#sherlollyweek2023

[0832]

flowershop au

[sherlollyappreciationweek]

Get excited Sherlollians - a new appreciation week is on its way! This will be our ninth year in a row of celebrating our favorite science nerds. I am so glad you are all still here to keep celebrating with me!

This year we are embracing AUs for our little morbid pair. Each day has a Basic AU prompt and a Fairytale / Princess AU prompt (motivated by @lunaflowerlight���s idea of books/myths). Please feel free to use the prompts however you are inspired – it does not have to be an exact reflection of the original prompting universe. I want to see all of the GIF sets, photo edits/manips, fan art, and fan fiction pieces you can create!

Keep an eye out for the tag: ‘sherlollyweek2023’. I will post any updates or news about the appreciation week under that tag! That will also be the tag that you use when you post your response to the daily prompts. Can’t wait to see what you lovelies come up with!

(There is also a collection on AO3!)

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Can you feel this magic in the air?

It must have been the way you kissed me.

Fell in love when I saw you standing there;

It must have been the way

Today was a fairytale ✨

[mel-loves-all]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2023. Day 3 Prompt: Chef/Restaurant.

They had only been dating for two months, but Molly Hooper had become his world. Sherlock could not help but make all her favorite dishes for her. His reputation for being a Top Michelin Starred Chef meant nothing to him as he made whatever she was craving. From a full English Breakfast, Shepherd’s Pie or a Victoria Sponge Cake. The smiles she gave him after enjoying his meals warmed and stole his heart each and every time.

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 1: Flower shop AU/Coffee Shop AU

Happy SAW23, all! Here’s a little ficlet for this first day, and I’m gonna try to do something like this everyday… but we shall see. 😅

Dead Center (👈 AO3)

“Black, two sugars, quick as you can please!”

Molly sighed deeply, taking advantage of the piercing scream of the milk steamer.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath. “Don’t wait until I turn around or anything. Just go ahead and yell at me from-“

That was when she turned around, choking on her own words and nearly dropped the espresso she’d just finished making.

Good God.

He had to be close to- no, definitely a full six feet. Fit… really fit. Crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. His eyes, some unearthly blend of blue and green. And his hair, definitely the sort that Molly wanted to sink her fingers into and take firm hold of…

“I’ve got to get back to my shop.”

Molly blinked. “Sorry, what? Oh! You wanted coffee. Black, two sugars, was it?”

“Yes. How much?”

Molly set the latte at the other end of the counter for pickup as she answered. “£3.75. Anything else?”

“That’ll be all.” He took out £4 and set it on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Molly said with a smile, but he was already walking to the other end of the counter to wait for his order. “Ok…”

A minute later when she handed him his coffee, she put on her sweetest smile and tried to initiate eye contact. “Here you go. Black two sugars. A-and I couldn’t help noticing you said, ‘your shop?’ What sort of shop?”

Sherlock gestured across the street as he took his first sip. “Flower shop, across the way. It’s interesting enough work, particularly because I get to deduce all my customers and figure out what brings them in to make a purchase, even when they don’t say. An uncle died recently and left the business to me.”

“Oh congratulations!” Molly winced. “No, wait, sorry! I mean, sorry for your loss but also congratulations on the business.”

He eyed her strangely, rudely some would say. As if he were visibly reading between the lines.

“Right. Well, I’d best get back since I locked up to come grab this.”

“Of course, yes! Well, have a lovely day, and perhaps I’ll see you again. I’m Molly, by the way!” she called out as he began to turn, mentally patting herself on the back for being brave while also feeling like a desperate little fool.

For a moment he looked as if he were going to keep on walking, but then he looked over his shoulder at her, something softening almost imperceptibly in his gaze.

“Sherlock,” he replied, and gave her a little nod.

“Sherlock,” Molly whispered to herself as he left the Dead Center Cafe. Admittedly, he was a bit of an arse, but she was still going to look forward to seeing him again.

She was also most definitely going to be looking for an excuse to buy some flowers.

[musicprincess1990]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day 5

Sorry I'm late (again), but here's the promised Musician AU!

~*~

In Perfect Harmony

Very few people knew of Molly’s musical talent, let alone that it had made her a local celebrity. Her name and her eight-year-old face had been on every tabloid and newspaper in England for a solid six months, as she toured alongside the London Philharmonic. Child prodigy Margaret Hooper was on track to become a world-famous violinist, among the ranks of Heifetz, Kreisler, and Perlman. The violin was her life, her purpose, her first true love.

Until the pain started, and she was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome.

Molly didn’t touch her violin for years, even after she had healed. Eventually, though, she picked it back up, but she only played for herself (and perhaps a few nosy neighbours who might have been listening). Never in public, nor even in front of her family. Her once legendary talent had all but slipped away, and though she was still good (as far as she knew), she certainly wasn’t as good. But the joy of simply playing again was all she needed.

She never told a soul. Not her uni mates, none of her boyfriends, not even Sherlock Holmes (although expected he knew just by looking at her). It was somehow comforting to have that secret, and to have music as an escape when she needed it.

Today, she most definitely needed it.

Molly sighed and rolled her shoulders backward in an effort to relax. She couldn’t precisely say why she was in such a foul mood, nothing bad had happened (for her, that is, no doubt the families of her post-mortems would disagree). By all accounts, it had been a perfectly normal day, and yet she felt somehow on edge… restless. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt like something was about to happen.

At that point, Molly was tired of thinking, and more than ready to lose herself in music. She pulled her violin out from her closet and brought it to the sitting room. After applying rosin to the bowstrings, she adjusted the tuning, then tucked the instrument beneath her chin and began to play. The effect was instantaneous. As she coaxed the melody from the strings, all that tension at her back and shoulders washed away, and she let out another sigh. Her eyes fell closed as she slipped into a sort of trance-like state, and all but the music fell away.

As she drew out the final note of the piece, she returned to the here and now, smiling softly and feeling infinitely more at peace. She lowered bow and violin, turning to put them back into their case when—

“SODDING HELL!!”

