A Wife for Sherlock Holmes

by tavingtonsbeauty

Seems impossible, but the man known as Sherlock Holmes is easily bored. That boredom drove him to the arms of a highly intelligent woman who could keep up with him both physically and mentally. However, when a child is thrown into the mix, Sherlock steps up, to the chagrin of the woman, and they marry. With so much baggage on both sides will it work or be a match made in hell.

1. Strange Events

The Wife of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 1 – Strange Events

September 2010

Marion sighed as she looked moodily into her tea cup at the corner café. She was only three blocks from 221 B Baker Street – the home of Sherlock. Sherlock, the man who was a sensation in London, the man who could solve any crime, the man whom she has sparred with until her limbs felt like jelly, the man whom she had gone to dinner with that night, the man whom she had enjoyed conversation with until late in the evening, and he was the man she had allowed to bed her.

She had survived a brutal attack in her teens and had not been into sex or sexual feelings, but Sherlock was different. He was brilliant and spoke to her as an equal or slightly below him, but he seemed to respect her knowledge, experience, and degrees (of which she had four and was working on a fifth in kinesiology, a second doctorate). He was cool and calculating, and yet a thrilling lover. He had been gentle and yet demanding as was fitting and she had not left the next morning for work disappointed.

And her co-workers had noticed the bounce in her step. She had been thrilled to meet with him a week later. He had been a pleasant way to distract herself from the misery of being alone and not really settling down. Naturally, when she saw him her heart fluttered. They spoke until the restaurant closed and then went to her home for more wine, and then him becoming bored it seemed with discussing things and he had pounced. Never had she felt wearier and never had she felt as alive as she basked in the afterglow of his lovemaking.

They had three outings, all had ended with wine, discussions that were so in depth that even he seemed surprised at her ability to see the small and almost unnoticeable, but then she had done much field work in various parts of the world. Then they had returned to her flat for more talk and eventually had joined together as lovers.

For one who had supposedly been only with one other woman, he had a rather amazing skill and was hardly humble about it. His lithe body made her own sing in ways she never thought possible. It was not until after they had made love for the third time on the last time they had been together that he had looked at her, his green eyes bright, and he had asked her about her attack. Though he had not let on he had noticed her scars.

He explained what he thought had happened and he was remarkably spot on and she was hardly surprised. She had sat up from him and turned away, suddenly embarrassed by all of it. Tears in her eyes she had told him that it was okay if he left, she understood. He had commented he had known since he first saw her that she had suffered at the hands of someone. She had a scar on her shoulder and she had cut marks on her wrist from where she had cut it often with a razorblade. All were scarred over from her self-harm. That was something someone did to deal with the pain of a trauma. Bring gang raped by several men definitely qualified.

She bore the scars of cuttings on her thighs and on her wrists. She often wore large bracelets and cuffs that hid the scars from the all eyes, but in a lover's arms, he could see them if he looked and felt them. Sherlock had gently held her wrist and looked up as his thumb had traced the deep cuts as he had spoken.

He then had looked at her and told her it all didn't matter. He had kissed her and pressed her back. He had left that morning and she had not seen him since, but she had seen the papers. He had solved several cases over the past couple months. She sighed. Maybe he had become bored.

She looked down at the paper before her. She nibbled her lip. How would he take knowing that he was to be a father? They had not used precautions against it. What on earth had possessed her not to? Complete and utter infatuation with a man who would not return it. She sighed. He had not returned her calls or texts since their last outing and she was again not surprised, but he deserved to know at least. Perhaps he could pay her a visit when the baby was due, be in the child's life to a degree.

She swallowed, collected the paper, and paid for her tea and biscotti. She then moved to watch down the street. It had been cloudy all day and it began to rain. She shook her head and continued to Baker Street.

The rain became more and more, like her mood until she was drenched. She sighed and looked upwards, letting the water fall on her face and drip downward. It made her hijab sodden and she blinked clearing the water from her eyes.

Once at 221B she knocked at the door. No answer. The bell was broken. She sighed. Perhaps he wasn't at home…

Just as she moved to turn away the door opened and an older woman looked out. "Dear me…what on earth are you doing out in this, dearie?!" She looked at the younger woman who was shivering before her.

"I need to…to see Sherlock Holmes."

"He is here. I will take you to him." The older woman said. "Come in then."

She stepped in and the woman locked the door behind her. She then led the way up the stairs. Marion sighed. She must look a fight with her head wrap plastered to her head water dripping from it and her light jacket. She was shivering a little.

