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Peace Offering
Sally Donovan/Molly Hooper

Sally was fuming. There was no better word for it than fuming. Molly had skipped out on yet another date to work a case with Holmes. Oh, she knew she didn't fancy him anymore. Molly had said that was over, long over, and that it was her she liked now, fancied more than anyone else, but it had stung to be passed over for the prat yet again. It had been what her life had been about for so long and now, with the DI position and Molly as her girlfriend and her finally being happy, she thought she'd been past that.

But no. No, of course not. And oh, she'd let Molly have it over the phone and then hung up on her. So yes, she was fuming, but she was also quite sad. This was their first real fight and it was all over Sherlock bloody Holmes.


She heard the door open and looked up in surprise, the first thing catching her eye being the bouquet of yellow daffodils being held in Molly's hand, and the second being that Molly was dressed up for a date. Sally looked at her in bewilderment. “Your case...” she said.

“You're more important and I told Sherlock so, so John and Mary arranged for a sitter and they're accompanying him while I take my girlfriend out on the date I promised her,” Molly said, moving forward to give Sally her favourite flowers. “Do we still have a reservation?”

Sally shook her head, taking the flowers, a small smile edging on her face. “I canceled it, but I'm sure we can come up with something.” She looked up at Molly, who had a relieved smile on her face, and her own grew wider. Perhaps things would be all right after all…

Thoughts In Bed
Star Trek: Alternate Original Series
Spock/Nyota Uhura

He was usually the first one to rouse from bed, due to his unique physiology and his need not to sleep, but this bout of sickness had caused him to barely rise at all for the last approximately 45.29 hours and he had been drifting in and out of sleep the entire time. Sometimes he had been alone, but sometimes he had felt the comfortable weight of Nyota by his side, pressing warm compresses against his skin when he was chilled or cool compresses when he was warm.

He had not expected her to stay so close. She had duties on the ship, and even though he had told Doctor McCoy in no uncertain terms he did not want to remain in the medbay and preferred to recuperate in his quarters he had thought Nyota would be told to stay elsewhere. She must be as stubborn as he was, he thought.

Good. That was an admirable quality in her, at times, though he would be loathe to admit it when they were in the middle of an argument.

He felt her weight leave his side, but not before he felt her warm lips press against his forehead. "I know you're awake," she murmured with them just barely against his skin.

"How?" he asked, his voice sounding odd from disuse.

"I always know." There was humor in her voice, and he cracked his eyes open to see her slip out of their bed in the red pajamas she favored when he preferred the room warm to remind him of Vulcan, the red camisole top and sleep shorts with the lace edging that he would run his fingers along while she slept in his arms. She gave him a grin as she turned to see him. "Leonard says you should only get one more day of bed rest before you return to your duties."

"I can fake being sick," he said, pouting slightly.

"But that would be a lie," she said, giving him a fake scandalized look.

"But it would keep you close," he replied.

Her smile came back and she came back to their bed, sitting next to him and leaning over, her lips hovering over his. "Spock, I will stay close whenever you want, whether you're sick or well," she said before kissing him softly. He kissed her back, though it took some effort. When she pulled away, she cupped his cheek with her hand, letting her fingers run along it as she slid her hand down. "You just need to ask."


She nodded. "Always."

Calopogon Tuberosus
Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper

He looked down at the potted purple plant in his hands. It wasn't much in the way of an apology. She deserved much more, to be quite honest. She deserved three dozen roses. Not red, no, that was too trite and overdone. Maybe something special like Osiria roses. And a box of Godiva chocolates. And perhaps jewelry? Well, jewelry might send the wrong message. A ring would definitely, as would a necklace, but a bracelet wouldn't...would it?

But it didn't matter. He would have to suffice with the simple plant to convey his deepest apologies for nearly getting her sacked. He couldn't do without his pathologist, without his Molly. His Molly. That was what she was, and he had to acknowledge that one day, and one day soon, before it was too late.

But not today.

He knocked on the office door and then waited. Molly opened it a moment later and he expected her to be cross so he immediately put the flower in her field of view. "Calopogon tuberosus," he said. "It's rather secure under the NatureServe conservation status system, though it is considered endangered in the states of Illinois, Kentucky and Maryland and exploitably vulnerable in the state of New York. It took some finagling but I got this particular specimen from a breeder who took this variety from Saco Heath, Maine."