Molly barely managed to keep from unceremoniously dropping her violin, though the bow was not so lucky, and shot across the room, clattering against a wall, then the floor. Her free hand then flew to her mouth on a reflex, due to the shock of realizing she wasn’t alone.

There stood none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes, staring at her like she’d sprouted an extra head.

Well. So much for the secret.

Molly heaved her third sigh of the night and went to retrieve her bow. “Sherlock, how many times have I asked you not to barge in unannounced?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and she could almost feel his eyes boring a hole into her skull while she put her violin and bow back in the case. When she finally faced him again, he said, “I called twice. You didn’t answer.”

Frowning in confusion, Molly slid a hand into her pocket, only to find her phone wasn’t there, and she realized she’d left it in her room. “Oh,” she said lamely. “Sorry, I… forgot I didn’t have my phone on me.”

Sherlock said nothing, just stared.

“Erm…” she began awkwardly, “so… what do you need?”

Another few moments of uncomfortable staring, and finally, he spoke, but instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Why did you never tell me you played the violin?”

Not particularly wanting to discuss the whole complicated truth, Molly simply shrugged and said, “I thought you knew.”

“How would I have known?” he shot back irritably.

“The same way you know everything about everybody else,” she shrugged again. “I thought you would have deduced it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he snapped, and it all became clear. He had missed something. By his own admission, he always missed something, but no matter how true that statement might be, it still bothered him when he did. Especially when it was something important, and this, she supposed, was important to him. And judging by the way he still stared at her, he wasn’t happy with the answer she gave him.

“I don’t tell anyone,” she finally continued. “No one outside of my family knows… except you, now.”

“Why?”

Molly had lost count of how many times she’d sighed in the last fifteen minutes, but she let out yet another. “If I’m going to have this conversation with you, I’m going to need wine.”

He rolled his eyes, but left the sitting room and made his way to her kitchen. Molly followed and went straight for the cupboard, where she opened a new bottle of merlot. She pulled out two glasses, raised her eyebrows at him in a wordless question, and at his nod, set one of them in front of him and filled both. His eyes never left her as she took a gratuitous sip, nor as he took a much smaller one from his own glass. Molly took another few swigs before setting hers down, finally ready to talk.

“I started playing the violin at two. My mum and dad told me I’d always loved watching characters and performers on telly who played, and they bought me a toy violin one Christmas. Apparently, I never let it out of my sight, and was constantly playing. At first, I expect it was just random noise, but then I started copying what I heard on telly… and I was good. Within a few years, I was old enough to start lessons, and I excelled. By the time I was eight years old, I was considered a prodigy, and was invited to play with the Philharmonic. I had a good six months as their featured artist.

Here, Molly paused, taking another rather large swallow of her wine. “Then I started having pain in my wrist.” She lifted her left hand and pointed to the spot in question, just on the underside of her wrist.

“Carpal tunnel,” he guessed, and she nodded.

“My parents tried to get me to stop playing, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t imagine not playing the violin, it was everything to me. But one night, while on stage, it got so bad that I couldn’t play. I tried—God, I tried so hard—but I just couldn’t.”

She bit her lip as the bitter memories flashed through her mind, and finally forced out, “Within a week, the Philharmonic had found a replacement violinist. I was utterly destroyed, depressed for months, and my parents were worried I would harm myself. I didn’t… but I thought about it,” she admitted in a small voice. “It took several weeks of physiotherapy, and years of counselling, for me to heal. And it took even longer before I could even think of playing again. In fact it… it took my father asking me to play at his funeral. I had to rent out a violin that fit me, I’d long since outgrown the one I played as a girl, but I played ‘Danny Boy’ for him, one of his favourite songs. I expect he knew that would reawaken my love for music, and for the violin. And it did… but I still haven’t had the courage to perform.”

Having finished her tale, Molly downed the remaining contents of her glass, then poured another generous helping.

Sherlock, who had hardly touched his wine, took a thoughtful sip. “I suppose I understand why you kept it a secret in general… but why didn’t you tell me?”

Molly shrank back a bit, wrapping her arms around her middle. For a moment, she considered lying to him, telling him that the thought simply hadn’t occurred to her. But lying had never been her strong suit, and even if it were, he would still have seen through it. Still, she knew the words she was about to say would hurt him… almost as much as they would hurt her.

“You already criticise my jokes, my appearance, my taste in men—ironic, that,” she interjected. “I just couldn’t bear to have you criticise this, too.”

Sherlock was silent for a long time, and Molly kept her gaze firmly fixed on her hands, not wanting to see the pity and derision she was sure would be written all over his face. But then she saw him move from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but look up as he stepped closer to her. And in his eyes, she found no trace of pity, not an ounce of derision… but an ocean’s worth of remorse.

“I am sorry, Molly,” he said in a low, serious voice. “I have never wanted to hurt you.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers before he spoke again. “Let me be clear on a few things. First of all, your jokes are ridiculous and groan-worthy, but nevertheless, they’ve always made me smile. Your taste in clothing is… curious, but in fact it suits you, and believe me, you have no reason to be at all insecure about your figure. As to your taste in men…” He took another step toward her, coming within arm’s reach, and forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eye. “To own the truth… the only real problem I’ve ever had with the men in your life is that none of them were me.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “I… you… what?”

Sherlock’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. “Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough.”

And then those lips were on hers, and his hands bunched the fabric of her jumper as they curled into fists at her back. Molly heard a breathless moan as she buried her fingers in his curls, and only belatedly realized it had come from her. His tongue poked out and sought entrance, which she most happily obliged and moaned yet again as he tasted her. She gave as good as she got, and soon he was moaning right along with her.

