"Kiss me, my bonny sweetheart,
I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the
Yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply,
And harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
Though hell shall bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups;
He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement!
His face burnt like a brand.
As the black cascade of perfume
Came tumbling over his breast,
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
And galloped away to the West.
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
EN ROUTE TO THE SMALLWOOD ESTATE
The Doctor's horse and gig tore up the road, dirt flying in all directions as he drove with haste to The Smallwood Estate.
"How many times do I have to tell you John," exclaimed Sherlock angrily. "I did not force myself upon the girl." Truth be told he was more than a little hurt that his friend was willing to even entertain the possibility that he would behave in such an abhorrent way towards an innocent young woman.
"Not in any way?"
When Sherlock didn't answer immediately, John pressed him in growing concern. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock finally responded, choosing his words with care. "I will admit I kissed her," he said. Then more to himself than his companion he continued quietly. "I just couldn't help myself, there was something about her…"
As they pulled up in front of Smallwood Manor Sherlock went back to his initial statement. "Did I attack her? Most definitely not!"
Watson let out a sigh of relief. He didn't really believe his friend capable of such a reckless act, but it was best to be certain. As they alighted from the gig he said. "I'll speak with the girl while you and Lestrade deal with Lady Smallwood."
Sherlock grimaced, but nodded his head as both men entered the house.
SMALLWOOD MANOR – DRAWING ROOM
Sherlock was shown into the drawing room. He found Lestrade already there, completely out of his depth in his attempts to question the indomitable Lady Smallwood. It soon became all too clear that it was the poor dumb-founded constable that was being subjected to interrogation.
"What are you going to do about it Constable?" she demanded. "When do you intend to have the criminal in custody?"
"I am doing all I can to discover him Ma'am," Lestrade finally managed to get in. "But I'm afraid the chances of getting your valuables returned…"
"My concern," Lady Smallwood interrupted, "is for my lady-in-waiting and what she has been forced to endure."
"But Lady Smallwood," the constable rather bravely pointed out. "The lady herself claims that she came to no harm. That being the case, our primary concern must be…"
"She does not know her own mind at the moment Constable. She was assaulted I tell you. I could tell immediately, no matter what she may say."
"Perhaps Lady Smallwood," Sherlock interjected smoothly. "It would be best to remain focussed on the capture of the individual for the time being. Once he is in custody, then it can be determined what he will be charged with."
"He'll swing either way," Lestrade stated confidently.
"Quite," Sherlock agreed, carefully schooling his features to disguise and conceal the uncomfortable expression that flitted briefly across his face.
Lady Smallwood turned to Sherlock, momentarily distracted from her line of enquiry.
"So it is true what Lord Holmes says?"
"And how is that ma'am?" Sherlock enquired, stiffening slightly at the mention of his brother.
"He said that you have taken it upon yourself to assist the constable with law enforcement. A curious choice I must say for a man in your privileged position."
"I assure you Lady Smallwood I only offer the constable my observations. It is he that does all the actual law enforcing."
At that moment Doctor Watson was shown into the drawing room, coming up behind him, Lady Smallwood's lady-in-waiting. Sherlock was relieved to be saved from further cross-examination. He could now spend his time in observing the far more pleasing prospect in the form of one Molly Hooper.
In the presence of her mistress she showed none of the spirit that he knew beat within her breast.
Upon entering the room she had kept her gaze lowered, only daring to briefly raise her eyes to establish the company within.
Though part of him was outraged to see her so cowered, another part was relieved. Although Sherlock was confident that she would not recognise him in his true form, there was no getting away from that illusive quality known as female intuition.
THE ROAD TO LONDON
When the horse and gig passed out the gates of The Smallwood Estate and was back on the road to London, Sherlock could no longer contain his curiosity.
"Well," he demanded. What did she say? What account did she give?"
Watson observed his friend in growing amusement. Whether Sherlock realised it or not, he was acting like a hopeful suitor. Though he knew that if he were to call him up on it Sherlock would simply claim that his only concern was to confirm that his conduct with the young lady-in-waiting had not been viewed as dishonourable. When in fact his concern was clearly more to do with the impression he had left on the lady herself rather than the accusations levelled by her mistress.
John kept him in suspense as long as he dared before finally giving him the answer he was impatiently waiting to hear.
"She confirmed that she had come to no harm at the hands of the highwayman."
Sherlock let out the breath he had been holding.
"She even admitted that she had not given Lady Smallwood a full account of her interaction with the highwayman. And this she fears has led her mistress to making claims that are completely false."
As a satisfied smile played upon Sherlock's lips, John couldn't help adding. "You are smitten with her, aren't you?"
The smiled instantly vanished to be replaced by a scowl that remained for the rest of the journey back. His companion by contrast was all smiles.
For at last Dr. Watson had proof that the impregnable wall of ice that surrounded Sherlock's heart was starting to melt, and sentiment in the form of Molly Hooper was beginning to worm her way in.
THE SMALLWOOD ESTATE – TWO WEEKS LATER
Molly was wandering the grounds of the estate near the old stables on a rare afternoon free of duties.