"Sherlock…some girl here to see you. She looks a mess, I will make her some tea."

"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Came his rich voice.

For a few moments Marion stood in the middle of the floor, dripping, waiting to be acknowledged. It was not until she sneezed that Sherlock looked up from the laptop he was looking at. He saw her and his green eyes softened a little.

"Marion. What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I needed to speak to you." She whispered. She reached for a tissue and quietly blew her nose and threw it in a bin nearby before looking back at him.

"About? And don't be boring. I have been dealing with far too much of that recently." He said rubbing his eyebrows.

"Oh for goodness sake Sherlock. Let her sit." Mrs. Hudson said. She brought the young woman a blanket. She took the coat from the girl who shivered more, though wrapped the warm blanket about herself.

"Well by all means make yourself at home." He said a little coldly.

She nodded and dropped into a chair. She was shivering, but the fire was warming her. Mrs. Hudson poured her some tea and her hands shook as she held it. Mrs. Hudson then left and the girl was left alone with her lover who was watching her keenly. His green eyes missed nothing. She had noticed this and read about it.

"Now. Why are you here?" He asked looking at her.

She took a breath. "I came to speak with you."

"Clearly."

"I need to know where our relationship stands."

"Our relationship?"

"I…you…we…"

"We had dinner and sex three nights. It was a distraction." He said. "Nothing more. One we both required." He said simply.

She nodded. "I figured as much. I will not take up any more of your time, Mr. Holmes." She said. She rose to her feet and set the cup down. She then turned to walk away, fighting back tears, she knew it had been silly to hope. So silly. He was a cold unfeeling man after all, brilliant in mind and body, but cold toward his fellow man. She tried to pull herself together so she would not be weeping in front of him. She knew female tears likely angered him or annoyed him.

A warm hand caught her wrist. He looked at her. He was close again. Too close… She could smell him and feel the warmth of him through her shirt and his own. He lifted her hand and pulled the paper from her cold fingers. She gasped and tried to stop him. He looked at her and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

He stepped away and read it, quickly.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Hearing nothing she shook her head and moved to the door. Her hand was on the handle.

"Is it mine?" He asked then.

"Yes. There can have no other father." She said sighing. "Pardon for your time, Mr. Holmes. It was a silly girl's notion that you would care."

"Marion…"

She turned back at his soft rich voice. She met his gaze. "Yes?" He had moved closer again, but this time was not in her space. He stood back regarding her.

"Stay." He said softly.

She took a breath and then nodded turning back. She walked toward him, head down. "I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen." She whispered.

"Neither did I." He said. "Are you well?" His head cocked, almost as though he were concerned.

"Yes." She said looking at his green eyes. She spread her hands. "Now what?"

"We must marry of course." He said. "I must provide for you and my…offspring." He looked down at her middle.

She looked up. "I do not wish to be married just for it."

"It is the only reason I would marry." He said simply, his lips in a bit of a sneer.

"No." She said.

"No? You can be married to the great Sherlock Holmes and you refuse…"

"I have my own pride. Good day." She said turning.

She was livid by her body language and her hands were balled at her sides. He reached for her, his hand on her elbow and she turned a hand up. He caught the blow, barely and then held her. She tried to hit him with the other hand and he grabbed it as well. He turned her, holding her arms and wrapping them about her body, holding her as she gasped and fought. He had completely incapacitated her, her! A Krav Maga master was now being held firmly by this man who would not let her go. She felt his head drop to the side of hers. He had her pulled back to his body. He was so warm and the scent of his cologne made her shiver.

"I won't let you injure yourself or the baby. Calm down, Marion." He hissed in her ear.

"Let me go!"

"No."

"Let me go!" She fought trying to break free, but he held her, gently, but firmly in a way she could not escape him. He felt her stop, but tears were still in her eyes until she dropped back against him.

"Marion?" He asked. He held her to him, letting her arms drop as he turned her in his arms, dropping to his knee to cradle her. She had passed out. He gently tapped her face. When he realized how cold she was, he sighed lifting her in his arms.

"Mrs. Hudson! John!"

Mrs. Hudson came up and John came down from his room. Both watched Sherlock carry something into his room. Sherlock knelt on his bed and laid her on the bed. He pulled the jacket off and hung it up. She was still wet and cold.

Mrs. Hudson peeked around the corner. "Sherlock…?"

"Do you have any dry clothes? Warm ones?"

"Yes of course…what happened to her?"

