a weekend in the field || sherlock & molly
notquiteasociopath:
“No. I need to set up my things. You go ahead.” Dropping his bag and a folder full of papers onto the bed, Sherlock began to disassemble everything he’d brought, taking apart the contents of the duffel bag. A few changes of clothes, hair products, nothing more than he deemed necessary. His laptop, as well, though he doubted there would be very good internet reception here.
From the folder, he removed all the sheets of paper — photographs of the victim they would be seeing in person soon, along with all of the information he currently had regarding the case. Which, granted, wasn’t much. Still, he got up onto the large bed, grabbed the roll of tape, and started taping up the papers against the wall.
“Julian Cole. Thirty-eight year old farmer. Recently inherited a rather large sum of money, as well as the family property, from his deceased father. As far as anyone knows, he’s the only remaining family. Or, was. He dropped dead rather mysteriously this morning. He was the picture of perfect health, apparently, didn’t even have any allergies. So the question is, how did he die, and why?”
When the kettle boiled and clicked off to say that the water was ready, Molly poured the water into the mug, giving it a stir once she had added milk and sugar. Once it was prepared to her liking, she dropped the tea bag into the small bin before turning to see Sherlock standing on the bed.
She had seen him do something like this in his own flat before, considering all of the papers and string which had been attached to the wall in his sitting room. Never before had she considered how he had done it and it made her sigh quietly to see him walking across the bed with his shoes on.
“You could have taken your shoes off. You’ll get dirt and muck all over the sheets. I have to sleep in this bed, you know.” As she spoke, she looked down to the sheets to see the flaks of dirt which had already settled on the sheets. Stepping forward, she pulled the pillows off of the bed before Sherlock could do any kind of damage to them.
Glancing up to what he had already put up, she took in what she could from such an angle, knowing it would be pointless to complain about have photographs of dead bodies on the wall. At least she had a chance of convincing him about his shoes. “What procedures have they completed on him so far? Any to see if there are toxins present?”
invisible wounds || sherlock & molly (kidlock)
notquiteasociopath:
Sherlock thought school was stupid. He didn’t see the point in it, when he could learn just as much on his own from reading books. But his mother and father always insisted, and when they weren’t around, it was Mycroft who wrestled him into clothes despite his screaming and forced him on a bus. Sherlock had seethed angrily the entire ride over, distracting himself with reciting the names of streets as they drove, memorized as they were. He’d closed his eyes and pictured the passing buildings, the roads and empty lots, the fields, the graffiti.
He couldn’t do that here. He was forced to pay attention to the teacher, who spoke too slowly and too often, and after a few moments of feeling incredibly pent-up and frustrated, he started wiggling his legs, rapidly, one after the other. He wanted to stand up and shake himself properly, but knew no one would like that, so he kept quiet until lunch time, at which point he grabbed his bag of lunch from the cubby assigned to him, and quickly made his way out to the yard to eat quietly by himself, picking his sandwich apart. He pulled off the crusts and dropped them to the grass, sitting cross-legged on the ground.
He took one bite, decided he wasn’t hungry, and set the rest aside. Instead, Sherlock took to watching a group of boys playing with a ball in the distance, two of them obviously in new shoes, one of them hiding an abusive relationship with his father. (Probably why he took to bullying around the others, then.) When the leader of the group caught him staring, Sherlock lifted a hand to wave, but then the boys picked up and moved elsewhere.
Frowning, Sherlock returned his attention to his food. Rather than eat it, he merely continued picking it apart, staring at his hands uncomfortably.
Molly loved school. She enjoyed every moment of it, clinging off of the teacher’s words like they were gospel. Growing up as an only child, she had learnt early on to take nothing for granted considering her parents often struggled to get by from week to week. That did not mean she was a poor girl, just one who was less well off and did not get toys every other week. Molly did not mind though as she appreciated each and every special item or gift she received.
Multiple times during class, her eyes had been drawn to the lonely boy in class. He always seemed lonely to her as he never spoke to anyone and was always off by himself. Today she was going to change that though. She didn’t want anyone to be upset, so she would fix the problem herself.
Already she knew they had some things in common, including the fact they were both smart. Her parents helped her well at home, so she was always one of the first to finish the worksheets in class, but never before him.
