TEAM VIOLET TILL THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Aw, thanks so super much for downloading my art so that you can post it like OC. You’re sweet.
What if the reason why we want Sherlolly to work so badly is because we’re all a little Molly? We’re all a little in awe of intelligence and charisma and handsome jaw lines. And for Sherlock to stop and notice Molly and think she’s something worth something is almost as if he’s stopping and noticing US and saying, “You count. You’ve always counted.”
The housekeeper always hated the dog. Perhaps it’s because she had to mop the accidents and wash out the smelly dish once a week. The doe-eyed basset adored her. He longed for her affection. She fed it, bathed it, applied cream from the vet twice a day to its sores, but she did not love it.
When the man died, she did not cry, but as the family came to packed his things, the dog sat under the table by her feet, and no one mentioned him. She took her purse, and her paycheck, and said, “Let’s go home, Dog.”
"He’s probably going with stupid Kaylee!" Amanda texted me Monday night. I felt awful. "She’s going to date everyone!"
“How do you know?” I texted back.
“He said he had a date,” she replied.
“You asked him?” I asked. She sent me six texts in reply.
“Yes! At lunch.”
“He said he already asked someone.”
“Who else would it be?”
“I KNOW its Kaylee!”
“I hate her!”
“I’m never going to talk to her again!”
I didn’t reply. I knew she would talk to Kaylee again, and I knew what they were going to talk about. Me.
They walked to the bathrooms, and banged into matching stalls. She hummed and rolled her wet suit over sandy hips.
“Baby,” her mother said. “You there?”
“Get me my bag.”
“I gotta go,” she protested.
“Please,” her mother said. “Run first.”
She tugged her suit up and ran into the brightness, telling herself do-not-pee, do-not-pee, all the way to the bag and back. When the door peeked open, she saw the bloody suit rolled around her mother’s ankles, and she wondered, as she sank onto the toilet, if her mother was dying or if this was that other thing.
Persephone didn’t know what to think about the saxophone. When the cake was gone, she pulled the case out again. Uncle Edgar took a draw on his cigar and waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Your favorite gift, eh?” he said, and flicked open the case. It was new-penny shiny on the worn velvet. She pressed one of the mother-of-pearl keys, and it moved a whole line of parts, surprising her. Her mother and aunt stood nearby with their arms crossed, though mother was smiling.
“Edgar, you idiot,” her aunt Helen said. “What does a four year old want with that?”