It wasn’t until he hoisted her up onto the worktop that they broke apart, and Molly put a hand on his chest to stop him. Beneath the layers of clothing, she could feel his heart racing in rhythm with her own, and his eyes, wide and hungry and unfocused, found hers in an unspoken question.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

Sherlock looked down bashfully—something she never thought she would see him do. “I don’t think I realized it until tonight… when I heard you playing. I had no idea, not in the slightest, and it irked me to think I had missed it, but even more so that you hadn’t even told me.” He sighed, bowing his head. “Not good, I know… but it’s the truth. And the thought that you’d been keeping this secret from me, while the likes of Tim—”

“Tom,” she corrected him.

“—Irrelevant,” he waved her off, “or even dear ‘Jim from IT’ knew about it—”

“They didn’t, I never told them either.”

“Well, I know that now,” he huffed.

Molly let out a giggle and brushed her hands over the lapels of his jacket. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am neither adorable nor jealous.” “Yes, you are,” she grinned, and before he could argue, she yanked on his lapels and kissed him again, and he responded in kind. No more words were needed as they fumbled their way to her bedroom. They were as they had been so often before: in perfect harmony.

[elennemigo]

SHERLOLLY APPRECIATION WEEK 2023 ↳ Day 4: Photographer/ Model.

[mel-loves-all]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2023. Day 4 Prompt: Photographer/Model. Molly had been in the business of taking pictures of beautiful people for a long time. And today was one of those rare days that demanded she film her subject. Her hands itched to pick up her old handheld camera and film him. She gave in, and asked him if she could. He paused and really looked at her. A flush of warmth spread across her skin. He was truly a beautiful man. After a shy but playful smile emerged on his lips, he said yes.

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 5: Movie Star AU

Not in love with this title, but it is what it is. And I’m a few min late getting this in for day 5, but hey that’s ok. 🤷‍♀️ this one is a touch longer since I worked in more nods to canon, so I’ll add a read more. Hope you guys like it!

That’s a Wrap (👈 AO3)

“Are you ok?”

Sherlock’s eyes lifted from his phone and into the mirror to meet Molly’s gaze, fixed intensely upon him even as she continued carefully arranging his curls. Sherlock opened his lips, but she quickly cut in.

“Don’t just say you are. I can tell you’re not. It’s just… you look sad, when you think he can’t see you.”

Sherlock glanced at his agent, John, who was at the other end of the room chatting with the director and completely unaware.

“You can see me.”

“I don’t count.”

That gave him pause. What did she mean by that?

“Anyway, it’s an intense role, y’know? You really put your all into a character, and that can take a toll after a while. This one especially,” Molly continued, twisting some of the tendrils around her fingers. “So if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all… you can have me.”

Sherlock lifted a brow and she backpedaled a bit at her own wording.

“No, I mean- what I mean is, if there’s anything you need…” Molly shook her head, words trailing off.

“What could I need from you?” Sherlock questioned softly

“I dunno. Nothing.” She shrugged, grabbing the hairspray and spritzing a few times before stepping back. “It’s ok, you can just say thank you, actually.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you.”

“Sherlock, you ready?” John called out. “They’re waiting for you on set.”

Still reeling and trying to process what his hairdresser had just said, Sherlock stood from the chair, hesitating for a breath.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” Molly prompted with a tight smile before turning away to start cleaning up the station.

Not quite knowing what else to say or do, Sherlock walked out of hair and makeup, ready to shoot the very last scene… ready to finally be done with this film.

Sherlock sat there in the darkness, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. The aftershoot party was long over and now he was left with the emptiness of his own thoughts. That was always the very worst time. It was when reality came flooding back. All his worries, all his fears, all his insecurities, all his demons reminding him that they were still there and he’d never shake them. At least, that was how it felt.

And so he went to the only place that felt safe.

The door to the hair and makeup trailer swung open, but Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t even look over. He already knew who it was.

“You were wrong, you know.”

He heard Molly gasp softly at the sound of his voice, then she switched on a light.

“Sherlock?”

“You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. You’ve always been there for me. And I don’t just mean with all this.” He flicked a comb across the hairdressing station. “It’s more than that… you’re more than that. You’ve been with me on countless sets now, and the truth is that I don’t know what I’d do without you. Not the work you do. Just you.”

He turned to see her standing there a few feet away, so perfectly Molly, and that alone was comforting. Just the sight of her in those ratty jeans she loved and a tank top covered with a loose plaid shirt. She’d clearly come back to pick up her coat and purse from inside the trailer, but now she set them down again.

“But you were right,” Sherlock added, a little catch in his voice. “I’m not ok.”

Of course he wasn’t ok, hadn’t been in a long while. But this was the first time he’d admitted it aloud, or even to himself. He’d been a mess even before this film. But playing this wild and unhinged, albeit brilliant character who lied and used drugs and even bloody leapt from building tops certainly hadn’t helped. The vices he was becoming drawn to on and off set scared him more than he’d cared to admit until now.

Molly slowly approached the chair where he sat. “What do you need?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly as she got closer. “I’m a star to the world, that’s how they see me. What if that’s all just a lie? If I wasn’t the man that everyone thinks I am, the man that you think I am, would you still-“

Her hand shot out to cover over his, halting his still tapping fingers as she repeated, “What do you need?”

Sherlock didn’t truly know what to say to this woman who had been his silent and steady rock for years now. He didn’t even really know what to ask for. All he knew was that he needed…

“You.”

There was a breath of silence after he spoke that single word, neither of them moving a muscle. But then Sherlock shifted his hand, closing it around hers and tugging ever so slightly. But it was more than enough.

Everything became a blur after that. In a split second Molly was perched atop his lap in that chair, hands in his hair and lips pressed against his. Sherlock’s hands moved deftly over her, smoothing their way under the plaid shirt and pressing against her back to pull her little body in tighter. Perhaps deep down he’d always wanted to do this. Because every time she’d stood behind this chair and helped transform him into whoever he had to be to entertain the public, she’d always seen the real man, the man behind the wigs or makeup or costumes. She could see him. He’d been the one too blind to see the best thing that had ever come into his life. He wasn’t going to keep making that mistake.

