisection. We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats.

Yeah John, you sort of WERE experimenting.

SHERLOCK: Soldiers? JOHN (nodding): Soldiers.

Yeah John, focus on one of the things you are at least confident in - that Sherlock likes that you are a soldier.

Yeah, so Sherlock is in love, but whom with? Even though johnlock is not canon yet. For the people who see Molly as a Mirror for John, we got pretty close to our love confession - inside John’s head even (if the mind bungalow theory is true.)

[spynotebook]

Sherlock’s success was fueled by outsiders. The modern-day reimagining of Sherlock Holmes attracted a large and adoring online fandom, composed in part by three groups—women, LGBQT people, and autistic people. Women, in addition to making up the bulk of any fan community, adored Benedict Cumberbatch/ Battenberg Cucumber/Berryman Catamaran. Queer viewers picked up on the heavy romantic subtext between Sherlock and John Watson. And autistic people embraced Sherlock as a character who gave us a rare chance to see ourselves represented—exceptional at spotting details and identifying patterns, less good at reading emotions or navigating social situations. Sherlock was a show that seemed to prize intelligence over strength, honesty over likability, and non-traditional lifestyles and relationships over a heterosexual romance arc. In short, it was a show where those who felt different for whatever reason could find a home.

Sunday’s controversial season 4 finale, “The Final Problem,” set fans off on the wrong foot before it even began, with the previous week’s cliffhanger ending. Following hints that Sherlock and his brother Mycroft—who, like Sherlock, is superhumanly intelligent and apparently uninterested in personal relationships—had another sibling, their never-before-mentioned sister Eurus, who came out of hiding and shot Watson in the head.

That particular jaw-dropping moment was dispatched fairly quickly in the next episode. She used a tranquilliser and disappeared, allowing Mycroft to explain: Eurus, like her brothers, showed phenomenal intelligence from an early age, but her emotional detachment grew increasingly ominous until she apparently killed Sherlock’s dog Redbeard and burned the house down, causing Sherlock to repress all memories of her. She is now meant to be imprisoned in Sherrinford, an island mental hospital for the world’s most dangerous criminals.

Sherrinford is one of the series’ many fan references—it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original name for Sherlock Holmes, and has been used by other writers for a third Holmes brother. Turning Sherlock’s missing sibling into a woman was presumably writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss’ way of giving women a more prominent role in the story, but why was Eurus, the only woman, the only sibling who used the family brilliance for evil instead of good?

Compare Eurus with Mary Watson, who was killed off (in the grand tradition of ‘fridging’ female characters to give their partners something to angst about) in another one of this season’s shocking moments. Unlike Eurus, Mary was presented as warm and domestic—despite her past as a mercenary, she desired nothing more than an ordinary life of marriage and motherhood with Watson. Mary is a heroine because she prioritises emotions and family life over getting involved in dangerous crime or extraordinary feats. Eurus is a villain because she does the opposite.

Following the airing of “The Final Problem,” some disappointed fans have been tweeting ‘#Norbury’ (a code word Holmes agreed with Mrs Hudson to stop him from going too far after his actions led to Mary’s death) in protest, with many outraged that the show has, once again, coded its villains (Eurus and Moriarty) as queer while treating the possibility of a relationship between Holmes and Watson as a joke.

But if “The Final Problem” displayed the worst of Sherlock’s tendency to appropriate queerness, it similarly continued a worrying trend of appropriating autism. The writers were unwilling to explicitly characterise Sherlock as autistic or queer, but he was given superficial autistic traits, which it was suggested led to his heightened intelligence. When those same traits are applied to his sister, however, they make her an emotionless monster who can’t tell the difference between her brother laughing and screaming and, when asked if cutting herself causes pain, replies, “Which one’s pain?”

Presenting Eurus as needing to be institutionalised for her own and others’ safety echoes the worst myths about autism. For most of the twentieth century, parents of autistic children, as well as those with learning difficulties, were encouraged to place their children in often brutal institutions. “The Final Problem” reinforces the dangerous stereotype that autistic people are alien and need to be locked away from society. Making autistic traits heroic in a man but sinister in a woman also makes autistic women seem particularly unnatural. In real life, the misperception of autism as a male condition has led to many autistic women (myself included) suffering long delays in receiving a diagnosis or support.

