Black, Two Sugars

Chapter 2 of Unnamed Things

Sat, 18 May 2013 21:33:51 -0400

Chapter 2 is up! This is a commissioned work for dizzypersephone.

The story on fanfiction.net if you prefer.

I am still taking commissions. I am most desperately in need of them, actually. We are working toward getting caught up on our mortgage to avoid acceleration. There has been a set back in the past couple of weeks because I was ill and missed more than 20 hours of work. The work I’ve gotten so far has helped extraordinarily! Please check out my commissions page for more details.

She’s worth every dollar, I can promise you! If you’ve ever wanted to have your perfect Sherlolly fic written just the way you want, this is your chance.

soyeahso: Hey y’all, I published a fic! Chapter 1 of Unnamed Things, a Sherlolly fic commissioned...

Sat, 18 May 2013 12:02:53 -0400

soyeahso:

Hey y’all, I published a fic!

Chapter 1 of Unnamed Things, a Sherlolly fic commissioned by dizzypersephone.

AO3

ff.net

By the way, I am still definitely taking commissions. In fact I’m in greater need than before, having missed more than 20 hours of work in the past two weeks due to being ill. Please check out my commission page for more details.

Finally!

Fri, 17 May 2013 04:36:23 -0400

Took me an hour, but I made my SAMFA nominations.

Ahh, a day off

Fri, 17 May 2013 02:30:46 -0400

I’m taking tomorrow off. I’m going to sleep, and read, and update SAMFA nominations, and hopefully choose mine. And thank heavens I’m doing this, because it’s nearly 2:30 am here and my GERD has reared its ugly head and my stomach is a pit in hell that demons keep adding coals to and who knows when I’ll be able to sleep.

Dear Broomclosetkink

Thu, 16 May 2013 19:08:13 -0400

Cause one bouquet was not fraking enough.

WIP Part 2

Thu, 16 May 2013 16:07:00 -0400

i am reliably informed that this is not rubbish. Thank you so much. Here is part 2.

*************************

If I let myself go
And for where I just don’t know
I’d maybe hit some cold new river
That led out to the sea
An unknown sea

The fact that Molly Hooper was in love with him was no surprise to Sherlock Holmes.

It was not an elephant in the living room. It was a dragon in the burning wasteland of her heart. It had ravaged every corner until everything was ablaze with its fury, and it still wanted more. Molly had nothing left. No sword, no treasure: nothing that would make it unfurl its mighty wings and soar away and leave her at peace. She’d resigned herself to this long ago, but that didn’t make the sound and the fury of it any less painful.

She begins to daydream about leaving after a few months, and every time she feels a mixture of exaltation and shame. Mycroft was right: Sherlock does need her. But he doesn’t want her, or love her, and it is those distinctions, no matter how subtle they seem, that are tearing her apart more each day. She becomes afraid that if she stays, it will literally be the death of her, and not just figuratively the way it has been for the past 2 years.

The noble thing to do, of course, is stay regardless: to sacrifice herself for him. But she has been so noble for so long and the demons dreaming in her head won’t stop their insane chatter about how Sherlock will never ever want her, and it’s almost too much to bear.

She keeps it all inside, just stares out into the city, walks beside him when being inside presses on both of them too much and they have to go out, see the streets, the shops, the people.

She is still paralyzed with indecision, whether she will stay or go. She is a good person. Very good. But she is no saint. She thinks she’s doing a good job of it: of keeping from him that every day she is dying a little more inside. He’s not emotionally attuned: he can’t possibly figure it out.

She does not know how very wrong she is.

I’d either swim or I’d drown
Or just keep falling down and down
I think it’s that, that makes me quiver
Just to keep falling down
Down, down, down

Everything is black and white for Sherlock: he could be lost in the desert for all he cares, nothing will look the same until he is back in London, back to the work, and John, and Baker Street, with everything the way it was. Only then will the colors return and everything spill back out in all its glory for him. Until then, everything is dull.

Except Molly.

She doesn’t fully understand that he is no longer the man he once was. The one that plowed through the gardens of other people’s feelings, uncaring as long as he was entertained and distracted. He sees things now. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t stop it. So he is learning how to cope, how to harness it and add it to his deductive arsenal.

And he sees that Molly is hurting a little more each day.

