I haven't edited the grammar or spelling in this because I'm posting this after having spent nearly two hours on it (what a couple of lightweights), but this has been the only person so far to have this format of roleplaying in third person, which is my favourite format. We'll be continuing this soon, once SH201610900 (that's the username) gets their account activated on the forum.
Stranger: Molly sighed happily as she sat down in front of the fireplace at 221B. She then looked up and thanked Mrs Hudson, blushing as she draped a blanket over and Sherlock's shoulders, before pressing a mug of hot chocolate each into their hands. Recently, the power had cut out at the pathologist's flat, causing her to seek refuge at the consulting detective's instead. Luckily, he had been in, and Mrs Hudson had hurriedly rushed her inside, in fear of her catching a cold. Once they were alone, Molly risked a glance over at Sherlock, smiling faintly. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying for a little while?" she asked curiously.
You: "Of course I mind," Sherlock stared at the whirlpool of seemingly immiscible milk and cocoa in his mug, "but I haven't the heart to discourage Mrs Hudson from imposing her unique brand of hospitality on others." He got up and smirked as the garishly-patterned blanket slid off his shoulders, walking slowly to the ever-looming window that overlooked Baker street. "I expect John and Mary are quite happy on their honeymoon at the moment," he muttered, "whether they care about me inferring as such is another matter entirely"
Stranger: She frowned a little and looked down into her hot chocolate, wondering if she should just make her leave instead. Molly then shook herself and turned her head to look over at him. "Well I'm sure that their having a good time, they need it after what's happened over the past few years" she commented with a small smile. "But, are you alright? You seem a bit like you're trying to be happy, when you're not really feeling that way inside"
You: Sherlock turned his inquiring gaze on her, making it only too clear that he was unaware his efforts were that obvious. "I.. I don't understand what you mean by that," he attempted to take a nonchalant sip of cocoa, only to wince as the unexpectedly extreme temperatures of Mrs Hudson's electric kettle made contact with his lips, "why would I try to be happy when I'm not?"
Stranger: Molly rolled her eyes and put her mug down. She then wrapped the blanket around herself, and turned around to face him. "I mean, before Mary...you and John spent a lot of time together, solving crimes and going to crime scenes. But now he's got married, and you're worried that he's not going to be your best friend anymore, because he's got Mary and the baby to look after" she explained carefully. "Just because he's moved out, doesn't mean that you can't be happy too"
You: "He's a colleague," Sherlock continued staring out the window, his lack of acknowledgement for her presence making his reply seem like one to himself, "the only one that would and will work with me. What am I without my work but an unhappy man?" He collapsed onto his armchair and shakily wrapped his long, thin fingers around the neck of his violin, bringing it over the armrest. He drew a short breath and let out a sigh of resignation, before beginning a composition that expressed his failed suppression of emotion all too well.
Stranger: She opened her mouth to comment, before he started to play. Molly then sighed and got up, putting her mug down. The pathologist walked over to him, and gently prized the insturment out of his hands. "I'd work with you, if you offered" she said honestly. "I mean...obviously you still want to continue to go to crime scenes, well I could...help you. I know that I'm probably not as good as John, but with my professional knowledge then it might make it that little bit easier"
You: "Considering the last time I utilised your professional knowledge ended with John and I in a police cell with our heads imploding with the only alcoholic hangover I've experienced in my lifetime, I rather doubt you can help me," Sherlock crossed his arms, now empty of the distraction he so craved, and turned his back to Molly. He pondered her incessant advances towards him, and could not help thinking her disposition to personalities like his was not dissimilar to that of John's adrenaline junkie-like inclination to dangerous situations.
Stranger: Molly scoffed and put his violin down on the coffee table. She then sat down in front of the fire place. "You two got drunk because it was John's stag night, that had nothing to do with me. I helped you on that case, with the Jack the Ripper book and that skeleton" she reminded him. The woman then shook her head a little and hugged her knees to her chest. "Next time I wont bother to help you, if you feel that way" she said firmly, feeling quite hurt.
