Not serious, just for lolz. Should be taken with several pinches of salt and possibly a bottle of tequila. Slightly smutty. Blame mollymatterrs
Sherlock Holmes strode in, the door slamming in his wake, his piercing blue eyes sweeping across the room before landing on her. Molly felt like a quivering mess, her hands gripping at the counter trying to get a grip on herself.
I’m incredibly happy to be blamed.
A tiny drabble, simply because I can’t get that damn A Good Year AU out of my head.
A tell-tale squeak of a broken bike was what caught his attention. Momentarily pausing in his mad dash to navigate the labyrinth that seemed to think it a small French town (you’d think a notaire’s office would be better signposted, but apparently not), he peered down the small side street. There the bike was, with bent wheels and the unmistakeable squeak, and there she was, her brown locks falling down her back.