Sherlolly Oneshots

Snowy Hearts

Molly had been blown off the mountain.

Without a second thought, Sherlock jammed his poles into the snow and pushed off, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he took off down the nearly vertical slope.  He squinted into the blizzard, hardly noticing the blur beneath his skis as he rapidly picked up speed. 

He couldn't seem to find, however, the dark shape of Molly anywhere near and a mixture of fear for her and for himself seemed to fuel his actions.  It was then when Sherlock got the common sense to steer right and slow himself down, his heart thumping rapidly and breath fast and heavy when he finally did manage to stop. 

Sherlock panted, his hands shaking as his gaze wildly flicked around through the blizzard.  He gnawed on his bottom lip, maybe he could just walk the rest of the way down, he hadn't managed to fly off the side of the mountain and had actually gotten himself to a stop with nearly three quarters of the slope left to go.  Maybe he should just stop here, quit while he was ahead.

"You okay, bud?"  Sherlock felt his heart leap when a voice shouted at him from behind.  His head whipped around, nearly causing him to lose balance, and a dark figure boarded beside him.  Smaller, American accent, stout.  A native, has been boarding his whole life due to the ease at which he carved up the mountain.  A nice, helpful civilian that could easily help Sherlock down the mountain.  The detective let out a relieved sigh, opening his mouth to explain the situation when two, stuttered words seemed to escape his lips.

"I-I'm f-fine."  Sherlock hardly even registered the Americans next words because of his own shock at his self-betrayal. 

"Alright, well.  You seemed pretty out of control back there, you're lucky you didn't fall.  Just take the rest of the slope easy, pizza skis McGee."  And, in true American fashion, the snowboarder corrected his stance and soon disappeared in the blizzard.

Sherlock let out a frustrated yell that was lost on his lips.  It was only the thought of Molly that made him point his skis in triangle fashion and slowly begin to turn down the slope, poles dragging behind him.  What seemed like a few long, terrifying few minutes passed and Sherlock's heart leapt at the sight of the next, seated, dark figure at the side of the mountain.  Ah yes, another stranded soul.  Perhaps Sherlock and this new, fallen straggler could work their way down together, one slow turn at a time and-

"Molly?"  Sherlock had to stop himself from letting out an incredulous, hysterical laugh when the bored-looking, seated shape of Molly turned to look back and smile brightly.

"Hey Sherlock, glad to see you don't have and broken bones."

"Only a shattered sense of dignity."

"Please," Molly said with a snort as he stood, "that wasn't existent to begin with."  Before Sherlock could shoot back a retort the pathologist continued, "I've been waiting for ages, I was worried you'd shot through the mesh fence or something."

"I almost did once or twice," Sherlock replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "what happened to you?"

"After I got blown off the top of the mountain I sort of let myself bomb down the first half of the slope- sorry, I went really fast with almost no turns and no self-control."  Molly explain at the confused look on Sherlock's face, "once I regained control I stopped myself and waited for you."

"I'm sure glad you did," was the trembling detectives reply, "now please help me down."  Molly laughed and the two set off, carefully working their way down the slope.  After what seemed to be half of the day and a lot of falling later, the lodge became outlined in the blizzard and the chatter of people gathered at the bottom of the slope rose above the roaring of the wind.

When they reached the bottom Sherlock let out a relieved cry that caught in his throat and immediately began to click off his skis.  Molly giggled as she unstrapped her back foot and watched Sherlock's panicky state.

"See?  That wasn't that bad.  We managed to get down without any broken bones.  I mean a few bruises that will be excruciatingly sore tomorrow but in the long run not ba-"

Molly was cut off when Sherlock threw his helmet into the snow and grabbed the pathologist by the lapels of her ski jacket, pulling her into him for a warming kiss.  Molly startled at first but almost immediately sunk into the detectives melting, even if slightly frantic, touch.  A wolf-whistle was heard somewhere nearby but both ignored it and Molly found herself wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck.

When the detective pulled back both were slightly out of breath, from both the kiss and the black-diamond adventure.  Molly's eyes were wide as Sherlock pulled her into a tight hug and fiercely whispered in her ear.

"Don't ever get blown off the side of a mountain again, I thought you died."  A small smile traced Molly's lips as she stepped back, kissing Sherlock's icy cheek.

"I won't," she said with a small giggle, "now come on, let's get you some proper ski lessons.  Maybe after we can call it a day and head back to the hotel and I can make this traumatic event up to you with some true Valentines Day events."  Sherlock blinked as Molly began to head to the lodge, a smirk on his face as he snatched his skis and ran after her.  Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad Valentines Day after all...