#sherlolly secret santa 2017

[cumbercougars]

Here are all the Sherlolly Manips I created for Sherlolly Secret Santa 2017. Thank you to @penaltywaltz for putting the whole thing together and @elennemigo for being my subject and inspiration. Happy Boxing Day every one! Photomanipulations, my manips, fan art

[beautywithin16]

Merry Christmas @simplyshelbs16xoxo! This is from your Sherlolly Secret Santa. I really hope you like this gifset. It’s been fun messaging you, and I wish you all the best for 2018. :D

[elennemigo]

Based on Strawberries in the Lab by @stlgeekgirl

From your Sherlolly Secret Santa! 😊

[stlgeekgirl]

The Case of the Lost Belief

The second gift for my Secret Santa @iamtheno1cumbercookie  Today calls for a little Sherlock and Rosie fluff.  Hope you enjoy it.  

Warning:  Do not let any kids still within the magic of Santa read this!

“I want to hire you”

The childlike voice suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere from the direction of his sitting room.  Sherlock poked his head from the kitchen.

Eight-year-old Rosie Watson stood just inside his doorway, small fists clenched at her sides.  He squashed down his first involuntary question: Does your father know you’re here?  because obviously if John knew where his daughter was, he’d be here with her.

The second obvious yet involuntary question that sprang forth:  How did you get here? was also squashed.  Young Watson was intelligent enough to know how to get to Baker Street by either taxi or train.  To prove it as he stepped into the sitting room, the small blonde pointed towards the landing.

“The taxi needs money, I didn’t have any.”

“Sit.”  he ordered, hurrying past her and grabbing his wallet and phone from the fireplace mantle as he passed.  “Your chair.  Don’t move until I return.”

He hurried down the stairs to pay the taxi driver.  Luckily it was one of his regulars.

“Afternoon Mr. Holmes.”

“George.  How much?”

“Twenty-three quid. Picked the young Miss up from Adlington.”

Sherlock handed over the notes and thanked the driver.  He unlocked his phone as he stepped back into Baker St. and texted John.

 Rosie is at Baker St. She’s fine. SH

 “Now Miss Watson,” he said as he stepped back into the flat.  Rosie, who was sitting in the chair deemed “Watson’s” turned to look at him.  “What is this nonsense about hiring me?”

“I wanna hire you.”  She repeated as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the Consulting Detective to be hired out by eight-year old’s.  Although there had been a couple.   She began pulling coins and notes from the backpack sitting on the floor beside her.  

“I don’t have much money, but I hope it’s enough.”

“Put your money away   Rosie-mine, I’ll not take it.”

“I’m serious.”  Her blue eyes glinted like icy steel and Sherlock felt the old familiar pang of loss when he saw Mary in her look.  “I have a case and I need you to solve it.”

She was serious.  As much as an eight-year-old could be.  

Sherlock crossed the room and sat in his chair, across from her, giving himself a few minutes more to look her over.  Tear-stained face, agitated posture, red cheeks, papers poking from her open backpack.  Someone had upset her.

“Why don’t you explain what you wish to hire me for and then we’ll discuss payment.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he spoke, and he slid it out to read the message.

 WHAT!  JW

I’ve been looking all over this bloody school for her! JW

 “I want you to prove that Father Christmas is real.”  Rosie stated.

Oh.

OH!

Oh.

He was in no way prepared to destroy his eight-year-old God daughter’s belief system.  Especially a belief system that had been expressly forbidden by John, Mrs. Hudson and Molly that he was not even to express a peep about.

He watched her silently waiting for her to continue ranting.  If she was upset about something, he found that just standing there and allowing her to stomp around and shout about it usually led to her discovering the solution on her own.  His Rosie was extremely clever.  

This time, however, she merely stared at him, daring him to refuse her.    As if he could refuse her anything.  

Mary had been gone these past eight years and while he missed her every damn day, as Rosie had grown, she’d effortlessly slipped into that hole he had in his rarely used heart where her mother occupied for the short time she’d been in his life.  Rosie only had to ask, and Sherlock would fight metaphorical dragons for her.  He would do anything for her.  

Including upsetting everything she believed in and thereby regulating him to the couch to sleep for who knew how long when her Godmother discovered what he had done.

“What happened?”

“Jack said Father Christmas was a myth.”  The story exploded from her and frothed over like a raging volcano.  “He said that our parents give us our presents, that they lied to us about a magical man who comes and brings us presents.  Katie said only babies believe in Father Christmas.  So, I pushed her.”

“Rosamund.”  he admonished.  

“She made me angry!”  Rosie exploded again, a smaller one this time as her vitriol was quickly running out.  Her eyes reddened again, and Sherlock pushed back the usual panic he got when the woman around him began to cry.   “You never lie to me Uncle Sherlock. You promised me you’d always be truthful with me no matter what.  I trust you to tell me the truth.”

Sherlock sighed heavily.  Caught in a web of his own making.  He could practically hear Mary’s cackling laughter behind him.

“I did promise Rosie, but first, are you sure you want an answer to your question?   It doesn’t matter what the truth is, it only matters what you believe.”  He folded his hands underneath his chin and studied her. “Answer me this Rosamund, what do you believe?”

Rosie sat on the edge of the chair, her nose scrunching up in thought.  She knew that if he countered with a question, there was a reason for it.      

“I believe in... something,” she hedged.  “It’s hard to get into our home and my presents are usually split between my house and here and there’s no reason for Father Christmas to drop presents here.  Plus, there is no way one man can get around an entire world in a night without the use of a time and space machine or a teleporter, neither of which have been invented yet.”  She looked up at her, her blue eyes watery.  “But why do parents tell this story and their kids continue it when they become parents?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour?  He stood up and held out a hand.  Rosie climbed from the chair and slid her small hand in his larger one.  He led her towards the sitting room window, pulling back the sash and picking her up.  She was still light enough that he could do this although her long legs made it difficult to navigate anywhere.   Her legs wrapped around his waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck.   He stood in front of the uncovered window and nodded towards the picture outside.  

“Observe young Watson.  What do you see?”

 People were bustling around the sidewalks, arms ladened with packages and bags.  On the corner was a bundled-up figure ringing a bell next to a red bucket.  Several people dropped coins in as they passed.  A group of people stopped just in front of the sidewalk across the street and chatted pleasantly for a bit before going their separate ways.

“People talking.  Putting money in the bucket.  Lots of packages.  A pickpocket’s dream really.”

Sherlock laughed loudly, before planting a loud kiss on her temple.  

“I adore you Rosie-mine.  You have been around me far too much.”

She grinned back at him.  Mary’s grin.  