You: Sherlock furrowed his brow at her curtness and turned his head towards the back of hers, before sidling out of her chair and approaching her cautiously. "Yes you did do that didn't you?" He tethered on his tiptoes for a moment, unsure as to whether establish comfort through verbal means or venture into the terrifying human nature of physical contact. Molly looked up hopefully at his apparent extension of apology, only to be disappointed when he shook himself out of his trance and remarked, "though you did miss every single clue that actually had something to add to the solving of the case."
Stranger: She bit her bottom lip hard, feeling a single tear fall down her cheek. Molly then sniffed hard and looked into the fireplace, wiping the tear off of her cheek. The pathologst then hugged her knees to her chest, placing her chin on them. "At least I /tried/ my best to help you" she said with a shrug, partly wishing that he would drop the subject, even though that was going to be highly unlikely.
You: Sherlock heard the sniff and rolled his eyes at the thought of asking Mrs Hudson to dry clean yet another pattern of tear stains of his fireplace carpet. 'Human nature is so exasperating,' he thought, 'even without having to come to grips with it myself, I am subjected to those of others I choose to make acquaintances with.' Little did he realise, his own repression was about to give way to a torrent of anguish at seeing the one person he cared about suffer at the hand of his own flippant dismissal. "Molly do stop snivelling," he ordered sharply, "I've had to deal with enough of that sort of thing at John's wedding. Tears of joy I can handle, mucus of joy I am not willing to provide Sydney Opera House-folded napkins for."
Stranger: Molly rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her face. She then stood up, grinding her teeth together. "I can't believe that I ever fell in love with you! God knows why I still have feelings for you" she exclaimed, feeling angry at him. "You're a complete insufferable /arse/ sometimes!"
You: "Oh no, I am a completely insufferable arse all the time," he locked his unyielding stare with hers of trembling adamance, "the fact that you saw all of that and still developed sentiment for me is entirely your own doing." He shrugged and extracted the pocket square from his suit jacket, offering it to her, "Mycroft was right; caring isn't an advantage. Just look at the runny mess of bodily fluids that is produced when people care too much."
Stranger: She clenched her hands into fists to try and stop herself from slapping him. Molly then shook her head, feeling her heart fall into her foot. "Just piss off" she murmered to herself. She then looked up at him and glared. "Piss off!" she shouted and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind herself.
You: Sherlock stared a moment at the door, hearing a single loud sob emit through the thin wooden frame. He tucked the pocket square back into his jacket and walked purposefully towards the wall behind which Molly was valiantly trying to silence her outbursts of vehemence. He took a deep, juddering breath and sank to the floor, his knees bent against the narrow hallway. "Molly I'm sorry," he mustered all his analytical thinking skills to devise an appropriate response to conciliate her distress, "I was only being myself by saying what I did... and you know that's who you fell in love with."
Stranger: Molly ignored him, as his words weren't helping her to feel much better about herself. She then took some toilet roll off the holder and wiped her face with it, before blowing her nose. Once she'd cleaned herself up, she sat down on the floor again, leaning back against the door. "What you did was open your big gob, without /thinking/ first about how your words might hurt me!" she snapped, shooting a glare at the door.
You: "Oh but I do think. Much more than you think I do when speaking to you," he smiled a little as he heard her direct her anger at his alder rather than himself, "it's just what people think of me, the cold, unfeeling man who gets off on seeing dead bodies and figuring who put them in that state. You have no idea how much effort I go to to mollify my Molly." He looked plaintively at the door with a wry smile. Weak attempts at humour would cheer up anyone in a vulnerable state.
Stranger: She cracked a small smile, giggling quietly at his words. Molly then frowned at herself, as she was supposed to be angry at him. The woman then waited for a few minutes, letting herself calm down as she slowly stood up. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to tell you to piss off, or burst out crying. I know that you can't really handle stuff like that. Am I forgiven for being an idiot?" she asked, slowly unlocking the bathroom door.
You: "There's nothing to be forgiven," he smiled up at her, "come along now, our cocoa must be getting cold."