As if to add insult to injury, Eurus isn’t even an effective villain. After taking control of Sherrinford, she traps Holmes, Watson and Mycroft in a nightmare game show, forcing them to make a series of sadistic and murderous choices in order to rescue a child from an out-of-control aeroplane. But the muddled ending revealed that the child was somehow Eurus—trapped above everyone else, unable to connect—and all her actions were motivated by a need for her brother to be close to her, including murdering his best friend, who was replaced by a dog in Sherlock’s traumatised memory.

Eurus breaks down, Sherlock comforts her, she saves Watson (who is at this point trapped in a well) and is returned to Sherrinford, now completely speechless but able to communicate with Sherlock through violin playing. Disturbingly, the character Sherlock’s sister most resembled was his love interest, Irene Adler – another seemingly formidable adversary who relied on Moriarty to outwit Sherlock before being undone by her love for the great detective. The only other women in “The Final Problem” were victims—the prison governor’s wife was bound, gagged and quickly murdered, while Molly Hooper was brought back just to confirm that she’s still hopelessly hung up on Sherlock—leaving all its female characters ultimately defined by, and at the mercy of, men.

“The Final Problem” may well be Sherlock’s last hurrah—Moffat has indicated that he wants to do a fifth series, but doesn’t know when it will happen. If this is the end, then it leaves the people who loved the show for its celebration of difference with a troubling message: that difference makes you a hero if you’re a white man, and an aberration if you’re anyone else.

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[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘Simple Romance’ Chapter 2: Holmes and Hooper

Chapter 2 has arrived after all! Thanks so much to @strangelock221b for beta reading! You’re a lifesaver! Like the candy, cause you’re sweet :p

tagging @glitterkitty4ever to let her know chapter 2 is here!

When Molly clocked in the next morning, Mike informed her that a small parcel had been left in her office. Curiosity got the best of her, so the first thing she did was see who it was from. There wasn’t any indication of the sender until she opened it up. There, atop a couple of bags of her favourite sweets, a note lay waiting to be read.

               I thought you’d like a pick-me-up for the day. Hope it makes you smile. –SH

               “What am I going to do with you?” she muttered to herself, unable to keep the smile off her face. She’d had a bit of shit morning already, having gotten in a row with Tom over the phone. They had different ideas about when the wedding should be. He felt it should be sooner rather than later, but Molly didn’t want to rush into it. She hadn’t a clue why—Molly had been waiting for this time in her life for a long time, so why was she suddenly not in a hurry to jump right in?

               Jellybabies and winegums were her favourites—Sherlock knew that, so why didn’t Tom? She laughed in disbelief at the situation she found herself in. It was awfully funny that a man who finds facts like that trivial to keep note of it anyways. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t love him, because oh she did, and always would. Overall, she was happy with Tom; happier than she thought she’d ever be. But then a line from that Sheryl Crowe song played in her mind: If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?

               Why, indeed.

               “How’s it going with Molly?” Mary asked, lounging on the sofa in 221B. She took a bit of the apple she had been munching on for the past ten minutes.

               “Well, I dropped off a parcel in her office before she arrived at work, and I’m waiting to see what comes of it.” Sherlock flipped through the book in his hands. “Slow day for clients too; doesn’t show much promise for anything interesting.”

               “Or does it just not show any promise of you heading to the hospital today?” Mary teased. It was her day off from the surgery, but John still had a couple of appointments for the day. She figured she’d hang around Baker Street to get her kicks. Sherlock ignored her remark in favor of his mobile. A smile lit up his face for a moment. “Good news?”

               “Molly texted,” he explained.

               “And?” Mary encouraged.

               “It did make her smile,” he replied. “At least that’s what she told me. I think I might be onto something.” Sherlock thought back on the many times his father had seemingly made his mum fall in love with him several times over. Perhaps he was a natural at these romantic entanglements after all.

