bakerstreet | the true love meme

the true love meme

❝THE TRUE LOVE ♡ meme❞
Perhaps you're the kindest, most love-filled person in the world. Or, on the other hand, you may be a calculating, cold villain. But for this meme, everyone in this spectrum has one thing in common: you feel love towards someone. Not a facade, not even lust, but real, true love. This, of course, complicates things, yet your love is all-consuming and cannot be ignored.

How To Play:

This is a shipping meme that operates on "true love." You're welcome to interpret that as you will through your character and your character's culture/society/canon, but what your character will feel is equivalent to love. Not pretending, not a falsehood, etc etc. Actual love. This may be hard for them but that's the point of the meme!
Comment with your preferences.
Comment around to others. Respect their preferences.
Use the prompts or make up your own ideas.

Prompts:
1. First Love: You've never felt love before, at least not romantic love.
2. Been Burned Before: You had a relationship or loved someone before, and it didn't go well.
3. Fighting It: Nope. You don't want love. Not gonna happen.
4. Confession: You decide not to fight it. Instead, you just want to give in and tell the person, for better or for worse. Good thing they love you back...
5. Courtship: You want to take it slow, so you're doing the dating thing. Awww, how sweet.
6. Do That To Me One More Time: The obligatory smut option. You're using the physical to show the emotional.
7. I Don't Deserve You: You don't think you deserve the affection of the amazing, perfect person who loves you, disgusting and horrible and broken you.
8. Forbidden: It had to be here. You're both members of different factions, species, classes, and so on. But nothing will stand in the way of your feelings unless you let it.
9. Be My Bad Boy: Similar to the above but one of you is "good" while the other is "evil." Despite this, your relationship is just as strong and just as pure as anyone else's.
10. For Your Own Good: We all know the romance trope. One party must leave the other, though they still love them desperately. They must make their love hate them for their own good.
11. Trying to Make It Work: Through good times and bad, you've decided to work together for what you feel, because you know you'll only ever love this person.
12. Back Together: You only had room for one person in your heart, and they were the one that got away. Now, though, you have another chance.
13. I Refuse to Leave: Sometimes, even true love isn't all that good. Sometimes it's destructive and painful, and the person you love isn't the one who's good for you. But they love you, and you can't leave.
14. Keep Your Hands Off!: You have to defend your partner, and you won't let anyone stand in the way.
15. Marry You: You've decided to make things permanent. You're getting married to this person, or whatever other bonding ceremony applies.
16. Doomed: You are seeing this love through to the end, even if you know one of you is dying, being taken away, or otherwise gone from the picture.
17. Wildcard

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Molly placed her own fingertips on the edge of the paper on her side of the door. Her eyes took in the words, but try as she might, she couldn't believe them. She wasn't as thorough in analysis like Sherlock was, she had enough clues giving red flags in her mind to know that something was very off.

"Oh no? Then why can't you talk to me? And what did you cross out here? Ex...periment?"

At that, there was a quiet, frustrated noise--not his usual growl; something much higher-pitched, almost softer. A thunk sounded against the door, as if he were leaning against it in defeat.

If there was one thing Sherlock hadn't anticipated about Molly, it was how damn persistent she could be.

After a moment another piece of paper slid under the door.

If you come in it'll only get worse

It was the first moment of emotional vulnerability he'd let her see in a long time.

"What will get worse? Am I going to wreck your precious bloody experiment by trying to talk to you in the privacy of your own flat?" She scoffed, incredulous as she sat there, crouched in front of the door.

There was a tiny creak of wood as she leaned her own forehead against the door, sighing loudly. "Sherlock, please...if something's wrong, I want to help. But you have to LET me help."

The ensuing silence seemed to stretch out for hours, awkward and tight. When the pen began to scratch against paper again, it seemed deafeningly loud. The pen itself skittered out from under the door a half-second after the note slid towards her.

I, the undersigned, hereby understand and accept that I am not to speak TO ANYONE of ANYTHING I witness inside 221B Baker Street
______________________

Apparently Sherlock's was a conditional surrender.