“The attempted larceny aside, there’s something about this time of the year that brings out the best in most people.  Father Christmas was a real person in the sense that there was a St. Nicholas.  But an actual man who rides a sleigh led by eight reindeer that can fly, no.”

 Rosie took in his words, her brow furrowed as she stared out the window in contemplation. 

“But…why do parents lie?”

Sherlock walked back from the window, Rosie still in his arms, towards his chair.  He let her down and she waited only long enough for him to get comfortable before she scrambled up onto his lap. 

“It isn’t that they lie Watson,” he began.  “Rather the world we live in is cruel and harsh and rife with generally not nice people.  Most children see the world not as it is, but as some sort of magical and wonderful place. There’s a kind of magic in the air around this time of the year where people aren’t as cruel or impatient as they would normally be the rest of the year.   Your dad just wants you to have that magic as long as you can before real life crushes your soul.”

“So…I shouldn’t be mad at Dad and Aunt Molly and Nana Hudders?”

“Rosie, we all love you and we try very hard to keep you somewhat ignorant of the evil that truly happen out in the real world.  They more than I admittedly. You are a very clever young lady and you have an ability to think outside the box that I admit I cannot do at times because I’m jaded.  If you tell anyone I said any of that, I will firmly deny it and return your Christmas present.”

Rosie grinned excitedly.  “You got my Christmas present?  What did you get me?”

“And spoil the surprise?  Your Aunt Molly would kill me, and I have cases to solve come the new year.”

Rosie curled up in his lap, resting her head against his chest.  His hand came up to stroke her blond hair and pull her snug against him.

“Thank you, Uncle Sherlock.  I promise to let Dad think that I still believe in Santa for another year or so.”

“I’d appreciate it, Watson.”

“You’re going to make a great Dad.”

He snorted lightly.  “I have you Rosie, I hardly need any other children.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.  “But don’t you and Aunt Molly want kids?  They won’t be as adorable as me but, they’d still be kind of cool.”

His lips quirked upward as he continued to stroke her hair.  “Your Aunt Molly and I are…complicated Rosie, I very much doubt children are anywhere in my near future.’

The door to the flat slammed shut and was followed by heavy footsteps on the staircase. 

“Ah, it seems your father is here Watson.  Do try to go easy on him.”

Rosie remained where she was as her father ran into the open door of the flat, face red in fear and anger.  She felt Sherlock’s grip tighten on her for a mere moment before relaxing as her full name was shouted in terrified exclamation.  Reluctantly she slid off Sherlock’s lap and was snatched up in a fierce hug. 

“You scared the hell out of me and your Auntie Molly!”  John shouted.

“You called Molly?”  Sherlock asked as the sound of the main door slammed shut again followed by footsteps. 

As Rosie looked over her father’s shoulder to the relieved face of her Godmother as she came into view she thought about what her Godfather had said, how this makeshift family she had loved her and only wanted to protect her and keep her innocent of the terrors that await her as she grew.  She held back a knowing smile as she watched Molly shoot a concerned look over their heads to Sherlock and hoped she was here when her Godfather found out what Molly was giving him for Christmas.  For all his talk sometimes, he didn’t truly observe what he saw around him.  Especially when it was someone close to him.

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[thewinterspy]

Sherlolly Secret Santa says: Expect something fluffy and covered in cat hair in your Sherlolly stocking soon!

[sherlollyandspoilers]

When you know that you can't let go And your heart already knows Sure to hurt but it's worth it to be burned 'Cause one day you'll get home

Red Eye by Andy Grammer

Happy New Year @whclocked! Hope you have a fabulous start to 2018! 

- Your Sherlolly Secret Santa

[iamtheno1cumbercookie]

Sherlolly Secret Santa

@tribulationperiwinkle I am your secret Santa. I am so so so sorry that I didn't post this before but I've been running around like a maniac this holiday season. But here it finally is. A little Sherlolly ficlet for you. I hope you had a good Christmas and a Happy New Year.

“Why are we doing this? Why are you making me do this?” Sherlock huffed from his armchair wrapping his arms around his legs, feet up on the seat rather like a petulant child.

“Because it's the holidays and I thought it would be nice if I could meet your parents, finally, without the pressure of Christmas Dinner at their house. You know; meeting on neutral ground as it were.” Molly explained again from the kitchen as she checked on the roast 

“My flat is neutral ground?” He said in wonderment, looking at his knees, but he knew Molly could hear him.

“Yes. If you had invited them to my house that would be a tad awkward since they’ve never met me and if I go over to their house well that would put me on uneven footing. This way you’re the host, even though I’m the one cooking the meal, and you are a mutual… whatever you are.”

“But why do you want to meet them in the first place?” Sherlock muttered into his knees thinking she wouldn't hear him.

“Because we've been together a year and a half and I think it’s about time I met them and they me, that's why!” Molly dumped the oven mitts on the table.

“I still don't understand why you must meet my parents at all, it’s bad enough we have to endure Christmas with them, must we go through this charade too?”

“I'm not even going to dignify your stupidity with an answer.” She crossed into the living room from the kitchen, stopping in front of his armchair, arms crossed. “Now will you please stop throwing a strop and go get ready?”

“No.” Sherlock huffed.

“Pretty Please?” She tried. It never worked but she tried.

Sherlock looked up at her through his eyelashes, hopeful. “How pretty can please get?” He wondered.

“As pretty as that new lingerie set I have in the underwear drawer.” She answered.

He sighed. “Fine, what do you need?” letting his feet fall back to the floor.

“I need you to go make those fancy Christmas Tree napkins, please, and then start getting ready.”

“Christmas Trees? Really, Molly? That’s so easy John can do it.”

“So it shouldn’t be a problem for you, then.” Molly said, dropping a bunch of fabric napkins in his lap. “and before you protest against the Christmas trees, it's December 15th, they're perfectly suitable for a dinner tonight.”

“Okay. Go wash up and I'll get them ready. My parents should be here in about an hour.” Sherlock offered, standing up and carrying the napkins over to the dinner table.

------

A few minutes later Molly emerged from the bedroom, dressed in the white hibiscus dress she'd worn for Rosie’s christening, to find an impeccably set table with green napkins intricately folded into trees atop each place setting. Behind her she could hear the sound of the shower running and figured Sherlock must have been getting ready. She smiled to herself and set about preparing the appetizers before Mr and Mrs Holmes arrived. She checked on the wine and trifle in the fridge (thankfully free of body parts) before going over all the details.

Sherlock finally came out of the bedroom, dressed in one of his best suits and his sinfully tight purple shirt.