Sherlock cradled her face, finally tugging his lips away from hers. “Come away with me,” he panted.

“What?” Molly looked dazed, and not just because of the rumpled hair and swollen lips he’d just given her. “Away where?”

“After the film promo, I’m taking time off, maybe even for a year. I need to forget about being someone else and remember who I really am.” He caressed her lip with his thumb. “But I don’t want to do that without you.”

“B-but if people see and they realize who I am and it starts to get around, won’t people wonder why-“

“You’re worth more than dozens of the A list celebrities I could be seen with,” Sherlock cut in sternly, knowing exactly where she was going. “I don’t care what anyone says. And if there’s a tabloid mess to be cleaned up, I’ll let John and the rest of the team handle that. None of that is going to stop me. Unless of course… you don’t want to deal with-“

Molly swooped in and swallowed his words, pulling him back into the euphoria that was her mouth and very effectively silencing his brief concern that perhaps she wasn’t willing to take on everything that would be included in a relationship with him.

“Don’t… forget… I can always… disguise you… wherever we go,” Molly offered, kissing her way along his neck and jaw as he held onto her hips for dear life.

“Mm, I knew your talent would continue to be useful.”

“By the way…” Molly gave his neck one more slow kiss before lifting her head to gaze at him. “Where would we be going?”

Sherlock tilted his head in thought, considering all the options that were open to him. Part of him didn’t much care about location. All he really wanted was to be away from prying eyes and schedules and expectations, and to be completely alone with Molly. But then again, perhaps he did have one idea.

“Come to think of it… I’ve always wanted to go to Sweden.”

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 2: Librarian AU/Professor AU

Thanks for the feedback, peeps! Hope you guys enjoy the ficlet. And Idk why this is a 1940s setting. It just is I guess lol. ❤️ 📚

Falling for You (👈 ao3)

Sherlock flipped a page, then another, then another. He shoved that book aside, discarding it among many others in a growing pile, then picked up another one nearby. Taking a pencil from behind his ear, he scribbled a note or two on his pad of paper, humming quietly to himself. He was admittedly rather engrossed, and didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching. Not until she made her presence more than clear.

“Not again!”

Head tilting up from where he sat on the floor, Sherlock took in the sight of the university’s librarian, Miss Molly Hooper, and she was in rare form. Particularly because she was towering over him.

“Ah, Miss Hooper, good after-“

“Professor Holmes, I do hope you’re going to pick up that mess properly this time!” Her little arms crossed sternly over her middle.

Sherlock glanced at the pile of books strewn about all around him on the floor. “I’ve always picked up the books.”

Molly tilted her head. “Yes, but with no care whatsoever to the Dewey decimal system. Every time you come in here I end up with students unable to find what they’re looking for. And I find that you leave an absolute mess in whatever area you’ve been in. I’ve even found books turned backwards on the shelf!”

Sherlock stood with a little grunt, straightening his suit jacket. “Well, I suppose sometimes I am in a bit of a rush. Lesson planning, and all that. Chemistry class won’t teach itself, you know.” Pausing, he gave her a once over. “Why, Miss Hooper, what a smart looking hairstyle that is. You’ve had it trimmed a bit, haven’t you? And freshly curled?” He threw in a little wink.

Molly’s cheeks flushed pink, but she kept her lips trained in a tight line and tilted her chin up sternly. “I have, though it’s certainly no concern of yours. Now, if you’re finished, I’d like to get these put away.”

When he made no protest, Molly began picking some of the books up and checking the bindings to set them in their places on the shelf. But when she tried to move around the pile on the floor though, she stepped on the edge of one of the books and her heel slipped out from under her.

The second she lost her balance, Sherlock’s arm instinctively looped around her waist, holding her steady while bracing them with his other hand against the bookshelf.

Molly stared back at him, wide eyed and panting, and it occurred to him that they were practically nose to nose.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered.

“For creating a death trap on the floor?”

She sputtered out a laugh, her eyes suddenly shimmering. “For catching me.”

“My pleasure.”

And it really was.

Sherlock realized that his grip around her waist had not loosened. In fact, with each passing second he was only becoming increasingly aware of how it felt to hold her so close. The way she fit so naturally against him…

“I think I’m alright now.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, remembering himself and releasing his hold while stepping back. “I’ll pick these up. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“If you insist.” Molly straightened her cardigan and smoothed some hair behind her ear. “But I’d better find them all in order.”

Sherlock gave her an unabashedly flirtatious smile. “If they’re not… you know where to find me.”

Molly held his gaze for a moment before turning and finally walking away oh so slowly, and Sherlock could have sworn that every click of her heels and sway of her hips was by very calculated design. He certainly couldn’t take his eyes off her until she rounded the corner and went back to her desk.

It took him no time at all to decide that a few of those books would simply have to be placed out of order after all.

[sherlollyappreciationweek]

Thank you for celebrating S.A.W23!

I hope you all enjoyed the new content that was created for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2023! I know that as a ship we are a tad smaller these days but it was great to see the works that were shared this week. If I did not reblog one of your works, please let me know and I will do so! Also, please feel free to continue to post based on the prompts - just use the sherlollyweek2023 tag - you can also send it to me / tag me in the post. 

Next year will be the 10th Sherlolly Appreciation week!!! But it will also probably be our last...unless there is a Sherlolly resurgence! For now, I will continue to do some Sherlolly This or That and Sherlolly Questions (which I know we haven’t had one of those in a while). Also, please let me know if there is a desire to bring back the Self-Promo Days or the Sherlolly Self-Interviews. 

Thank you all! 💛kate

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 7: Space AU

I’ve never had a huge interest in doing a Star Wars AU for the BBC Sherlock characters, but when I saw that Day 7 had “space AU” as an option, I figured this was my opportunity to give it a go! This is such a tiny little snapshot into an AU that could be incredibly complex, but I hope that any who enjoy SW like what little I did with it. ❤️ and happy last day of SAW!!

