Tumblr Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016
Day 1 theme - Caught In The Rain
"Into The Gray"
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Sherlock angled his umbrella as the wind shifted direction and the torrential rain went horizontal. Four days of rain and grayness had encompassed the city. Clouds lingered and delivered a steady pouring of gloom. He had to smirk at the feeling the gray brought. It seeped into his already brusk and dark outlook on life to make him a tad depressed. Couple that with no challenging cases and Sherlock was restless. What he wouldn't give for a ray of sunshine and a mystery to solve.
As he walked through the deserted streets that paralleled the River Thames a splash of red caught his eye. Through the dense downpour he watched a woman walk out of a hole in the wall bar that looked to just be closing. It was seedy and basic and an odd choice for a lone woman dressed up to the nines, high heels and hair elegantly swept up and a….no, he must be seeing things he only dreamed about. That could not be a bright pink and black scarf that was as distinctive as the woman who owned it.
What the hell was Molly Hooper doing alone at 2am on a Sunday morning walking out of a bar? Didn't she realize how unsafe that behavior was? That a pretty woman alone in the middle of the night was a target. And she was pretty and she was alone. No one came after her as she faced the rough elements.
Before Sherlock could catch up with her, Molly opened her red umbrella and started walking across the street and entered an alley in the direction of the waterfront.
Sherlock sprinted after her and saw the tip of her red umbrella as it turned a corner and when he rounded the same corner the umbrella sat in the middle of the cobbled street. It wobbled back and forth under the deluge of rain. Creeping shadows encroached all around as a single overhead street light poorly lit the street.
He quickly looked up and scanned the area, his adrenaline and fears escalating till he saw Molly, in her familiar sensible beige London Fog rain coat, standing by the edge of the river bank. She wasn't being sensible right now though.
Her face was tilted up to the heavens and her arms spread wide as if she was welcoming the pounding of the rain over her body. She was soaking wet and Sherlock couldn't understand what she was doing.
"Molly?" Sherlock said, as he walked up to her and met her shocked eyes as she quickly turned towards his voice.
"Sherlock….of course it would be you," she whispered with a tone that was devoid of her usual self. Sherlock couldn't see the tears, but he could hear them in her voice. Did someone hurt her? By God, he'd kill anyone who tried. His vision turned scarlet as anger and his instincts to protect her overtook everything else.
"Molly? Are you hurt?" he asked, as he walked into her personal space and covered them both under the protection of his umbrella. He looked her over seeing no obvious wounds, but there were wounds. He could feel the gravity of them in the air around her.
"No. No, don't do that." she replied strongly, as she stepped back into the rain and away from him. She didn't appear to be intoxicated to him. No blood shot eyes, no slurring of words and she was stable on her high heels even on the old cobbled stones of the road.
"Sherlock, I want to be alone….please," she pleaded, as she seemed to be barely keeping her emotions under control. Her anguish reached out to him and lanced him with its severity. He needed to help her. He couldn't bare to see her hurting. Not Molly, not his Molly.
"I don't underst..,"
"I'm fine, Sherlock. Please, go away," she pleaded, over the roar of the storm as she stood shivering and vulnerable in front of him. Moments ticked by and at his stubborn silence and total disregard for her entreaty; she gave up and bowed her head in defeat.
Then, she lifted her head up and with eyes full of deep sadness and resolution, met his.
"I'm tired, Sherlock. I'm just tired of it. I don't think it's too much to ask, to find someone I could love and love me back. I'm tired of men who never see, me. I'm tired of being stood up on dates. On being ignored. On not being appreciated and,"
Her pain filled words were cut off as Sherlock dropped his umbrella and reached for her face with his large warm hands and kissed her.
He was such a fool. How could he have let his own trepidations of being loved and loving someone back get in the way of...this. He'd hurt her because he had been a coward. He'd been too afraid to reach for what she so graciously offered him. A deeper friendship and a love that would complete him.
It had taken her moment of courage, her moment of complete openness to force him to be brave.
Her body's surprised resistance lasted less than a second before her soul was embraced by his. After all this time...they were starved for each other.
The taste of rain and her favorite lemon tea exploded on their tongues as Molly allowed him entry.
Her hands covered his before they ran through his wet curls to cup the back of his head and pulled him closer. Their kiss deepened and Sherlock poured every ounce of his love and respect for her into it.
Floodgates opened and all his longings, his wants and his needs came rushing through as he finally 'shared' them with her.
His dreams of intimate conversations, touches lazy and sensual, even, frantic one's, comfort, understanding and acceptance, and in the deepest levels of his hopes - the laughter of children, with her.
He tried to soothe every wound he had ever caused her with the gift of his heart.