“Really? You expect me to sit through an entire dinner with you wearing that?” She asked, washing her hands and drying them off on a clean towel.

Sherlock smiled an impish grin. “It wasn't ever going to be possible for me to talk you into cutting this dinner short. So maybe I can convince you otherwise.” He indicated his shirt. When Molly turned away from her ridiculous boyfriend, he continued. “You aren't exactly playing fair either. You know I could barely keep my eyes off you in that dress. You made me think some inappropriate things at that church.” he pointed to her dress as he tore up the lettuce and placed it in a bowl for washing.

“Oh please! You have inappropriate thoughts pretty much everywhere and it has almost nothing to do with what I wear.” Molly giggled, slicing up the tomatoes.

Sherlock smiled back as he finished washing and drying the salad and moved to open the bottle of red wine allowing it to breathe. The final thing he had to do was get the biscuit platter ready with an extra special tree napkin in the centre, to be used later on in the evening. He placed the last biscuit as the doorbell rang downstairs.

------

“That was a very lovely roast, dear.” Siger complimented Molly on the meal.

“Oh and that sauce was just delightful. Whenever we eat out it's either too thick or too watery or just too sweet. But you hit the nail on the head. I have to ask you for the recipe, dear.” Mabel elaborated.

“Thank you. It's just my grandmother's way of making Applesauce. I could never find a recipe good enough to replicate it but I found hers in one of her old notebooks.” Molly said sipping at her wine.

“Well if you keep cooking like that I don't think it will be long before we can add it to the family recipes, eh Sherlock?” Mabel laughed.

“Mummy.” Sherlock warned her with the same look she used to give him as a child.

“Dessert?” Molly asked, breaking the tension between the two.

“I’d love some.” Sherlock said, getting up from the table, collecting the plates from in front of everyone. Sherlock led his parents into the living room, taking with him the pre arranged platter of biscuits with the napkin tree in the middle, though he made sure to take a handful of paper napkins with him and placed a small pile each in front of his mother and his father. Molly soon followed with the trifle and bowls on a tray. Sherlock had arranged the seating so his mother and father were sitting in the armchairs while he and Molly were sitting close on the sofa together.

After the dessert had been consumed they all sat, drinking wine and chatting. Sherlock had been getting as close as possible to Molly, rubbing his thigh against hers. He reached over her towards the biscuit plate trying to pick up a gingernut and ending up toppling her wine glass out of her hand with his elbow.

“Sherlock! Look what you've done.” Molly exclaimed, snatching up the tree napkin to dab at her skirt. She didn't notice the small box that went flying.

“Oh dear you dropped something.” Mabel pointed at the box rolling on the carpet. Sherlock darted to quickly scoop it up before any of his parents could. He had to reach off the couch and practically kneel in order to pick it up from where it had landed.

“Molly.” He said slowly, still kneeling in front of her with the box held out to her.

“Oh God.” She said when she realised what he was doing.

“Molly Hooper you are the only woman who I truly understand and who truly understands me in the same way. I cannot see myself spending my life with anyone else and I love you. Will you marry me?” Sherlock asked, opening the small box to show a glittering diamond and sapphire ring.

Molly's mouth hung open until she found the right thing - anything frankly - to say. “Sh-Sherlock.” she started, then gulped. “Did you just spill wine on me so you could propose?” She asked, a small crinkled appearing between her eyebrows.

“Yes.” Sherlock said a little too pleased with himself.

“You won't do one single thing even half way traditionally will you?” She asked him. He could see the humour behind her question.

“No. Of course not, never.” He said

“Then of course I'll marry you, you silly man. I love you.” Her face broke into a smile before she threw her arms around his neck and snogged him breathless. Behind him they could hear Mabel silently sobbing happily.

When they finally came up for air, his parents congratulated and hugged them.

“Welcome to the family dear.” Mabel told her hugging the doctor close.

“Thank you. Oh that reminds me, i better go get you that recipe.” She joked and headed to the kitchen to look for champagne and glasses.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

SSS Do you have a favourite episode? Mines is The Empty Hearse, I just love the Sherlolly scenes. :D

We have the same fave episode! The Empty Hearse is the absolute best! I call it Sherlolly The Movie™ haha! Everything about it is perfect and sweet and heartbreaking! Just look at them! ♡♡♡♡♡♡

[mousedetective]

Sherlolly Secret Santa 2017

So there was a little interest so I figured why not do it? This is going to be a quick and dirty version since it's already November 24th (I'll do better next year!).

It's a two-fold Secret Santa: You get to spend most of the month of December sending positive anon messages to your recipient, and then the week of December 21st to December 28th you give your recipient at least one gift you made yourself publicly (you are always free to give more than one), thus revealing yourself.

Now the rules:

To sign up, send me an ask with your username and that you want to be included. I will send out asks on December 1st giving you the name of your recipient (you must have your askbox open) so sign-ups will go to November 30th (midnight PST).

Try and send at least three anon messages a week to your recipient until you reveal yourself with your gift.

Gifts can be anything you think your recipient would like and does not have to be Sherlolly or Sherlock related. Just keep in mind it is a gift and make it at least large enough that you would appreciate getting it.

Skill level doesn't matter, but please have any written works at least spellchecked before giving them.

You may post your gift directly to Tumblr or via an offsite website (AO3, FF.net, YouTube, etc.) but make sure to tag your recipient in both the post and in the first five tags (also tag "sherlolly secret santa 2017" as well in the first five)

Like what you see? Great! Sign up and spread this around. Any problems, send me an ask!

Tagging @holidaysat221b and @mizjoely to see if they can give this a boost.

[the-consulting-strange-vidder]

‘’Sincerely yours, your Secret Santa.’’

Hello @yourdistinguishedglitterstudent. Your Sherlolly Secret Santa finally found the time to finish and present you your gift. I really really wanted to to have this ready in Christmas day but unfortunattely this didn’t happened because of so many things. But it’s here now so i hope that you’ll forgive me for the delay.

Now about this gift... I really wish i had more time to correct every mistake i made, because i’m certain that there are plenty in here, so i hope you’ll forgive me for this mess. And i also hope that you’re going to like it, despite the mess, because this was an almost last minute inspiration, i had something completely different in my mind to do.

More under the cut.

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper.

Ship: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper.

Rating: T

Summary: Christmas was always a very depressing time period for Molly Hooper. Someone has decided that this must change. Will they succeed?

Christmas for many years was a very depressing period for Molly Hooper. Her mother died on Christmas Eve when she was ten years old and after that she only had her dad until nearly the end of her time in uni. Ever since her mother's death, Molly's father continued to always try to make her Christmas look beautiful and magical in her eyes. 