Balance (👈AO3)

Sherlock let go of the ledge, allowing himself to fall through the hatch in the top of John’s ship. He hit the floor and lay there, shaking and still clutching the throbbing stump at the end of his arm as he felt the ship take off. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, so the pain was minimal, compared to what he knew it would be soon. He shut his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that even as he escaped she was still calling out to him through the Force…

“Sherlock? Maker, what happened to you?!” John exclaimed, rushing out of the cockpit to check on his friend.

“It… didn’t go as planned,” Sherlock groaned.

“You can say that again,” HUDD-3RS commented, having come to inspect the situation as well. “I knew this was a terrible idea. But nobody listens to me.”

“Not now, Hudders!” Sherlock bit back at the protocol droid.

“Well!” she huffed, beginning to shuffle away. “I shall just go and rest my circuits if I’m not wanted.”

John crouched down, making a cursory examination of his friend’s injuries. “She’s not wrong, Sherlock. This was a terrible idea and I think you rushed into it. Regardless, we’ve got to get you medical attention.”

Sherlock sat up with some difficulty. “We have bacta on the ship.”

“Bacta won’t grow a new hand!” John yelled. He shook his head, thinking for a moment. “Look, I know where we need to go, and no arguments.”

“Oh? And where is that?”

“The one person who always manages to see through your Bantha crap… I’m taking you to Molly.”

“You are no sister of mine!”

“But I am. I am your sister. Search your feelings, brother. You know it to be true!”

“No… no.”

“Join me, Sherlock. Just think of how powerful we could be together! The entire galaxy would bow before us! You don’t know the power of the Dark Side… but I can teach you.”

“There is nothing I wish to learn from you!”

“But don’t you remember, Sherlock? Remember when we were small, how much fun we used to have, playing together. We could be that happy and free again. Oh, how I used to love making you laugh…”

Sherlock jolted awake to find lights shining down above him, and he could hear the soft whirring of machinery, prompting him to turn his head on the table where he lay.

Molly.

She was working with her back to him; that comfortingly familiar dark hair braided down her back against the backdrop of the gray jumpsuit she always wore at her shop. He was never sorry to see her, but he was sorry it was under these circumstances.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Molly commented as she turned around and crossed the room to him. “How are you feeling? I’ve already given you something for the pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” She paused. “John will be back soon. He just went to get some supplies for the ship. And I’m just finishing up on your hand. Well, I mean your new hand.”

Sherlock turned his gaze back to the ceiling, feeling like more of a fool than he ever had in his life. How had he not felt it before? How had he missed it?

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

Sherlock shifted his gaze to look at her again. Her eyes were glistening ever so slightly, and she turned quickly away to retrieve what she’d been working on, returning to the table with the mechanical hand.

Molly Hooper was the best engineer he knew. Medical engineer, more specifically. She could find the problem in anything with working parts, including humans, and could usually fix it too. But she was more than that to him. She was a safe place, a hiding place, a place where he felt truly seen. Many times over the years he’d questioned whether she was in fact Force sensitive, but she truly wasn’t. It wasn’t about that and perhaps that’s what made her special. Everything about her that had always been so impressive to him came straight from her own heart, without the need to harness some outside Force.

Molly cleared her throat, holding up the mechanical hand as he sat up on the table. “I had this already, so it didn’t take long to make a few adjustments so it would work for you. It’s nothing special, but it’ll do until I can make one that includes artificial flesh and skin.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock replied flatly. “Best get this done so I can get back to work.”

“Tell me if it hurts, ok?” She placed the machinery against his wrist and began the process of fusing it with his existing nerves and muscles. “So… John said you’ve abandoned the Jedi.”

“Becoming a Jedi Master was the path my family wanted for me,” Sherlock explained, seeing his home planet explode and splinter into a billion tiny pieces all over again in his mind’s eye. “I was never meant to be a Jedi. Especially not now. You see, a Jedi does not seek revenge.”

Molly was quiet for a moment. “Revenge will not bring them back, Sherlock.”

“Darth Eurus doesn’t deserve to live!” Sherlock snapped. “She has taken too many lives and she must be stopped. If not, the galaxy will never be at peace... I will never be at peace. Besides, I know she will keep searching for me as well. She won’t stop.”

“Searching for you? Why?”

Sherlock looked at her innocently quizzical expression with sorrowful eyes. “She is… my sister.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “Sister? Are you sure?”

Sherlock nodded. “She wanted me to join her, Molly. The worst part of it is, I considered it,” he admitted sadly. “That evil, that darkness, it’s in me too. I can feel it… and I have to destroy it.”

Molly continued working on his hand as she glanced back at him. “There’s darkness in all of us, Sherlock. Killing your sister won’t take that away.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I suppose you think I should have stayed with the Jedi.”

“No, I don’t,” she replied, more firmly. “If you don’t want to be a Jedi, then you shouldn’t be. But you still have to find balance in the Force. Killing your sister seems to me to be giving into that darkness.”

“Pff, when did you become an expert?”

Molly shrugged, and he saw her cheeks flushing a bit. “I’ve… done a bit of research, that’s all. You were a Jedi, after all, so I just wanted to know more about some things.”

A smirk bloomed on Sherlock’s lips. “And what exactly did you learn?”

She chewed at her lip. “Well… attachment is forbidden.”

Yes it was. And unbeknownst to her, Sherlock had many times been warned about his repeated visits to Molly’s shop. His brother Mycroft, who had chosen to be a senator despite his own Force sensitivity, had cautioned him, advising that romantic attachment could even be a path to the Dark Side.

Advice which John quite vocally disagreed with.

“Yes, that is part of the Jedi code,” Sherlock confirmed softly, watching her as she continued working.

“There,” Molly finally said a couple minutes later. “Try it out.”

Sherlock lifted his arm, turning his new hand this way and that, and bending his fingers up and down. He reached out, using the Force to pull one of the tools on Molly’s workbench toward him until he caught it in his hand.