He estimates that at current course, she will have had enough within another month. She is pale despite the blistering sun, a walking corpse amongst all the tanned people they encounter that burst with the life that he and Molly no longer have. Not for the first time, he feels the knife of guilt push in a little deeper: twist a little harder. It’s his fault she’s here: his fault she is suffering.

He knows that she would deny it: would say she’s fine. But she isn’t. And he isn’t. And that can’t be changed for different reasons. There is nothing that can be done for him yet: not until Mycroft tells him it is over. But there is something that can be done for Molly.

She saved his life. Now it is his turn to save hers.

He walks up to her, and without preamble pulls her to him and kisses her. It’s awkward and uncertain: he’s never kissed anyone before. She melts against him for a few seconds before she pulls away and looks at him, trying to figure out what he is doing.

He isn’t entirely sure himself. It was a confused impulse not really rooted in desire: more of an apology, a compensation. But as she looks at him, eyes wide, body shaking, he is struck by the realization of just how much she loves him, how badly she wants him. Yes, he doesn’t want to lose her; and yes, he doesn’t want to see her suffer anymore. But suddenly, inexplicably, there is more. She wasn’t grey before, but now, in this new awakening, she is more than that. She is the only thing that shines.

He kisses her again, and it seems natural this time. All that he knows is that his lips on hers, her body pressed to his, feels very right to him. Like a breath he’d been holding without realizing it, and now he could fill his lungs with her and do more than just exist. She felt like life.

Molly cries out softly and tangles her fingers in his hair, and the final wall comes crumbling around his feet. He surrenders to the feelings. They are all he has now, and he takes them in greedily, just as she does. He carries her to his bed and there is no awareness of anything but Molly: her lips and hands and heartbeat and whispers.

They spend the rest of the day there, bodies entwined, cuddling and laughing and tracing lazy possessive circles on each other’s skin. When the hot embers of the sun finally set they are finally sated, and they curl around each other to sleep.

Sherlock knows two things now. One: Molly is happy. And curiously, so is he; as happy as they can both be under the circumstances. She won’t leave him. Which is fortunate, as he has no desire to let her go. The other is that it is no longer his bed. It is their bed. They will share it like they have come to share everything else.

WIP

Thu, 16 May 2013 15:11:46 -0400

A/N: This ain’t no disco. I’m in a weird state of mind. Blame medication and Wang Chung.

In the heat of the day
Every time you go away
I have to piece my life together
Every time you’re away
In the heat of the day

L.A. was both everything and nothing like it was made out to be in television and in movies. It was bright. Blindingly bright. The sun was a constant angry orb of orange-red fire that pulsed down on the inhabitants without mercy. It fascinated Molly, who up until now had spent her entire life in England and was not used to seeing so much sun. There were days that she’d spend hours just sitting on their balcony, huge flowered sunglasses on, staring out into the sky and the abyss that was the city.

It was fine with him. Sometimes he worked on a laptop, trying to piece together information that would help Mycroft. His brother was the reason they were there. He’d flatly told Sherlock it was entirely too dangerous for him to remain in the UK while the hunt for Moriarty’s network took place and that he needed to be someone safe. He remembered the conversation clearly.

“Where?” Sherlock asked, knowing that Mycroft had already set something up even as he asked.

“America. Los Angeles, California, to be precise.”

“Why there?” Sherlock asked. He’d had no real objection: he had no real feelings about anything at that point, other than a numb relief tinged with sorrow.

Mycroft laughed. “Who in the world would expect Sherlock Holmes to be in Los Angeles?”

Fair enough.

“Doctor Hooper will accompany you,” Mycroft added.

This was surprising. “Why? I don’t need a handler, Mycroft.”

“No. But you do need a friend,” Mycroft said softly.

It was one of the most astonishing things his brother had ever said to him and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or thank him. “Did you ask her or “tell” her?” He asked. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to compel someone to be with him.

“Asked, thank you. She agreed at once. I suspect you know why.”

He did. Molly loved him. Which was a shame, because he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Still, her company would not be entirely unwelcome. The idea of being alone no longer appealed to him.

“When?”

“In the morning.”

Other times, Sherlock sat outside with Molly in the other white wicker chair, dark, plain sunglasses on, staring out; trying to understand what fascinated her so much.