And in some ways he always succeded. There was always sadness during the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of course for the one that was no longer with them, but they made the effort to remember all the little good things her mother offered them.

But that had ended with her father's death which ironically it happened two weeks before Christmas. And of course that was what made officially Christmas a very sad and depressing time for Molly. With both her parents gone at that time of year, she never truly celebrated Christmas again. When friends and colleages were inviting her to Christmas parties she always used her work as an excuse to avoid them. Not that it was a lie that she was indeed always taken the holiday shifts on the morgue every year. 

The only time that she didn't was for that awful as it turned out Christmas party at Baker Street, when Sherlock Holmes almost tore her to pieces with his cruel and uncaring words. He did looked regretted though and he did apologized to her and he even gave her a kiss in the cheek to prove his regret. But only an hour later Molly left the party, went back home, got out of the little black dress that she hoped would make Sherlock notice her, wear her work clothes and went to the morgue, practically pushing her coworker that covered her usual shift out of the door. Ever since that party she never tried to celebrate Christmas again. She was perfectly fine avoiding everything related to the specific holiday as much as possible.

As by a miracle though that party made her relationship with Sherlock a bit easier to handle. He was actually making real efforts to show her respect and treat her more kindly. And she in return started to show him more of her sassy side of her character, calling him out of his bullshit when necessary. They started creating a bond that got even stronger ever since he asked for her help to fake his death.

Now, a year after his return from the world of the dead, Molly was ready to spend Christmas like she always did. Working on the morgue. After all, even death didn't stopped working on the holidays. And that was when they gifts started coming in.

The first gift was found when she opened her door one morning ready to go for a small run around the blog before taking a shower and gotten ready for work. A small red box was there on her carpet outside the door, wrapped up with a green emerald bow. Curious, she picked it up. After so many years spend being Sherlock Holmes's acquintance she knew not to open a box just like that. So she brought it near her ear, trying to hear if there was anything in there clicking or ticking. When she heard nothing she opened it, looked inside and felt her mouth falling open. A perfectly crafted and anatomically correct little heart made out of crystal.

She took it to her hand and with a smile in her face, she moved back into the house closing the door behind her with her foot. She went and sat on her sofa, her eyes never leaving the beautiful crystal heart. Wondering who might had left the box for her, she looked inside it once again and saw a card. She quickly picked it up and read the message written upon it.

''Christmas is supposed to be the most magical time of the year. I believe it's time to let magic back into your life. Sincerely yours, your Secret Santa. xxx''

Her Secret Santa? She had a Secret Santa? How did that happened? She didn't recalled anything like this happening on Bart's this year. They were usually doing Christmas Balls that she more or less was always forced to attend because of her work, but not Secret Santas. Okay she would admit that she found it very intriguing. A Secret Santa, that was really interesting. Hopefully he wouldn't turn out to be a madman again. She really seemed to attract them for some reason. 

With a quick glance in the clock she realised that she wouldn't have enough time for running, so she put crystal heart back into the box, put the box in one of her dressers drawers and went to the shower. Thirty minutes later she was ready and out of the door for her work. She didn't give her Secret Santa another thought, until three days later.

The second gift was delivered in her path lab. A courier entered holding a bag from one of the most expensive jewlery shops in London. He asked if she was Molly Hooper and the moment she answered that she was, he left the bag in front of her and practically run out of the lab, not giving her any time to try and give him a tip. So she turned her attention to the bag. She looked inside and saw another box in it, rather like the one she had received three days earlier, only this time it was a bit bigger. She took it in her hand and opened it quickly.

Inside the box she saw a necklace in the shape of a red rose. A red rose that somehow looked so much like the enchanted rose from the ''Beauty & the Beast'' animation movie. A movie which incidentally happened to be one of Molly's most favorites even if it was considered to be a kids movie. She had seen necklaces like this before, but none so expencive looking. It had to be custom made. Then her eyes fell on the card that was placed in the middle of the box, on the inside of the very delicate and thin chain.

''For who could ever learn to love a beast? Sincerely yours, your Secret Santa. xxx''

So the ''Beauty & the Beast'' reference of the necklace had been deliberate.  She couldn't stop the smile that appeared in her face. Her Secret Santa seemed determinate to offer her a lot of joy for some reason. She knew that eventually his or hers identity would be revealed and she found herself looking forward to it for some bizarre reason. 

''Looks like someone is completely bessoted with you Molly.'' said a very familiar deep barritone voice very close to her, making her jump from the surprise. With a hand on her chest she turned to look at him.

''Damn you Sherlock you scared me. Sometimes i think you were a cat in your previous life''

Sherlock chukled. ''I'm sorry that wasn't my intention. I did talked to you when i came in but you didn't heard me. So who's that Secret Santa of yours hmm?''

''I don't know. And i'm not supposed to know anyway. He or she reveal itself when it's time i guess.''

''I see. Well anyway, i suppose you do have the test results i asked you to check for me ready?''

''Yes of course i do.''

And just like that the both of them settled in a familiar routine. In every question he had she had the answer ready for him. They continued like that for two hours and when Sherlock left, she looked at the clock in the wall and saw that she still had thirty minutes before the end of her shift. Enough time for her to finish the little paperwork she had left and put the lab in order for the next shift.

Half an hour later she exited the hospital, with her enchanted rose necklace box and it's bag safely hidden in her tote bag. She promised to herself that she would wear it without a doubt next week at the hospital's Christmas Ball. For the first time ever since she started working there, she actually looked forward to it. Only thing left for her to do, was to find the perfect dress.

As the ball was coming closer though, her quest to find the perfect dress ended before it even began. Days before the event her work load became so hectic without her even realising how it happened and Molly started feeling very dissapointed. It seemed that this year, wherever she wanted to or not, she wouldn't attend the Christmas Ball.

But as it turned out, her Secret Santa had different things in mind. Two days before the event another delivery man brought at her flat the biggest box of all she had received so far. He put it in her arms without much talking except for confirming who she was and just the man that brought her the rose necklace, left before she had time to even say a thank you. Whomever that Secret Santa of hers was, she really hoped that he/she paid those people good enough.

She took the box in her bedroom and left it on her bed. She opened the lid and what saw inside made her jaw drop. The most stunning red dress her eyes had ever seen was inside it. She picked the dress up and pulled it out of the box. Oh it was gorgeous. The cleavelage had small pieces of crystals that were sparkling in the light. From the waist down the dress was wide, it looked almost exactly like a dress you see in period movies like ''Gone with the wind'' only even more amazing if that was even possible. 