               “Sherlock, we may need your help on this one.” Lestrade burst into the sitting room. “How do you feel about murderous ghosts?”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock knocked on the door of Molly’s office. He could hear Tom within the room as well, making him groan in frustration. The door swung open, and there she stood in front of him, all smiles and sunshine. “Oh, hello, Sherlock,” she greeted him. “Is everything alright? Come in.” The invitation made Sherlock flash a smug look toward Tom, who looked quite cross with him.

               “Yes, just fine; I was hoping you could help me out with a case Lestrade had just given to me,” Sherlock replied, following her inside. He immediately noticed the fairy cakes that had been brought to her by Tom, sitting untouched on her desk. Funny, since being her fiancé, Tom should know that Molly isn’t fond of fairy cakes. Her true downfall was those jellybabies he’s seen her buy from the vending machine at Bart’s on several occasions.

               “Have you been to the crime scene yet?” she asked, smoothing her jumper.

               “Ah, no, I stopped by here to see if you’d like to come along. I’d appreciate to know your take away from it. Apparently there’s a ghost involved, not that I believe in such things.” Sherlock smirked as she suddenly gave him her full, undivided attention. Molly loved the idea of the supernatural, and he knew this case would be right up her alley.

               “Let me grab my coat from the locker room, I’ll be right there,” she smiled, enthusiasm radiating off her.

               “But, Molly, I thought we were going to have lunch today,” Tom complained.

               “This is part of my job. We can do it tomorrow!” she called back at him from the hallway. Tom glared at the consulting detective, but quickly straightened up at Molly’s reappearance moments later. “Besides, the game is on!”

               “Right you are!” Sherlock grinned, exiting the room with her.

               Upon arrival, Molly took in the old Victorian home. It looked as if it were in the process of being fixed up by the owners who bought it just a few months ago. Only one owner remained now.

               “So, what exactly happened?” Sherlock asked Lestrade.

               “Well, Mrs. Cunningham took quite a fall, she did. She fell over the balcony, taking the old rail with her,” he explained. “It’s quite the accident it seems. She kept making claims of having seen a ghost which sent her over in the end.”

               “This was murder,” Sherlock stated.

               “I figured you’d say as much, but how? The wood is shown to be rotting, which is a plausible explanation,” Lestrade pointed out.

               “Someone could’ve loosened the nails,” Molly suggested. “According to the statement from the real estate agent, the structure was quite solid before they began fixing it up.”

               Sherlock smiled proudly at her. His Molly was so clever. “And this ghost? Where does it come in?”

               “Well, her husband had told us she saw this young woman in the greenhouse one day, and later, found the woman’s photo in his findings of a tragedy that happened here. Apparently, she had been brutally murdered by her husband decades ago,” Lestrade explained, handing them the printed article. The woman pictured had fine blonde hair, her face containing elongated features.

               “Fascinating,” Molly remarked. “May I?” she nodded at the body lying there.

               “Be my guest; that goes for you too, Sherlock.”

               Together, he and Molly looked for any possible signs of foul play having happened before she fell.

               “Sherlock, take a look at this.” Molly gestured to the woman’s left arm. He took note of the cut that had clearly been made before she died.

               “Interesting,” he remarked. “Did she have a good life insurance policy?”

               “You’re thinking the husband did it?” Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. “The two never had issues in the seven years they were married.”

               “In cases like these, it usually is,” Sherlock replied. “You must always watch out for the ones who seem perfect, for they are always hiding a darker side.” He was looking at Molly when he said it, thinking of how too perfect Tom seemed to be in her eyes, but Sherlock knew better. He didn’t trust the man with her. That wasn’t to say he was a murderer, but there was definitely something dark inside him.

               “How do you explain the ghost?” Lestrade asked.

               “I don’t know yet, but I’ll get back to you when I figure it out.” Sherlock looked around for the ambulance, spotting it across the street. “Is Mr. Cunningham in there?”

               “He is; we haven’t been able to get much out of him as he’s had a shock,” Lestrade replied.

