30 day OTP Challenge
Day 18 - Doing something together
Many thanks to BB for writing this wonderful story!
This is for Flavia. It’s their doing something together and because I love Halloween and I’ve been listening to I Put a Spell on You and well…obviously…I need some Halloween in my life. The title is taken from All Soul’s Night by Loreena McKennit.
Hope you all enjoy. I’ll get around to publishing it on fanfiction and ao3 sooner or later. Also there is some kissing! Not much but it’s still there.
“You’ve really never done this before?” Molly asks him, distractedly, her head whipping back and forth, left hand clenched in a fist, knocking on large pumpkins surrounding her.
Sherlock shakes his head, his eyes watching her every movement. She looks carefree here, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a cashmere hat sitting atop her head. She has a cup of hot apple cider in her other hand, the smell wafting up to his nostrils and invading his senses. He briefly entertains the thought of tasting her lips, dipping his tongue into the contours of her mouth to see if she tastes like apples or cinnamon. She’d taste like both, he decides. “We didn’t take to celebrating much, at the Holmes estate.” He admits.
He remembers dressing up when his parents were away, a black patch over his eye and a paper hat on his head, growling low and deep and slaying imaginary monsters that his mind palace conjured up. (He’s long since forgotten those days, but they always seem to creep back when he’s with Molly. She makes him yearn for the long forgotten memories of his discontented childhood.)
She chuckles and blows into the opening of her cup, her lips puckered as she gently takes a sip. “I think we celebrated everything.” She tells him. “…but Halloween…was always our favorite.” She turns her head and gives him a small smile, one that tells him she has fond memories with her parents and older brother on this particular day.
She stops in front of a large pumpkin, plump and orange, she reaches out and knocks twice, examining the pumpkin, and then she smiles and nods. “This one.”
They’re at 221B Baker Street (they’re always at 221B Baker Street nowadays), there is a clear tarp covering the kitchen table and she sets the pumpkin inside a circular pan she borrowed from Mrs. Hudson.
She’s wearing a black t-shirt with jeans that are too big for her (they keep slipping down, giving him a glimpse of tantalizing blue lace) and she wields the knife in her hands as she draws imaginary lines on the pumpkin. She bends down, so she’s eye-level with the pumpkin and nods, muttering to herself. “Right.” She says, “first thing’s first, we need to cut the top off.”
She works diligently and he sits on the chair next to her, head raised and watching her as she cuts into the pumpkin and pops the top off. She gives him a smile and gestures to the inside of the pumpkin. “It’s the best part, you know.”
He raises his eyebrows as he watches her grab fist full’s of orange goo and white seeds. “Your idea of fun is paramount to what a twelve year old would think is fun.”
“They’ve got the right idea…sometimes.” She laughs and goes elbow deep into the pumpkin.
(He thinks of her elbow deep in corpse and the way she concentrates deeply and thinks to himself that if he lets himself, he could love this woman more deeply and madly than anyone.)
“We keep the seeds. Wash them up, add a bit of salt and bake `em for a bit.”
“Tell me what it was like in your house on Halloween.” He blurts out, his cheeks flushing with the sudden question.
She startles and looks at him, her eyes inquisitive but dancing with mirth, but she answers him (Molly always answers him.) “It would start on the 30th,” she tells him softly, “we’d go to the local farmer and get a pumpkin, sometimes, even two and we’d drink hot apple cider. If we had time, and generally, we always did, Roger and I would always play in the leaves, screaming and bellowing and dad would always run and chase us. Mum…mum would laugh and sometimes, she’d join, but she was content just watching.”
Her hands come away, stained orange and she grabs the metal spoon and scoops up what remains, washing her hands after she finishes. “Mum and Roger would bake cookies, chocolate chip, and dad and I would work on the pumpkin. When I was younger, he’d let me draw and he’d crave, but when I got older, he’d draw and I’d crave. Sometimes, if we had two pumpkins, we’d make one scary and one funny, but we always preferred the funny ones…you know, the ones with the smiles and dancing goblins…I took art as a child and dad, he was an artist, so it always worked out. We’d decorate our house, sometimes with store bought stuff but once, mum made a scarecrow and I swear it felt like something out of Birds, the amount of crows that made a home on our lawn. Dad demanded she never do it again.”
“We’d order pizza and we’d watch Halloween films. Ghostbusters, primarily…we watched theExorcist once…jumped at my bloody shadow for a month. The next day, we’d go shopping for treats and I’d get dressed up, I was always a witch, you see. I loved them…I…always wanted to be one, ever since I watched Bewitched with mum. We’d spend a few hours gathering candies and when we got home, we’d dump them on the kitchen table and go through them.”
He doesn’t know when she sat down on the chair next to him; all that he realizes is that she did, her shoulder brushing along his. “It was fun.” She says, “it was like…it was like a different world, you know, for one night…you could be someone you always wanted to be. Mum and dad…they…they made it magical, you know?” She sighs and leans forward, her fingers dancing over the ridges of the pumpkin. “I always try to keep the traditions alive…but with Roger in Cardiff…it’s hard sometimes.”
She looks at him then, her brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears of long buried memories and she pushes the pumpkin and a black marker towards him. “Here.” She says, “you draw, I crave.”
He takes the marker from her and uncaps it, already knowing what he’s going to draw before the marker hits the pumpkin.
She’s dressed in a tight black dress with black boots and a pointy hat, her lips painted a dark red. She yells in surprise and amusement when shouts of “trick or treat!” echo throughout the chilly night.
She laughs a lot that night, sometimes unwrapping candies and eating them, smiling at him brightly.
At the end of the night, when the candy is finally gone and the streets are beginning to empty…Molly turns off the front lights and makes her way to him, her boots clunking against the hardwood. She settles down next to him, on her knees and leans forward, until her face and hat are in front of his. “Do you know,” she says seductively, her white teeth gleaming against the redness of her lips, “that you look incredibly sexy dressed up like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Sherlock groans, “I am Bartholomew Roberts, the most successful pirate during the Golden age of piracy, capturing more than 470 vessels and if you believe for one-” he gets cut off as the smell and taste of candy and chocolate assault his senses. He grins against her lips and wraps his arms around her waist and pulling her into his lap. She giggles against him and sighs, opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to sweep in.
She pulls away, gasping lightly and puts a hand against his rapidly beating heart. “Well…it’s the making of every good witch, I suppose.”
He cocks an eyebrow.
“I’ve put a spell on you.” She announces with a smirk.
“A spell,” he states, “I will gladly endure.”
She pushes at his shoulder and he leans in, his breath hot against her ear. “This is the part where I kidnap you, make you into a pirate and we sail the seven seas, conquering everything in our paths. We’ll be so powerful, you and I.”
“Well,” she breathes, “who am I to argue with that logic.” She takes off her hat and lets it drop to the floor, only to take his off and place it on her head. “What’s the saying, again? Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.” She shrieks as he picks her up and pulls her underneath him.
“I’m keeping you forever, Molly.” He confesses to her, tracing imaginary shadows on her exposed skin.
“Good. I wasn’t planning on letting you go anyways.” She gives him a small peck on his nose. “Happy Halloween, Sherlock Holmes.”
“Happy Halloween, Molly Hooper.”
Outside 221B Baker Street, a lone pumpkin sits on the railing, illuminated by the light inside, a smiling witch flying high on her broom, guiding the people on their way home.
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