Author's note: I would like to thank kstewmanipulation from Tumblr for allowing me to use another of their manips for this story. I saw the picture and it looked like a younger version of Sherlock and Molly that would fit in with my story of them meeting at uni. I have written extra scenes to add information about that cover image so it is included in the story.
Prologue
Sherlock glanced at the small, framed picture he kept on his nightstand. A few months earlier, his mother-in-law had given him a CD which had scanned digital images of all the photos she had of Molly as she was growing up. He had seen the photos initially when Ruth Hooper had showed them to him after dinner one night, before he and Molly had been married.
There was one photo Sherlock really liked. It was a picture of Molly in her university days. Her hair was shorter than it was now, just shoulder length and a little lighter. She was wearing a bright orange top, and a double strand of a black, beaded necklace was around her neck. She was showing just a hint of a dimple while giving a Mona Lisa smile that seemed to imply she had a secret. Molly had no idea why he liked it so much, but he did. Sherlock felt that if he had met the girl in the photograph, he would have been mesmerised by her, even though he knew he had avoided any type of sentiment in those days. The only thing missing from the picture is me, Sherlock thought, as he wondered, not for the first time, how his life might have been different if he had known Molly back then.
When Sherlock had downloaded the photo and printed out an image of it, Molly had thought it was ridiculous of him to have a picture of her from so long ago, but he didn't care. He had framed it and now it sat on his nightstand for him to view if his wife wasn't around, like when she was on nightshift and the bed felt lonely without her presence.
Of course, he didn't have to worry about sleeping alone at night again for a few more weeks, and Sherlock couldn't help smiling at the thought.
He turned his gaze away from the photo to look at his very-much-present wife, who was in bed beside him. He watched as she fed their six week old baby. Molly had a pillow under her arm to support it as she held the infant. Victoria had been suckling for about ten minutes, and Sherlock could see that both mother and baby were drifting off to sleep.
He loved watching Molly feed their child. There was something so heart-warming, knowing their baby was being nourished by her mother, even outside of the womb.
The last six weeks had been quite an adjustment for both of them, well the three of them actually. Victoria was not the best sleeper, which of course was not unusual at this stage. Sherlock had been assured by John and the midwife who had come to them for Molly's post-natal visits and afterwards to see how things were doing, that Victoria would eventually settle into a more regular sleep schedule. As far as Sherlock was concerned, it couldn't come soon enough.
When they had brought the baby home, it had been scary, plain and simple. All of a sudden, you had this tiny infant depending on you to feed them, clothe them and change them. Your life revolved around them.
Sherlock and Molly hadn't even had a proper kiss until the baby was almost two weeks old. They were both exhausted and ready to nap at a moment's notice when the baby decided to sleep. Vaguely, Sherlock recalled a time when John and Mary had been visiting Baker Street, and they had fallen asleep on the sofa, while he had tried to take care of Rosie in his inexperienced way. Now he understood why.
Sherlock had insisted on Molly buying a breast pump, so that he too could assist in feeding the baby. The pump came with three bottles. Producing the extra milk was not an easy task either for his poor wife. That pump had some fierce suction, he noticed, and Molly would often wince while using it. However, she persisted, and Sherlock had now fed Victoria several times during the night in order to give Molly some time to sleep.
As Sherlock continued to watch his two girls, the infant's mouth fell away from her mother's breast as she slept. Sherlock gingerly got off the bed and went around to Molly's side of the bed. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Molly's ear and kissed her cheek. She smiled at him through weary, half closed eyes and allowed him to extract their sleeping baby from her encircling arm. He then settled Victoria gently into the Moses basket by the bed, hoping she would remain asleep. Quite often, the slightest sound of movement caused her to awaken and cry, and then he would rock her back to sleep again while humming various classical tunes or Brahms' Lullaby, only to often have to repeat the process when he tried to lay her down again.
Sherlock and Molly had a cot for their baby, but they used it only during the day. At night it was much more convenient to have Victoria in the same room with them. Yes, it meant they usually both woke when the infant started to cry, but the one not on "active duty" fell back asleep quickly.
Sherlock kissed his sleeping daughter's forehead, marvelling at how perfect she was. He was sure she would have her mother's colouring. She had a head full of light brown, straight hair, much to Molly's disappointment and Sherlock's delight. She did have the Holmes blue-green eyes however, which tempered his wife's disappointment somewhat. Of course, he reflected, not for the first time, eye colour could change over the first few months.
