Sherlock laying in Molly’s lap while she plays with the dark soft curls on his head. Running her fingers through the strands and lightly using her nails to scratch his scalp. His voice, deep and silky, saturates the room as he reads aloud. He sighs contentedly and looks up at her with eyes the colour of azure and aquamarine with the barest hint of gold flecks. Molly meets his loving gaze with the smallest of smiles. No words are said. They don’t need to be said.
i was doing my history speech today in front of my history teacher on anastasia romanov and in the miDDLE OF MY SPEECH I ACCIDENTALLY SAID NATASHA ROMANOVA AND I HAD TO SPEND THE REMAINDER OF MY TIME TRYING NOT TO LAUGH