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darnedchildSummary: Normally I do not write fic in this format but A) I wanted to try something different, B) I wanted to do something quick, and C) I want chocolate. One of those really has nothing to do with the other, sorry. Anywho, in theory there will be twelve completely (probably) unrelated ficlets in a text script sort of format that are only connected by the Twelve Days of Christmas in some way. Enjoy.
Rating: G
A/N - I don't even know.
Eight Maids a-Milking
Molly: Is this really necessary?
Sherlock: I told you, Mary claims she has an allergy to hay and straw.
Molly: Claims?
Sherlock: I’m eighty percent certain she’s lying; but she distracted me with Rosie and I didn’t have a chance to bring it up again. Now, five of the employees check out, but I’ll need you to tell me everything you observe about the other three.
Molly: I never should have told you my grandparents owned a farm.
Sherlock: I doubt I’ll need to infiltrate a dairy that is a possible front for a smuggling ring too often, so you’re probably good after this one.
Molly: And why can’t you milk the bloody cows?
Sherlock: Milking Maidens only employs women. We both know I’m barely passable in drag, and I doubt I could justify wearing full makeup and padding whilst mucking out a milking stall.
Molly: I hate you.
Sherlock: You love me.
*They both freeze for a long moment.*
Molly: I-I don’t . . .
Sherlock: You do.
*Sherlock reaches for her hand.*
Sherlock: And I feel the same. I love you, Molly Hooper.
*Sherlock frowns in concern.*
Sherlock: Breathe, Molly. You’re starting to scare me.
Molly: Is this about the cows, because I swear to-
Sherlock: It’s not about the cows. I have cared for you for years, but it wasn’t until I spent time with John and Mary together that I started to truly understand what it was I was feeling.
Molly: You love me?
Sherlock: I do.
Molly: You love me.
Sherlock: Yep.
Molly: And you’re okay with that?
Sherlock: Surprisingly enough, I am. There was a bit of panic when I first figured it out. Mycroft offered to send me on a mission to Gibraltar, but I realized I wouldn’t be able to run away from my feelings for you. Frankly, the thought of not seeing you was worse than anything else I could have imagined. So, yes. I love you.
*She smiles. He frowns again.*
Sherlock: This is where you say it back.
Molly: Oh, yeah. Sorry. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.
A Partridge in a Pear Tree / Two Turtle Doves / Three French Hens / Four Calling Birds / Five Golden Rings / Six Geese a-Laying / Seven Swans a-Swimming / Eight Maids a-Milking / Nine Ladies Dancing / Ten Lords a-Leaping / Eleven Pipers Piping / Twelve Drummers Drumming
Rating: G
A/N - I don't even know.
Eight Maids a-Milking
Molly: Is this really necessary?
Sherlock: I told you, Mary claims she has an allergy to hay and straw.
Molly: Claims?
Sherlock: I’m eighty percent certain she’s lying; but she distracted me with Rosie and I didn’t have a chance to bring it up again. Now, five of the employees check out, but I’ll need you to tell me everything you observe about the other three.
Molly: I never should have told you my grandparents owned a farm.
Sherlock: I doubt I’ll need to infiltrate a dairy that is a possible front for a smuggling ring too often, so you’re probably good after this one.
Molly: And why can’t you milk the bloody cows?
Sherlock: Milking Maidens only employs women. We both know I’m barely passable in drag, and I doubt I could justify wearing full makeup and padding whilst mucking out a milking stall.
Molly: I hate you.
Sherlock: You love me.
*They both freeze for a long moment.*
Molly: I-I don’t . . .
Sherlock: You do.
*Sherlock reaches for her hand.*
Sherlock: And I feel the same. I love you, Molly Hooper.
*Sherlock frowns in concern.*
Sherlock: Breathe, Molly. You’re starting to scare me.
Molly: Is this about the cows, because I swear to-
Sherlock: It’s not about the cows. I have cared for you for years, but it wasn’t until I spent time with John and Mary together that I started to truly understand what it was I was feeling.
Molly: You love me?
Sherlock: I do.
Molly: You love me.
Sherlock: Yep.
Molly: And you’re okay with that?
Sherlock: Surprisingly enough, I am. There was a bit of panic when I first figured it out. Mycroft offered to send me on a mission to Gibraltar, but I realized I wouldn’t be able to run away from my feelings for you. Frankly, the thought of not seeing you was worse than anything else I could have imagined. So, yes. I love you.
*She smiles. He frowns again.*
Sherlock: This is where you say it back.
Molly: Oh, yeah. Sorry. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.
A Partridge in a Pear Tree / Two Turtle Doves / Three French Hens / Four Calling Birds / Five Golden Rings / Six Geese a-Laying / Seven Swans a-Swimming / Eight Maids a-Milking / Nine Ladies Dancing / Ten Lords a-Leaping / Eleven Pipers Piping / Twelve Drummers Drumming