Typically Atypical
Title: Typically Atypical
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: PG
Pairing: Molly/Sherlock
Summary: Just because it was a different sort of relationship doesn't mean it wasn't a good one
First ever Sherlock fic (I wrote another mini one that I'll upload later), and haven't written in a while. I hope you guys like it.
After hours of living engrossed in its' pages, Sherlock put the volume down. His eyes flicked to his companion in a brief moment of consideration. She was well; her novel still sitting closed in her hands as it had been last he checked on her before beginning his own.
Any other woman would have thought herself forgotten hours ago, but not Molly. She saw the care in his gestures, even when he himself didn’t think anything of them. She was not forgotten, and she was certain that if she had dropped dead he would have acted, but that is the extent that he noticed her at that time. He simply didn’t notice the in-between. Had she confessed heartbreak or despair he would have responded, offered her solutions or asked what he she needed him to do. He would have seen her emotion as a problem to be solved. He would give an honest try to find a resolution, not wishing her to have emotional distress if it could be helped, but he did not truly care.
She was smiling. He'd seen that look on her features many times. It was not the smile itself that was telling. It was the distinct impression that the expression had only just recently come across her face. The flush of her face and angle of her neck told him her smile had materialized in several seconds, approximately the same gap of time between him closing the book's cover and turning to look in her direction.
"What is it," his tone clipped, of course he knew what it was but she has expressed that her preference was that he not do that during any time set aside for dates.
Molly relaxed her shoulders as she always did when about to lie about her thoughts; a slight narrowing of Sherlock's eyes reminded her of her end of that bargain. "Sorry," she added instinctively. "It's just... It's been a little while that you've been..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for a fitting phrase. 'Sociopathic' was a constant in their lives; even on his good days it was never out of the picture. Molly was well aware of that, and she was constantly adapting. "... Less functional."
///////
"Is that a problem?" He'd ask me, his head would tilt a little and his brow would scrunch just the tiniest bit. I'd say something silly and soft like how I enjoy time with him anyway. He'd scoff a little, almost a laugh, and the side of his mouth would tug up in a smirk and he'd mock me for being sentimental. He's always mocking me. When it’s just teasing I don’t mind. It means he’s engaged in the conversation and not just replying when spoken to. I’d ask him what we're doing for dinner later and he'd tell me what he was in the mood for and we'd batter about his Chinese place or my pub, but we'd throw out both ideas and go get Thai--
//////
"Yes, it has been."
Molly nodded, his answer not giving her much room to reply. "Not that it’s a problem; I like spending time with you either way."
"I’d gathered."
Silence fell between them, Sherlock relaxing slightly at the lack of conversation. Only slightly.
The arm chair gave off a groan as Molly shifted in her seat. "I’m getting hungry. Where were you thinking for supper?"
"I have no preference." Sherlock remained rigid on his sofa.
"Do you love me?" In any other relationship this question would likely spark an argument, or serve as an indication of hostility brewing. Molly was well aware how her partner would handle the inquiry.
Sherlock paused. Outside eyes would not catch any turbulence, while a hint of struggle sat in on his minutely pursed lips.
"I have concern for your well-being," he settled on.
She smiled to herself and flustered with restaurant suggestions. She knew, right now, the phrases were synonymous.
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: PG
Pairing: Molly/Sherlock
Summary: Just because it was a different sort of relationship doesn't mean it wasn't a good one
First ever Sherlock fic (I wrote another mini one that I'll upload later), and haven't written in a while. I hope you guys like it.
After hours of living engrossed in its' pages, Sherlock put the volume down. His eyes flicked to his companion in a brief moment of consideration. She was well; her novel still sitting closed in her hands as it had been last he checked on her before beginning his own.
Any other woman would have thought herself forgotten hours ago, but not Molly. She saw the care in his gestures, even when he himself didn’t think anything of them. She was not forgotten, and she was certain that if she had dropped dead he would have acted, but that is the extent that he noticed her at that time. He simply didn’t notice the in-between. Had she confessed heartbreak or despair he would have responded, offered her solutions or asked what he she needed him to do. He would have seen her emotion as a problem to be solved. He would give an honest try to find a resolution, not wishing her to have emotional distress if it could be helped, but he did not truly care.
She was smiling. He'd seen that look on her features many times. It was not the smile itself that was telling. It was the distinct impression that the expression had only just recently come across her face. The flush of her face and angle of her neck told him her smile had materialized in several seconds, approximately the same gap of time between him closing the book's cover and turning to look in her direction.
"What is it," his tone clipped, of course he knew what it was but she has expressed that her preference was that he not do that during any time set aside for dates.
Molly relaxed her shoulders as she always did when about to lie about her thoughts; a slight narrowing of Sherlock's eyes reminded her of her end of that bargain. "Sorry," she added instinctively. "It's just... It's been a little while that you've been..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for a fitting phrase. 'Sociopathic' was a constant in their lives; even on his good days it was never out of the picture. Molly was well aware of that, and she was constantly adapting. "... Less functional."
///////
"Is that a problem?" He'd ask me, his head would tilt a little and his brow would scrunch just the tiniest bit. I'd say something silly and soft like how I enjoy time with him anyway. He'd scoff a little, almost a laugh, and the side of his mouth would tug up in a smirk and he'd mock me for being sentimental. He's always mocking me. When it’s just teasing I don’t mind. It means he’s engaged in the conversation and not just replying when spoken to. I’d ask him what we're doing for dinner later and he'd tell me what he was in the mood for and we'd batter about his Chinese place or my pub, but we'd throw out both ideas and go get Thai--
//////
"Yes, it has been."
Molly nodded, his answer not giving her much room to reply. "Not that it’s a problem; I like spending time with you either way."
"I’d gathered."
Silence fell between them, Sherlock relaxing slightly at the lack of conversation. Only slightly.
The arm chair gave off a groan as Molly shifted in her seat. "I’m getting hungry. Where were you thinking for supper?"
"I have no preference." Sherlock remained rigid on his sofa.
"Do you love me?" In any other relationship this question would likely spark an argument, or serve as an indication of hostility brewing. Molly was well aware how her partner would handle the inquiry.
Sherlock paused. Outside eyes would not catch any turbulence, while a hint of struggle sat in on his minutely pursed lips.
"I have concern for your well-being," he settled on.
She smiled to herself and flustered with restaurant suggestions. She knew, right now, the phrases were synonymous.