Finally one day he asked her. “What are you looking for?”

She turned to look at him, and Sherlock knew that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to delete the look or her face, or her response.

“God.”

In the dark of the night
Every time I turn the light
I feel that God is not in heaven
In the dark of the night
The dark of the night

Molly hadn’t hesitated when Mycroft had asked her to go with Sherlock. He’d laid it all out nicely: he’d make sure she got her job back at Bart’s when the time came, Toby would stay with someone who would take good care of him, her flat would be paid for and looked after and all her bills would be taken care of. He’d offered her an obscene sum of money, which she at first refused.

“Why?” He asked her. “Most people would welcome such an offer.”

“I’m not most people,” she replied softly.

“No,” he said after a pause. “I suppose you are not. Nevertheless, please take it. It may prove helpful to you later in life.”

He’d seemed so anxious Molly had agreed. She didn’t know why Mycroft thought everyone had to be bought and paid for. The only currency Molly cared about was her love for Sherlock and her desire to help him be okay and safe.

“Does he know? He might not want me with him,” Molly said to Mycroft.

He paused. Then: “I can assure you, Doctor Hooper, that whether or not he initially wants you with him, he very much needs you with him.”

Sherlock had looked at her with something that resembled relief when they got in the car the next morning. As the plane took off, he shocked her by taking her hand, albeit briefly, squeezing her fingers so tight she thought they would break. Then he let her go and stared out the window for nearly the entire flight.

Well. It was something, she supposed.

The city fascinated her. She’d never been anywhere that even remotely resembled Los Angeles. It bothered her, too. Even though she was with Sherlock almost all the time, she felt alone at times. Like she’d left someone behind. And in a sense she had. The ghosts of Molly and Sherlock were still in London, staring, motionless, suspended in time and circumstance, waiting for them to come back.

Molly was a scientist. But she still had an unshakable faith in…something. No particular deity: she didn’t like pigeonholing her convictions and putting them in one box or another as though that was all there was to it. Still, she’d always felt a presence in her life. A steady, quiet hum somewhere in her mind that had made her not feel alone, that things would be all right eventually.

She’d lost that the moment they’d stepped off the plane in California. And she’d been looking for it ever since.

She knew Sherlock was stunned by her response. It wasn’t surprising, but it was amusing. He was so used to knowing everything, and now he was finding out that he didn’t really know her. Only the surface pieces he’d seen, like a funhouse mirror he’d glanced at but not walked up close to, to see the distortions.

He didn’t say another word that day. But he didn’t leave until she was ready to go inside.

****************

Is this rubbish? My mind is in an altered state and I can’t tell. Please don’t let me write rubbish.

Anddd...yeah. Another Official SAMFA Post.

Thu, 16 May 2013 09:05:40 -0400

Hello, sherlollians,

This should not need to be said, but in light of something that happened last year, I’m saying it anyway.

There are a lot of talented and amazing writers here. Anyone can be nominated; heck, nominate yourself if you like, and any of the finalists could win.

What is mature and polite to do for the winners:

Congratulate them, be happy for them, love their fic, or say nothing if you disagree with and are upset by the decision the judges make.

What is not cool and is being a First Class Peppermint Petty:

Contacting a judge/the judges to whine, trolling a fic winner or judge, being nasty and bitter to anyone in the fandom over your friend’s fic not winning, and other acts of general asshattery.

We are, most of the time, a classy, stylish ship. Let’s please keep it that way.

Thank you all.

superwholockedconfessions: It seems like everyone ships...

Thu, 16 May 2013 08:51:03 -0400

superwholockedconfessions:

It seems like everyone ships Johnlock but me. I ship Sherlolly.

Definitely not just you. I bought a permanent first-class cabin for the sherlolly ship long ago.

Dear MorbidMegz. Turns out all I needed is...

Wed, 15 May 2013 12:38:30 -0400

Dear Lono285

Wed, 15 May 2013 12:22:00 -0400

Now. As I was saying.

About “In the End.”

Solved my gif making problem. :D

Good Gravy and Biscuits

Wed, 15 May 2013 09:01:20 -0400

Never mind deciding what to vote for, how the heck am I gonna help pick the winning fics?!

Friends who make animated gifs! What software are you using for them?