Stranger: Molly smiled back, and stood up on her tip toes, kissing his cheek. She then blushed scarlet and sat down in front of the fire again, carefully picking her mug up off the floor.
You: Sherlock was rendered catatonic. She.. he had never been extended any form of affection more intimate than an uncomfortable forced hug in itchy Christmas sweaters with Mycroft when they were children. He brought his hand to his cheek and rubbed the spot where she had touched him with her lips, examining the smear patterns and the brilliant colour of her lipstick. The same colour she wore to dates rather than the peachy tint of her work makeup, and it was a previously unopened bottle. He shivered, what did she think this was, other than a polite invitation for a sleepover at a colleague's house while hers was inhabitable due to a blackout?
Stranger: She looked up at him and smirked, giggling again. "That's a rare occurance, I've rendered you speechless". Molly then got up again and walked over to the detective, rubbing the lipstick off of his pale cheek with the pad of her thumb. "There, its all gone" she reassured him as she took a step back, brushing a long strand of chestnut coloured hair behind her ear.
You: He swept his gaze over her, noting her attire of the only expensive blouse she owned and the re-hemmed bottom of her work skirt. Her choice to keep her jacket on wasn't one of whimsy, she knew it would hide the blatancy of her top while leaving enough visible to add a subtle hint of attractiveness. No, wait, attractiveness? Sherlock shook his head as his deduction was paused abruptly. He shouldn't, he mustn't have feelings for her. It was all a waste of time, this relationship thing people bothered themselves with. Yet, as he peered at her from the corner of his eye, watching her rearrange her hair for the umpteenth time that he now knew was an experiment to draw his attention, he wondered if it would provide enough compensation for the time he might have wasted on it.
Stranger: Molly flicked her eyes over him, and took a small step towards the detective, wondering if she had spooked him. Maybe she shouldn't have made physical contact with him by kissing his cheek, or wiping her lipstick off of his face. "Sherlock, are you alright?" she asked quietly. "I didn't mean to freak you out or anything" she continued, giving him one of her best reassuring smiles.
You: "I'm fine," his expression of confusion only amused Molly as she realised his silence wasn't one of shock, rather a lengthy period of comprehension as he processed her surprising fondness, "I wasn't expecting you to.. to do.. what it is that you did." He stammered as her genuine smile turned his legs to jelly. He had never cared for anyone this much in his life, it was most disconcerting to find out that one of the side effects was a complete shutdown of the muscular and skeletal system.
Stranger: She nodded slowly. "Oh right I see..I erm wont do it again". Molly then cleared her throat. "Why don't you sit down, yeah?" she suggested, before she took his hand and led him over to his armchair, gently pressing his shoulder to encourage him to sit down. "Shall I get you some water or something?"
You: Sherlock moved with her touch and sat obediently in his chair, automatically reaching for the violin as he always did and remembering with a start that Molly had moved it earlier. However, he no longer needed a distraction from Molly with his new found interest in her. "Mrs Hudson will be too busy preparing dinner to fetch water," he croaked, and cleared his throat, "it's hardly going to cure me from my current state though is it?"
Stranger: Molly raised an eyebrow as she stood in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest. "It might help, but what state is that?" she asked him, before she went through into the kitchen, and took a glass out of the cupboard, filling it up with some water out of the tap.
You: "The little devil Cupid has poisoned his arrow," he took the glass from Molly's hand, lingering his own on hers for a moment as they exchanged contact. He finished the water quickly and handed it back to her with a rare smile. Smiling felt strange when he wasn't deliberately contorting his face into the expression for manipulation purposes. Perhaps he might try doing it spontaneously some other time, it was rather pleasant.
Stranger: She giggled and smirked, moving to sit on the arm of the his chair. "You know that there's no such thing as Cupid, right? Its just made up rubbish". Molly then rested her hands in her lap, shaking her head. "And you couldn't possibly be in love with me if that's what you think. I'm nowhere near good looking enough for your standards"
You: "How would one develop standards if one has never needed them?" Sherlock took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "You'll be a first for me Molly; and I hope this will be a first for you as well." He then gently pressed his lips to hers, the pairs' flushed faces illuminated by the fireplace light.