Sherlock crept back into the bed, easing himself under the covers, gently pulling away the pillow that had been under Molly's arm, and then drawing her close. They had not had much opportunity to sleep at the same time, let alone make love, and Sherlock missed the intimacy. They had been told that Molly's body needed a month to heal after giving birth before they could be physically intimate. That time had passed but they had only made love twice since then because they were too tired to muster any energy for such things most of the time. After being used to sharing themselves with one another almost every night, oftentimes more than once in the span of a day, this was definitely a change that he did not particularly care for.
Sherlock wondered, as he settled Molly closely against him, and she gave a small sigh of contentment, whether he was so tired because he was forty-one. Would he have found it easier to manage things if he had come to his senses earlier about Molly? Molly had had a dream when they were engaged that she had become pregnant a few months before Sherrinford occurred. That dream had begun as if they had met at uni. Ever since that time, now and then he wondered how life might have been different if their history had gone back that far, just as he had again been thinking only a few minutes earlier. Would Molly's influence have made him into a better man? It had certainly done so later. Yes, he thought, I would very much like to have met Molly back then.
With those thoughts in his mind, Sherlock finally fell into sleep and eventually began to dream.
The Dream Begins
Sherlock was sitting in the university library in January as he habitually did on Friday nights. He was usually the only one there, because students tended to like to go and have fun on the weekends. Sherlock though, liked the quietness of the library. It was calming.
He was rather surprised then on this Friday evening to notice that he was not the only person sitting at his usual table. There was a girl with long brown hair, seated at the end of it. He glanced over at her, surprised. His gaze focussed on the book in her hands that she was apparently reading. It was one of his personal favourites, "A Tale of Two Cities."
Despite himself, Sherlock was intrigued. She seemed very young, probably in her first year, he thought. He himself was young to be doing a postgraduate degree at the age of twenty, but she looked, what, - Seventeen? Eighteen? He didn't usually notice students of the female persuasion, being much more interested in his studies.
Sherlock Holmes was rather an isolationist. For some reason he could not deduce, he possessed no strong emotions. He was unable to muster enthusiasm for anything. Life was what it was. His life plan was to finish his studies, get a job, work for the next fifty odd years and then die. It would be nice if he left the world in a better place than he had found it, he supposed. Otherwise his life would have had no meaning or relevance whatsoever. He had already decided he was very interested in solving crimes. He had keen powers of observation and had often watched news reports in the past, calling in tips to help investigators at crime scenes if he noticed anything unusual on the telly. He was sure New Scotland Yard was run by a group of imbeciles.
The future detective had no social life. The roommates of his undergraduate days had never convinced him it was worth going out to get drunk and pick up girls. He had seen the results of those things, unplanned pregnancies, harsh breakups, failing grades. What a waste of time to study if you were not going to complete your education due to unexpected fatherhood or depression and dropping out of school. He was above such mundane things. When he wanted a buzz, he'd find a dealer on the street and buy some drugs to get high, alone. They were easy to obtain, if you knew where to look.
Sherlock tried to concentrate on what he was reading, a very engrossing story about Jack the Ripper. The young man was sure if he had been on hand in those days, he would have been able to deduce who the famous serial killer was. He was finding it difficult to concentrate though. The turning of pages by the mysterious girl was distracting, even though it was not loud. He frowned, trying to shut his ears to the sound. He was almost successful, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a sob, and he lifted his head from his own book.
The girl had put the book down and she was crying. Ah, she had undoubtedly just finished it. It did indeed have rather a sad ending, although a hopeful one too. This girl is obviously the sensitive, sentimental type, he reflected.
He was going to just ignore her crying, but suddenly he found himself standing, walking towards her, offering her a hanky from his pocket.
She looked up, sniffed and accepted the hanky. "Thank you. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
"You didn't disturb me," he lied, because wasn't that the correct social thing to say? He really wasn't up on that sort of thing. He didn't want to make the girl feel worse than she already did, however.
Unexpectedly, her lips curved upward as she dabbed at her eyes and gave him an interested look. "You're lying, but thanks anyway. Hey, aren't you Sherlock Holmes?"
Apparently his reputation had preceded him. He knew he had a bit of a reputation on campus for being a stuck-up arse, but it didn't bother him. It kept people away, most of the time.
He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. "One and the same. You have me at a disadvantage, however. May I have your name?" Wasn't that what one said in those old films his brother liked to watch, and made him watch as well? He might as well be polite, especially seeing as he was the one to go to her.
She glanced down shyly, then met his gaze once again. "I'm Molly." She stuck out her hand and he shook it gingerly. He was not accustomed to shaking hands either. She hadn't said her last name, but perhaps she was just being careful.