“I think this will do nicely,” he said, hopping off the table.

“Here,” Molly added, handing him a glove. “You can wear this, so as not to draw attention to it. I’ll send word when the other one is ready.”

Sherlock tugged the glove over his mechanical fingers, then smiled at her. “Thank you, Molly.”

She nodded, smiling up at him. “It’s no problem. And, Sherlock, think about what I said, please.”

He agreed, and he meant it. He was full of anger and the desire for revenge, but was that truly the path he wanted to take? Perhaps not. Perhaps the right path involved more thought, more caution. Perhaps before confronting his sister again he must learn more about her and the strange connection they share. Could something good come from that? Could balance be found for them both? He couldn't yet say for certain.

He began to turn away, but then Sherlock stopped himself, facing her again. “Molly?”

“Hm?”

“One more thing.”

Sherlock leaned down while taking gentle hold of her chin and tilting it upward, allowing his lips to easily find hers and mold perfectly together. If ever a perfect balance was to be found in the galaxy, this was the closest he’d come to experiencing it himself. When he pulled away, gazing into her half lidded eyes, he gave her a small smile.

“I am no longer bound to the Jedi code.”

[musicprincess1990]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day 6

This was a lot harder than expected, I had to really reach for the slightest inspiration for any of today’s SAW prompts. I finally managed the beginnings of a Little Mermaid AU, very short, but it’s all I can come up with tonight. Maybe I’ll continue it later—and that’s a soft maybe, more of a probably not, but I don’t want to say a definite no. Anyway, thanks for reading!

~*~

Her

Sherlock’s head throbbed painfully as he slowly regained consciousness. Memories of the night before gradually came to the front of his mind. The hurricane… a strike of lightning… an explosion of gunpowder... the waves pushing him down, down, down… the knowledge that he was going to die…

…And a voice.

A feminine voice, light and ethereal and beautiful, singing softly in his ear.

Wait… that wasn’t just a memory…

Sherlock pried his eyes open, but was immediately forced to close them against the aggressive light of the sun. There was a soft gasp, the sound of sand shifting beside him, and a shadow appeared, shielding him from the sun’s rays. Opening his eyes once again, he saw his saviour.

She was…

…A mermaid?

The next moment, he heard a loud voice call from far away, and his saviour gasped again, disappearing from view. Unfortunately, that also meant the sun was in his eyes again, and he shut them tightly against the painful brightness. When he was finally able to open them once more, he saw no trace of her whatsoever. No tracks in the sand, no scales or shells left behind… nothing. Had he imagined her?

~*~

As the days and weeks passed following the ill-fated voyage, Sherlock tried to put her out of his head, to convince himself that she was a figment of his imagination. But night after night, she visited his dreams. Sometimes she had a tail, others a perfectly normal pair of legs. Always, though, she sang for him, her exquisite voice calling to him, beckoning him to come and find her.

Oh, that he could.

Many times over, he had nearly organized a search party to find this mysterious maiden… only to talk himself out of it yet again. Surely, if she were real, she would have sought him out by now, if for no other reason than to be sure he was well. There had been such a look of concern and kindness in her eyes… those wide, warm, beautiful brown eyes… but he supposed he must have imagined that, too. His mystery maid was not real. It was as simple as that.

Sherlock found himself wandering the shore late one night, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. It was mad, it was ridiculous, it was entirely unlike him, and truth be told, he had looked for her almost every day. And every day, he returned home disappointed.

Until…

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he followed it, startled to see a pair of bare feet sticking out from behind a large rock. He cautiously stepped closer, never taking his eyes off those feet, until he rounded the boulder… and all the breath escaped him in a loud whoosh. A young woman lay sleeping, wrapped in what looked to be a sail, her hair fanned out around her head like a crown. But not just any young woman.

It was her.

[musicprincess1990]

Happy Sherlolly Appreciation Week!

For Day 1, I’ve decided to go with a Cinderella AU. It’s kind of lightly based on it, and without the magical elements (I’m just not good at fantasy), but you get the gist. It was really hard to keep this to a one-shot, I really wanted to expand on it, but I've already got one WIP right now, so… yeah. Anyway, enjoy!

~*~

The Dream That You Wish

Sometimes Molly dreams of leaving this place, of packing her precious few belongings and stealing away in the dead of night. Sometimes, in those dreams, she meets a handsome stranger who promises to love and protect her, as she has never been loved or protected before. Sometimes she can almost make out the features on his face… almost… and even without a clear vision of that face, she knows—she just knows—he is the most beautiful man that ever was seen.

Then she wakes up.

There is no handsome stranger. There is no leaving this place.

She is trapped.

A bell rings incessantly in her ear, rousing her from her dreams, and reminding her of who she is. Molly yawns and stretches as she pulls herself into a seated position, brushing the ash and soot from her skin and clothes as best she can. The nights have grown too cold to make the journey up to the dismal attic, so she has taken to sleeping in front of the fire in the kitchen. Her stepmother and stepsisters mock her dirty and dishevelled appearance, but have never ordered her to go back to sleeping in the attic, not out of any charity or sympathy, rather the simple fact that it means their breakfast arrives more quickly.

Molly dampens a cloth and scrubs at her face and hands, then sets about making tea and toast. The bell rings again and again, soon accompanied by shrill cries from above stairs. Molly works as swiftly as she is able, until finally, she leaves the kitchen with three trays. She has mastered this precarious balancing act, and has not dropped a single teacup in over two years.

With measured steps, she climbs her way up to the first floor, then sets two of the trays down on the table in the hall, placed and decorated intentionally for this purpose. Still holding the third tray, she first knocks on her stepmother’s door.

“Come,” her imperious voice calls.

Molly twists the knob and enters, keeping her head bent in submission. “Good morning, my lady.”

