bakerstreet | picture prompt meme.

[Sherlock knows it's a bad idea to come to the cemetery every time he visits London, but something always draws him to that place. His grave. It's almost a game for him to come and inspect the state of his grave. He could deduce just who's come to visit him and for how long in under five minutes. At first, there had been almost no activity after the funeral service, but over time and with the addition of the grave stone, his friends had steadily started trickling in to pay their respects. They left little trinkets like they were visiting an alter.

A pack of cigarettes, a scarf, flowers, a stone carving of a violin, cards, notes, and even one of those God forsaken deerstalker hats. He'd been sorely tempted to burn the wretched thing, but that would have alerted the suspicion of others.

He's kneeling down next to the stone when he hears footsteps approaching from behind. He lifts his head and listens to the steady lift and fall of each step. Linear path, no sign of decelerating. Walking toward this grave. It takes him a moment to deduce the person responsible for the footsteps--shoes are new, rarely worn. Feminine steps, slight trepidation in the motions. Left heel drags every few steps just a tiny bit. The sound of hands rustling against fabric says she's apprehensive. The scent of a certain shampoo reaches him as a breeze picks up.

He doesn't stand up or turn around to face her as he speaks.] Very sentimental of you, Molly. Visiting an empty grave.

[Molly knows it's silly, but every time she's in the neighbourhood she pops by the cemetery. Not because of who's buried there, but because of who isn't. She knows Sherlock is out there, doing what needs to be done, and her part in the sleight of hand is valued. But more than that... it was complete. There would be no disappearing on adventures with Sherlock round the globe, like this was some campy BBC programme. Still, even though he wasn't dead, she visited his grave. Not to pray, exactly. But to wish him well, and hope that whatever gods might be out there granted him a safe return.

She never once thought she would find him kneeling there. Even without turning round, she knows it's him. She'd know that voice anywhere.

Molly stops dead in her tracks, gaping openly. She struggles to find words. How? Why? Why NOW? Has he done it? Has he returned for good, and finally she can end the ruse she helped to create?

But all of them fail her, and instead she finds herself running, heedless of the muddy ground, and throwing her arms around him in a hug.]

[Sherlock stands up slowly, brushing the grass and dirt from the bottom of his Belstaff. He can picture Molly struggling with her words and her feelings in the matter, but he doesn't expect to hear the galloping sound of her shoes against the damp grass.

Before he can turn around, there are thin, feminine arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He stands there flabbergasted for several seconds before he puts a leather-clad hand over one of her forearms.]

Molly...

[New, unexpected, but not at all unpleasant. He's almost as surprised by his own tentative acceptance of the embrace as he'd been by the embrace itself. Slowly, he pushes one of her arms away to loosen the hold so he can turn around and face her. He gives her the choice of stepping back or hugging him properly as he makes no indication of preferring one over the other.]

O-oh. Sorry, sorry.

[Her words are barely more than a squeak as she steps backward awkwardly, the colour rising in her cheeks. She chews her bottom lip furiously and wrings her hands as he turns to face her. The urge to hug him again is there, but for the moment she refrains.]

I just – didn't expect to see you here, that's all.

[An admittedly absurd statement, as no one expects to see the person she's visiting at his own grave. But gazing upon him as she is, the questions bubble up from her throat to her mouth.]

H-have you done it, then? Ah – I mean, are you here to stay, or— is it safe for you to be out in the open like this? Can I help?

[Her mouth as run away with her again. Some things never change.]

[A familiar face is nice. Hers is the first Sherlock has seen since this close since leaving. He catches himself savouring the moment of familiarity so much that he doesn't give a biting comment to Molly's pitiful attempt at greeting him, though seconds later he wishes he'd taken the opportunity. He'd thrown off the flow of the routine exchange by holding his tongue, thus putting an abrupt end to the sensation.]

Molly... [He starts to say as the pathologist begins asking him questions. She doesn't hear him.] Molly. [Slightly more forceful this time, but she keeps rambling nonetheless. Typical.

He lifts his hands to her shoulders as she finishes the final question. Good, it's given him a moment of silence to work with.]

No, no, probably not, and no, I'm fine.

[That takes care of the Q&A, though he gets the feeling Molly won't remember the order she put to her questions--if she remembers the questions at all.]

I'm leaving tonight.

[She starts when he grabs her shoulders, but it does shock her into silence. Good job, Sherlock.

It takes her a few seconds to try to parse out what answers went with what questions, but the overall effect is the same: she slumps a bit, disappointment and worry pulling her down toward the ground like a weight. She frowns.]

Then what are you—? Oh, no no, never mind.

[It's probably better that she doesn't know what he's doing here. Both of them know she wouldn't hold up very well under a police interrogation, although not for lack of trying.]

If you're leaving tonight, though, you should at least stay for dinner. Keep up your strength, yeah? No good traveling on an empty stomach.

[Nervous little laugh, and then it occurs to her what she's done. She just asked Sherlock Holmes to dinner.

She just asked Sherlock Holmes to dinner.]

[His grip on Molly's shoulders loosens to nearly nonexistent before he removes his hands and lowers them to his sides. He can't and won't tell Molly any of the details regarding his activities since it would not be worth the risk. So many lives could be in danger from accidentally uttering one wrong word near the wrong ear. Luckily, Molly seems to come to the same conclusion (relatively) without needing to be prompted by anything more than a slightly warning look from Sherlock.

When she asks him to have dinner with her, several alarms go off in his head. No, he shouldn't have dinner with her because it would be dangerous. No, she could start asking the wrong questions. No, he could - nix that - he would not slip up and give her dangerous information since he's too careful for that. No, he probably won't be hungry and whatever they eat would most likely not settle well with him.

The desire for some reminder of home is a powerful motivator.]

Dinner would be lovely, Molly. Your house, two hours from now. I don't do leafy vegetables, chickpeas, or shellfish.

[Don't worry, Molly. Sherlock doesn't associate the invitation with a date thing.]

[He said yes.

Molly gapes, amazed she hasn't been brushed off with a scathing comment. He would come to her flat, he would eat her food. He would spend time with her. She is at a loss for words at first, and then she has to fight tears.

She worries about him so much, knowing he's out there on his own, with all that adversity. It keeps her up at night, even after all this time.

But she forces a smile, and nods.]

Two hours. I'll be there. —I mean, of c-course I'll be there, it's my place. Um...

[Stop talking, Molly. Start thinking of what you can make with those restrictions.]

See you soon?

[He may not be the most adept when it comes to reading other people's emotional states, but there's something odd about Molly right now that he can't put his finger on. It just confuses him because she looks so happy and so sad at the same time, so he simply looks at her with a sceptical expression plastered on his own face.]

Right...

[He turns away from her then, wondering if he'd done something right or something wrong by accepting the invitation. It hardly matters as it's already done and he's not the type to waffle about his decisions.]

Two hours. I already know the address.

[He kneels down to continue his inspection of his grave, picking up right where he'd left off when he'd noticed Molly approaching him.]

picture prompt meme.

Re: Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock (BBC)

Let me know if you'd like me to alter this in any way

NO THIS IS PERFECT. Also I strongly suspect Molly helped him out in Reichenbach so I hope that's ok!

I agree! I bet she had a hand in it,w hich is why he's not too worried about her seeing him~

YES GOOD i love this already

<3333 Molly is the cutest

thank you!! I don't get to play her much, so this is a treat. <3

Any time! :3

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