Hi Guys! This is my first time writing a fanfic...like ever! So if you don't mind, please critique me however you choose. I can use all the advice I can get! :)
Okay so the inspiration for this piece is 'Calling All Angels' by Train.
I need a sign to let me know you're here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know that things are gonna look up
'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup
When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said
/SHERLOCK/
Molly Hooper shifted onto her left side and stared out her open window at the lovely crème building across the way from her home. Her mind in a daze and thoughts scattered, she took a simple moment to observe the scenery before her.
This was the third consecutive night in a row that she failed to fall asleep before the light of day. The sun was rising in the yellowing sky and blaring in manically through her windows. The chaotic melee of men and women racing to work had already begun in the streets below her apartment. The noises of the roads, the bleating horns and the screeching breaks, invaded her room and were beginning to cause a dull throb to form in the frontal part of her skull. She blinked back against the harsh light a few times as her eyes attempted to get re-aquatinted with the bright sunlight piercing through her window pane.
Her body was still curled underneath her blue comforter, her legs in an epic tangle with the polka dotted sheets. Her hair was a curly mess sprawled across her flat pillow, it was an unwashed heap; she didn't have the energy to wash it in her shower the night before.
She flipped herself back over and stared at her clock. The blinking red digits read 5:23. She'd have to rise and prep herself for another boring day at the morgue soon enough, but for now, she remained in the solitude of her bedroom.
When her thoughts began to creep into uncharted territories (more specifically, the brilliant consulting detective she'd helped fake his own death), she gave up on the peace and pushed herself out of her warm bed things. She shuffled around her room until she found her pink robe, a gift from her grandmother last Christmas. She shrugged her arms through the sleeves and drew the material around her shoulders. It fortunately offered her a bit of warmth against the chilly air of her London apartment.
She walked herself into the kitchen and pulled out her coffee maker. She grabbed her jug of water from the fridge and emptied the appropriate amount into the container labeled 'water'. She pressed the correct buttons and selected a package of her favorite blend and the machine was soon on it's way to producing a cup of fresh brew.
Since coffee making was a five minute process, she decided she'd run the water in her shower while waiting for her beverage. It took the hot water tank a couple moments for to go from the frigid water of the Arctic to a decent shower-taking temperature. She picked up a few fluffy towels from the small linen closet across the hall and entered her broom-closet sized bathroom. She threw back the white curtain and and turned the knob all the way to the left, and the water soon came gushing out the pipes. Molly placed the towels on a hook near the shower and left the room.
The coffee maker was beeping indicating that it was time to grab a mug for the coffee. She pulled a clean one from the dishwasher and set it under the tube, and soon a brown thick liquid came pouring out and splashing into cup. The scent of the steaming coffee wafted up from the mug smelling rather heavenly.
She went to the fridge once more to remove the milk and creamer. She also grabbed a carton of eggs and a bit of bacon she'd picked up from the store during her last trip. She picked up a pan, and decided that she needed a wholesome breakfast if she wanted to face this day with any sort of enthusiasm.
"If your making coffee, I'll have mine black, two sugars. Oh, and I quite like my eggs scrambled with a dash of salt and pepper." A deep, rich baritone called out. Molly, rather startled, dropped the frying pan. It clattered to the ground with a loud bang, narrowly avoiding her bare feet.
She knew the voice. It was a voice that had been absent from her life for about a week's time. And she missed that voice. More so that she'd ever care to admit aloud.
She turned around to face the non-dead Sherlock Holmes, the fraudulent consulting detective. The man she'd helped out so that he could jump off the top of her hospital without actually becoming a pancake at the bottom. The man she'd helped die.
And he was standing there before her, in all his pale perfection. He still wore a pair of black dress trousers, a matching colored suit jacket, and a deep grape shaded shirt which hugged his chest gloriously. His snow colored cheeks were slightly tinted rouge from the harsh wintry winds of England. His chocolate curls were ruffled.
"Sherlock." She breathed, in a squeaky whisper. "What are you doing here?" She asked quietly.
He shrugged like it was unimportant. "The Scotland Yard barged in today announcing some sort of 'drugs bust." When she looked at him wide-eyed, he continued. "Don't fret, Molly, they didn't see me. I managed to get away by using the fire escape, and hid with some of my street acquaintances. In Heinz sight, I should have selected something a bit less conspicuous than a place likely to have a police invasion to search for drugs." He said, picking up and examining a silver framed photograph on her end table; a picture of her family when she was a child. They were visiting a lake in the photo, and Molly was around the age of five. It was one of the last photo's they'd taken as a family before the death of her terminally ill mother. It was something she cherished dearly.
