Lexie sometimes draws

Q:Swaplock or Molly as Eleven's companion!

Sherlock stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, trying not to shiver in the cold December air as he walked the snow covered streets of London. The fine powder that had set in was the first proper snow, so there wasn’t much of a worry of black ice just yet, but he still kept his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him, carefully watching his every step and NOT thinking about Molly Hooper or the man on the slab she’s recognized from…not his face.

He didn’t want to think about the Christmas gift he’d carefully wrapped for her or how it was probably still sitting on the desk next to Sally’s laptop, unopened and would probably remain so until…well, forever probably. It was just a book he’d found on bee keeping that once they’d managed to find a common interest in, and he’d hoped that it would remind her that there was more to him than just being the pathologist at Barts and maybe…

Sherlock heaved a deep sigh. It was useless really. How many times had John told him to just give up on Molly already and find himself a nice girl, one that actually LIKED him? John’s exact phrasing had been something along the lines of “Someone who’s an actual human being.”

Sherlock frowned. Molly was real, she had feelings, he knew that, he could see it in her face when she’d figured something out, saw it in the way she would tease Sally about her hair, even occasionally saw it directed towards himself (he could still feel the ghost of her lips on his cheek).

But John was right (of course). He couldn’t carry on like this, couldn’t hang on to the vain hope that Molly would open her eyes and fall into his waiting arms. It wasn’t healthy, it wasnt—

Sherlock sighed, his breath visible in the cold air.

It was impossible to break free from Molly Hooper.

He was very nearly at his flat, mentally preparing himself for Toby to jump up to lick his face in greeting as he always did (the dog was the only one who actually seemed happy to see him) when a voice just behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“Sherlock Holmes! Brilliant, wonderful, Sherlock Holmes!”

Sherlock turned around, his eyes catching on the blue police box and the figure leaning against the doorway, the warm glow of the TARDIS becoming behind them.

“Hello, River.”

“Don’t just stand out there in the cold. Come along. We’ve got places to be.”