At lunch that day, she skipped across the playground, spotting the dark, curly haired boy across the grass. “You know, you’re supposed to eat your sandwich. You’ll get hungry,” Molly said, kneeling down on the grass in front of him. Digging into her own bag, she brought out her flowery lunchbox from which she produced a sandwich of her own.
She unwrapped it carefully, picking up a triangle quarter of it to hold over to him. “You can share with me… I’m Molly, by the way.”
mollythehooper asked: [text]: Meet me at the hospital ASAP. I’m sorry.
notquiteasociopath:
notquiteasociopath-blog:
[text]
What, why?
Why are you sorry?
SH
[text]
What’s happened?
SH
[text] On my way. SH
He’s not even at home currently, so it doesn’t take long to get from the Tube station (where he’s been people watching, any excuse to get out of the house these days) to the hospital. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he basically bullies his way in after getting information from the nurse, the archaic ‘family only’ visitation rules too inconvenient at the moment. He makes a beeline for her room, not even bothering with greetings once he gets there.
“What’s happened.”
Molly was sitting back on one of the uncomfortable hospital beds, a drip hooked up to her arm. It was feeding her slowly with the painkillers she needed to keep the pain at ease. She did not know how she would explain it to him, but she was lucky to have gotten away with the little injuries she had. "The stairs… Fell down them,“ she said quietly, preferring it not to be public knowledge she had tripped fallen down a flight of stairs.
a weekend in the field || sherlock & molly
notquiteasociopath:
notquiteasociopath-blog:
mollythehooper
“It seems— adequate.”
It seemed about what one would expect from a tiny countryside inn. It reminded Sherlock of the little place he and John had stayed in back when they were looking into Baskerville, which was silly as the two places had many differences. For one, this little motel was far more out of the way, and yet with still enough traffic in and out that they didn’t have more than a single room available.
Sherlock had paid (with Mycroft’s card) for the single bedroom, which sported a large double bed, an armchair, and a desk, presumably with the name of the place printed on the stationery in the drawers (the Dew Drop Inn, which was a painfully terrible pun but he let it pass). All in all, it wasn’t terrible; Sherlock had certainly slept in worse lodgings, and for longer periods of time than they’d be staying in this little nowhere town.
“I assume you’ll want the bed. You’re welcome to it, of course. I won’t need much sleep.” He glanced toward her, then strode to the desk, looking through the drawers. A Bible, a notepad, and a small pack of pens. Coffee pot on a countertop near the bed. Adequate.
“Catch your breath. We aren’t staying here long.”
Stepping into the room behind Sherlock, Molly glanced around, seeing just how small it was. She had expected small, but not this much so. Still she would just have to put up with it. She did not have a choice just then. Across the room, she placed her bag in the small wardrobe provided to keep it out of the way. The last thing needed would be more items to have to get around to walk across the room.
She was a little unsure of what to do once she had stowed her bag away out of sight, especially as Sherlock said they would not be here for long. Spotting the kettle not too far from her, she presumed there would be enough time for her to have a quick drink. It would not take long for her to have it at all.
Flicking on the kettle, she leant against the wall closest to her as she waited for it to boil. “Did you want a cuppa?… There’s some coffee here as well if you’d like.” She spoke as she brought out a mug for her tea, putting a tea bag into it for when she would soon add the water.
While it may not be the same tea as what she had at home, it would have to do for now. She would not get a choice unless she could find a shop which stocked what it was that she liked.
notquiteasociopath:
notquiteasociopath-blog:
Send “Little thing” and my character will tell you something as a child.
”My daddy says I need to have quiet hands at the dinner table, or when I’m talking to Mummy’s friends when they come over to visit. But sometimes I tap my feet instead. But you can’t tell my daddy, though, okay? They think I’m a good boy and I don’t do that anymore. I just don’t like having to sit on my hands all the time.”
“Because Mycroft said it was weird, and that people aren’t supposed to do that. So I’m not allowed to do it anymore.” He shrugs; it’s bothersome, but there’s not a lot he can do about it. “So I tap my feet instead, under the table. People don’t look at my feet when I’m sitting at the table.”
“But couldn’t they hear your feet tapping? Unless you were really, really quiet.” To prove a point, Molly tapped her feet on her ground beneath her, the sound of them just being heard. “Why do you have to tap your feet anyway? Can’t you just sit still?”
My name is Molly Hooper, I'm single 
