littleori requested Apocalypse!Molly.
I think that Molly would be very very practical and all that hair just wasn’t going to make it in a world where showers might be difficult. She’s also not eating that well, and really, is anyone getting any sleep? This gives me an idea for a fic, but it’s gotta go in the back to the rather large queue of stuff I haven’t gotten around to yet….
Q:Molly stifled a giggle as she entered the flat. She knew that Sherlock was wary of Toby and vice versa, but the scene of the two of them locked in a staring contest was something rather silly. "I suppose you think this is a joke," she heard Sherlock say. "It's not. It's a battle for dominance." Amusingly enough, Molly could tell Toby was thinking the same thing.
“You taught her how to use the Bunsen burner. You are cleaning this up. And doing the laundry.”
Sherlock and Molly receive an unexpected surprise upon coming home to see their daughter experimenting in the kitchen.
Nonny!Request: Sherlock and Molly covered in an exploded substance from experiment.
“SHERLOCK!! You do NOT get to eat the whole batch this time, they are for the party! And stop calling them midgets, it’s offensive as they are MEN!”
Request by Meg: Sherlock x Molly and their “ginger midgets”.
(I haven’t forgotten about requests dudes! I am going to return to the regularly scheduled program of more art and less of my face.)
The ground was a bit damp, but she didn’t mind as she lay the single calla lily on the ground in front of the black marble headstone and sat down.
Molly couldn’t properly face the name etched on it, so she sat with her back to it, taking in the quiet view, so different from the dramatic scenes that would fill his life.
It would have been so much easier if he was actually dead. Not that she wished for a second that he was—lived in constant terror of that, in fact—but the uncertainty of not knowing where he was or how he was wasn’t something she ever imagined would be so painful. So it was for her own sake that she sat there, quietly talking to the empty grave, the meaningless headstone.
Maybe someday soon, she wouldn’t need to.
100years-to-live requested Molly at Sherlock’s grave and I got carried away. There was actually more of this story in my head, but I can’t seem to have the fleeting thoughts solidify into words. I’m sorry.