The steam curled around Molly Hooper as she rushed across the platform, her gloved hands gripping her suitcase firmly while she maneouvred herself through the crowd.

She was very late, and the time printed onto her ticket glared at her judgementally as she lifted her skirts higher, throwing propriety to the wind in favour of catching her train.

She was quite breathless when the locomotive finally emerged out of the gloom before her, stretching out of the confines of the station into the dense fog that was suffocating London, so much so that the tender and cab was barely visible.

The ticket inspector waved to the driver to hold the train when he saw her hurrying towards him, her ticket thrust in front of her as she tried to restrain herself from running.

'London to Derby?' He took her ticket from her when she nodded, unable to speak as she caught her breath, attempting to gulp down air as delicately as possible. The man barely looked at the paper in his hands before he opened the nearest compartment, helping her into it and closing the door just as the train began to lurch away.

'Thank you so much,' Molly breathed out, taking back her ticket through the open window.

In her haste, she hadn't noticed that she was not alone in the compartment, but when she turned she found a man was sat reading his paper, clearly oblivious to her hurried entrance. She was rather glad of this, as she was sure that she looked rather disheveled, the wisps of hair falling out of the bun at the back of her head tickling the skin of her neck.

The stranger was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen, and he wasn't even looking at her. From the side, she could see his defined cheekbones and jaw line, the gentle shadows caused by both giving his face fascinating depth. She could just see the hint of full lips and a prominent Cupid's bow, and his mouth twitched as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. He had a mop of black curls atop his head, and he inhabited a leanness of physique that Molly preferred to burlier men, whose strength always seemed annoyingly indiscreet.

'Good day,' she said pleasantly, but he disappointingly ignored her, so she focused instead on trying to lift her case onto the luggage rack above her. She cursed her small stature first and her overindulgent packing second as she struggled, trying to keep herself upright as the train moved.

'Were you never taught the importance of punctuality, or do you enjoy making other people wait for you?' The man spoke for the first time, his deep baritone making her skin tingle before she realised what he had said. She set her bag onto the seat, and whirled around to face him, even though his position was eerily unchanged.

'Pardon?' She said, her voice trembling. The stranger sighed, as if he was speaking to a petulant child.

'I said: were you never-' The man halted in his speech when he lifted his gaze to glare at her, and Molly automatically drew in a sharp breath at the moment when their eyes met. 'Excuse me,' he said instantly, but Molly was too angry to pay him any heed.

'How dare you,' she hissed, impressed by the way she managed not to stutter. Her initial attraction towards the man hadn't exactly vanished, but it was thankfully overwhelmed by her rage. 'I could have you thrown from the train for speaking to me in such a manner.'

'You wouldn't dream of it, Miss Hooper,' he replied, and she hated the fact that this was probably true.

'How do you know my name?'

'It's written on the label of your suitcase,' he said quietly, and she couldn't resist checking. Sure enough, 'Miss M. Hooper' was written in her illegible script, which other physicians had criticised her for at the beginning of her career after finding not enough wrong with her.

'Well, I was unavoidably detained. I am usually very punctual.' The man's raised eyebrow made her want to rip his curly hair from his head, and she barely restrained herself. 'Regardless, I was only a minute late, so I doubt I've disturbed the train's schedule too terribly. I'll thank you to leave me alone now please.'

She resumed wrestling with her bag, muttering inaudibly under her breath. She considered going to another compartment, but she was not about to allow him to drive her out. If he was so offended by her apparent lack of manners then he should be the one to go, because she was staying put.

Molly sighed; ready to give up trying to position her case, when two hands appeared to grip either side of the suitcase. They lifted it easily out of her grasp and onto the rack so quickly that Molly barely registered what was happening, turning slowly to face the person who had come to her aid.

The handsome, rude stranger grinned down at her, and she noticed first that he was considerably taller than she. His eyes sparkled while she tried to recover her voice, and she saw that they changed colour with every passing moment.