The last few weeks had left her feeling quite weary. Ever since the incident with the highwayman Lady Smallwood had been even more of a dragon than was usual.
It wasn't for the loss of her valuables that was the cause of her mistresses increased outbursts. But rather her fixation on exactly what had transpired between the highwayman and Molly. She was becoming consumed by it, constantly questioning her morning, noon and night about it. She was thankful that Lady Smallwood was currently unaware of what the highwayman had taken from her.
As Molly walked in the sun, making her way towards the stables and the quiet and coolness they offered. Once inside she found a bail of hay to sit upon where she contemplated her employer, and how she had come to be in her service.
Though you wouldn't know to look at them, Molly and Lady Smallwood were related. Distantly related it is true, but related nevertheless.
Molly was the only child of the union between Lady Smallwood's nephew, Charles Hooper and his wife Edith. Charles in turn was the only child of Lady Smallwood's younger sister, Margaret who had become estranged from her family because she chose to marry for love rather than position. James Hooper was from a middle class background and worked as an accountant. When the family attempted to separate the couple, Margaret and James fled and headed off to parts unknown.
It grieved Lady Smallwood to lose her sister in such a scandalous way. She often thought of her, and wondered what had become of her.
Just over thirty years later she received a letter out of the blue from a young man claiming to be her dear sister's son.
It was just as well for Charles that he was able to substantiate his claim and to offer proof that he was indeed who he claimed to be. For by this time Lady Smallwood was not as trusting as she had once been. Circumstances in her own life had hardened her.
Her marriage had not been a happy one. Her late husband had managed to gamble and drink his own fortune away. If she had not been so determined to keep control of her own, that too would have gone the same way. She was childless, having suffered a number of miscarriages.
It was in part due to this that saw her inviting her nephew, his wife and their young daughter to come and pay a visit to The Smallwood Estate.
But tragedy was to strike. On the way to see Lady Smallwood the stagecoach they were travelling in was involved in an accident. And so it was that the child Margaret Elizabeth, named after her grandmother and her great aunt was left orphaned.
Lady Smallwood installed the ten-year-old in her household, where she was immediately groomed for the position that she now held, that of Lady Smallwood's lady-in-waiting.
THE SMALLWOOD ESTATE – OLD STABLES
Molly came out of her reverie, alerted by the sound of someone leading a horse into the stables.
As the estate's horses were now housed in the new stables, her curiosity was piqued as to who it could possibly be.
So she got up and went to investigate.
Sherlock eased himself down to the floor, grimacing in pain as he used his left arm to steady himself.
Quickly he stripped himself to the waist in order to get a better look at the wound. He was relieved to note that it wasn't as bad as he'd feared even though it hurt like the devil.
A shocked gasp took him by surprise, and he turned to be rewarded with the pleasurable sight of a wide-eyed, cheek-flushed Molly Hooper, who clearly couldn't decide where she should allow her gaze to rest.
Sherlock's eyes sparkled and his lips twitched with amusement, he decided his day that had not started out well looked like it was going to get better, a lot better.
"Molly, Molly, Molly," he purred low, enjoying the reactive shiver that ran through her small frame. "Whatever brings you here, so far from the safety of the manor house?"
Molly opened her mouth to reply but no words came out. She was struck dumb by the vision before her. The highwayman was the first grown man she had observed unclothed, and even knowing it was quite unbecoming of a young woman in her position to do so, she couldn't keep her eyes from straying from his face and down his body.
He was slim, but with well-defined muscles, a sprinkle of hair covered his chest. His shoulders were reasonably broad and he had a long, elegant neck that she was surprised to note was adorned with the locket he had taken from her. It was only as her eyes travelled down his arms that she became aware of blood seeping from a wound between his elbow and shoulder.
"You've been wounded," she noted with concern.
"Obviously," Sherlock responded, wincing slightly as he ran his hand over the wound.
Molly immediately knelt beside him and gently inspected the wound. "It doesn't appear to be too deep," she said.
"I will be eternally forever grateful that the coachman that attempted to shoot me was such a poor shot."
Molly frowned at the man before her. "I don't think you should take it so lightly. You were lucky this time, but what about the next?"
Whatever flippant reply he intended to use died when he saw the genuine concern in her eyes. Doctor Watson had said something similar, but for reasons he didn't wish to contemplate Molly's words drove a dagger in the heart he always claimed he didn't possess.
So rather than dealing with these uncomfortable feelings he chose to deflect their conversation in a different direction.
Molly was in the process of starting to clean the wound as best she could with the highwayman's own handkerchief that she had found in the pile of his discarded clothes when the highwayman spoke.
"I'm surprised your mistress doesn't keep you confined to your bedchamber under lock and key after our little discussion the other day."
She paused and looked him directly in the eye. "Lady Smallwood has been very good to me," she stated firmly, feeling the need to defend her mistress. "She took me in when she could have just as easily turned her back on me."
"I'm sure she did," Sherlock responded, completely unconvinced.