Underneath the dress she saw some black tulle peeking out in the end of it. She lay the dress in her bed very slowly, almost affraid that any fast movement would tear it apart and looked inside the box again. In there she also found a beautiful pair of shoes, black, high heels. She checked and sure enough, they were her size. It looked like her Secret Santa knew her a bit too well. She left them on the floor and took the little card she knew she would find.

''I would love to be your escort to the St. Bart's Christmas Ball this year. Tomorrow at 8pm i'll be outside your door with nothing but hope that you will accept my offer to be your date. Sincerely yours, your Secret Santa. xxx''

Oh it seemed the time for the Secret Santa to reveal themselves had finally come. All this time she looked forward to it but now she almost feared it. She seriously hoped he wasn't a madman this time. Or even worst, someone boring. She prefered a madman to a boring one.

The day of the ball, she was putting some finishing touches in her make up when she heard a knock on the door. She checked the clock on her nightstand and sure enough, it was only five minutes before 8pm. She tried to not run to the door and she almost succeded. When she got to the door she took a deep breath and opened it. But the person she saw in the other side made her feel a bit irritated.

''Sherlock, What are you doing here? If you want my help with any autopsies tonight you're gonna have to wait. It's St. Bart's Christmas Ball tonight and i have to go.'' she started rambling but Sherlock had already entered the house.

Sherlock stood in her living room now without saying anything. He only looked at her up and down, taking her entire appeareance in. He eventually moved his eyes in her own and cleared his throat.

''I knew that you would look magnificent in this. Are you ready to go?''

''Wait what? What do you mean you knew i would look magnificent in this? And ready to go where?''

''In the dress you're wearing? And i came to take you to St. Bart's Christmas Ball. For our... date?'' he said sounding very uncertain suddenly.

''Our date? Wait... y- you're the Secret Santa?'' she asked feeling completely confused.

''Yes. Exactly. I am your Secret Santa.''

''But... why? Why would you do this?''

''Because... well i had noticed for many years now that you don't celebrate Christmas, but i didn't cared why you don't, i only cared that it was very convientient for me and my work. But after the way i treated you that Christmas at Baker Street and while i was away, i looked into the reasons why you don't celebrate it and i decided that i  would do something about it when i came back. But by the time i did you were enganged, and then you weren't and i was too deep into the Magnusen case and then i almost got exiled... Well you get the point.'' he finished and took a deep breath.

''Ok? But that doesn't exactly explain why you send all those things Sherlock.'' said Molly still feeling  confused.

''It doesn't? Come on Molly you know that you're very important to me. More important than anyone else really. You... you are the one who matters the most. I wanted to tell you when i came back, that i wanted to be with you, but you were enganged. And i don't really deserve you to be honest. But... i'm in love with you. And i want to spend this Christmas and every Christmas with you. If, you know... you want that too.''

Molly stood there silent for a few minutes trying to fully grasp everything that Sherlock said. Could he really mean it? Should she believe him? Sherlock must have seen her doubts in her face because he broke the silence.

''Molly i understand why you may not believe me but you can see me. You could see me when no one else could. You know me better than anyone else. You know when i lie. And i don't lie to you right now. But if you don't want to take the chance, i will accept it and we will go to the ball as two very good friends, if that's what you really wa...''

''Oh Sherlock just shut up.'' Molly stopped him while moving closer to him.

When she finally stopped right in front of him, she grabbed him from the lapels of his Belfast and pulled him down to her. Sherlock understood her intentions and was very willing to meet her in the middle. Their lips found very easily each other, Sherlock's hands moved around her in a tight embrace and pulled her closer to him.

The kiss lasted for a few minutes, until the need for breathing became urgent. Their lips got separated but Sherlock didn't let her move away from him. He looked at her with a big smile on his face.

''Sooo... does that means that you believe me?''

''Yes. I do believe you.''

''Good. So you're ready for the ball now?''

''Yes i am. Just wait for a minute and we are leaving.''

With another quick and chaste kiss in his lips, Molly regrettfully stepped away from Sherlock's arms and moved towards her bedroom. In there she re-applied her lipstick, took a fluffy but very classy jacket from her closet, grabbed a very elegant purse in her hands and rejoined Sherlock in the living room.

''Now i'm ready to go.''

Sherlock said nothing but he offered her his hand. Without hesitation, Molly put her hand in his and they left the flat, both determinated to make this newly founded relationship work. And who knows, thought Molly. Maybe she could learn to love Christmas again.

[navigatorwrongway]

No-longer Secret Sherlolly Santa Gift

My assigned giftee was the lovely @mychakk, for whom I wrote a primarily Molly-centric wing!fic. Very sorry that it took this long, but I do hope you enjoy it!!

Molly is 13 years old the first time she grows a feather. She is woken up in the middle of the night to the unpleasant sensation of something tickling her upper back on the left side. She figures it might be the monthly shedding of the uterine lining they were warned about in Health Class, but truly confounding brush down of her lower self reveals no blood. Still, a shower might do her some good. It’s only after looking in the fogged-over mirror does she see it – thin and cream colored, like the one that’s framed in the living room, a memento from the doves released at her parents’ wedding. After the obligatory panic attack at discovering that she’s broken just about every rule of biology she can think of (Some sort of strange mutation? Is she the first of a new species? Homo Avies? No, evolution takes time. One minute change in DNA does not turn a perfectly normal teenage girl into a giant budgie. Or something), she lies awake in bed for number of hours before dashing for the library. Thankfully, it’s a Saturday, so she’s able to lurk in the biology section of the public library that will become her usual haunt without interruption. The next month is spent scouring book after book for information, maybe even an explanation, because, hello, humans are not supposed to suddenly turn into birds.

By the time summer vacation starts, she has two dozen or so feathers that cover the raised mounds that seem to be attached to her scapulai, and has only gotten more confirmation that whatever’s happening to her shouldn’t be. Since her inability to wear any loose tee or tank top with her new appendages really limits ways to spend hot summer days, Molly holes up in her room with every anatomy book she can get her hands on (in the long, lonely hours of her self-imposed exile, she decides that she’s going to be a pathologist).

Mid-July, her best friend calls her, presumably to invite her to come over. Molly lets the phone ring out.

When her friendship with Katlyn dissolves after 9 years of fantastic adventures and later, shared confidences of crushes and hopes for the future, it feels like her world collapses around her. Her father notices, too.