'I could have managed without you,' she said eventually, taken aback by her own insolence, but unable to feel truly remorseful.

'I beg to differ, Miss Hooper,' he replied, and Molly wondered whether she should ask him to use her proper title, even though she'd never observed it before. 'I must admit that I am not well versed in the conventions of social etiquette,' she suppressed a snort with difficulty, 'but I believe this is where you thank me.'

'You are quite correct,' she said cordially, but she shut her mouth firmly and sat down. He chuckled (she ignored the effect it had on her) and went back to his seat.

They sat in silence for a while, Molly wistfully gazing up at her case once she realised that the medical journal that she had brought with her for the journey was inconveniently secreted inside it. She couldn't think of asking the man for his assistance, and she was not about to grapple for it herself, so she resigned herself to the boredom of staring out of the window until reading material could be sourced at the next stop.

'Miss Hooper,' she wondered whatever he could want now, and was rather taken aback when she found that he was offering her his paper.

'No, thank you,' she said through gritted teeth, but the bothersome man was undeterred.

'I am quite finished with it,' he said, but he seemed to sense her hostility because he leaned forward. 'It appears that we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Hooper,' she met his eyes warily, 'and I must apologise for the role I played in that.' Molly narrowed her eyes at him, not entirely convinced that his repentance was genuine. Still, she was nothing if not forgiving, so she nodded her acceptance.

'That's quite alright, Mr…?'

'Holmes,' he supplied, 'Sherlock Holmes.' He was smiling now, and Molly noted that it made him look younger. 'And please, accept this,' he handed the paper to her, and this time she took it from him.

'Are you sure that you are finished with it?'

'Yes, yes. I have found a much more interesting occupation,' he assured her, and she murmured her thanks, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that his 'occupation' involved fixing his eyes solely on her.

xxxxxx

Molly was done with the paper in under half an hour, only really interested in the report about the murder of the woman that had occurred last week, which the paper had claimed was solved by a third party working with the police. Molly had seen the same addendum in nearly all the reports of serious crimes over the past few months, and she wondered who this mysterious detective was, and why the police couldn't seem to solve anything without him.

Mr Holmes was now staring out the window, in a deep contemplative state if the tented hands under his chin were anything to go by. Molly used this distraction to study him, still deeply confused about whether she liked or loathed the man.

He was undeniably attractive, and Molly would be lying if she said that she hadn't been drawn to him from the first moment she saw him. However, her impression of him still hadn't fully recovered from his earlier rudeness, no matter how gentlemanly he had appeared when he helped her with her bag and offered her his paper.

Still, she supposed it didn't really matter what she thought of him, resolved as she was to remain a spinster in favour of keeping her career. She had nothing against the idea of marriage, but her current mood made her sure it was not something to aspire to, guilty as it was for the inconvenient journey she was making.

Her cousin, Jasmine, was getting married at her grandparents' house in Derbyshire, and as a bridesmaid, Molly was under an obligation to go.

The groom's family and her grandfather had arranged the match, which, although this wasn't something Molly necessarily frowned upon, wasn't a circumstance she would wish for herself.

The wedding also meant spending time with Jasmine, whose unfortunate vanity and self-absorption was enough to put anyone off the idea of marriage forever.

Molly sighed, unaware that she had done so audibly until she realised that Mr Holmes had diverted his attention to her.

'Is something the matter, Miss Hooper?' She shook her head.

'I'm perfectly well, thank you.' Molly decided that changing the subject would probably be best. 'I wonder if you know how much longer the journey will be?'

'A good few hours yet, Miss Hooper,' she nodded, 'but, forgive me, I don't believe you're all that eager to arrive at our destination just yet.' She slumped, recalling the letter she had received from Jasmine the week before, which had detailed why Molly's pale complexion made picking bridesmaids dresses so difficult in an almost accusatory tone.

'May I ask how you worked that out, Mr Holmes?' She asked him, wondering vaguely if he'd read it on the label of her suitcase.