Lady Elizabeth Smallwood does not return the greeting. “On the table, girl,” she orders, gesturing to the bedside table in question. Molly gently places the tray, then pours the tea, holding the cup toward her with the handle facing her stepmother, thus eliminating any chance of physical contact. Lady Smallwood takes a sip of the tea and grimaces. “How many times must I tell you? I want three lumps of sugar.”

“I-I did give you three,” Molly says timidly, and immediately she regrets it.

Her stepmother stills, then turns her furious gaze on Molly. “What did you say?” she seethes.

Molly swallows thickly. “I’ll go fetch the sugar,” she whispers, turning to do just that.

“Never mind,” Lady Smallwood snaps, stopping her in her place. “There isn’t time. You must wake your stepsisters, they have much to do to prepare for this evening.”

The ball, Molly reminds herself. Not that she had forgotten. Since the moment the invitation came to them, it has been the dominant topic of conversation, and she has spent every day over the past two weeks either mending gowns or shopping for jewellery. Molly ignores the bitter resentment festering in her heart, knowing that the money going toward baubles and lace will be coming out of her wages, and they’re a pittance already. But she keeps silent on the subject, for one simple reason.

She is invited, too.

To the surprise of all, and the delight of many, the Crown Prince requested to extend the invitation to all eligible ladies of the kingdom, not just the nobility. Women of all stations will be able to attend, and will have the chance to meet His Royal Highness. The reason for this unforeseen break from tradition is quite clear: the King and Queen are all but desperate to marry off their son and heir. Molly has never seen the Prince her life, but she has heard he is remarkably handsome, and as such, she can guess that the cause for his unmarried state lies beneath the surface. He must be an unbearable snob.

Or, she thinks with a smile, his interests lie elsewhere.

“What are you smirking at?”

Molly quickly schools her features as she answers her stepmother. “Forgive me, my lady. I became lost in thought.”

“Useless chit,” she growls. “Go and wake your stepsisters. Now.”

She wastes no time in doing just that, stepping out into the hall and picking up a tray as she approaches the next door. Irene is already awake and gazing at her beautiful reflection in the mirror, and she barely acknowledges Molly as she pours her tea, for which Molly is most grateful. Irene has always loved to insult her, and has made something of an art of it, finding the most clever and cruel ways to do so. Molly quietly retreats, leaving Irene to her self-admiration, and moved on to Janine’s room.

Janine is far less cruel to Molly, though still not exactly kind. After a lifetime of being second-best to her older, more beautiful sister, it’s no surprise. She is very pretty in her own right, but not the ethereal and enigmatic paragon of beauty that Irene is, and she has the added disadvantage of being less elegant and more brash. Lady Smallwood has often berated her youngest daughter for her “poor decorum,” while praising Irene’s effortless grace.

Molly sets Janine’s tray on her bedside table, then gently taps her shoulder. “Janine,” she murmurs, “I have tea and toast for you.”

“Mmmf,” is her stepsister’s groggy reply.

“The ball is this evening,” she tries again. “Tonight, you will meet the prince.”

“Sod the prince,” she grumbles.

Molly smiles to herself, then employs one final tactic. “You would rather Irene have him all to herself?”

Janine raises her head to glower at Molly. “Over my dead body.”

“Then, up,” Molly urges her.

After a few more seconds of scowling, Janine sighs and relents, taking the toast and munching quietly, while Molly pours tea into her cup. “You are lucky you don’t have to go to this dreadful ball, Molly,” she complains.

Molly says nothing as she hands the now-filled cup to Janine. Neither of them speak again, and Molly slips quietly out of the room. Instead of returning to the kitchen, however, she tiptoes her way up to the attic. She shivers against the chill, but perseveres until she reaches her room.

There, on a mannequin borrowed from the seamstress in town, is her mother’s favourite dress. Made of forget-me-not blue silk, it is the most precious item in her possession. She saw her mother wear it only once, at a Christmas party when she was very small, and Molly had believed her to be a princess. It’s still in fine condition, though the silhouette is perhaps a bit outdated, but near enough to the style of the day that Molly doubts anyone will notice. Besides, there will be other ladies in attendance who will no doubt dress similarly, as few servants can afford the latest fashions.

Molly spends the day carrying out her chores and helping her stepsisters and stepmother prepare for the ball. By nightfall, all three are dressed and coiffed to perfection, and all three leave without so much as a thank you. And the moment their carriage s out of sight, Molly races up to her room and closes the door, locking it for good measure.

Tonight, she is her own fairy godmother. Tonight, she will become someone else.

~*~

Sherlock barely suppresses a groan as yet another young lady rushes forward to meet him. His idea to allow the lower classes to attend seemed an excellent one at the time, but he now realizes he has nearly doubled the amount of time he must spend making their acquaintance. After a full hour of meeting prospective brides, he deeply regrets it, and prays for an end to his misery.

The entire thing is a farce. His parents have told him all his life that he should marry for love, and yet they insist on this ridiculous ball. “You simply haven’t met the right woman,” his mother said to him the day she and his father announced the ball. Sherlock argued the point until his breath ran out, but they did not concede, and he was forced to agree. He included the stipulation that all young ladies be given the chance to attend, hoping they would be too scandalized to continue, but instead they applauded his decision, reasoning that a humble girl might offer sounder advice and greater perspective in the future. (He agrees, but God forbid he actually admit that in front of his parents.)

Marriage is something he does not want… as is the Crown. His brother’s abdication came as a shock to all, and Sherlock resents him still for laying the mantle on him. He is trapped, forced to abandon all his academic pursuits for the sake of ruling the nation and siring heirs.

Damn you, Mycroft, he curses in his head.

Time goes by, more and more young ladies come forward, but eventually the end of the queue is in sight, a light at the end of this tunnel of tedium. He will have to dance with at least a few of them, and has already determined one of them, a young woman who seems even less happy to be here than he is, which he had not thought possible. He has also deduced that her real motive for attending was not to meet him, but to infuriate her sister, a sly and suspicious beauty he distrusted immediately.

