Sherlolly One Shots

Starlight

(Inspired by Taylor Swift's 'Starlight' - set in 1945 England with a young Sherlock and Molly! - I hope you like!)

"Oh my."

Molly stared down at Sherlock from her bedroom window, her hand plastered over her heart. Her chest was rising and falling faster than when she had first popped her head over the flower box.

"Come on, Molly. Time is of the essence."

"Sherlock, I can't! You know I can't!"

"Of course you can. Why can't you?"

Molly shook her head. The look in his eyes as they sparkled up at her made her wonder if he truly did not understand why she couldn't get dressed, climb out of her window and sneak into a party with him in the middle of the night.

"Sherlock, it's 11 o'clock! My Nan's in bed."

"Molly, do be sensible. Your Grandmother has slept through nearly the entire blitz."

"Sherlock, shhh!" Molly's cheeks were burning. "If she hears you, I'll be in so much bother!"

"Oh please, you're 18 in a few months!"

"Yes, and I'd rather not lose that freedom before I've gained it!"

She worried her lip with her teeth as she searched through the foliage outside her window. Sherlock found himself dodging the stones that he'd thrown at said window as she threw them back down, muttering about her Grandmother's green fingers and begonias. Time to change tactics.

When Molly looked over the ledge again, Sherlock was no longer there. Assuming he had finally given up, she stepped back from the window. It was a good thing she did because a second later a brown leather knapsack was being thrown into her room and then Sherlock appeared hauling himself over the flowers and flinging himself into her open window. Somehow very gracefully.

"What-"

"I climbed the ivy and the guttering pipes."

"Well, yes, I got that-"

"It's for a case. You have to come, Molly."

"Why can't you go ask John or something?"

Molly was trying her hardest to ignore the fact that Sherlock Holmes was standing in her bedroom. Sherlock Holmes who she had been in love with since she was 14 years old. She had never forgotten that first night in the bunker, the first time they met. The night he'd sauntered over and snatched the anatomy book from her lap before sitting beside her and criticising the authors for leaving out bits of information. She shook her head again.

"John can't."

His voice seemed so loud in the quiet room. But Molly knew it was only to her own ears.

"Why can't he?"

"Because he's not you."

She ignored the flipping of her stomach, he didn't mean it like that.

"Molly, come on ... please?"

She looked at him and then at the closed door of her bedroom and then at the clock on her wall. He watched her intensely, pleading with her with his eyes. He never said please.