'Your posture relaxes every time we momentarily halt, and your brow furrows every time we start to move again. Clearly you are dreading whatever it is that has forced you away from London,' he finished, and she was simultaneously shocked and flattered that he had bothered to observe her.

'You are quite right, Mr Holmes.' She looked at him thoughtfully. 'I wonder what else you can work out about me,' it wasn't really a challenge, but he took it anyway, deducing her as he had done with many others.

'You qualified as a physician four years ago, with distinction, supported in your studies by your grandfather despite the disapproval of your grandmother. You are unmarried, despite the ring on the correct finger, which in fact belonged to your mother. She died when you were very young, your father shortly after, and you suspect his death was due to a broken heart. You wear the ring because it reminds you of them, but it also makes your professional life easier because your colleagues feel less threatened by a married woman. They have never attempted to find out whether you are actually somebody's wife, but you have never fixed this impression because they are more inclined to leave you alone. Am I correct so far?'

Molly nodded; still processing what Mr Holmes had told her in so hurried a fashion. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and resumed speaking, even though Molly couldn't imagine what else he could find to say.

'You are wearing your favourite dress, because you are likely to be scrutinised upon your arrival at your…' he paused, searching her for the end of his sentence, 'grandparents' house? Yes, your grandparents' house. You are attending a celebration of some kind there, but you do not get on with the person that it is being held for, which explains your reluctance to attend.'

'Wha… How… Tha…' He looked very smug, but Molly was too shocked to dislike him for it. 'How did you know all of that?'

'Deductions.'

'Excuse me?'

'I am very good at reading people, Miss Hooper. For example, I knew you were a physician because of the slight marking of a stethoscope on your neck, and I know that that is your mother's ring because it is slightly too big for you, as if it were made originally for someone else's finger. I also worked out that both of your parents have passed because of the locket around your neck with their pictures in, which you reach for unconsciously to suggest that you have worn it for so long that you forget it is there,' he said. Molly was awestruck, staring at the man before her with unabashed admiration. She realised that her fingers had closed around her locket, a gift from her grandfather the year after her father died, which she hadn't taken off since the age of eleven.

'And my dress?'

'Well, you've subtly darned a hole on the shoulder, and such care suggests either frugality or an attachment to the garment. While you are careful with your possessions, I am inclined towards the latter, because you keep brushing off the skirt as if you are afraid of it getting dirty. This raises the question of why you would wear something that you like so much for travelling; from which I naturally conclude that you are conscious that you will have to withstand another's inspection. For most women, they would be most conscious of the views of an authority figure, a relative most probably, and through process of elimination I would suggest you are concerned about the views of one, possibly both of your grandparents.'

'My grandmother,' Molly supplied, prompting him to go on.

'Once I had concluded that, it was reasonable to assume that you were going to your grandparents' house, but your decision to take the latest train possible indicates you are not looking forward to the trip. You are clearly there for a substantial amount of time if the size of your suitcase is anything to go by, and you have clearly been forced to stay for so long. This is due to an event outside of your control, so you have had no choice, but you did decide to put the gift you brought in your suitcase rather than ensuring its safety by keeping it separate. Therefore, I assume you are not close with the person that it is for.' Molly was gobsmacked, her eyes becoming wider with each correct deduction that the man made. He smiled at her reaction, and she laughed after a moment, observing that it wasn't fair that such a gorgeous man could be blessed with such a brain.

'May I ask what it is that you do, Mr Holmes; since you know so much about me?'

'I'm a detective,' he replied, and she supposed that made sense. 'I investigate cases that are brought to me by individuals, but I am also contracted occasionally by the police if they require assistance with their cases.' Comprehension dawned on Molly, and she flicked her gaze from him to the paper.

'You're the third party!' She said excitedly.

'I'm sorry?' Molly picked up the paper and waved it in front of him.

