So this is a bit longer than a drabble, but I couldn’t help it. I mean you try to stick to 221 words

So this is a bit longer than a drabble, but I couldn’t help it. I mean you try to stick to 221 words when you’ve got these two beautiful women as a prompt. Anyway, this is #219 for iamawakerightnow.“He’s a terrible man, isn’t he?”Molly jumped and dropped her keys. “What – how did you get in?”Irene smiled. She was dressed sleekly as usual, the collar of her black dress high and almost reaching her chin. She’d made herself at home, of course. Her fur coat was strewn carelessly on the couch, and she was barefoot. Molly, in her heels, was taller than Irene. She decided to keep them on for the moment, although, if she was being honest, they didn’t do much for her confidence (nothing really did) or at all change the dynamic in the room.“Who’s a terrible man?” Molly asked.“Mr. Holmes, of course,” Irene said easily.Molly shrugged out of her coat and fiddled with the straps of her own dress. Her fingers traced the ridges of the plastic imitation pearls and she sighed. She was too tired to bother to ask what gave it away this time. She was certain she hadn’t been thinking of Sherlock as she walked through the door, but Irene always knew. She was so like him that way - so uncannily privy to everyone else’s secrets. Except, apparently, Irene was even better at it than Sherlock: he, after all, hadn’t been able to tell that the gift Molly had brought was for him.“I suppose using the same wrapping paper that I did was your idea of a very funny joke?” Molly said. She wished her voice wouldn’t tremble like that - she’d meant to sound angry but mostly she just sounded like she was about to cry. It hadn’t been a very good night.She pulled off the large pearl earrings she’d worn to the Christmas party, also fake, and grimaced at them. Toby came padding out of the back room and hopped up onto Irene’s coat, kneading it with his paws as if it were a live thing.“Toby, no!” Molly hissed. Irene didn’t seem to mind. She scratched the cat idly behind his ears and stepped quietly over to Molly. Molly felt herself back up into the door, which closed with a click behind her.“I need your help,” Irene said. She pulled the silver bow – the kind used for Christmas presents, oh honestly, Molly thought, why did I think that was a good idea? – from Molly’s hair and pressed it into her palm. She smiled. Gentle. Sweet, almost, which was odd, coming from Irene. Nearly as odd and unsettling as Sherlock’s apology earlier that night.“What do you need?” Molly asked.“I need you to go into work tomorrow.”“Tomorrow? But tomorrow’s Christmas. Why d’you need –““Because,” Irene said simply. “Tomorrow is the day I die.” -- source link
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