Wed, 15 May 2013 08:58:53 -0400

Friends who make animated gifs! What software are you using for them?

bassanimation: I was going to draw…and then I went to finish Love Stories…and now I can’t. The...

Wed, 15 May 2013 08:56:39 -0400

bassanimation:

I was going to draw…and then I went to finish Love Stories…and now I can’t.

The song, at the end….

This is your fault, Nocturnias! Go sit in the corner and think about what you done!

I sat. I thought. I regret nothing. :) ♥

ava-in-narnia: last minute revision is not fun the only thing in my head right now is: can I get a...

Wed, 15 May 2013 08:54:54 -0400

ava-in-narnia:

last minute revision is not fun

the only thing in my head right now is:

can I get a doughnut over here

and some chocolate mousse please thank you yes

why can I not find sherlolly fanfic as smutty as johnlock

.

.

.

I can’t wait til exams are over

If you want excellent smutty sherlolly fic, two words. Petra Todd. :)

Blah, Blah, More SAMFA Thoughts, Blah

Wed, 15 May 2013 08:52:31 -0400

Hey, sherlollians. I know things are not perfect for the SAMFAs right now. I am but one person, who started these awards with no help and a deep love for sherlolly. I am seeing your comments.

Next year the awards will be bigger and better, with tons more categories. Oneshots will be separate from multi-chaps, and there will be new additions and divisions. I will share my ideas after this year’s SAMFAs, so you can give me feedback.

Meanwhile, please keep voting, and remember to include Title, Author, and Link for your votes to count.

Thank you and have a sherlolly day!

Sherlolly

mayacakaia: Sherlock x Molly – She knows what they like Reply...

Wed, 15 May 2013 08:44:02 -0400

mayacakaia:

Sherlock x Molly – She knows what they like

Reply to this (Sorry, Nocturnias, I don’t know how to make animated gifs……so….if anyone knows, please send them on her way. BTW, her fics is awesome)

“Why is everyone reading John’s blog but not mine?”

“Um…..I can make you some animated gifsets if you want?” she kisses his forehead keeping his frustration to a minimum. “People are crazy for those.”

Three days later, his blog, for once, beats John’s on the hit counter though it remains an unsolved mystery to Sherlock why Molly’s gifsets, of him looking at beakers, using a microscope, lighting up a bunsen burner and beating a corpse with the riding crop, can boost up the hits.

You sweetheart! Thank you! :)

Does anyone have the ability to make me an animated Sherlock gif, and would be willing to do so in...

Tue, 14 May 2013 22:39:13 -0400

Does anyone have the ability to make me an animated Sherlock gif, and would be willing to do so in trade maybe for some sherlolly fic, please?

Dear Lono285

Tue, 14 May 2013 22:29:00 -0400

In the End…

I need some.

Get me some.

Please?

Please.

I’ll give you this week’s winning lottery numbers!

Oh, it was worth a shot.

On "Love Stories"

Tue, 14 May 2013 14:42:00 -0400

Kendrapendragon asked me if I was happy/glad or sad that it’s over.

Both.

I’m sad because that story was my baby. It’s the longest fanfic I’ve ever written. And now that journey is over.

Glad because it was so long and there were times I really struggled to get past my writer’s block and get back on track. And I don’t like having long WIPs. But mostly I’m proud that I did finish it, lots of writers never finish their fics. Especially not ones that long.

So now I plan to take a break, other than an occasional oneshot. Then I will finish “Through a Fairytale, Darkly.” That one is basically all plotted. It has about 15-20 chapters left. Another novel length fic once it’s completed!

I don’t know exactly what gave me the idea for “Love Stories.” But the thought of Moriarty being alive and playing a “dark, twisted cupid,” as one reviewer once said, was too good to resist. So I started thinking about why he’d do that, and how he’d go about it, and what the outcome would be. Then I was off and running.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I love my Moriarty. I don’t know how I write him so easily, but I do. And lots of other people apparently liked my portrayal of him too, and that’s one of the best compliments a fanfic writer can get, is being told how good you nail a character.

That, and being called Moffat. That really made my day too.

I said it in the A/N, but is bears repeating. Thank you. Every one of you who read, followed, favorited, reviewed, told a friend, or left a comment on here about it. A storyteller is nothing without an audience. I’m glad I had such a fantastic audience for that story.