'You're the third party who helped the police with the murder of that woman last week. The article mentions you, not by name of course, but they say that you solved it. I've been wondering who you are for months now.' She realised she was getting carried away, but her excitement prevented her from being embarrassed. Mr Holmes studied her with an unidentifiable expression, and she blushed as the intensity of his gaze increased exponentially.

'I'm flattered, Miss Hooper,' he said eventually. 'I hope I have not disappointed you.' She looked down at her clasped hands, her face warm from the burning of his eyes.

'I am not sure what my expectations were, Mr Holmes,' she kept her eyes averted, as she knew that she would be unable to say this to him if she looked up, 'but I am quite certain that you exceed them.'

xxxxxx

The train rolled into Derby station at quarter to seven, much to Molly's displeasure. Although she had never wanted to be here in the first place, the fact that she had to part from Mr Holmes was an added detriment to her arrival in the country.

Over the journey, she had got to know the initially aloof detective who shared her compartment, and found herself rather besotted by him. He impressed her repeatedly with his genius intellect, and her interest in crime and the human body meant that she was fascinated by the stories that he told of cases he had worked on.

Now, as he lifted her case off the luggage rack and helped her onto the platform, she felt some sadness at the fact that she would probably never see him again.

She turned to face him when they had both departed the train, and he handed her the handle of her bag, which she took gratefully.

'Well, Mr Holmes,' she said, pulling down her jacket with characteristic shyness. 'It was lovely to meet you,' she said honestly, trying to remain cheerful despite the dull ache in her chest.

'The pleasure was all mine, Dr Hooper,' she laughed: his acceptance of her medical career was yet another reason why she liked him. 'I hope that your trip will not be as unbearable as you are anticipating,' she smiled, and he readily returned it.

'Thank you, Mr Holmes. So do I.' He nodded, and they both spent a moment looking everywhere but at each other. 'Goodbye,' she said, her voice much smaller than before.

She was about to walk away when his hand found its way to hers; raising it to his mouth as he bent down to kiss it. His lips pressed against her skin, and she was infinitely glad that her gloves were clasped in the hand carrying her suitcase.

'Goodbye, Miss Hooper,' he murmured, their eyes locked on each other before he straightened and walked away, turning once to look back at her. Then he passed under the arch that led out of the station and disappeared.

Molly stood in the middle of the platform for a minute more, her hand still burning from his touch, refusing to allow herself to cry.

She walked towards the same exit that had swallowed him only moments before, and prepared herself for boarding the cart that would take her to her grandparents, and her probable doom.

xxxxxx

The horseman helped her out of the cart, the gravel in the driveway of her grandparents' estate crunching under her boots. She stared up at the manor that held such bittersweet memories before she strode to the large oak door, pressing the bell and feeling her confidence ebb away with every second.

A servant ushered her in, taking her jacket and the suitcase that the horseman carried in for her. Then she made her own way to the ballroom, following the noise that suggested that her grandparents had collected a number of friends to celebrate the impending nuptials.

'Molly, dear,' her grandfather was the first person she saw, and she rushed over eagerly to greet him, kissing him on each cheek and gripping his hands. She missed him greatly living in London, and it was lovely to see him so well considering the stress that her cousin and her grandmother must put him under.

'Good evening, Molly,' her grandmother was next, embracing her coldly and scanning her appraisingly, exactly as Mr Holmes had guessed she would have.

Molly said hello to some of her grandfather's friends once her grandmother had released her, answering politely that she was still working when they questioned her with poorly concealed disbelief.

'Molly, are you going to ignore the bride?' Jasmine called to her from where she was perched on the sofa, various guests fawning over her, and Molly winced internally at the shrillness of her cousin's voice.

'Of course not, Jasmine, how rude of me. How are you?'

'I am frightfully nervous, darling, but I am sure that once my fiancé arrives, I will be quite well.'

'Isn't he here already?' Molly was surprised by the groom's absence, as she had delayed her own visit as much as possible until only a week before the wedding. Her grandmother had not been particularly pleased, but Molly was not prepared to spend any more time here than she had to.