Offended by his words and their implications Molly quickly got to her feet and was on the verge of leaving when the highwayman spoke again.
"I am sorry Molly Hooper," he said quietly. "Forgive me."
She turned just as he'd managed to struggle to his feet. She looked deep into his eyes, and saw that he looked genuinely contrite for the pain his words had caused her.
He walked up to her, took her face in both his hands, leant down and placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, then his tongue brushed against her lower lip, requesting access. A request she willingly allowed. As soon as his tongue entered her mouth it triggered a scorching passion that immediately engulfed them both.
Sherlock's long, dexterous fingers made quick work undoing the fastening to her gown, before removing it and the petticoats underneath.
He then laid them atop some straw and hay making a soft bed upon which they could lay.
Returning to Molly, he took her in his arms and she gave a shiver of pleasure as she felt the heat radiating off his chest through the thin material of her chemise. Taking her face in his hands he again kissed her, their lips now blending with increasing urgency.
With slow deliberation Sherlock removed her chemise and then her corset, boldly drinking in his fill of her creamy flesh as it was revealed.
Molly knew she shouldn't allow this man, this highwayman such free and easy access to her body. But she felt no shame standing there half naked in front of him. It felt right. And wrong though it may be she decided that for once in her life she would follow her heart not her head, consequences be damned.
Any further thoughts were driven from her mind when he lowered his head to her heaving breasts. His lips, tongue and teeth latching on to a flushed pink nipple, moaning as he drew it fully into his mouth to begin suckling on it as eagerly as a hungry newborn.
Molly closed her eyes at the ecstasy caused by the vibrations from his moan, throwing her head back, a whimper escaping her lips at the unbridled pleasure that rippled through her.
Her arms came up to rest on his shoulders before she moved her hands to his head and tunnelled her fingers into her lover's unruly curls.
Sherlock released her breast and began kissing his way down until he reached her pantaloons. His hands came to rest on the garment, his fingers making their way inside as he loosened them and then aided their descent to the floor, her boots and stockings soon followed.
Molly gave a startled gasp when she felt his fingers seeking entrance at the apex of her thighs.
"Let me," he whispered.
She looked into his eyes, the most entrancing she had ever seen, they constantly changed from blue to green and back again.
Taking a deep breath she shyly nodded her ascent, widening the stance of her legs allowing him easier access.
Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding, uncertain that she would allow an act that was in public at least was seen as vulgar. Molly Hooper was proving to be a most remarkable woman.
He pulled back her womanly folds before slipping a finger deep inside her, quickly followed by a second. He began to circle and tease the sensitive nub, feeling moisture gathering as he increased the pace, his fingers pumping as he slid them in and out.
Molly's breathing increased as she felt she was spinning towards she knew not what. All she knew for certain was that she would likely go to Hell for enjoying such a sinful act. But she didn't care.
But before she could find release Sherlock removed his fingers, showing her the glistening moisture, he kept eye contact as he placed his fingers in his mouth and proceeded to lick them clean.
The dazed expression on her face caused an intense reaction in Sherlock, desperately he fumbled at the flap of his breaches, before shoving them and his boots off.
Molly could not take her eyes off his completely naked form. Her gaze remained fixed on his engorged shaft. It was long, thick and hard with a drop of moisture coming out the end. She knew she should be horrified or at the very least embarrassed at seeing this part of his anatomy. But as with everything about him she didn't. She was fascinated, and she had to admit a little nervous, especially when he suddenly lifted her and laid her down on the makeshift bed he had made, before coming to lay between her legs.
Sensing her unease Sherlock rested his forehead against hers and looked deeply into her wide, brown eyes.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
Almost immediately she nodded
Unable to wait any longer to possess her fully Sherlock lowered his hips between her thighs, his hard body caressing the softness of hers as he took his shaft in hand, guiding it to her moist, slick centre before he plunged himself into her.
Molly gave a muffled cry as her maiden barrier gave way. Despite her discomfort her body reacted by clamping around his shaft like a vice. With all the willpower he could muster Sherlock slowed his thrusts as he whispered softly. "The pain will ease love, I promise."
He then slowly embedded himself to the hilt and then just as slowly withdrew. His eyes fixed on her face he asked, "Does it still hurt little one?"
Molly was surprised to realise that the stinging pain had already receded, and was instead replaced by a much more pleasurable sensation that originated from the point where they were so intimately joined.
Her response came in the lift of her hips. They began to move in an increasingly urgent rhythm over which she had no control.
That was all the answer Sherlock needed, his hips began pumping wildly. They slammed into her tight channel again and again, faster and faster. His breathing became ragged as a sheen of sweat anointed his skin.
Feeling his body starting to shake, he gasped out, "Tell me… how it feels?"
"Good, so good," she moaned just as her body stiffened and she was racked by the most intense sensations that shuddered through her.
Molly's release triggered Sherlock's. He arched his rigid body up against hers, roaring in triumph as he spilled his seed inside her before collapsing against her. His last coherent thought she was his, only his.
Entwined, their muscles drained of strength, and their passion spent Sherlock and Molly closed weary eyes and slept.