Edited 2013-10-16 02:13 (UTC)

Molly's eyes scanned the latest note, and then rolled from side to side. "You're being ridiculous!" she called through the door as she picked up the pen. The scribbling of her signature could be heard shortly after.

She pushed the signed note back under the door, but held onto the pen as she stood up and waited.

Once she was on her feet, the unmistakable sound of the locks clicking open rang out into the hall. The door swung back (and dramatically--absurdly--the lights inside the flat were mostly out), and Sherlock himself kept the door as a barrier between them.

It might have been like something out of an early horror movie, had it not been so ridiculous.

Molly pursed her lips into a thin line as she stepped forward into the dim flat, twirling the pen between the fingers of her right hand. She knew that Sherlock could have a penchant for the dramatic (particularly when he was bored and in need of a case), but this was a new record of theatricality.

She could feel his presence behind the door once she was fully in the flat, though it was somehow...a little less overwhelming than normal. She pushed the thought aside, it didn't make sense, but it was just one of those many things that screamed 'OFF' inside her brain.

"Well? I'm here. Can you shut the door and talk to me now?" She reached over to put her own hand on the side of the door, intending to pull it away from concealing him.

Almost immediately the door swung shut behind her, the light from outside snuffed out abruptly. Sherlock was little more than a blur of motion crossing her line of sight--and then he was at her back, somehow, long fingers gripping her shoulders urgently, lips next to her ear.

"You wanted to see this," he hissed... and something was wrong about his voice. Like he had one of those colds that made someone's voice come out at the highest end of their register. The low, purring quality he normally exploited for dramatic effect (or, more recently, to tease out a particular response from her) was completely gone.

The strangeness of his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end; not from excitement like he normally coaxed out of her, but...some slight form of fear.

"What's...what's happened to your voice?" She squeaked out, shoulders tensing under his grip. Everything about him was all wrong, and she didn't understand why...

He turned her around, the movement brusque...

...and suddenly those notes made much more sense.

It was still Sherlock, somehow. The strange narrow eyes were the same, right down to the long lashes and the coloration of the iris; so was the curly hair, the sharply defined cheekbones, the pale skin. But where he'd once been tall, lean, and entirely masculine... well, he was at least an inch or two shorter; his proportions looked different. The shirt he wore was loose at the shoulders and through the arms, but tight across the chest. His mouth looked softer, fuller...

More feminine.

He--she--gestured to herself helplessly, angrily.

"This. This is what's happened. Satisfied?"

Molly's eyes widened, her small mouth falling open in shock. "Sh....Sherlock?" The pen fell from her fingers, rolling onto the floor.

It couldn't be, but...she'd spent enough days in his presence, admiring and memorizing his features. She'd always thought he was so beautiful, like a museum piece come to life. Those piercing eyes, the fine cheekbones. It was so him. And now he...was she?

She struggled for words, her hand reaching out with a great trembling of her fingers to touch Sherlock's cheek.

"Did it...a-are you hurt?"

Sherlock flinched, very slightly, from that touch--though it was immediately apparent that the reaction was out of wounded pride rather than disgust.

"It's been... difficult," she said at last, refusing to meet Molly's eyes. "My center of gravity is in a different place, the weight distribution is all wrong, none of my clothes fit--I haven't even been able to go out to get more cadaver parts so I can try to find a way to reverse this."

She huffed out a frustrated sigh.

Molly just stared for a moment, her reaching fingers hovering just next to Sherlock's skin.

"But you're not hurt," she clarified, mulling it over. After a few moments, Molly let out a nervous little laugh, the kind that comes when you're not really sure what to say.

"Then...then everything's fine," she finally added, her voice finding a chipper note. "I-I mean, obviously you're not "fine", but you will be! I'll help you get the parts you need and we'll find a way to fix this and you'll be all better!"

Sherlock blinked at her, as if she were totally unable to grasp the concept of optimism, before shaking her head slowly.

"And if it can't be reversed? What then? This is a tremendous scientific breakthrough, yes, but if there's no way back and I'm stuck like this..."

Was it Molly's imagination, or was there a faint tinge of fear behind those catlike eyes?