"It's...lovely," Molly said in admiration. "But you didn't have to, Sherlock. I know you were the one who demanded I not be sacked." She gently moved the flower out of the way. "That means quite a bit."

"Even if it was my fault you were almost sacked in the first place?" he asked with a frown.

"Well, I did agree to help," she said with a small smile. She leaned in, hesitating a moment, and then kissed him softly on the lips, being careful not to crush the flower between them. After a moment he found himself kissing her back just as softly. When she pulled away she took the flower from him, and there was a smile on her face. "Come help me find a place in my office for this, and maybe we can do a little bit more of that, alright?"

He nodded, a small smile settling on his own face as she turned around. Maybe this would have a better ending than he imagined after all…

Second Chances
Once Upon A Time
August Booth/ Emma Swan

Emma wondered if her true love had already slipped through her fingers. A kiss from her had awakened Graham’s memories and according to everything in the book and what she had learned from conversations with Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, true love was the only thing capable of breaking the curse. So, in her mind, she wondered if she was Graham’s true love. But he was gone, now, so she would be alone. That was what had happened with Regina, and she was sure the same fate awaited her. Just because her kiss had awakened Henry and broke the curse for the town didn’t mean she would ever find true love in the sense of a boyfriend or husband.

When she returned to Storybrooke with Snow White, she looked for August. He wasn’t anywhere to be found, but when the others told her about the curse affecting the border of the town she wondered if he had left to forget about being Pinocchio, or to see if he became a real man again. So she spent her time looking for him, and when she finally found him she saw he was a walking, talking wooden man, hiding from the rest of the town by camping in the woods. But he was alive, and she was grateful for that.

Whatever it had been that she felt for him before the curse had been broken had only grown with her separation from Storybrooke. And maybe what they had couldn’t be true love, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t be love at all. She liked him, wanted to spend time with him. He made her laugh, made her smile and she had missed him. When she found him she kissed him, trying to show him that she wanted him, wooden or human, true love or not.

But then the same thing that had happened when she’d kissed Henry’s forehead happened. There had been a pulse sent out, and then instead of kissing wooden lips she felt warm human lips under her own lips, and she pulled away. He was human, one hundred percent human. She reached up and touched his face again, feeling stubble under her fingertips instead of solid wood. And then she began to cry, smile on her face, and he was wiping away tears and kissing her again and this time she knew that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t need to be alone anymore.

Second Impressions
Siger Holmes/Violet Holmes

“He's a nice boy, Violet. You can't spend all of your time with your nose in a book. No respectable man will marry a woman who would rather stay home and study than go out and mingle.”

She looked down at the violet dress her mother had bought for her and tugged at the matching headband she'd put in her hair. To be quite honest, she'd rather be wearing it up out of her face rather than loose around her shoulders, and she'd rather be in a comfortable blouse and trousers than this monstrosity of a dress. She didn't care if it impressed this Siger Holmes bloke. She was going to suffer through this one date and then go back to her books and back to her studying. She was simply doing this to appease her mum and that was that.

“Violet Mills?” a man asked, a bit hesitantly. She recognized the voice, whirling around and then gawking slightly. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that this man was the fellow at the reference desk that she would chat with, going over math theories with and, occasionally, attempting to flirt with. She'd never happened to catch his name, though.

“Umm...yes. Yes, I'm Violet. Violet Mills,” she said, stumbling slightly in the matching violet pumps her mother had made her wear. Bloody hell, she was making a fool of herself.

“Almost didn't recognize you with your hair down and you in the fancy get-up,” he said, reaching out to steady her.

“My mother's idea,” she said wryly.

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “I like the blouses and trousers better, though. I mean, not that you don't look gorgeous now, but...” He turned red. “Probably shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

She gave him a wide smile as she turned in his arms to look at him. “No, I think that was the perfect thing to say,” she said with a warm laugh. After a moment when she felt she'd gotten her balance better she pulled away but offered him her hand. “I think we're in for a very good evening, Siger. A very very good evening.”

The Universe Slightly Tilting
Doctor Who
Danny Pink/Clara Oswald

“It’s you, it’s always been you.”

She plucked the solitary dark blue post-it note off her massive wall of post-it notes, the one with the phrase “I choose you” in black marker on it. She wondered if maybe she’d picked dark blue to remind her of the TARDIS, to remind her she was choosing Danny over traveling through time and space and any more adventures she could possibly have with the Doctor ever again.