Stranger: Molly sighed happily as she sat down in front of the fireplace at 221B. She then looked up and thanked Mrs Hudson, blushing as she draped a blanket over and Sherlock's shoulders, before pressing a mug of hot chocolate each into their hands. Recently, the power had cut out at the pathologist's flat, causing her to seek refuge at the consulting detective's instead. Luckily, he had been in, and Mrs Hudson had hurriedly rushed her inside, in fear of her catching a cold. Once they were alone, Molly risked a glance over at Sherlock, smiling faintly. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying for a little while?" she asked curiously.
You: "Of course I mind," Sherlock stared at the whirlpool of seemingly immiscible milk and cocoa in his mug, "but I haven't the heart to discourage Mrs Hudson from imposing her unique brand of hospitality on others." He got up and smirked as the garishly-patterned blanket slid off his shoulders, walking slowly to the ever-looming window that overlooked Baker street. "I expect John and Mary are quite happy on their honeymoon at the moment," he muttered, "whether they care about me inferring as such is another matter entirely"
Stranger: She frowned a little and looked down into her hot chocolate, wondering if she should just make her leave instead. Molly then shook herself and turned her head to look over at him. "Well I'm sure that their having a good time, they need it after what's happened over the past few years" she commented with a small smile. "But, are you alright? You seem a bit like you're trying to be happy, when you're not really feeling that way inside"
You: Sherlock turned his inquiring gaze on her, making it only too clear that he was unaware his efforts were that obvious. "I.. I don't understand what you mean by that," he attempted to take a nonchalant sip of cocoa, only to wince as the unexpectedly extreme temperatures of Mrs Hudson's electric kettle made contact with his lips, "why would I try to be happy when I'm not?"
Stranger: Molly rolled her eyes and put her mug down. She then wrapped the blanket around herself, and turned around to face him. "I mean, before Mary...you and John spent a lot of time together, solving crimes and going to crime scenes. But now he's got married, and you're worried that he's not going to be your best friend anymore, because he's got Mary and the baby to look after" she explained carefully. "Just because he's moved out, doesn't mean that you can't be happy too"
You: "He's a colleague," Sherlock continued staring out the window, his lack of acknowledgement for her presence making his reply seem like one to himself, "the only one that would and will work with me. What am I without my work but an unhappy man?" He collapsed onto his armchair and shakily wrapped his long, thin fingers around the neck of his violin, bringing it over the armrest. He drew a short breath and let out a sigh of resignation, before beginning a composition that expressed his failed suppression of emotion all too well.
Stranger: She opened her mouth to comment, before he started to play. Molly then sighed and got up, putting her mug down. The pathologist walked over to him, and gently prized the insturment out of his hands. "I'd work with you, if you offered" she said honestly. "I mean...obviously you still want to continue to go to crime scenes, well I could...help you. I know that I'm probably not as good as John, but with my professional knowledge then it might make it that little bit easier"
You: "Considering the last time I utilised your professional knowledge ended with John and I in a police cell with our heads imploding with the only alcoholic hangover I've experienced in my lifetime, I rather doubt you can help me," Sherlock crossed his arms, now empty of the distraction he so craved, and turned his back to Molly. He pondered her incessant advances towards him, and could not help thinking her disposition to personalities like his was not dissimilar to that of John's adrenaline junkie-like inclination to dangerous situations.
Stranger: Molly scoffed and put his violin down on the coffee table. She then sat down in front of the fire place. "You two got drunk because it was John's stag night, that had nothing to do with me. I helped you on that case, with the Jack the Ripper book and that skeleton" she reminded him. The woman then shook her head a little and hugged her knees to her chest. "Next time I wont bother to help you, if you feel that way" she said firmly, feeling quite hurt.
You: Sherlock furrowed his brow at her curtness and turned his head towards the back of hers, before sidling out of her chair and approaching her cautiously. "Yes you did do that didn't you?" He tethered on his tiptoes for a moment, unsure as to whether establish comfort through verbal means or venture into the terrifying human nature of physical contact. Molly looked up hopefully at his apparent extension of apology, only to be disappointed when he shook himself out of his trance and remarked, "though you did miss every single clue that actually had something to add to the solving of the case."