"Would you take a seat?" she asked, indicating the chair next to her. "You're very tall, you know. It would be easier to talk if we were on the same level." Her lips quirked.
Well, now I'm going to be stuck into making small talk, damn. Nonetheless, he took the seat next to her and gestured at her novel. "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known," he quoted, then continued, "I'm assuming you just finished the book."
Her lips parted slightly and she raised her eyebrows. "You're obviously familiar with this book. How did you know I just finished it?"
He shrugged. "Simple deduction - you were crying, but there was a bit of a smile on your face at the same time."
The girl - Molly - smiled at him. She has a lovely dimpled smile, it lights up her whole face, he thought, then wondered how he had noticed. "It was a lovely book. I mean, dying to save someone else's life is the ultimate sacrifice."
He nodded. "I suppose it is. But at least Dickens added a little whimsy at the end, indicating a probable happy future for Lucie and Darnay."
"Yes, it was nice to imagine that Carton's sacrifice would not be forgotten in the future," she agreed, as her fingers reached for the cover of the book and stroked it gently, as if it were an old friend.
She had nice hands, he observed, despite himself. Well manicured, though kept short, no nail varnish. Apparently she was also the practical type. Her face was also devoid of makeup, which further confirmed his hypothesis on her nature. He forced himself to stop making deductions and return to the conversation at hand. "Were you reading it for a class?" he enquired, lifting a questioning brow.
She crumpled the hanky into one hand while absently twirling a piece of her hair with the other as she responded. "No, a friend recommended the book. She's an English major."
"And you?" Why was he continuing to ask her questions this way? He should simply tell her to keep the hanky and walk away. But he didn't. For some odd reason he was intrigued. Maybe it was those soft brown eyes of hers.
He caught a quick glimpse of pink tongue as she licked her lips nervously. She was apparently not accustomed to social interactions either, at least not with a male, he supposed. "I'm studying medicine. How about you?"
Apparently she knew of his reputation but not everything about him if she was asking that. "I'm doing a postgraduate degree in Forensic Medical Sciences."
"Oh," she said, drawing out the word. "I should have known that, I heard that you were the youngest graduate here and that you were doing postgraduate now. I think that sounds like a fascinating course. What field are you looking at going into? Are you thinking of applying for a job at New Scotland Yard?"
Sherlock let out a bark of laughter. It sounded odd. He did not even remember the last time he had expressed amusement over something. "Those buffoons? They couldn't solve a case if someone handed them the answer."
Molly pursed her lips and frowned at him, "That's rather rude. I suppose you think you could do a better job?"
"Of course I could," he said confidently, while she looked at him sceptically.
"So what do you plan to do when you've finished studying then?" she persisted, resting an elbow on the table and cupping her chin with her hand as her brows drew together slightly.
Sherlock ran a hand through his hair casually. "I don't know, open a private detective agency or possibly work on chemistry experiments," he said vaguely. "Or maybe offer my consultation services to New Scotland Yard when there is a case they don't know how to solve."
"Oh." She looked thoughtful for a moment, staring down at the hanky in her closed hand, then back up to meet his eyes. "Sort of like a consulting detective maybe?"
Consulting detective, he thought, intrigued by the term. It's perfect. He nodded his head sagely, as if he had always been planning to think of himself that way. "That's it exactly." He forced himself to continue the polite conversation. "How about you? What do you plan to do when you have finished your degree?"
Molly looked down, and he saw she was biting her lip. It was a curiously sweet gesture, although biting one's lip would undoubtedly lead to broken skin and potential bleeding.
"I'm thinking of going into pathology. My dad was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and it has given me the desire to know more about the human body, and diseases in general."
Pancreatic cancer? That isn't good. Most people died within a year of diagnosis because it was so rarely caught early. "I'm sorry about your dad," he said softly, reaching over to place a hand over hers, then thinking better of it and returning his hand back into his lap. That was not the sort of thing you did with somebody you had just met.
She gave him a wobbly, brave smile, still biting her lip rather adorably, he thought, then caught himself. Where had that thought come from? He had a sudden urge to touch that lip. Oh dear, now he was thinking of physical contact with someone? That was worse than placing a hand over hers. He shook his head to clear it of the notion.
She frowned slightly, looking a little confused. "Why are you shaking your head?"
"Sorry, I was just clearing my mind palace," he responded, without thinking. He always thought of his brain as something with rooms in it, in which he placed information. Most people immediately questioned him on that, but to his surprise, she did not, merely lifted one eyebrow just slightly.
"Um, okay. Well, thanks for the hanky anyway." Oh good, the conversation was ending, although for some reason he wasn't as anxious for it to end as he would have expected. "I can wash it for you and return it to you?" she offered.
