~ Chapter 4: Feet to the Fire ~


Things had seemed so hopeful that morning, Molly thought as she left behind the administrative offices of the London School of Medicine for Women. Mr. Holmes had engaged a cab to carry her both to and from the school, instructing the driver to wait however long her interview lasted, yet now that it was over, she dismissed the driver, giving him an additional few shillings and telling him, quite truthfully, that she preferred to walk. Walking would be conducive to rational thought, and give her some time in which to do it. She felt quite numb just at the moment, yet she knew that respite would be short lived and she would soon be shaken to the core with the full force of her crushing disappointment.

To be blunt, Miss Hooper, though you were and doubtless would be still an exemplary pupil, mere scholastic ability is only one of the qualities required for acceptance at the London School of Medicine for Women. Regrettably, the questionable nature of the situation you have chosen to adopt since your esteemed father's death does not align with the precepts obtaining at our school. We appreciate that you are ostensibly a paid housekeeper and companion to the owner of 221B Baker Street, yet evidence has come to light indicating that you fill another, less conventional role at that well-known residence. You understand that we cannot have the faintest whiff of scandal attached to those young women we accept into our programme. On a personal note, for the sake of your dear departed father, I wish I could make an exception, but it is out of the question. Regretfully, the admissions committee must at this time decline your request to be reinstated as a student.

It was as though the words were seared into her brain. She gave a little huff of laughter at the thought, though it came out rather too much like a sob. But no, none of that. She would not treat her benefactor to a display of excessive sensibility, not when he had been so good… so generous as to not only offer to loan her the funds for tuition, but enough to pay for her room and board at the school, her books… and the school was only a twenty minute walk from Baker Street, so she would have been able to visit her dear friend… dear friends… when time allowed...

A moot point, now.

She would need to leave Baker Street, of course, and that soon. And it would be best to take a position in some remote part of England, where they would be unlikely ever to hear of Miss Hooper's connection with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Her affaire. She pressed her lips together angrily, walking a little faster. Tomorrow she would go to the agency and submit her name for employment. Hopefully the scandal would die a natural death, rather than follow her from London. She wished to Heaven the rumors had more truth to them, that she had actually some breathless happiness to look back upon. But he had never seen her that way, even when her blushes and stammering had to have made it obvious to… to anyone, that she was hopelessly in love with him.

Ah, how she would miss him! His passion for knowledge, his cool elegance, his arrogance. The quick wits of him - well, in most areas.

As she approached 221B, she thought she had herself well in hand. Sherlock had gone out on a case with Dr. Watson early that morning, so there was every reason to suppose only Mrs. Hudson would be at home, which was all to the good. She should have several hours in which to compose herself. But as she mounted the steps, the door opened and there he was, as though he'd just come in, still wearing his caped greatcoat and deerstalker hat.

"How did it go?" he asked with an expectant smile, but then, as he glanced quickly about, the smile disappeared. "You walked back?" He studied her then, as narrowly as he would a specimen in his laboratory. "What has happened?"

She stood there, paralyzed, staring at him, trying to think of what to tell him.

"Damnation!" he muttered, finally, then stepped down and hustled her into the house by main force.

There was another man in the entry, as tall as Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson was there, too, as Sherlock closed the front door.

"This is my older brother, Mycroft," said Sherlock.

Molly tried to speak to the imposing figure, but failed, inwardly quailing under a gaze that was every bit as perspicacious as Sherlock's, and even more inhuman. Yet his voice was not unkind - "How do you do, Miss Hooper?"- and the hand that he held out and that she somehow managed to take was warm and firm.

After shaking her hand, Mycroft Holmes released it and looked to his brother. "I believe Miss Hooper would benefit from a spot of brandy, Sherlock."

"Just what I was thinking myself," Sherlock agreed, and with one hand on her arm and another at her back, she was compelled to move and enter Mrs. Hudson's parlour.

"I'm afraid I don't have any brandy," Mrs. Hudson said, sounding a bit querulous. "I'll just run upstairs and get yours, shall I?"

"If you please, Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock.

As she bustled out to go up to his rooms, Sherlock seated Molly in Mrs. Hudson's own easy chair, a well-cushioned, ruffled affair, upholstered in yellow splashed with cheerful red, coral, and pink roses. It was very comfortable, which was a small solace, at least, discomfited as she was in the presence of these two formidable men.