               “Shock,” Molly scoffed. “If you’re right about him, I say he hired someone to act as a ghost to scare her over the railing.”

               “Intriguing theory, Molly, let’s revisit it a bit later; you may be onto something.” Sherlock had gotten his chance to show off for her once before, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed with how little he had to show this time. But, oh, he loved it when she was unknowingly clever. He was certain that Molly Hooper could beat him in a battle of wits without even trying. His eyes shifted to her hair, tied up into a sophisticated bun. How many times had he imagined pulling her hair free from its restraints, just to brush his fingers through it? “Focus,” he scolded himself.

               “What was that?” Molly asked.

               “Um, your brain is really focused today.” What in the hell had he just said? Smooth move, Holmes. The look she gave him in response was a mix of confusion and amusement. Wonderful. “Ah, Mr. Cunningham, do you think you’re ready to tell us what you know to be true?”

               “Yes, I—I think I can,” he stumbled out, shrugging off the shock blanket around his shoulders. “For the past few days, ever since I found information on the tragic past of this house, Lindsey had been convinced the woman she met in the greenhouse here was the ghost of the murdered wife. I told her ghosts weren’t real, but she began hallucinating.”

               “What kind of hallucinations?” Molly asked, captivated by the strange case.

               “Well, she claimed hearing the sound of someone scratching at out bedroom door, and sometimes she’d hear the sound of knives scraping. I never heard a thing. I offered to get her some help, but she wouldn’t listen.”  Mr. Cunningham’s voice was shaky as he told his story, as if he wasn’t quite convinced of it himself.

               “Give us a moment.” Sherlock pulled Molly aside. “I don’t doubt that his wife heard these sounds, do you?”

               “No, not at all; what are you thinking?” she asked. He was so close to her that she had to tell herself to calm down. Why did he have such an enticing effect on her? For God’s sakes, she could smell the mixture of cinnamon, cloves, wood smoke, and a hint of sweet tobacco on him. It was highly intoxicating. All the times he had spent the night in her flat, hiding away from the world, she had wanted to curl up against him just once; she still wanted to.

               “I’m thinking a look inside the house is imperative. We’ll have to have Lestrade let us in.” Sherlock strode toward the doorway where Greg stood, getting the approval to head inside. Molly followed after, volunteering to search downstairs whilst Sherlock went up to search the bedrooms. She looked in the kitchen first, with the knives in mind. They could possibly take finger prints to compare them with the husband’s. She’d bring it up with Greg to see what he thought.

               It wasn’t much longer until the sound of a phone ringing caught her attention. Molly walked toward the stairway where Sherlock held out a phone to her. The contact calling came up as ‘Caroline Smith’ with a photo of a blonde woman with elongated features.

               “That’s—“

               “—the supposed murdered wife from decades ago? Yes, I believe I’ve already solved it,” Sherlock smirked, heading straight towards Lestrade. “Arrest that man, and find this woman.” He handed the phone over to the DI. Mrs. Cunningham’s husband was now currently present with the rest of the police.

               “You’ve solved it!?”

               “Of course I’ve solved it; Mr. Cunningham was having an affair with Miss Caroline Smith, who he asked to spook his wife with the intention of sending her to an asylum. Quite easily, he imposed her photo within the article to leave lying around for his wife to find, making her believe she had seen a ghost the day they moved in. Am I getting this right, Mr. Cunningham?” Sherlock stared him down.

               “Yes, I had an affair, and I asked that of her, but I didn’t send her over the edge!” Mr. Cunningham argued.

               “You may not have, but you did loosen the nails just enough to give way to her weight against the railing; I’m entirely certain that murder was in your agenda from the very beginning,” Sherlock snapped at him.

               “Impressive,” Molly remarked. The last thing she needed to do was fluff his ego, but she couldn’t help herself.

               “Elementary; fancy some chips?” Sherlock waited for her response with bated breath, knowing she had flat out ignored his request the last time he had asked.

               “Love some,” she replied, no longer caring to hide her pleased smiles from him. They were just a couple friends going out for chips after a case…right?

FFN | Ao3