There was a long pause and then she heard a sudden curse of “Bloody hell!”

“Danny!” Clara shouted, her eyes widening even though she was in the safety of her flat, as though she knew something had almost happened, he’d almost been hurt.

“I nearly got hit by a bus,” he said, his voice sounding shaky. “I...if I hadn’t been so stunned by what you said, I might have walked out into the street without paying attention and…” There was a pause. “It’s been me?”

“Yeah,” she said, her heart racing from the thought of nearly losing him. “I mean, I knew, when I met you, that I…” She stopped. “No matter how thrilling it was to travel, there was the fact I came home to you. And then there wasn’t you to come home to and I felt something had been ripped away, and I thought about it. It doesn’t matter how many planets there are in this universe or any universe, or how many time periods there are to explore, Danny. If I don’t have you, then it doesn’t matter. I love you, Danny Pink.”

“You probably should have waited till we were face to face to say that, Clara,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to see your face when I told you I loved you too.”

She beamed a smile as bright as any star she had ever seen before. “Well, then carefully come over and tell me to my face, why don’t--” There was a knock on the door. “Hang on.” She went to open her door and saw Danny standing there. “Yes?”

“I do love you, you know,” Danny said, giving her a grin so wide she was afraid it might split his face.

She turned off her mobile and tossed it in the general direction of her sofa before going up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good. Because I love you too.” And with that, she kissed him, feeling something in the universe shift gently to the side, as though a crisis had been averted somehow with six simple words.

The (Surprisingly) Perfect Anniversary
Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper

This was not exactly how she had expected their anniversary to go. She had expected...well, for everything to go wrong. That was how the last nine years had gone so far. Without fail, on their wedding anniversary, something had come up, whether it had been the case involving the Belgian smugglers and Sherlock being shipped to Monaco by accident, or the shootout in the Italian restaurant between the two sets of assassins after the client he just so happened to not tell her was at the same restaurant they were, or the experiment that blew up in his face and left him smelling like sulfur for three days and unable to be around polite company, meaning she had to attend their fifth anniversary party alone.

But when you were married to the world’s only consulting detective, and your relationship had been neatly arranged by your psychotic sister-in-law pulling strings from a cell which she had apparently been able to escape at will, and your wedding had the same security level as Kate and William’s, and your brother-in-law was just as happy meddling in your fertility cycle as he was the British got used to it.

If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes, much less ten years, twin primary schoolers and a toddler.

Besides, she adored her husband. Whatever had happened in the years she had known him, he had gone from a cold-hearted arse to a loving, caring man who adored his children, was on decent terms with all the members of his family, regardless of their respect for each other, and adored her. She couldn’t ask for much more, really.

Other than one perfect anniversary.

Which was making her suspicious.

She tilted her head as their dessert arrived. “Did you drug our children, Sherlock? We haven’t gotten a single call from Mrs. Hudson.”

“No,” he said.

“Did John? Your brother?”


She was quiet for a moment. “Did your sister visit them recently that I’m not aware of?”

“You know all our visits are sanctioned by the government, and I only take Georgina and Martha, never Victor,” he said. “But I might have bribed them with treats this weekend if they were on their best behaviour tonight so Mummy and Daddy could have some grown-up time.”

Molly smiled. “If the treat is ice cream and you include me, I can live with it. Maybe we can convince John to bring Rosie, too.”

“I think that would be acceptable.” Sherlock reached into his suit pocket, and then pulled out a box, setting it on the table before sliding it to Molly. “For you.”

“Oh, Sherlock! We said no gifts!” she admonished.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said. “Seeing as how we were married on your mother’s birthday, I thought this a fitting gift.”

She smiled at him and opened the box. Inside was a necklace, a silver infinity symbol with the prominent side filled in with amethyst, her birthstone, and then on the bottom loop there were three small silver discs. Each one had a letter corresponding to one of her children’s first names, and on the side was a small birthstone for each child: tanzanite for each of the twins and light amethyst for her son. She looked up at Sherlock, feeling tears in the corner of her eyes. “You actually went with the alternate birthstones so the entire necklace would be shades of purple,” she said.

“It is still your favourite color?” he asked, slightly unsure.

She nodded and then got out of her chair and moved over to him. He stood and took the necklace from her, and she swept back her hair so he could put the necklace around her neck. When he was done she turned and nodded. “That was the right choice, I think.”

“It was the perfect choice,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.”