She looked up at Sherlock, and managed to utter, "I am perfectly-"

"No," he said in his abrupt way. "We will wait until until Mrs. Hudson returns."

"But I don't like brandy," she said, her voice wobbling. She bit her lip.

"Yet you must take some, for medicinal purposes." He'd taken off his hat and greatcoat, and now tossed them on Mrs. Hudson's divan. "It's very good brandy," he went on, as though conceding a point. "Mycroft gave the bottle to me on the occasion of my birthday, I believe."

"The 1855?" Mycroft asked, arching a brow. "Yes. No rough edges about it. Really, Miss Hooper, you must reserve judgement. I feel certain you will not dislike it."

She almost smiled.

Sherlock proceeded to build up the fire a little, for which Molly was grateful. Mrs. Hudson's chair was placed to benefit from the proximity of the tiled hearth, and the half-hour walk back to Baker Street had been a chilly one. She sat quietly, then, staring into the fire until presently Mrs. Hudson returned with the bottle of brandy in one hand and a small, elegant snifter of it in the other, which she immediately handed to Molly, saying, "Just take small sips, now, dear. You'll soon feel better for it."

Molly did take a sip. The libation was strong, but not harsh at all. She took a bit more, and the burgeoning warmth from the brandy within soon matched that of the fire without. She gave a little sigh, her eyes half closed for a moment.

Mrs. Hudson was now sitting on the edge of the chair opposite, looking worried, and Sherlock had pulled up one of the dining room chairs. He now sat upon it, leaned forward a bit, and said, "Now, tell us what happened at the school."

The brandy did indeed help, but though her voice was even, she could not look at them… at him… as she spoke. "They said they must decline my request to be reinstated as a student. That evidence has come to light indicating that my role here is… is unacceptably spoke of... scandal." She bit her lip, then took another rather largish sip of brandy, and briefly found the courage to look at Mrs. Hudson, and at Sherlock. "I am much afraid my brother-in-law may have communicated with them. What other 'evidence' could there be?" And then, suddenly overwhelmed in spite of the brandy, she turned her face away and looked into the fire again, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Sherlock rose in that swift, graceful way of his, and said to his brother. "Are you coming with me?"

Molly looked quickly up, from one to the other.

Sherlock did not meet her gaze, his face set, smouldering. But Mycroft did spare her a quick glance, a very small, crooked smile touching his lips. Then he said lightly to Sherlock, "Of course I'm coming!" - but his eyes were hard.

o-o-o

"Miss Hooper. Molly… sweetheart… wake up!"

Oh, what a delightful dream… but then her hand seemed to be taken up, held in a much larger one, cool, with a latent strength…

And the voice - his voice - spoke, again, "Wake up!", and her hand was gently patted.

She frowned… it all seemed so real… and finally she managed to lift her heavy eyelids and…

"There you are!" Mr. Holmes was saying with an uncharacteristically kindly smile.

Suddenly she was much more awake. "Oh! What time is it? I must have fallen asleep!"

"Nearly four o'clock," he said, releasing her hand and sitting up. The smile became a trifle sardonic, though, and he raised a brow, nodding toward the small table next to her, where the empty snifter stood. "Two glasses of the 1855, Miss Hooper? Was that wise?"

She struggled to sit up, too, not an easy feat as deeply relaxed as she'd been, and seated in Mrs. Hudson's cloud of a chair. And memory was returning. "Wise? Oh, yes, I believe so. You were quite right about it, I do feel better, though it did put me to sleep. And I had such… such pleasant dreams." She felt a blush rising and bit her lip.

"I'm glad to hear it. But now we have some important things to discuss."

"Y-yes," said Molly. She hesitated, then said, "You don't think it can wait until morning?"

"I'm afraid not. But don't you wish to know what happened?"

"Did you and your brother go to the school?"

"Yes. We were able to speak to the admissions committee. Mycroft was good for something, at least, they all reconvened to speak to us. Probably compelled by curiosity more than anything, but no matter. Unfortunately, Mycroft's powers of persuasion proved inadequate in this case. I've rarely seen him so put out." Sherlock chuckled a bit, recalling the scene.

But Molly said, "Then… you were unsuccessful?"

