A/N: Hello, my darling readers!
A thousand apologies for how long it has taken for this chapter! The main reason I wrote this for you is because I wanted to let you know that I have edited the other chapters. I sat down a while ago and thought, 'Am I happy with the way the story is going and what I've written so far?' and the answer was: no.
So I decided to edit them, re-write bits and pieces, make it a bit more polished and something I'd like to present. There were things I wasn't happy with and I thought it best that I made it nicer. I've gotten rid of the author notes that accompanied because I thought 'nuh'. You may have also noticed (depending on how into the 'accio-feels' community you are) that I have also updated my other stories!
I had a sudden rush of I'm-a-bad-person feels and thought, 'I better get on there and write something!' It felt so good getting the e-mail telling me the stories had been updated. I felt a bit of pride and relief, so yeah!
Anyway, what I wanted to say was this: go back and read the last 6 chapters. It's the same general stuff so you can read on if you want, but I'd recommend you re-read :)
Also, I don't know how I feel about the title. It may be one of the reasons I put off writing. I don't think I really like it. So, drop me a line: lemme know if you like it, don't like it, name suggestions, anything.
One final thing: the story is currently on hold, but I'll write some more, see where I'm going, and post some more. So, I'm gonna work on this a lil more and then post some soon! And that is the plan. UwU
Without further ado, I present 'A Fresh Perspective'.
Enjoy. X
Sherlock was walking up the stairs to Molly's flat when he saw half a dozen men moving old furniture down. He stood to the side and watched as more and more stuff came down.
"Just leave it outside. I've got someone to pick it up in an hour. Thanks!" the voice of Molly called from the top of the stairs.
As soon as the men were out of his way, Sherlock ran up the remaining stairs and to Molly's door. She frowned when she saw him and rolled her eyes.
"Molly, what's going on?" he asked, trying to peer inside her flat.
There were people inside painting walls and Molly tried to block him from viewing it.
"I'm redecorating and refurbishing. Go away."
Sherlock eyed Molly. She looked as though Irene Adler had dressed her! "What are you doing with Irene, Molly?"
Sighing, she closed the door, leaving him outside and alone. Sherlock rolled his eyes and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened again and Molly appeared.
"What?"
He crossed his arms. "Did you ask your landlord about painting?"
Molly pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I did. And she's fine with it, by the way."
"I'm worried about you, Molly, and I only want to help you. If you need me to help you, I'm here. I'll accept your case."
"There's no case, Sherlock. I don't need protection, especially from you. Go away," she snarled.
Sherlock shook his head, his features softening. "Molly, you need me almost as much as I need you. Please, let me in on whatever is going on."
He extended a hand to her and she looked down at it. Molly put her head in her hands and sighed. She looked up at him and folded her arms.
"I'll text you when I need you. But don't expect a call any time soon," she told him. "Maybe a month or so. When I go back to Bart's, I'll text you. Promise."
Sherlock dropped his hand and frowned. "Think about this carefully, please."
"I have," she replied, shaking her head, "and I don't need or want you. Go away."
Sighing in resignation, Sherlock turned around and walked down to the waiting cab. She watched him get in the cab and drive away.
"If Sherlock wasn't aromantic, I'd say he had a thing for Molly," Irene muttered to herself before turning around and walking back into the flat.
Irene picked up another catalogue and started to flip through, wondering what couch would go with the new paint work. As her eyes lit up, seeing the perfect lounge room set, Molly prepared for her next client.
'Alright, Molly,' she thought, reapplying her lipstick, 'this is that man from last week, Mr Andrews.' She smirked as she remembered what happened last week and how he had flung himself at her in desperation. 'You can do this! Just go out there and have fun!'
Molly looked down at the palm card on the table. With a smile, she dropped the card and made her way to her next client.
While she entered the room, Sherlock got out of his cab and walked into 221B Baker Street. John Watson waited at the top of the stairs, his arms folded.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his lips in a thin line.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Isn't that a quote from that pottery movie you watched last night?"
"You mean Harry Potter? That was a coincidence. I'm not an absolute fanboy," John said. He shook his head and frowned. "No. No. You're not allowed to distract me. Sherlock, have you been following Molly?"
Flailing his limbs around, Sherlock sighed. "Just because I'm a consulting detective, it doesn't mean I stalk my friends. I went by her flat to see she's redecorating and refurbishing. It's weird, John. You've got to help me stop her. She's making a mistake."
John shook his head. "Life doesn't revolve around you. Molly will live her life and you have to take a few steps back. Leave her alone, Sherlock. If she needs you, she'll let you know."
Nodding, Sherlock walked up the stairs and past the doctor.
Molly walked into her flat and pressed her hand over her nose as a violent stench of paint settled.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Molly screeched as she saw Irene walking around the flat in her pants, a dress slung over her arm.
Irene looked over at her and smiled. "Evening, Molly. How was your day?"
"G-good until I got home! Where is my furniture? Why did you paint flat? What are you doing?!"
Putting a hand on her heart, Irene scoffed. "I am fixing your life one piece of furniture at a time. And, my darling Molly, I won't even charge you for my assistance. I'm paying for everything and I'm making it the classiest thing you'll ever see. I'm actually starting to get jealous. Consider yourself lucky."
Molly shook her head. "I didn't agree with this."
With a shrug, Irene slipped on the dress in her hand and took Molly's hand.
"We're staying at mine until I get all the furniture in and everything done." She slipped a jacket on and smiled. "All your stuff is there, so you can take what has sentimental meaning and anything you really want. But I'm getting rid of all the furniture. It's tacky and I hate it."
Sighing in resignation, Molly frowned. "Alright."
The women walked to the garage behind the house and Irene showed Molly where the possessions are.
"I boxed them by room and they're put down in a general floor plan of your flat." Irene flipped her hand over her shoulder and smiled. "I had a few extra minutes on my hands and thought I might make it easier for you." She clapped her hands together and pointed to a few stacks of boxes in the left hand corner. "I'd rather you kept that stuff. It's from your bedroom and easily hidden. I've got the clothes in the house. I'm going to get rid of most of it unless there are reasons as to why you want to keep it."
"B-" Molly tried to argue.
Irene held up her hand and shook her head. "Before you tell me that I'm dreadful, I will be buying you clothes and I'll take you with me. You have to like the clothes as well."
Nodding, Molly felt her cheeks heat up. She was so submissive to anything that Irene wanted. There was so much that Molly wanted to keep, but she was feeling pressured to get rid of it all. If there was anything Molly wanted to get out of this experience, other than how to be a dominatrix, it was getting some more confident.