This past week, my best-friend and photographer pal, Lyndsey, had her practically brand new Nikon d3100 stolen. It was an extremely expensive camera, and she was attempting to jump start a photography business with said camera.
She does some really, truly great stuff. Seriously. Even if she weren’t my friend, I wouldn’t be able to find fault with her work. Even if she kicked puppies as a hobby, I’d still ‘ooh’ over her photographs. Well, maybe not.
But I digress.
Now! Purpouse of this post. On the off chance any of you lovely tumblr people live in the Indianapolis, Indiana and immediate surrounding areas and are interested in helping raise money for a replacement camera, another friend has offered the use of an identical camera so that Lyndsey can offer super cheap packages for a very limited time.
EXTREMELY limited time offer:
Sitting fee- $15
Package A: 2 8x10’s, 4 5x7’s, 4 4x6’s and 8 wallets - 30$ - 2 poses.
Package B - 3 8x10’s, 3 5x7’s, 6 4x6’s, and 16 wallets - 45$ - 3 poses.
Package C - 5 8x10’s, 5 5x7’s, 5 4x6’s, and 25 wallets - 100$ - 5 poses (great for family portraits!)
Venue is optional, most often outside (the park, your own backyard, ect.)
If on the off chance anyone is interested in helping out (and it’s a great time for photos (when isn’t!?)) message me for more information.
Tiny little thing to say hello. Post Reichenbach. In growing anticipation of series three. (Typed quickly on my phone so please forgive errors.)
It was everywhere.
Dripping from the worktop; oozing off the hob; running down the walls.
Molly wasn’t even entirely sure what it was. Her kitchen smelled so scalded butter, but the stuff splattering her kitchen was a dull reddish-brown. At this point, she wasn’t sure that she even wanted to know.
She didn’t know how much more of this she could handle. It’d been years; as in year but plural. Nearly three to be exact. At first, when he’d asked her in the darkened laboratory in the basement of St. Barts, Molly hadn’t hesitated.
Little did she know she’d be sharing her flat with a seven year old child trapped inside the body of an insanely attractive thirty-six year old man.
Wearily, Molly dropped her bag and rain slicker on the kitchen table, and called for her flatmate.
The door to the flat’s one and only bedroom squeaked open and Molly could hear Sherlock moving down the short hall and through the sitting room. Shortly into their co-habitation Molly and Sherlock realized that he was entirely too tall and her back ached entirely too much for either of them to sleep on the sofa. Molly’s queen sized bed became communal property and in the beginning there were sleepless nights full of gangly limbs, sharp knees and elbows and stolen covers. And, Molly realized, that once settled, Sherlock was a cuddler. She’d morning-breath laughed in his face the first time they’d woken and he was curled around her as if she were a teddy bear.
“Do I even want to know what happened in here?” she asked when he made his rumpled appearance. He was dressed in different pajama trousers and tee shirt than when she’d left that morning.
“If you’re unsure, why ask at all?”
Molly resisted the urge to bash her face off the wall. If only because she still didn’t know what was soiling it.
“Can I assume you’ll clean it up?”
“I do believe there’s an expression about the word ‘assume’. May have deleted it, but I’m fairly certain it had something to do with asses…”
Molly’s eye twitched. What slipped out of her mouth next she blamed completely on frustration and exhaustion.
Sherlock froze in his current tea- making process. “I beg your pardon?”
She cleared her throat. “You heard me. I’m through cleaning up after you. Get all of this cleared up or… or… I won’t bring you anything from the morgue or the lab for two weeks.”
Sherlock turned his back and measured loose Earl Grey. Molly crossed her arms and raised a brow.
“Three weeks?” It was a question, but one issued with challenge.
Sherlock’s shoulders tensed before he turned to face her. He mirrored her posture, leaning back against the worktop.
Molly silently held up four fingers.
Much to her surprise, though it shouldn’t have been, Sherlock smiled and crossed the room in a few steps. He crowded her against the wall, hands on either side, and her heart jumped into her throat.
Molly could feel the smirk against the shell of her ear as he spoke.
“Oh, but I can think of better ways for you to punish me, Molly. Can’t you? I know you thoroughly enjoyed it the last time.” He brushed her hair back and his lips found Molly’s neck. “I do believe that it has something to do with asses as well…”
Swallowing around the stubborn heart still in her throat, Molly felt her anger crumbling.
He always could charm his way out of, or into, anything.
Apparently that was an unexpected three month hiatus. Um… yeah. Sorry about that.
Thing of it is, I’ve got some insane writers block for Finding Molly. I know exactly what needs to be done with it, but I can’t. However! I am still trying. So, points. I guess.
I think I’ve just been out of the Sherlolly fandom too much.
What’ve I missed? I’m sure there are things.
Sorry to be clogging the tag up with my personal stuff, but I consider you fellow-Sherlollians my friends and, well, my biopsy results came back today and…
…this girls giant ass tumour was completely benign!
In celebration I got a Churro Carmel Crave from Cold Stone, took a nap and started the new chapter of Finding Molly.
We find out more about Dr. Benson, we have rage!John and more Sherlolly interactions. -throws glitter in all of your faces-