"She fainted." He said. "Ah John. Can you look her over while Mrs. Hudson finds her some dry clothes?"

John nodded and gently looked her over. When he was done he looked up. "Other than borderline hypothermia she seems to be alright." He cocked his head. "Friend of yours?"

Sherlock nodded as he stood, hands together, index fingers to his lip. His green eyes were watchful.

John looked at his flatmate and friend. "Who is she?" He lifted her wrist. "She has been through hell."

"Yes. She was gang raped at sixteen." Holmes said softly. "After that trauma cutting is not as bad as some habits she could have gotten into."

"Like smoking?" John jabbed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and let that slide. "Her name is Marion."

"And she is here…"

"She had some news for me."

"News? For you?" John blinked. "Really. I never would have thought I would see the day."

Sherlock handed him the rain smudged paper with a sigh. He was not embarrassed so much as just accepting the turn in the game. John looked up. "She's pregnant." He said. "We need to get her out of those clothes, some more tea and warm food in her."

"Yes." Sherlock said. He moved and dropped onto the bed, the bed bowing a little under his weight.

"I have the clothes. I had an old night dress. It is flannel. It will warm her in a jiffy. Especially if you light a fire, Sherlock."

"What?" He asked looking up from her dreamy face. "Oh…yes." He moved to start a fire in the hearth.

Mrs. Hudson then pulled the clothing off the young girl. She then dressed her in the flannel night gown. Both Sherlock and John had averted their eyes until the girl had the blankets up to her chin.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "I will make more tea and some soup for her."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

The lady walked out and downstairs as John turned to Sherlock who dropped to the bed again looking at the girl. "What is she to you?"

Sherlock looked up. "You aren't stupid, John. Think."

"She came to tell you are pregnant because…" John had started to pace and then he whirled to face Sherlock. "No…"

Sherlock met his gaze evenly.

"You are the father?"

"It would appear so." Sherlock said looking her over. "How does a woman look when she is carrying a child? She doesn't have a swollen abdomen, but then she could only be a little less than three months along." He looked and touched her abdomen gently as if searching for a swell. "Perhaps it is a rouse…"

"This paper is from the hospital." John said holding it up. "She is pregnant." He paused. "When did you…"

"She is brilliant actually. She works for the museum." Sherlock said. "And she knows Krav Maga." He smiled thinking that was how she had won him over, beating him in a match of hand to hand combat. Then at dinner was the battle of wits. He had thought some rather naughty things looking across the table at her sipping her wine and wondering if he could just take her there or if they needed to wait to get to a flat, any flat would do, but thankfully they had managed to get to hers. She had many interesting pieces of anthropological significance in her flat that he had seen when he had roamed about as she slept. And she liked him. Another mark in her favor naturally.

"So you met her and you had sex and now she is here, in our flat, carrying your child."

"I want her to marry me." Sherlock said looking at the girl. He reached down and pulled her hair out of the restricting bun and pulled off her hijab. It was interesting she wore that, but she had done a couple of moves that only a Syrian would do, so perhaps it made sense. Her hair was fiery red in the low light as he uncoiled it and laid it out on the pillow next to her. He shook it out, since it was wet to dry.

"Pardon?"

Sherlock looked up. "It makes sense. I can protect her, care for her, be there when the baby is due, and support her as well as I can."

"A marriage is based on many things, Sherlock."

"Are you seriously going to lecture me on relationships since you are currently single and have had seven girlfriends this year?"

John sighed. "I know. I have watched several fall apart over things like money…"

"I would not ask her if she was not carrying my child."

"Afraid?"

"No." Sherlock said. "But she will need to be here, in the flat, with us."

"Mrs. Hudson will be thrilled." John smiled.

"I want her to see reason."

"She isn't keen on the idea?"

"No, but I will make the argument so logical she will have to accept."

"That is charming." John said. "You haven't even said you love her."

"I don't." Sherlock sighed. "I do not know what love even is."

"Affection?"

"She is pregnant because I was bored enough to bed her. I should at least stand by her." He said. He chuckled then. "I wish I could see Mycroft's face when someone tells him I am not a virgin after all and that I have a child coming."

John then smiled a little. "Indeed."

"Still perhaps it will be fun to learn this new avenue in my life. Perhaps it was time to settle down. I am not getting any younger." Sherlock said rising. "Not that I really wanted…attachments."

John nodded. "Very well. I will be back to check on her in a while. You staying here?"

"Yes." Sherlock said watching the fire dance on her bronze skin.