At first, Tobias Hooper is ecstatic that his daughter has decided to follow in her mother’s footsteps, judging by all the science textbooks she’s been hoarding. Then he finds her curled in a ball in the bathtub surrounded by torn-out feathers, spattered with blood and sobbing because it’s all too much and why can’t she just be normal and it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurts. He holds her until they fall asleep, his beloved daughter cradled in his arms once again. He joins in her quest for an explanation then – two heads are better than one and all that. He helps her organize a system to keep track of how the appendages grow and how to monitor her caloric intake; before she sprouts more feathers, she gets very, very odd cravings. In secondary school she’s the quiet, pale bookworm that wants to study the human body, of all things.

When her advanced biology class begins dissecting fetal pigs Molly is partnered with a tall, lanky boy who declares her to be “slightly less incompetent”. For some reason, the way his eyes (Blue? Green? A mixture of both, she decides, with a splash of grey thrown in) skate over her, pulling her entire life into the light for all to see (he either misses the fact that she has wings [proper wings now, she can move them a little, if she tries] – which is unlikely – or ignores it – even more unlikely), makes her feathers tingle in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. They aren’t friends (“I don’t have friends, Molly.”), but he tolerates her. He gets bored to the point that he’ll deduce complete strangers for her amusement and she’ll quiz him on decomposition rates or the implications of different types of striations that can be found on corpses. She finds that her wings grow faster when she’s in close proximity to the ornery genius. She can’t say that it’s pleasant, but she’s willing to bear the discomfort for his company.

Once, she grew three feathers in a day while helping him try to convince the police that Carl Powers hadn’t committed suicide. Despite their best efforts, the investigators were unconvinced, and Sherlock had retreated into what he termed his “mind palace” for hours on end. Therefore, her near-constant shifting and stifled whimpers went unnoticed. After that he starts using his skills to solve local mysteries and disappearances, dragging her along with him more often than not. This comes to an end when they go to different universities, though she texts him occasionally with any observation of particular note. He never replies. She tells him the address of her matchbox of a flat in one of the last messages, with an invitation to drop by sometime (she’d be happy to have a roommate, flatmate, whatever, but certain things rule that out [Those certain things are about ten and a half feet across by now, with more joints than any bird wing she’s ever seen. Makes them a bitch to unfold, but admittedly does help conceal them under layers of baggy jumpers with the backs cut out]).

She never actually expected him to show up at two in the morning, looking (and smelling) like he hadn’t seen the business end of a showerhead in a month, pupils the size of dinner plates, and telltale track marks along his arms. As shocked as she is, she simply pulls him into the relative warmth, and goes to her room to see if there’s anything he could wear. One of her dad’s old shirts and sweatpants from when he last visited in hand, she steps back into what serves as her living room to find him… Pissing in her hall closet. Perfect. Wonderful.

“Um… Hey, Sherlock? What are you doing?” He glares at her in the isn’t-it-obvious-you-idiot way he’s mastered. Its effect is lessened, however, by the glazed, unfocused quality his eyes have taken. Oh, god, how is she supposed to deal with this? What took her closest non-friend, her ornery, brilliant, gorgeous non-friend and brought him this low? First things first, Molly-girl, an internal whisper that sounds (almost disturbingly) like her dad tells her. Right. Personal hygiene, then.

She steers Sherlock into the bathroom and leaves the clothes on the toilet seat. Get food, pipes up the voice. A grilled cheese is always good, right?

Bread? Next to the instant ramen. Cheese? Fridge, under the lettuce. Butter? Butter dish. Can of tomato soup? With all the other cans of soup. Can opener? Unemptied dish drainer. Pan? Already on the stove. Where you put it not five minutes ago, Molly, you dolt.

So focused (sort of) on her task that she didn’t hear the opening of the bathroom door, Molly only becomes aware of someone watching her when her feathers fluff up of their own accord as if to make her appear larger – ridiculous, yes, but instinct was instinct.

And then he’s lurching towards her, very little of his typical catlike stealth and grace evident (or is this clumsiness his new[ish] usual? Oh, god. How could she not have at least checked up on him? Then she would have known earlier, and she might know what to do now…) in his movements. Whatever he’s taken (Morphine, Molly suspects) has made him sluggish, allowing her the reaction time to dart out of reach from the hand that’s grasping at her wings.

Wings.

Oh, bollocks.

In her feverish panic regarding Sherlock, she’s completely and utterly forgotten that her sleepwear (a tank top and fuzzy pajama pants with little penguins) really don’t help conceal her feathered friends. At all. Which obviously poses a problem. Because wings. Is it too much to hope that he wouldn’t mention it? Probably, but that didn’t change the fact that Molly would wait until he (inevitably) brought the topic of her additions up.

Damn near miraculously, Sherlock doesn’t question her wings for his entire visit (if that’s the right word. She’s not quite sure). In fact, he barely speaks a word while he’s there, just staring at her with those ohgoditssowrongforthemtobesohazy eyes of his. He collapses on her ratty foldout sofa-bed, having been borderline force-fed soup and half a sarnie, about two hours after he first turned up on her porch. She keeps vigil over him that night, in terror that him might drown in his own vomit if she doesn’t watch him, after she cleans up the repurposed wardrobe. She must have dozed off at some point, though, because he’s long gone when she wakes up with a crick in her neck from sleeping in her beaten armchair. She can’t stay to see if he’ll be coming back – she has an interview with a Dr. Stamford at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

She gets the job. It’s just a position as an underling in the mortuary, but she can’t imagine working anywhere else. Her supervisor isn’t Mike, but a sexist, nasty, crotchety old toad whose hands shake to the point that she has to physically restrain herself from ripping the scalpel away from him before he cuts himself, her, or parts of the body that aren’t supposed to be cut. The hospital makes up for it, though, particularly the roof. On long, empty night shifts she can sometimes sneak up to the roof and spread her wings without fear of being seen. As long as she keeps low enough, she can glide and practice staying aloft and work on carrying increasingly heavier weights for longer when she feels the need.

Her co-workers notice her odd fondness for the place, and it officially-unofficially becomes recognized as ‘Hooper’s Territory’. At least, that’s what Molly gleans from overhearing Meena warning a new lab assistant away from the space. She can’t say she’s displeased.

It all goes very smoothly, until she’s called on by Scotland Yard to assist on a case that has their usual pathologist stumped. Once she finds a piece of evidence that eventually puts the nail in the case’s proverbial coffin (Seriously, why didn’t anyone think to check inside the upper lip?), the dubious honor of being one of the main contacts is hers. Over time, she strikes up friendships among the force, particularly with a charming older Detective named Lestrade, and to a lesser extent, Sally Donovan. Phillip Anderson was summarily banished the day he tried to tell her how to do her job (as if she doesn’t outrank him in pretty much every category except maybe socialization skills).