"Keep it," he said off-handedly, then thought better of it. There was something about this young woman that made him feel as if he would like to learn a little more about her. "Actually, yes, if you don't mind, I would like that hanky back." She didn't need to know that he had a dozen exactly like it, plain, white and practical.
She twirled her hair around her finger once again. This was obviously a nervous habit of hers. "So, um, where can I find you?" She picked up her novel as she spoke.
"Here, every Friday night." He smiled slightly, indicating the book that still sat at his previous position.
"Okay then, well, I'll bring it in next week." She placed the handkerchief in a pocket of her trousers and stood, looking at him uncertainly, as if unsure whether their conversation was at an end.
Sherlock leaned back slightly in his chair to look up at her, feeling he was at a height disadvantage. He did not like looking up at people. "Would it be impolite of me to ask why you came here tonight? Nobody comes here on Friday nights. Everyone likes their free time to go to parties and the like."
The girl pressed her lips together, and her forehead creased as if she were irritated to be thought of in that way. "Well, I don't do that. Usually I stay in my room and read." One side of her mouth tilted upward in a wry smile. "I kind of got kicked out tonight by my roommate. She wanted some private time with her latest boyfriend."
His own lips quirked as he responded, "Ah, romantic entanglements. I keep well away from those."
"I had heard that," she murmured, almost to herself.
"Pardon?" he enquired, raising an eyebrow.
"I...uh...sorry," she stammered and blushed. So, she had a stammer when she was nervous. Interesting. "I have heard you don't much care for people." She pulled in her lower lip, biting it once again, as if she were worried that she had offended him.
"That is true," he agreed amiably, as he stood also, deciding it was time to return to a height advantage.
She swallowed nervously, stepping back a little and looking up at him to say hastily, "But you seem perfectly nice to me," and he chuckled. Since when do I chuckle?
It was a little disconcerting. It was definitely time for him to leave before he did anything else out of character - like trace his finger along the curve of her lips and bend down to kiss her or something. Where the hell had that thought come from?
He was angry at himself then, and spoke a little sharply, "'Well, you don't know the real me, do you?"
She looked taken aback, as her face fell. "Sorry, sorry." She turned to leave.
That was unnecessarily mean, his inner voice reprimanded. He pushed a hand through his hair. "No, I'm sorry. I...I am not used to social interaction." Now I'm stammering too? How utterly embarrassing.
Molly turned back to him and offered a genuine smile, which unaccountably made his heartbeat accelerate. "Anyone can learn to be sociable. All it takes is a little kindness."
His lips tightened as he reminded himself that he was a man of science, not a hormonal teenager. He really should have let her keep the hanky, but it was too late now. "Okay then. Well, I must be going now. I guess I will see you next week."
"Next week," she repeated softly in her musical voice, and he retreated hastily, walking back to where he had been sitting, scooping up the book and returning it to its place, even as he noticed she was still standing quietly, unmoving.
He fled the library, positively hurrying out of the building to the safety of his flat. His thoughts were all in a whirl as he walked quickly. Pretty - coffee coloured eyes - long brown hair - kissable lips. He did not need this complication in his life. Next week, when he saw her again, he'd have to make sure she was completely aware of the fact that he was not interested in a relationship of any type with a girl. Yes, that was what he would do.
But despite himself, Sherlock knew he was looking forward to seeing the girl, Molly, again.
Author's note 2: So, what do you think of the set-up to this story? Have I captured your interest? I began writing this last March and was never able to find the proper time in which to publish it, because it takes place after Sherlock and Molly have their baby. Finally though, I decided it was time. I will be making revisions to improve the flow before I publish the chapters, using all the things I have learned over the past several months since I completed the initial writing this story, but even with revisions I am hoping to publish twice a week.
Secret relationships always intrigue me. This is my second attempt. If you have not read it already, my first one was What if we met at Uni? Molly's Dream.r It starts with a meeting at the same time period but takes a completely different path than this one. I will be interested if people will tell me at the end which one they prefer.
By the way, the talk of breast pumps early in the chapter, I assure you was quite accurate - they are not fun to use, can be quite painful at times!
In the meantime, please leave your feedback in the review box below. As I have been doing lately, I will be keeping a tally of my reviews and acknowledging the most loyal reviewers in the final chapter, those people who are the ones who keep me going whenever I question whether I should be investing so much of my unpaid time on this site.
I welcome suggestions as well and if you see errors, feel free to point them out. At times my limited vision leads to me missing things like quote marks or capital letters in the wrong places, things like that.