Title: If All The Sea Were Ink
Rating/Warnings: PG13
Length: 470 words
Summary: for the prompt Sarah/Molly, if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.

If All The Sea Were Ink

John doesn’t make excuses anymore when he knocks on her door and tells her that once again he’s leaving the clinic before his shift is over. He still looks apologetic though and she can’t make herself fire him. He’s one of the best doctors they have, after all.

As he shuts the door behind him on his way out Sarah pulls open the bottom drawer of her desk and adds a neatly-penned tally mark to those already on the front of the paper wallet that is John’s employee file. They’re a testimony to the number of shifts John hasn’t completed; a reminder in indelible ink of why breaking up with John Watson was the right thing to do.

Later she lets herself into the morgue at Bart’s, familiar enough now with the evening security staff and the route that she no longer warrants accompanying.

Molly looks up from removing an eye from a deceased male, the other already in a tupperware container, and her frown fades somewhat. Sarah uses her thumb to chase away the last of the creases between Molly’s eyes and the other woman smiles.

“I won’t be a minute,” she says, placing the second eyeball with the first and washing her hands before sealing the lid.

“I brought wine.”

Sarah raises her tote bag slightly to display the outline of the bottle.

“Your place or mine?” asks Molly as she tidies her work area and returns the deceased to a cool drawer.

“Mine.”

Sarah leans her shoulder against a wall and lowers both her handbag and the tote bag to the floor, taking the weight off her feet, whilst she watches the other woman.

Molly is efficient as she finishes up and Sarah admires that. She also admires Molly’s lips as she freshens her lipstick and her ability to do that without a mirror, and she loves that Molly is comfortable enough to do that in front of her. She’s not sneaking away to try and make herself look more attractive, a different person on her return. She knows that Sarah finds her attractive as she is and this is just something more, for Sarah, like a gift.

She takes her bag off the hook by the door and replaces it with her white coat, tossing the lipstick into her bag. Then she carefully places a post-it note on top of the tupperware box containing the eyeballs and Sarah can tell what she’s writing by the frown that creeps back onto her face. For Sherlock in indelible ink.

Sarah comes to stand opposite her and, leaning over the table and the eyeballs between them, raises Molly’s chin with delicate fingers to kiss her until the colour of Molly’s lipstick is bright on them both.

“Are you done?” she asks.

They leave together, handbags swinging and fingers interlaced.


Title: Hand In Hand
Rating/Warnings: PG
Length: 255 words
Summary: Sandman/Doctor Who, Jenny's deaths are temporary but time enough for Death. (The prompt was temporary death for a date, but this is more just their first meeting.)

Hand In Hand

This woman radiates life, so much so that Death wouldn’t think she was dead if she weren’t Death and knew these things. It’s a brightness that she hasn’t seen in a long time from a race that usually blinked in and out of her realm, the brightest of fireflies, before finally settling, their light dimmed.

“So this is being dead?” she asks with a luminous, infectious smile.

Death reaches out a hand to her and the woman takes it without hesitation.

Her hand is warm.

“No. Not quite,” says Death, returning the smile with one of her own.

“Really? Oh, well that’s nice,” she says, squeezing Death’s hand gently. “I wasn’t really done with the being alive part to be honest. Not that here isn’t interesting! I like new places. I was a solider, before, but I was thinking that I’d quite like to be an explorer now instead. I’m Jenny, by the way,” she adds.

“I know.”

She’s not the same as the ones that have come before. Her light doesn’t burn any less brightly, but it’s steadier somehow, slower. This one, it seems, will not blink in and out of Death’s realm so much as wander in and out.

“Jenny The Wanderer,” Death tells her.

“I like that.”

Jenny beams at her, then rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to Death’s, tasting of hello and thank you and the joy of living, before she goes to greet the goldfish in their bowl, tugging Death after her by their joined hands.