'He is a very busy man, my dear cousin, as you will see. It really is a wonder how he has managed to do without me,' Jasmine replied modestly, and Molly smiled weakly before seeking solace in her other cousin Mary.

'Molly, thank God you're here,' Mary said to her in an undertone, as she pulled Molly to sit beside her on a chaise.

'Has she been unbearable?' Molly's voice was full of sympathy, perfectly aware of quite how dreadful Jasmine could be.

'If you hadn't been coming, I don't think there would have been a wedding- I was this close to strangling her with a pair of stockings,' Molly laughed, squeezing Mary's hand comfortingly.

'We'll manage together, don't worry.' They paused for a moment, listening to the buzz of the people around them, and the voice of Jasmine somehow drowning them all out.

From the beginning, Jasmine had been the sole option out of all of Lord Geoffrey Hooper's grandchildren for the match. He had automatically excluded Molly, his favourite, to allow her the freedom that she enjoyed in the city, and Mary had removed herself due to the fact that it interfered with her wishes to marry for love. Jasmine, however, had suggested herself readily, apparently familiar with the man that she was to marry from the balls she attended, and content that he would match her unerringly high standards.

'So when is he expected?' Molly asked Mary, her curiosity getting the better of her.

'The groom?' Molly nodded. 'Tonight. He seemed to have the same idea as you, putting off getting here so that the others have to deal with Jasmine.'

'I'm sorry for that, by the way,' Molly whispered, blushing guiltily.

'Don't worry; you're here now. How was the journey?' Molly flushed again, for wholly different reasons, debating whether she should tell Mary about Mr Holmes. Luckily, her cousin's perceptiveness meant she had little choice. 'I know that face, Molly, what happened?'

'I met a man on the train,' Molly confessed. 'We were in the same compartment. He was… lovely,' Molly finished breathlessly, and Mary laughed as her cousin seemed to enter into a kind of trance.

'You can tell me all about it later.' Mary said, ending her sentence just as the butler entered to inform them that Jasmine's fiancé had finally arrived.

Mary and Molly stood with the rest of their family, sharing a small smile at the prospect of meeting the unfortunate man who would be joined to Jasmine for all eternity.

The butler announced the names of the people whom Molly assumed were the groom's parents.

Molly was sure that she had never seen two more gracefully wealthy people in her life as they walked in, and they greeted her grandparents in so friendly a manner that Molly almost felt sorry that their son was marrying her cousin.

Then the butler stepped forward again to introduce the groom, and Molly's attention was diverted completely from his parents.

'Lord William Sherlock Holmes.'

Molly's eyes widened, positive she'd heard wrong. It was a coincidence; it had to be a coincidence, she repeated to herself as she tightened her grip on Mary's hand.

But Molly's blood ran cold when her Mr Holmes entered the room, and she realised that he was Jasmine's Lord Holmes instead.

The black curls had been neatened since the train, and his attire had been changed into something more suitable for the evening. But those eyes that had so captivated her were identical to the ones of the stranger before her now, as they swept the room and eventually landed on her.

She saw the exact moment of recognition, the shock on his face as he realised that his deceit (as far as she was concerned) had been discovered. Molly felt instantly sick, unbeknownst to the room full of people who would never understand the gravity of that moment for two of the crowd.

'Excuse me,' she whispered, her eyes downcast as she ran away from the confusion of those assembled.

Putting distance between herself and the one man who didn't need to be confused at all.

A/N: I told myself I wouldn't write anything else until after my exams, but this came to me and I had to get it down. It's a bit different to everything I've written so far, but I hope you like it enough to stick around. As I mentioned, my exams are over soon, so I'll have a lot more time to devote to finishing this. Also, if you have any prompts, I'm AquaFontem on Tumblr too, so let me know if there's anything in particular you want to read and I might pick it up! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope that you'll forgive me for such a long first chapter! :)