Then, just as he reaches the last lady in the queue, the doors open again, and all eyes turn toward the late arrival. Sherlock stops… stares… and for a moment, forgets how to breathe. His mind has gone quite blank, all his attention on this mysterious young woman. She is small and thin, almost too thin, and clad in a blue silk gown that is slightly out of fashion, but fits her like a glove. Her chestnut hair is twisted into an intricate knot and adorned with pearls. She does not have the same fine and elegant features as many of the other ladies present, but her soft, elfin features are, in his eyes, utterly exquisite.

Without having made a conscious decision to do so, he crosses the room, his eyes locked on her. She is surprised when she sees him, and goes completely still, her pink lips parting on a gasp. Sherlock slows as he comes within arm’s reach, never releasing her wide brown eyes. “It’s you,” she whispers.

Curious. “Is it?” he asks.

She seems to snap out of a trance, and dips into a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Now, that just won’t do. Sherlock reaches out a hand and tucks it under her chin, gently raising her head first, then urging her to stand again. Those impossibly large eyes land on his again, and he feels warmth spread from his head to his toes. “What is your name?”

She swallows nervously before she answers, “Molly Hooper.”

It’s certainly not the name of any prominence, she is among the lower class, likely a servant. He likes her all the more for it.

“Will you dance with me, Molly Hooper?”

Her mouth falls open. “Me?”

“You,” he confirms.

Molly’s eyes dart over to a spot slightly to the right of his face, and part of him wants to look over his shoulder and see what has caught her attention, but the greater part of him refuses to take his eyes off her. He has the strangest notion that if he does, she will vanish in a puff of smoke, and he’ll never see her again. And that is simply not a risk he is willing to take. Whatever it is, she seems to draw strength from it, and when her eyes return to his, she nods and smiles.

He has never felt more blessed.

~*~

Mere days later, the news of the Prince’s engagement spreads throughout the country. Those who were present at the ball are not surprised at the identity of his chosen bride, having witnessed their first meeting. Some hear the news with delight, some with apathy, and some with anger and bitterness. But no one, not even those angry few, can deny the love between them.

Molly smiles up at her husband, no longer the stranger from her dreams, but warm and real and every bit as wonderful as she knew he would be.

[writingwife-83]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Day 4: Sleeping Beauty AU

I really enjoyed the idea of having it be a sleeping Prince Sherlock who Princess Molly is rescuing. This is another short one, but hope you all enjoy! 💤

Awaken (👈 AO3)

Eurus’ blood curdling screech filled the air as she clutched the sword protruding from her chest and sank to the ground, all the evil she’d spread throughout the kingdom disappearing with her, at long last. There was nothing left and she could no longer hurt any of them ever again.

Molly nearly collapsed as well, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath after the grueling battle. But there was no time to rest, no time to waste. She had to get to him.

Rushing to the castle, Molly prayed she wasn’t too late. She couldn’t lose Sherlock, not now. Not after all this. She’d fallen in love with him at first sight in the forest only the day before, but now she knew it went much deeper than that. She and Prince Sherlock were destined to be together. It wasn’t just a dream or some girlish fantasy. It truly had always been him… always.

With every step she took, bounding up the winding staircase to the highest tower, she thought about him as he was just yesterday. Alive and well and quite literally sweeping her off her feet. Molly smiled to herself, seeing him once again in her mind’s eye, dancing in the forest, so graceful and strong. It was mesmerizing to watch, but nothing compared to joining him. When Molly bravely threw herself into his arms and found herself floating through the grass in step with him, it was as if she was lifted into the very air, into a whole new world where she’d never felt so perfectly happy.

Sherlock was shocked at first when he saw her, a little aloof even, but very soon he softened. It did not take long for the connection between them to become undeniable. Molly knew immediately that she was willing to even forsake the betrothal that she had grown up hearing about so often. That didn’t matter to her anymore, not after she’d met this man. Little did she know, she had fallen for the very man who was her betrothed.

Molly reached the top of the staircase and entered the large room before her, the sunshine now streaming in through the windows once the clouds of evil had dissipated in the sky. There, in the center of the room, as if illuminated by the heavens, Prince Sherlock lay sleeping in the ornate bed.

Adrenaline still pumping through her veins, Molly approached and sat carefully at the edge of the bed, examining the Prince, so still and peaceful. She gingerly touched his hand first, then brushed her fingertips against his cheek. Smiling, her eyes then zeroed in on the sharp peaks and the plush softness of his lips, full of life despite the stillness of his body.

True love’s first kiss.

It felt like madness, but it was also the only chance she had. And Molly wasn’t going to hesitate.

Leaning in, Molly pressed a palm to his jaw and allowed their lips to meet, molding together in warmth. For a moment there was nothing but stillness. But then…

Molly felt a gentle pressure and electricity from his lips to hers, and she pulled back, eyes wide with wonder as she watched his open. She grinned at the sight of that mesmerizing blue green that shone back at her as he blinked into consciousness. And for a moment, he was silent, his eyes searching hers in question.

But then she watched something shift as Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbows. As his eyes stayed locked onto hers, she could practically see the wheels turning in his head in realization of all that had happened. Realization of who she really was. Sherlock lifted his hand and gently touched her cheek, as if confirming that she was real, and Molly smiled at the contact. It occurred to her that she didn’t even care that her clothes were tattered from the battle and her hair was a mess. It only mattered that they were together.

Sherlock’s lips parted, a soft smile taking shape even as he spoke.

“It’s you.”

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Last Sentence Tag Game: Write the latest line from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

Tagged by a sweet friend, @muffin-n-waffle <3

It's terrifying and thrilling to tell y'all that I've been working on something for @sherlollyappreciationweek...

'“So,” the manager (Graham? Geoff?) began, “you’ve no work experience, but you wrote here that you’re a chemistry major. Tell me, Mister Holmes, why you think I should hire you.”'

*technically two sentences, but it was in the same line of dialogue lol

I tag whoever sees this and wants to do this. I'm not sure who is and isn't writing anymore.