Sherlock's amusement dissolved into diffidence. "I didn't say that." He seemed to hesitate, then cleared his throat a bit and plunged quickly ahead. "You will understand that, when it came down to it, there was no real choice. I had to tell them of our… er… engagement. That you are my affianced wife, though we had kept it secret since you are still in deep mourning. They agreed that this shed a very different light on the situation, and they have consented to allow you to return to the school at the beginning of the autumn term, when we will have returned from our honeymoon in Italy."

"What?!" Molly was now sitting bolt upright, clutching the arms of the chair, and goggling - she knew she was goggling, but she couldn't help it.

Sherlock eyed her. "Shall I pour you another brandy?"

"No! Mr. Holmes!" She took a couple of deep breaths. "We cannot hope to keep up such a charade! They are bound to find out it's not true, and then the situation will be worse than ever!"

"Well, obviously, Miss Hooper. Therefore, if you have no objection, we must make it true."

She stared. "Y-you mean, actually marry? You would marry me for such a reason? To facilitate my goal of becoming a doctor?"

"Well, yes-"

"A marriage of convenience?"

He gave an amused sniff. "More convenient for me than you, I expect. You may find it stressful to carry out your duties as my wife while also meeting the great demands of your school's curriculum. And should a child come along, as it very well might in the natural course of things, your scholastic progress may be somewhat delayed. Yet there is every hope that within a few years you will qualify as a medical practitioner, and, incidentally, be even better prepared to assist me in my Work."

"Mr. Holmes… I… I…"

He frowned. "Miss Hooper, you will not be so ordinary as to raise some prudish objection to the scheme? I quite thought you wanted to marry me."

"I never thought of such a thing!"

His brows rose. "You mean all those blushes and stammering and sidelong glances were indicative of your desire for quite a different sort of relationship? Miss Hooper! I wouldn't have thought it of you."

She bounced up out of the chair, swaying a bit. "How dare you!"

"Such melodrama," he observed, with a roll of his eyes, and caught hold of her. Quite how it happened she could not say, but in a trice, she was seated on his lap, his arm firmly about her middle, his opposite hand taking hers in a warm clasp. "Now, do be sensible, Miss Hooper. My mother observed that our prospects are as good as any couple's, what with our common interests and… how did she put it?... my fondness for you. I quite think she may have grossly underestimated the latter element, but time will tell. You must see that this is the logical outcome of the situation in which we find ourselves. I seem to have unwittingly compromised you, and we must strive to make the best of it. Now: will you consent to be my wife?"

She still could not believe this whole thing was not some dream. "Y-you… you want me? In that way?"

His slow smile made her shiver. "Oh, yes, Miss Hooper," he said, and kissed her.

The next minutes seemed the culmination of a dream, or would have if Molly's every faculty were not so heightened, so engaged as he proved to her, quite unequivocally, that he did indeed want her in that way, yet with such heart-stopping tenderness and consideration that she could not but reciprocate with increasing fervor - he apparently did know her sentiments on this head, and she certainly had no wish to appear ordinary or prudish in his eyes. Events might have progressed in an astonishingly precipitous manner if the sound of the front door opening had not brought them suddenly to their senses.

"Oh! Who is that!" said Molly, stiffening.

"It must be Mrs. Hudson, and Archie, returning from the shops with provisions for dinner. There will be six of us - seven if I allow Archie to attend."

"Six! Who is coming?" Molly asked, dismayed.

"Mycroft is bringing my parents to meet you."

"What?!" she cried, and tried to get off his lap. "Please let me up! I can't let your parents meet me in such disorder!"

"But you look delightfully - and you have not yet replied to my proposal."

"Yes! Yes, of course I will marry you, Mr. Holmes!" she said, impatiently, and kissed him again. She meant it to be brief, merely setting the final seal on her fate, but his arms tightened fiercely about her again, and she smiled suddenly, consumed with happiness, and a certain memory… She pulled a little away and said, "Then it wasn't a dream?"

"What wasn't?"

"When you were waking me… you called me sweetheart."

"No, it was certainly not a dream, Miss Hooper. You will correct me if I'm wrong - which I rarely am, as you know - but it is my understanding that the expression is almost de rigueur between lovers."

Lovers. Her eyes widened, her heart skipped a beat, at his tone, the way he pronounced the word. But she managed to say, "That has always been my understanding, too, Mr. Holmes," with great solemnity before kissing him, just once more.