Title: Cold War
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock, Molly
Rating: K+
Genres: Humor, General
Summery: Tension's been building for a while now.
Notes: So, after a while of being really self-conscious about my writing and never wanting to show it, I've decided that… well, I need to show it to get better. Let me know about improvements and such!
"Sherlock…" Molly started slowly, "what… what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" He snapped.
Molly honestly wasn't sure.
She had come home from a pleasant dinner with Meena to find him in her flat. His visits were erratic and without warning, though the longest he ever really stayed was less than a week. She tried to make a point to stay in when he was around. It wasn't exactly because of attracting, more to do with the fact that Sherlock had a habit of putting her flat into a state of absolute disarray if left unsupervised.
"Sherlock," Molly tried again, "Sherlock, perhaps you should try sitting somewhere else…"
The detective rolled his eyes, "I get up for a single moment to examine the trajectory of this weighted ball-" Molly had just noticed the curiously metal-looking object, and pales at the thought of Sherlock breaking something with it "- and this bloody cat feels it is necessary to sit on these papers, these important papers."
Molly didn't give him an answer right away, which she figured was fine since Sherlock wasn't even really paying attention to her. Though this was a first. Toby usually never showed his face when Sherlock was around. Perhaps the cat had finally gotten tired of the six-month long game of hide-and-seek.
"Well, move him then." Molly finally said, before adding, "tea?"
She heard a growl as the kettle went on the stove, and had to check to see whether it was Toby or Sherlock. "Why would you want such a ghastly creature living with you?" Sherlock ground out, attempting to find on opening around the puffed-up feline.
There were many thoughts that came to mind, though Molly voiced none of them. She opened a cupboard to retrieve some mugs, "just pick him up Sherlock. Or push him."
Another howl from Toby and a hissing curse from Sherlock informed her just how well that plan went. With a resigned, Molly made her way back to the couch. "Go get the tea, yeah? I'll move him."
Sherlock, however, didn't. He seemed to be perfectly happy standing far enough away that Toby couldn't get him, but still close enough that the two could continue their glaring match. At least until Molly picked up Toby (cradling him on his back like a baby – an amusing position that he never seemed to be able to get out of) and brought him into the kitchen with her.
Dropping the tabby, Molly continued with the tea, trying to ignore Toby's newfound confidence and anger, as evidence to the fact that he was now hissing at Sherlock from the other side of the room.
More worrying was when Sherlock started hissing back; it was going to be a long night.