Hello All: I feel like I've been off grid or something! Anyway, I am writing a story for Lasergirl77 at the moment. I am also writing another Co-piece with Iamazonian...this one should be significantly more innocent lol. Anyway, this s just one of 2 prompts sent to me by Lily s Wholocked. Which I am also working on. Since this proves to be the easier of the two options I'm filling it NOW :D
I own nothing. All characters/rights being to the creators.
Enjoy!
Roses for Molly
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Ever since he was a child Molly's father had shown her a neat little trick. Being a business man, he had often been called away to any different countries. However, he would always return with something special, mud. Now mud, to some people, may not seem anything special. After all it's slimy, wet, squishy, and usually ruins shoes and rugs. But to Molly and Albert Hooper, it was the most precious of all resources.
The tradition had started with mud from their own back yard. Albert scooped up a handful of mud, one day when Molly had returned home from school. His large fingers worked intricately with the thick paste like substance, moulding and working at it. Little Molly watched in amazement as the pile of ooze was shaped into a beautiful flower, a rose. She was astonished. Her Papa was a magician. He had laughed, and then showed her how to make mud roses of her own.
Whenever he returned home from another trip, he always carted a small plastic bowl, full of whatever mud was to be found there. They would make the roses together. Sometimes they were successful, other times, not so much. The other mud roses crumbed, withering away as if they were real roses. But they still kept that very first one and it stuck together, intrepid through the years.
Albert Hooper had just passed two weeks prior. Molly, being the only one left in her family, was left with the grueling task of sorting through her father's things. She had come across the rose while cleaning his desk. It sat proudly on one of the shelves, seemingly preserved in its perfect clay petals. Molly broke down.
She decided to take it with her to Bart's, wanting to have a piece of her Papa with her there. It would be safe there, away from her flat, where a curious Toby would, no doubt, be its source of ruin. She should have gambled on Toby. Sherlock had been in a mood for two days. John had stopped coming with him to the lab, which Molly knew meant they had been arguing. Sherlock usually overstepped his boundaries with the doctor and John only had so much patience. She tried her best to be quiet as she sat at her desk watching him work from across the way. Her fingers carefully, subconsciously, worked over the ridges of the rose, feeling the slight cracks from age. Her eyes followed the same curls of Sherlock's hair, finding their dips and hills quite similar. Soon, the detective let out a loud sigh of frustration before setting a fierce gaze on her. Molly sat up straight, knowing that look.
''Molly...what on earth is that thing?" He asked, his nose scrunching slightly in distaste. Molly's lips fell into a frown as she looked down to the small flower. Her and was swiftly brushed aside as a very quick Sherlock was now plucking it up carelessly in his large hands. Molly's hand went to retrieve it but she missed. Tears quickly flooded her eyes as he cruelly judged it.
''Hm, while I will say the idea of a rose made from mud seems like a very innovative way to grab my attentions, Molly, it is highly juvenile to think that it could win over my affections for you. Besides, this a medical facility. I hardly see how mud would be considered sanitary in the lab's sterile environment. I'll just dispose of this for you, shall I?" He briskly spoke, paralyzing the pathologist to her spot. Suddenly, before she could move to stop him, the detective was stepping out the door. Molly quickly ran after him, calling for him to stop. He continued, all the way to the exit door at the end of the hall. Having pushed it open, Sherlock chucked the tiny trinket out and onto the pavement. It smashed into thousands of pieces, all before soaking under the heavy fall of the rain. Sherlock spun to walk back inside, but was promptly greeted with cracking sound, followed by sensation, of Molly Hooper's hand slapping him in the face. He was shocked, to say the least. However, after getting over the initial feel, he sharply gazed at her. Her eyes were rimming with fierce tears, her lower lip set firm in a harsh frown. Sherlock could see her entire body shaking, and not from the influence of the cold rain as it asked them both.
''Moll..'' he started to ask what her problem was, but barely got her name out past his lips before she erupted.
''Don't 'Molly' me, Sherlock Holmes! Don't you dare act like this is me taking something too personally. I realize the solar system was a bit of an issue for you in the past, but the word still does not revolve around you! That was not for you. It was never going to be for you. That was one of the last of my dad's possessions, and I kept it for bloody sentimental purposes! Another thing you don't seem to comprehend! You...you ass!" Molly was crying through her words at this point, but she didn't care. How could she care, when the last of her happy memories washed down the curb with the rain? Sherlock was quiet. He had missed something, been too self righteous. He wasn't sure. However, as the tingling nerves in his cheek bristled further under the rain, he stepped toward her.
''I'm...Molly I...''
''Oh save it, Sherlock!" Molly scoffed and turned to go back inside. As she was, John was opening the door from inside, a very worried look on his face.
''Molly?"
''You keep him away, John. Keep him away from me, and out of the lab, and out of the morgue. Keep him the hell away from me!" Molly pointed behind her, and John's gaze flew to a very shell-shocked Sherlock. The doctor asked after her as she passed him, but she ignored his concern, bolting past him and back down the hall. It was then that John looked to his flatmate. The detectives curls were all dripping with rain, his suit drenched through. John could make out the very pink outline of a hand print appearing on his cheek, and he suddenly ad a semblance of what was casing Molly's mood.
''What the hell did you do, Sherlock?"
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Well, I think I'm going to split it up. Alf today, the rest after! Tell me what you think, yea?