A year goes by, and nothing goes overly horrifically wrong, save Meena’s one and only attempt to set her up with a friend of a friend (she adamantly refuses to talk about why a documentary on Ireland’s Hooper swans sent her into peals of hysterical laughter, and everyone except for Caroline eventually lets the matter rest). And then Greg tells her that he’s bringing in a consultant – a private detective, outstandingly brilliant, apparently. As it turns out, she probably should have asked for a name.

[cumbercougars]

A Victorian Engagement 

On the First Day of Sherlolly Xmas: From Your Secret Sherlolly Santa 

Dear @elennemigo:

Here is your first gift from me! Hope you like it :D

Love,

Cumbercougars (my manip, photomanipulation)

[greenfleeze]

Hey, @penaltywaltz! I was having a hard time finding the ask I sent you earlier, so I just decided to make a post! My recipient did respond to my message a few hours ago. All's good, here!

[elennemigo]

- Are you sure about this? - Absolutely.

For @stlgeekgirl 😊

[stlgeekgirl]

The Case of the Ugly Holiday Jumper

For @iamtheno1cumbercookie , her first Secret Santa Gift.  I suck at gifsets or videos so I wrote you fic.  Three.  All in varying degrees of fluff. Over the next few days   I hope you like them.  Surprise! I had a great time with this and I hope you did too.  

The interns had a running bet.

Not for money, just for little things. 

If Clayton didn’t want to do the cleaning of the labs at end of shift?  Bet.

If Fred was on deck for “body transfers” that day and didn’t feel up to it?  Bet.

If Liz didn’t want to do inventory?  Bet.

Usually it was small bets; how many times Dr. Stamford would walk into the lab when Dr. Goolask was working.  How many times Inspector Lestrade would check his phone when he came in, one bet per visit because there were days he could show up three different times and it wasn’t fair to lump all of those together. How many times Dr. Hooper would stammer over her words when a certain Consulting Detective would stride into the lab.  Although, coinciding with that was how fast it would take Lawrence to escape the lab when the same Detective came in.  Some days it was amusing to see the assistant trip over his own two feet in a desperate attempt to not be caught out by that all knowing gaze.

Little games, designed to break up the tedium and make the day go by faster.  If it amused them and got them out of jobs not wanting to be done, well then, all the better.

With the holiday season approaching, there were an abundance of odd jobs to be done and therefore an abundance of bets taking pace during the morning and afternoon shifts. 

 “Tomorrow is Ugly Holiday Jumper day,” Clayton said as the interns were building testing tray sets.  The three of them were sitting in the clean room sterilizing the equipment and packing them into neat testing trays for convenience. 

“Yeah, so?”  Fred was pulling a tray of now sterilized tools from the machine, and placing them on the table to be packed.  His mask moved as he breathed.  “I’m not wearing a holiday jumper tomorrow if that’s what you’re asking.”

Clayton gave him a look from over his own mask.  “No, oh God no.  But, Dr. Hooper is working tomorrow.”

“Clayton, if you’re suggesting starting a bet on whether or not Dr. Hooper will be wearing an ugly jumper tomorrow, that’s hardly a bet.”  Liz said.  “She is the queen of horrid jumpers on a good day, you can bet she’s going to take special care in wearing the most ridiculous holiday jumper she can find.  That’s not even a real bet.”

“I know that.”  Clayton insisted.  “That’s not the bet. The bet,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling up from over his mask as he looked at his associates.  “The bet is how long it takes Holmes to get rid of it.”

“What, the jumper?”  Fred asked.  Clayton merely continued grinning.  Liz sealed up the tray in front of her and leaned over the work table. 

“You know something we don’t?”

“I might have been talking to Grace in the canteen who said that she and her mate Loralee spotted the two over by Grosvenor’s Square looking a bit more than friendly.”

“No.”  Liz sat back in her seat with wide eyes behind the white mask. 

“You’re saying they’re…together?” Fred asked.  Clayton shrugged. 

“I’m not saying anything of the sort, all I’m saying is I have an evening shift next week with Dr. Kinder and a party on the same night where I have the opportunity to chat up the lovely Briana from the coffee shop down the lane.”

Liz pulled another tray towards her and slid on the plastic wrap.  “I don’t know, I hate working with Kinder, he always smells like fish.”

“That’s the beauty of the bet, Liz.”  Fred joked.  “I think Grace and her mate are seeing more into it than there is.  Everyone knows Grace low key ships those two anyway.  I have two days in a row of end of day shift and all the cleanup involved.  I’ll see your evening shift with Dr. Kinder and raise you those two end of day shifts that Holmes will make a scathing comment about her jumper and she wears her lab coat for the rest of the day.”

“Liz?  You in?”

Lis finished steaming the ends closed and put the tray on the stack, her lips twisting beneath the mask. 

“We’re all here tomorrow, right?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”

She thought for a few moments more before deciding. 

“Right, I’m in.  I work the day shift on New Year’s which means I can’t go out New Years’ Eve. What even is your bet Clay?”

“That he’ll talk her into taking off the jumper within ten minutes of seeing it.”

Behind him, Fred shook his head.  “Nope.  He’ll get her to take it off herself or cover it for the rest of the day.”

“Need a time frame Fred.”

“Eight minutes.”

The two men looked back at Liz.

“Well?”

“I’m putting a lot of trust into Grace here,” Liz said slowly.  “But what the hell. Four and a half minutes before he either demands she take off the jumper or destroys it himself.  I wouldn’t put it past him to toss coffee of something on it.”

“Four and a half minutes?  Really?”  Fred asked.  “It’s going to take that long for him to actually notice her in the first place outside of ‘Molly, I need the body of Mr. Jenkins, the one who died in a horrible piano accident.  I think it’s murder.’” 

The intern flipped up the collar of his lab coat and puffed around the room as he spoke making the other two to chuckle at his antics.

“Fred’s right,” Clayton said when they’d calmed down.  “Four and a half minutes is an incredibly short time.  He doesn’t even usually look at her when he comes in for at least ten minutes, if he ever does.”

Liz merely smiled.  “Nevertheless, I’m sticking with my bet.”

The two men shrugged as they got back to work.  “It’s your funeral Liz.”

  The next afternoon was horrific.  The display of horrid holiday jumper on display around the hospital was truly mind boggling.  Anyone who didn’t have to wear scrubs was wearing an ugly jumper.

The three interns almost tripped over themselves not to laugh when Dr. Hooper walked into the lab that afternoon with the worst offender on.

It was red with a Christmas tree that actually lit up covering the majority of it.  In the middle of the tree there was a cat poking it’s face from the branches, but the face was actually a stuffed cat head attached to the jumper.  It was horrible, it was tacky and if it didn’t win Dr. Hooper first place, then the interns would eat the ballots.  Clayton couldn’t even hold back an exclamation when she walked in tugging her lab coat on. 

