in honor of newest examples of a ship, according to the Oxford Dictionary blog, have some Sherlolly smooching….
in a boat.
Because there’s nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.
Her tongue catches in her throat, watching storming blues and greens pour across the man in front of her, comets zipping as fast as the words were leaving his mouth. She watches mutely as Lestrade explains the situation at hand, and she nods along without even tearing her eyes away from, quite possibly, the oddest galaxy she had ever seen. It’s then when she feels it, her own comets colliding with his and her breath catches, and her eyes dart to his. Either he doesn’t feel it or doesn’t care, as he continues to prattle on to Lestrade as he circles to body and looks at her notes. She watches him in silent awe as he works, catching things on the body that she had never seen before. Comets shoot faster and hotter under her skin, and she can’t help but feel a little bit of pride as she stands there, scalpel in hand.
Paring: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
She was staring up at him intensely and Sherlock tried to do his best to concentrate on their dance steps and not the way he felt a flush crawling up the back of his neck.
"Something the matter?" he asked, finally willing to address the problem head-on.
She blinked, her lips pulling up into an apologetic smile out of habit. “No, it’s nothing, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to stare…”
"Well, I was just wondering about," she gestured vaguely to his upper lip to the offending thing he knew was there. He held back a sigh as she continued. "It’s just that it looks like you don’t like it. You-you’re not used it, maybe? You keep doing this—err—well, tightening up your lips like you want to hide it with your bottom one."
She let out a nervous giggle and a small shrug, looking down at her feet for a moment.
Sherlock blinked a bit in surprise. It wasn’t normally the case that someone deduced him, even on something so trivial. He held her loosely as they danced together, the music still slow enough to keep most couples in the pub standing or sitting along the edges. Sherlock glanced over to where John Watson was making Mary Morstan giggle a little too loudly by the bar.
"Yes, well, I don’t like it, rather," he confessed, focusing on Molly again. They’d just met an hour or so earlier, but he knew he already preferred her company to being witness to his best friend and his girl make googoo eyes at each other. "You see, I lost a bet with Watson and this was the penalty, I’m afraid."
Molly did laugh properly at that, looking back at him, and Sherlock realized that he’d pulled her bit closer than was necessary.
"I see. Do I want to know what the bet was?" she asked.
Sherlock cleared his throat and knew without a doubt that he was blushing a bit now, but schooled his features into an air of imperiousness. “I don’t believe it’s for young ladies to know about.”
Molly frowned a bit, her eyebrows knitting in confusion for a moment before the penny dropped and a rather fetching blush covered her cheeks. “Oh,” was all she said.
Oh he rather liked that, Sherlock realized with a start. “Was that all you wanted to know?” he ventured to ask.
"Well, yes. Err—no, it’s just that it reminded me a bit of a bloke that I saw coming through the morgue just the other day and I wondered if maybe you’d picked up the same fashion plate," she replied.
Sherlock very nearly stopped their movements altogether. “Morgue?”
Molly’s eyes bugged open wide and she ducked her head again, very nearly pulling completely away from him. “Sorry, I—that’s not what—sorry.”
Sherlock quickly induced that Molly had revealed something she shouldn’t have, something she’d often been chastised for, perhaps. His eyes narrowed.
"Ms Hooper, do you work at the morgue of St Barts?" Sherlock ventured to ask, sensing that she was going to run from him possibly and so he tightened his grip on the hand of hers he was holding. His mind was quickly re-cataloging all the deductions he’d made upon first meeting her.
"Yes, well, I help the coroner with the autopsies. With the war, they need all the help they can get," she replied nervously.
"You enjoy it there," he continued, no longer asking questions now that he’d managed to ascertain the truth.
Molly seemed to have made a decision, now that flight was not an option, and lifted her eyes to look squarely at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I rather love it.”
Sherlock pulled her closer once again, slowly smiling at her as he moved them back into the dance steps they’d all but abandoned.
"Ms. Hooper, I think that we will have quite a lot to talk about."
Part 2 (or I guess a prequel?) to my earlier post of WWII!Sherlolly.
Thank you to all the folks that watched the livestream for this! I’m sorry I bored you to tears…
Haha, you’re quite welcome! ;) Looking forward to your next chapter
Oh no, don’t spoil it