Stranger: She bit her bottom lip hard, feeling a single tear fall down her cheek. Molly then sniffed hard and looked into the fireplace, wiping the tear off of her cheek. The pathologst then hugged her knees to her chest, placing her chin on them. "At least I /tried/ my best to help you" she said with a shrug, partly wishing that he would drop the subject, even though that was going to be highly unlikely.
You: Sherlock heard the sniff and rolled his eyes at the thought of asking Mrs Hudson to dry clean yet another pattern of tear stains of his fireplace carpet. 'Human nature is so exasperating,' he thought, 'even without having to come to grips with it myself, I am subjected to those of others I choose to make acquaintances with.' Little did he realise, his own repression was about to give way to a torrent of anguish at seeing the one person he cared about suffer at the hand of his own flippant dismissal. "Molly do stop snivelling," he ordered sharply, "I've had to deal with enough of that sort of thing at John's wedding. Tears of joy I can handle, mucus of joy I am not willing to provide Sydney Opera House-folded napkins for."
Stranger: Molly rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her face. She then stood up, grinding her teeth together. "I can't believe that I ever fell in love with you! God knows why I still have feelings for you" she exclaimed, feeling angry at him. "You're a complete insufferable /arse/ sometimes!"
You: "Oh no, I am a completely insufferable arse all the time," he locked his unyielding stare with hers of trembling adamance, "the fact that you saw all of that and still developed sentiment for me is entirely your own doing." He shrugged and extracted the pocket square from his suit jacket, offering it to her, "Mycroft was right; caring isn't an advantage. Just look at the runny mess of bodily fluids that is produced when people care too much."
Stranger: She clenched her hands into fists to try and stop herself from slapping him. Molly then shook her head, feeling her heart fall into her foot. "Just piss off" she murmered to herself. She then looked up at him and glared. "Piss off!" she shouted and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind herself.
You: Sherlock stared a moment at the door, hearing a single loud sob emit through the thin wooden frame. He tucked the pocket square back into his jacket and walked purposefully towards the wall behind which Molly was valiantly trying to silence her outbursts of vehemence. He took a deep, juddering breath and sank to the floor, his knees bent against the narrow hallway. "Molly I'm sorry," he mustered all his analytical thinking skills to devise an appropriate response to conciliate her distress, "I was only being myself by saying what I did... and you know that's who you fell in love with."
Stranger: Molly ignored him, as his words weren't helping her to feel much better about herself. She then took some toilet roll off the holder and wiped her face with it, before blowing her nose. Once she'd cleaned herself up, she sat down on the floor again, leaning back against the door. "What you did was open your big gob, without /thinking/ first about how your words might hurt me!" she snapped, shooting a glare at the door.
You: "Oh but I do think. Much more than you think I do when speaking to you," he smiled a little as he heard her direct her anger at his alder rather than himself, "it's just what people think of me, the cold, unfeeling man who gets off on seeing dead bodies and figuring who put them in that state. You have no idea how much effort I go to to mollify my Molly." He looked plaintively at the door with a wry smile. Weak attempts at humour would cheer up anyone in a vulnerable state.
Stranger: She cracked a small smile, giggling quietly at his words. Molly then frowned at herself, as she was supposed to be angry at him. The woman then waited for a few minutes, letting herself calm down as she slowly stood up. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to tell you to piss off, or burst out crying. I know that you can't really handle stuff like that. Am I forgiven for being an idiot?" she asked, slowly unlocking the bathroom door.
You: "There's nothing to be forgiven," he smiled up at her, "come along now, our cocoa must be getting cold."
Stranger: Molly smiled back, and stood up on her tip toes, kissing his cheek. She then blushed scarlet and sat down in front of the fire again, carefully picking her mug up off the floor.
