I own nothing.

This is my very first attempt of long story. A Sherlolly historical AU set in 17th century Taiwan, known as Formosa at the time, when the Dutch East India Company occupied the southwest of the island as a trading site.

My special thanks goes to laurenceli, 221b-hogwarts-and-the-tardis, thedragonaunt, and elliedilly on Tumblr. For they are willing to beta a non-English native speaker's poor grammar and vocabs. Trust me, some of the first drafts weren't even human. For making this story become readable, they deserves all the credits. All mistakes are on me.

This is a story closely related to true historical events from 1660-1662 Formosa. But you don't have to know the history or any other backgrounds to read it. (But I'd say you can definitely look into the history if you want spoilers.)

Some historical terms will be explained later when need be. The cover art is an old map of the scene where the story takes place. But you don't need to read it to understand any of the plot.

There will be conflicts, war, and other unpleasant aspects concerning that period. I have no intension to empathize the horrible part of the history but I may use it to push the plot. I won't be overly explicit about violence and smut, but some of them are inevitable.

For those who are more familiar with history may consider this story over romanticized. But this is essentially a Sherlolly story, so I think it is entitled to romanticize as must as it gets.

Rated M for later chapters.

Here comes the prologue.

Prologue

Sussex, England, 1690

Sunshine pierced through the mid-summer air of the field, sparkling on the newly made dark obsidian headstone. In front of it stood a man named Sherlock Holmes, gray hair covered by the dark fabric of his hat, carefully examining the golden inscription. His chest heaved, cool summer air slipping into his lungs, contrary to the immobile black stone planted on the solid ground. A small sob by his side interrupted his inspection of the engraved name and the decorative pattern of magnolia flowers. He looked down, greeted by a teary little face.

'Papa,' a young girl quietly hissed, fiddling with the bunch of wildflower in her hands, 'Should I lay down the flowers?'

'Wait for your brothers, my dear,' Sherlock said, offering his left arm to his daughter. 'They won't be long.'

'Yes.' She lowered her head, eyes fixed on the carved gravestone.

'You are thinking.' said Sherlock, gently patting his daughter's head. 'What are you thinking, Violet Rose?'

Violet Rose looked up. 'It's beautiful, this headstone,' she said. 'Mama would like it.'

And then she blinked, fighting back tears.

Sherlock nodded 'I'm glad you think so,' he said, giving his daughter a smile. 'And?'

'The flowers. The magnolias.'

'Yes?'

'Why did you put them on?' she asked timidly. 'It's not that I don't like them. They're beautiful. But we never had them in the garden. And also, I don't understand…'

'What don't you understand, my child?'

'What does Sena mean? ' She gestured toward the inscription. Sherlock brought his gaze back to the glittering engraving of his wife's gravestone.

LADY LOUISE MARGARET ELIZABETH HOLMES

SENA MOLLY

1690

AGED 57

'It's an…' He paused, as the rustling sound of footsteps reached them. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his stepson Archie and his son Antonio approaching them through the field. Both were clad in black. Archie had a well-worn book in his hand.

'The magnolias look real,' remarked Archie, leaning in to take a closer look at the marble before greeting them. 'Papa, Violet Rose.'

'If only we could cultivate them in the garden,' said Antonio. He had three sprays of orchid in his hands, freshly collected from the botanical garden. He bent down and carefully laid the sprays and Violet Rose's slightly messy bunch against the smooth stone, careful not to cover the crafted flowers, before standing back up to rejoin his family.

'It looks pretty.' Violet Rose let out a small hiss, a lump in her throat. 'Mama would have loved it.' She started to sob, snuggling against her father for comfort. Staring at the flowers laid before the grave, Sherlock let out a deep sigh. Putting an arm around his daughter's shoulders, he gave Archie a slight nod and watched as his grown stepchild opened the yellowed bilingual bible – the text half Dutch, half Formosan - and filled the silent summer field with a once familiar Austronesian tune.