She shook her head. "But why'd you come here? I'm sure there were plenty of other places you could stay at." She said. She winced when she realized how that sounded. "I mean it's not like I don't want you…" She said, but he quickly interrupted her incessant babbling.
"Shut up." He said sharply, but after the recognition of how harsh his words came out, his chiseled features softened slightly. "I understand what you were saying. And to answer your question, you're one of the only people I can trust at this point. And also, you're couch isn't completely rubbish. It was quite comfortable from the last time I slept on it." He said, returning the photo to the table.
She nodded and then shook her head quickly, confused. "What do you mean the last time?" She asked, somewhat incredulously.
He glanced up at her. "Oh I spent the night here a few days ago. Couldn't find somewhere else on such short notice. You're coffee's overflowing." He said, pointing at it and taking a seat on the couch.
She whipped her head around. "Oh, dear." She said, dashing towards it. She grabbed some paper towels from under her sink and began mopping up the dark mess. When she was finished, her hands smelled like coffee and her beverage was now lukewarm. She sighed heavily.
"Well, I'm not sure what you can do while I'm at St. Bart's. I'm afraid I don't have much in the entertainment department. I mean, you can always watch the telly, but I'm not sure…" She said, rambling again.
"Thank you for your concern, Molly, but I will not be speeding much time in your apartment. I just require it for one night." He explained, reaching into his jacket pocket and drawing out his blackberry. He clicked a few keys and stared at it curiously.
She nodded again. "Alright then. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take a shower and get ready for work." She said, politely. She turned away and began walking to the bathroom.
"Thank you, Molly Hooper." He said, behind her.
She turned back around and looked at his seated form on her couch, a specimen so god-like that it didn't deserve to be sitting on an couch that she'd gotten at a yard sale after Medical school. "I'm sorry?" She asked, not clearly paying attention to what he was saying, instead preferring to stare at the silky pale skin exposed at the base of his neck.
In a flash he was standing before her, his cool sea foam green eyes staring her down like she was an important detail he just couldn't quite figue out. "I said thank you, Molly, for your assistance to my plan to disappear." He said, his voice as soft as a whisperer and as smooth as velvet. His breath ghosted over her face and smelled like peppermint and something else she couldn't quite identify. And it was a smell she'd remember forever.
She blushed under his intense gaze. "I didn't do much, Sherlock. You did the majority of the work." She said quietly. "You were the one who had the courage to jump off the bloody roof!" She finished, laughing slightly.
He offered her what appeared to be his own unique version of a smile. His lips quirked up at either end and his pale lips parted slightly, revealing a row of white teeth. "If it weren't for you, Molly Hooper, I'd be just another corpse ready for your examination." He said.
"You'd be the hottest corpse I'd ever live to see." She said, and then turned a deep scarlet when she realized that she actually said that phrase aloud. She wished for the floor to just open up and swallow her or for the Lord to strike her down in a fit of lightening. Just kill me now. She thought, shutting her eyes to avoid seeing his reaction. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry…." She said, but the last of that sentence was swallowed in her throat, for a pair of lips cut off her speech.
Her eyes fluttered open when she realized she was being kissed by Sherlock Holmes. She wanted to pinch herself to ensure she wasn't dreaming, but didn't do so as to not ruin the moment. Instead, she threw herself into the fiery embrace. She thread her fingers through his hair and placed an arm gently on his shoulder. Seeing that she was finally returning the gesture, he ran a hand around behind her back and drew her closer to him, not wanting an inch of space to be between their bodies. Their lips met over and over until they both were forced to come up for air. They separated form one another, sucking in breaths.
He cleared his throat. He looked a bit flustered but far more composed than she. "I apologize, Molly. That was out of line." He said, not looking directly at her as if embarrassed.
She was snapped out of her trance and was ushered back into reality. "No, no, no. No, trust me. That was fine. No. No." Really Molly, that many no's? She thought to herself.
He gave her that same unique smile once more. "You said before something about a shower? Wouldn't want to keep you from your brilliance at St. Bart's." He said, slipping back into the usual Sherlock, sarcasm and all.
Still fresh from the marvelous kiss she answered a beat later than she should have. "Right. Of course." She said, spinning quickly on her heel and walking directly into the door. Her head banged against the wooden frame and sent her sprawling to the floor, her vision blurry.
She heard a sigh behind her. "Molly Hooper, your actions never cease to amaze me." His voice lulled the throbbing in her head.
For the second time in a matter of minutes, Molly Hooper prayed for a quick and easy end.
X
Review, and tell me how I did :)
Have a nice weekend!