Sherlolly prompt- Molly feels insecure
Little insecurities bubbled through her mind constantly. They plagued her in every waking moment, without faltering. She was sure that it was the same for every woman, what with the insanity of the media's influence on body image. But of more recent she found herself focusing on the inhibition, and it began to lower her self-esteem greatly. Molly slowly started to feel uncomfortable in her body. She could not stand to look at her self in the mirror. Even undressing became a source of anxiety for Molly. Gradually, she became more obsessed with obscure traits of her body, and desperately tried rid her self of such unladylike traits. Soon this led to a source of paranoia, where she was reluctant to touch anyone else physically as she could not bare what people would think of her. She tried to act normal but rapidly became depressed, as she could not bring herself to eat. Focusing on her studies became harder, until one night she reached her limit. Shamefully she let the horde of emotions topple down on her as she sat on the bathroom floor of her dorm room, and sobbed uncontrollably into her hands.
Mary Morstan, Molly's flat mate came home after a night of frolicking with her boyfriend John, to find Molly locked in their bathroom. She could hear faint whimpers and sniveling through the wooden oak of the door. Mary tried unsuccessfully to pry the door open. "Molly? Let me in, what's wrong?" she asked gently. At this she received no eligible answer. She decided to reciprocate to her current predicament by consulting Molly's boyfriend, Sherlock. Mary and Sherlock had a mutual hatred of each other that was understood by no one but himself or herself. Mary could not fathom how he could be so heartless and cruel. But even she could not deny he had a way with Molly that was unparalleled. Molly's phone, which had been left lying on the coffee table, was used by Mary to notify Sherlock of Molly's state. He arrived a matter of minutes later, only living in the dorm above.
Sherlock permitted himself entrance, as he whirled through the closed door. Mary was sat on the sofa. "She's in the bathroom, crying." She stated as a matter-of-fact. Sherlock ignored her as he dropped his beloved coat on the back of the sofa, and proceeded to stride in the direction of the bathroom. Once he reached the door, he rattled the handle, only to find the door locked. He rested his head against the wood and muttered, "Molly, it's me. If you don't let me in, I will have no choice but to pick the lock." He waited a moment, but heard no sound of movement. With that he whisked off to her bedroom, and rummaged through the drawers of her dressing table. He retrieved a few bobby pins and walked promptly back to the room in which Molly waited behind the sealed entrance. He inserted the first of the pins and seconds later he maneuvered the second inside the lock. It did not take long for the door to swing wide open.
He appraised the sight of Molly curled tightly in ball on the floor. Sighing whilst he did it, he lowered himself to the ground where he promptly folded his long legs. He reached out for her, and as she was as light as a feather, pulled her onto his lap. At first she protested, hating the contact with another person, dreading what they would think of her mousy and unattractive form. But soon came to the realization that she needed him more than ever. After 10 minutes of solid crying into his chest, Sherlock finally plucked up the courage to ask what was bothering her. He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, so could have a good look at her face. Tears continuously streamed down her face in a non-stop trail of sadness. For a long moment she just stared at him, until she looked down and muttered, "How can you be interested in someone as unappealing and timorous as myself?" He was stunned into prolonged silence.
When he had finally complied an appropriate and sympathetic answer, he spoke. But first he tried to alter her slumped formation, so her full body was facing him. He took both of her fragile hands into the protection of his own and proclaimed, "Molly there is absolutely nothing remotely timorous about you. Listen to me!" He started before Molly turning her head away interrupted him. Already, she did not believe him. He released on of her hands and gently pulled her face back around to look at him. He then cupped her left cheek with his hand. "You are utterly beautiful. You are perfect in everyway. Intelligent, intuitive and perplexing, are only a few of the words capable of explaining or describing you." She simply stared at him, still profoundly disbelieving. "There's nothing special or beautiful about me." She whispered.
"Nothing special!" He scoffed. "Your eyes are a perfect blend of russet caramels and alluring burnt sienna. This is complimented by your complexion; a beautiful mix of rouge, highlighted delightfully when a blush spreads across your cheeks and down your neck." At this the blush he had previously referred to, presented itself by creeping down her the smooth plains of her skin. The smile he graced her with was genuine; something that was as rare as the delicacy, of a solar eclipse. This only had an affect on her for a short period of time, as she felt oppressed once again. "But everyone thinks of me as a freak." She whispered. Sherlock laughed at this statement, "I'm more of a freak than you are! It doesn't matter to me that you have an uncanny obsession with medicine or the mystery of death. I share these passions with you. I even find your quirks such as your obsessive nature over celebrities to be alluring. It shouldn't matter what other people think of you. Just know that I love you for who you are." And with that, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.
Her little insecurities didn't bother her after that. Molly was sure they would never resurface. As long as she had Sherlock, she felt more than contented.