You: Sherlock was rendered catatonic. She.. he had never been extended any form of affection more intimate than an uncomfortable forced hug in itchy Christmas sweaters with Mycroft when they were children. He brought his hand to his cheek and rubbed the spot where she had touched him with her lips, examining the smear patterns and the brilliant colour of her lipstick. The same colour she wore to dates rather than the peachy tint of her work makeup, and it was a previously unopened bottle. He shivered, what did she think this was, other than a polite invitation for a sleepover at a colleague's house while hers was inhabitable due to a blackout?
Stranger: She looked up at him and smirked, giggling again. "That's a rare occurance, I've rendered you speechless". Molly then got up again and walked over to the detective, rubbing the lipstick off of his pale cheek with the pad of her thumb. "There, its all gone" she reassured him as she took a step back, brushing a long strand of chestnut coloured hair behind her ear.
You: He swept his gaze over her, noting her attire of the only expensive blouse she owned and the re-hemmed bottom of her work skirt. Her choice to keep her jacket on wasn't one of whimsy, she knew it would hide the blatancy of her top while leaving enough visible to add a subtle hint of attractiveness. No, wait, attractiveness? Sherlock shook his head as his deduction was paused abruptly. He shouldn't, he mustn't have feelings for her. It was all a waste of time, this relationship thing people bothered themselves with. Yet, as he peered at her from the corner of his eye, watching her rearrange her hair for the umpteenth time that he now knew was an experiment to draw his attention, he wondered if it would provide enough compensation for the time he might have wasted on it.
Stranger: Molly flicked her eyes over him, and took a small step towards the detective, wondering if she had spooked him. Maybe she shouldn't have made physical contact with him by kissing his cheek, or wiping her lipstick off of his face. "Sherlock, are you alright?" she asked quietly. "I didn't mean to freak you out or anything" she continued, giving him one of her best reassuring smiles.
You: "I'm fine," his expression of confusion only amused Molly as she realised his silence wasn't one of shock, rather a lengthy period of comprehension as he processed her surprising fondness, "I wasn't expecting you to.. to do.. what it is that you did." He stammered as her genuine smile turned his legs to jelly. He had never cared for anyone this much in his life, it was most disconcerting to find out that one of the side effects was a complete shutdown of the muscular and skeletal system.
Stranger: She nodded slowly. "Oh right I see..I erm wont do it again". Molly then cleared her throat. "Why don't you sit down, yeah?" she suggested, before she took his hand and led him over to his armchair, gently pressing his shoulder to encourage him to sit down. "Shall I get you some water or something?"
You: Sherlock moved with her touch and sat obediently in his chair, automatically reaching for the violin as he always did and remembering with a start that Molly had moved it earlier. However, he no longer needed a distraction from Molly with his new found interest in her. "Mrs Hudson will be too busy preparing dinner to fetch water," he croaked, and cleared his throat, "it's hardly going to cure me from my current state though is it?"
Stranger: Molly raised an eyebrow as she stood in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest. "It might help, but what state is that?" she asked him, before she went through into the kitchen, and took a glass out of the cupboard, filling it up with some water out of the tap.
You: "The little devil Cupid has poisoned his arrow," he took the glass from Molly's hand, lingering his own on hers for a moment as they exchanged contact. He finished the water quickly and handed it back to her with a rare smile. Smiling felt strange when he wasn't deliberately contorting his face into the expression for manipulation purposes. Perhaps he might try doing it spontaneously some other time, it was rather pleasant.
Stranger: She giggled and smirked, moving to sit on the arm of the his chair. "You know that there's no such thing as Cupid, right? Its just made up rubbish". Molly then rested her hands in her lap, shaking her head. "And you couldn't possibly be in love with me if that's what you think. I'm nowhere near good looking enough for your standards"
You: "How would one develop standards if one has never needed them?" Sherlock took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "You'll be a first for me Molly; and I hope this will be a first for you as well." He then gently pressed his lips to hers, the pairs' flushed faces illuminated by the fireplace light.
) Molly flinched a little, her eyes widening in surprise. Before she slowly closed them and relaxed, moving her hand to place it on his cheek as she returned the kiss.