“Good Lord!”

The pathologist looked up with a huge grin on her face.  “Oh, afternoon all, lovely day outside.  I think it’ll snow this evening.”

“Dr. Hooper…” Clayton stopped, not quite sure what to say.  Liz had to turn around to keep from laughing at the atrocity currently covering her boss.  Fred merely shook his head. 

“If you don’t win the contest Dr. Hooper, we’re demanding a recount.”

If anything, her grin grew wider.  “Isn’t it awful?  I found it at a rummage shop and just knew I had to buy it.”

“Are you going to even be able to work in that?”  Clayton asked. 

“I don’t have any autopsies on the list today but if something comes down, I do have a blouse on under this.  I can just freeze while working for a bit.”

Fred sidled up to where Liz and Clayton were standing as Dr. Hooper stepped into her office to pick up the list of orders needed for that afternoon. 

“I say losers have to buy winner lunch as well as the winning bet,” His voice was low so as not to be overheard.  “Because that truly is an awful jumper.”

“I’m okay with that.”  Liz answered.  “I’m not sure how anyone would be able to ignore that jumper.”

Clayton glanced back towards the open office door.  “I don’t know.  With the lab coat on, he probably still won’t notice for a bit.”

“You’re forgetting Dr. Watson.”  Fred said.  “Trust me, he’ll notice it which will more than likely get Holmes’ attention.”

Liz smirked.  “This is all hinging, of course, on if Holmes even comes in today.”

  Three hours later, the contest was finished, Doctor Hooper had won with her last-minute submission and the interns were wrapping up their part of the work day when Fred heard muffled voices down the hall. He waved towards his fellow interns and each slowed down on their end of day cleaning, so they could watch the proceedings from a secure vantage point.

 Molly was finishing up a couple of ordered tests when the doors to the lab opened and Sherlock Holmes strode in followed by John Watson. 

“It’s a small get together, Mrs. Hudson asked for it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s two hours in the afternoon, you won’t even be home.”

“She’s two John, there cannot be that many single mums in Rosie’s day care class.  I’ll not have a mess of toddlers in my flat.”

“You have Rosie.”

“Rosie is different, and you know… what in fresh hell is that?” 

Sherlock stopped midstride causing John, who was looking down at his phone to run into him. 

“Dammit Sherlock.”

“No.”  the detective stated.  John stepped around the taller man in time to see Molly glancing up from her worktable and give the Detective an odd look. 

“Afternoon.”

Sherlock strode towards her, pulling off his great coat as he went and tossing it on the first empty chair he passed. 

“No.  Molly, no.”

She looked distraught. 

“W-what?”

From the intern’s vantage point, they could see the horrified look on Sherlock’s face and realized he deduced what she was wearing without barely a glance. 

“Dammit,” Clayton hissed quietly.  “Liz might win this.”

Liz was grinning widely and looking between her watch and the proceedings happening in front of them. 

His hands were reaching for her lab coat before he even stopped walking.

“Sherlock,” Molly protested as he began tugging the coat off.  “What are you…”

Even John was baffled.  “Have you lost your mind Sherlock?”  His bafflement turned to horror as the lab coat was fully tugged off and he caught sight of the jumper underneath.  “God Lord Molly!”

Before Molly could speak, Sherlock was tugging at the jumper. 

“Up.  Hands up now.”

“Sherlock!”

“You’re wearing a blouse under this monstrosity.”

“But it’s cold in here.”  She protested.  His hands halted in their upward path, his eyes dropping from her face to her chest.  The three interns had to cover their mouths as they snickered to keep from being discovered. 

“Hand up.  Now.  Or I get the scissors.”

“Three minutes thirteen.”  Liz whispered. 

With a bemused smile, Molly finally did as bid and lifted her hands.  Sherlock tugged upward, and the jumper came off with one smooth tug.  He tossed it to the side and glancing down at her again, pulled off his own suit coat and slid it over her arms.

“But you’ll get cold.”  She protested. 

“I have my coat.”  He said.  “I’m burning this.  No arguments, it’s getting burned.  Right now.  Stay here.”

He tugged the suit jacket around her, bent down to scoop the jumper from the floor and turned back towards the door.  John, who was still in shock from actually seeing the jumper turned as his friend left the lab. 

“Where are you going?”

“Incinerator!”  came the answer. 

As the doors rocked shut, Molly turned around to the snickering interns. 

“Well?”  she asked, picking up her lab coat and slipping it on over the suit coat.  “Who won?”

“Yes!”  Liz cheered.  “Three minutes fifty-five.”

“Dammit, I had plans on New Year’s Eve too.”  Clayton groused.

John looked from the three interns to Molly and back. 

“What is going on around here?”

“I figured he’d just say something about it and you’d button your lab coat up.”  Fred said.  “Clayton bet ten minutes before he’d talk you into taking it off yourself.”

Molly looked at John, amused.  “The interns do running bets for things they don’t want to do.  Mostly harmless.  When they said something about my jumper at the beginning of my shift and then suddenly stopped working the minute they heard you two walking down the hallway, I figured they’d bet how long it would take for Sherlock to notice my horrid jumper.”

She looked back at the three interns.  “You’re all lucky I’d already won the hospital contest.”

“So…”  John still looked confused.  “You’re okay with the fact that he just ripped a jumper off your body and tossed it in the incinerator?”

Molly giggled.  “I paid two quid for it just for the contest.  It’s okay, he’ll make it up to me.  Meanwhile,” she turned back to the three interns.  “Your shift is over, you three get out of here before I let slip that you’re making bets regarding he and I.”

“Night Dr. Hooper.”  Liz said, grabbing her bag and pushing the other two out in front of her.  They could discuss payments on the main floor, away from Sherlock Holmes.

She spotted the Detective stepping back into the hallway, with a satisfied smirk on his face as they entered the elevator.  What she wasn’t about to tell her two fellow interns was that she was with Grace and Loralee that fateful day at Grosvenor’s Square when they’d spotted Dr. Hooper and Sherlock Holmes at the local chip shop.  She had first-hand knowledge watching the two interact on that cloudy afternoon in a quiet semi private corner of the shop just how friendly of terms the two were currently on. 

[thewinterspy]

Merry Christmas @cumbercougars, from your very own Sherlolly Secret Santa! I had the lovely idea for this manip and in the end I thought it turned out quite nice, which I’m glad it did because you’re a real cutie and deserve all the best! Hey you dorks in the tag, go show this chicky some love and follow!!!