"Don't talk like that," Molly said hurriedly, putting a finger to Sherlock's lips. "It's not a scientific breakthrough when you're scared to leave your own home. This is just...an accident, o-or a side-effect, or something." She knew she sounded like she was grasping at straws, so she abandoned that for another point. She could see the fear in Sherlock's now much more feminine eyes, and she was afraid the fear would be reflected in her own gaze.

"Look, it doesn't matter. You're still Sherlock in there. Which means you're still brilliant and you'll find a way around this. And...you've got me. Your girlfriend."

"But you're not... you don't..."

For once Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for words. Clearly she'd anticipated a much less positive response from Molly--after all, this was someone she knew to be very fond of the now-vanished masculine version of herself.

"Don't what? Like girls?" Molly wasn't about to lie to him - er, her - and gave a sheepish shrug.

"You're right, I'm not...sexually attracted to women," she admitted with a small sigh. "I did try kissing a girl once. It was...okay?" She doesn't even sound convinced herself. But that had been part of a drinking game and Molly had been buzzed and more desperate to fit in at a university party than actually explore another spectrum of sexuality.

"But you're not just any woman. I mean, you're Sherlock. You're still my Sherlock, somewhere in there." She tried to give a hopeful smile, even though there was a tiny part of her that was afraid of what this would mean for their relationship.

"Besides, you are rather pretty."

"So not only are you offering to help... you're not breaking up with me," Sherlock said slowly, as if making certain of the facts. She seemed faintly amazed, as if this idea were just as great a discovery as a chemical method of tampering with one's own chromosomes.

"Of course not, don't be a git!" Molly gasped, lightly slapping Sherlock's now much softer forearm.

"It took you long enough to notice me - I'm not about to let you go now." She felt the tips of her ears turn pink, smiling sheepishly at him.

The look that crossed Sherlock's face then was one Molly would have recognized anywhere, no matter what sex it was attached to: that moment of delighted surprise when something slid into place in his brain, when some detail suddenly made sense.

Abruptly she seized Molly's face and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

"God, I love you," she blurted, before kissing her again. "You're fantastic, this is going to be so much easier with someone who won't send me to a government facility."

She very much knew that look - it was one of ~~his~~ hers that she enjoyed seeing, when the puzzle pieces slid into place for Sherlock's mind. She tried to hold back a smile as the look spread across Sherlock's face.

The kiss, however, took Molly completely by surprise; out of instinct, she slid a hand to rest near Sherlock's collarbone, she was still trying to process the feeling of smoother hands and soft lips when her now-girlfriend snogged her again. "Oh!"

There was brief moment of silence on Molly's part, as her brain played catch-up. "Well that's....yay," she exhaled nervously, looking up at Sherlock. She was turning pink at the praise, trying to quell the giddiness inside her. "Now you're the second girl I've kissed," she murmured thoughtfully, reaching up to place a tiny return kiss on Sherlock's lips. "...I love you, too."

Sherlock grinned. "Oh, you don't have to tell me that part. Figured it out two weeks ago."

(Definitely still Sherlock in there, regardless of secondary sexual characteristics. Not that she meant it dismissively; it was just a statement of fact, one of those things that fell out of her brain unfiltered.)

"So--now all we need is a cover story and some more materials and things should be fine. Ah--and dinner, too, come to think of it. Must be the adjustments in body and hormones, but I'm ravenous today. You'll stay the night?"

Molly let out a wry laugh, shaking her head. "Of course you did. Couldn't wait for me to say it, could ya?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'll phone someone to check in on Toby, make sure he's still got food. I can order some take-away while I'm at it," she offered, taking Sherlock's hand in hers and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Cover story....yeah, that's going to take some work. Food first?"

"Definitely food first."

Her expression had brightened considerably, and she hung on to Molly's hand.

"My wallet's in my coat. Which--God, the sleeves on it are ridiculous now, I look like a little girl in her father's clothes."

"Oh really? I'd look like a little girl in a circus tent if I tried it on, then!" Molly laughed.

"What d'you feel like? Chinese? Pizza and chips?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject