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PART THIRTY-EIGHT

When Violet Hunter came into 221B with questions about her potential employer, she looked like an ordinary woman not long out of uni. She had dressed conservatively in a cerise cardigan and worn jeans. Her chestnut hair had gone mid-way down her back. John had commented that she was an attractive woman, something John was wont to do whenever they had a comely client. Sherlock had reminded John that Mary would be displeased to hear such comments about someone so young before checking his phone to see if Molly had replied to his text.

Looking upon Miss Hunter now only a scant few weeks later, one would be hard-pressed to believe they were the same woman. None of the changes made sense for a woman who was employed as a nanny. Sherlock remembered his own nannies from childhood and how they were expected to look presentable. Everyone who worked for the Holmes family was expected to carry themselves with as much decorum and class as the family itself. Mrs Hudson herself had been reprimanded more than once for her lax attitude back when she had still been in the family employ. Sherlock suspected the strict rule of his mother was one of the reasons Mrs Hudson had chosen to leave as soon as it she was financially able to.

Instead of the demure and conservative young woman he had met, Miss Hunter now wore a short black dress and a leather jacket. Her long tresses had been sheered to her shoulders and were now an alarming shade of electric blue.

Sherlock already had several theories as to why Miss Hunter had been instructed to reinvent her look for her new job. They were hampered by Miss Hunter's inability to let him and John into the Copper Beeches, the estate Miss Hunter was staying at. Instead, she met with Sherlock in the lounge of the bed and breakfast he and John were staying at.

She looked thoroughly miserable, her arms crossed over her chest as she relayed her activities.

"The boy I'm suppose to look after is absolutely ghastly," Miss Hunter told John and Sherlock. "When I first arrived at the Copper Beeches, he gave me a dead bird."

Sherlock nodded. "Fascination with dead animals is not in of itself an indicator of personality defect, as I vehemently told the doctors I was taken to."

John furrowed his brow. "You..."

Sherlock gave him a look. "I was attempting to quell my scientific curiosity. It was dissection, not vivisection. They were dead when I collected them."

"He shot this bird," Miss Hunter insisted. "He wanted it to suffer."

Sherlock nodded. "Well, that is a more troubling characteristic. However, I do not believe you've brought us all the way up from London to discuss your charge. It is rather his father that has you worried. He is the one who has insisted upon your physical change."

Miss Hunter nodded. "As soon as I arrived at the Copper Beeches, he asked me to start dressing like this and change my hair."

Sherlock folded his hands beneath his chin. "Just why did you agree to take the employment, Miss Hunter?"

Miss Hunter gave a small shrug. "I've got a lot of loans to pay off for school and it's tough to find work. It seemed like a small price to pay considering the money Mister Rucastle was offering."

Sherlock let out a derisive snort. It seemed a stupid reason to take a job that was obviously so disconcerting. Then, as John and Molly had pointed out to him, money had little meaning to him due to having it. But choosing this job over all the other choices? He thought about if Molly had been unable to reacquire her job at Barts. He would have forbidden her from taking this sort of employment.

Sherlock eyed Miss Hunter carefully. "Mister Rucastle has a daughter. Recently left the family home."

Miss Hunter nodded. "Yes. He does. She's studying in America. How did you..."

John sighed, shaking his head. "Don't even bother."

"He's dressing you in a manner to replace his daughter," Sherlock replied quickly, ignoring John's interruption. "It is does seem a curious thing for a father to have such a relationship with his daughter to want to replace her when she leaves his home. Not at all natural."

Miss Hunter wrung her hands. "There are stranger things still. There's been... A man. Outside. He scales the fence and is outside the window. I can feel him watching me."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Why didn't you mention this earlier, Miss Hunter?" he leapt to his feet. "Don't you get it? It's so obvious!"

John shook his head slowly. "What's obvious, Sherlock?"

"Miss Hunter isn't a nanny. She's a decoy. Mr Rucastle's daughter, I'm sure she left the country quickly."

Miss Hunter nodded slowly. "It seems so, yes."

"The man outside is Miss Rucastle's stalker. You're replacing her so he doesn't realize she's left."

John's brow furrowed. "That seems overly complicated. If she was being stalked, why not just call the police?"

Sherlock snorted. "The police? Do you know the success rate of complaints against stalkers? Most of the time, the complainant will get so police attention until they are physically harmed or else killed. A much wiser plan on the part of Rucastle."

"Am I in any danger?" Miss Hunter asked, her eyes going wide.

Sherlock gave a curt nod. "Yes. Considerable. A man who has progressed to the point of stalking will do anything to be with the object of his affections and getting rid of anyone who stands in his way. As the decoy for Miss Rucastle, you stand in the way. He might even inflict particular torment upon your for the temerity to impersonating his obsession."

Miss Hunter's eyes widened. Without another word, she fled the lounge.

Sherlock sat back down in his chair, pressing the pads of his fingers together, tucking his hands beneath his chin as he became to think about the next course of action. Of course, the simplest solution was for Miss Hunter to leave the employ of the Rucastles. That resolution was lacklustre. While Sherlock wanted to declare the mystery solved and return to London- and Molly- he couldn't shake the feeling there was something he was still missing.

"Sherlock," John's voice was laced with irritation.

Sherlock arched a brow and looked to his companion. "Why do you say my name like you're irritated with me?"

"You-" John started. He then shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going to go after Miss Hunter. I'm going to get her a room here for the tonight. We're going to watch after her."

"If you feel that's a necessity," Sherlock murmured, not really listening to John.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John wave his hands at him in annoyed dismissal. Sherlock closed his eyes and began sorting through his mind palace, planning out the next step in his investigation.

He would be heading out to the Copper Beeches before eleven. Once John had calmed down Miss Hunter, she had told them this was around the time the stalker was showing up at the estate.

Sherlock let himself fall back onto the bed in his small room, the phone to his ear. He had thought about just texting her to tell her about his wellbeing, but he felt an ache to hear her voice. It had been nineteen hours and twenty minutes since they had last spoken. If he waited until he returned, it would be over a day since he spoke to her.

"Sherlock?" Molly said. He could hear other voices in the background. Three of them. Laughing. The voices were getting fainter.

"You are socializing with Mrs Hudson, Irene and Mary."

"We went out shopping today. I had the day off."

Sherlock felt some regret that Molly's day off work was spent with Mrs Hudson, Irene and Mary rather than himself. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to focus solely on Molly's voice. "Did you have fun?"

"I bought a nightdress."

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why do you need a nightdress? I have plenty of shirts for you to wear to bed."

"Because it's pretty," Molly replied simply.

Sherlock let out a sigh, opening his eyes and sitting up. "What does it matter if it is pretty, Molly? It's something you wear when it's dark and you are asleep. You are neither able to see it nor aware you are wearing it."

"It makes me feel pretty."

He could now hear a hurt tone in Molly's voice, but continued on. "My point is still valid. Molly, you are pretty. I don't see how a piece of clothing is going to make any difference to your self-image while you are sleeping."

He heard Molly let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not for sleeping, you clot. It's for you."

"For me? Why would I..." Then, it hit him. He laid back on the bed again, his eyes wide. "Oh. Really?"

Molly broke into a fit of bashful giggles. "Irene helped me pick it out."

Sherlock chuckled. Based on the way Molly was giggling and most certainly blushing, it seemed like he might have something to thank Irene for. "Doctor Hooper, are you trying to seduce me?"

Molly giggled again. "Maybe."

Sherlock wasn't sure how this fit into the celibacy Molly had enforced. It seemed she was much freer when it came to verbally expressing herself, as long as they were not making eye contact. A part of him wanted to end the communication. He had a case to focus on. Yet he wanted to explore this deeper. "What does it look like?" He noticed his voice had dropped an octave. His heart was thundering. Not really the state he wanted to be in while Molly was over a hundred kilometres away.

Molly's giggles had subsided. "Guess."

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. "Molly, I have no data and I do not guess."

"You have data," Molly purred. Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath at the sound of her voice. "You know me. What would I pick out to drive you wild?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and his hand gripped the phone just a bit tighter. "Molly, I'm on a case." The idea of deducing what Molly had bought to entice him was tempting. But he knew it would lead to nothing but frustration if he were to give in.

"Oh." He could hear the disappointment in Molly's voice.

Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to hear that discontentment in Molly's voice. The truth was, he really did want to figure out what she would buy for him. She so rarely let him use his skills on her. "Perhaps this is merely wishful thinking, but there are no clasps on it? Anything that would make it difficult to remove?"

Molly's voice brightened considerably. "No. It just slips over my head."

Sherlock exhaled, his imagination running wild: slipping his hands beneath the garment and dragging it up her body, making sure to caress the flesh beneath before tugging it over her head and abandoning it on the floor. He squirmed on the bed. "It's satin. Light pink. With lace. Falls to mid-thigh. The neckline is favourable to your bust, but I will be focused on your neck. You have a lovely neck, Molly."

Molly let out a laugh. "This is compared to yours? All long and pale with your open collar... Mm. You're just asking for a love bite."

Sherlock groaned, tilting his head back to expose his neck, despite knowing rationally that Molly was not there to take advantage of it. "Wear it when I come home?"

Molly went quiet.

It was plainly obvious what she was thinking.

"Molly are you trying to tell me you have absolutely no problem trying to turn me into a sweaty mess over the phone, but you wish to cling to some sort of non-existent maidenly virtue when I return home? Despite the fact you have employed our landlady and a dominatrix... As well as I suspect my best friend and his fiancée... In order to reign in your own hormones?"

Molly sighed. "Sherlock, I don't want to move back in yet."

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, at the risk of sounding ungentlemanly, right now I don't give a toss about you moving back in. I just want to shag you into the mattress."

Molly went quiet once again.

"Molly?" Sherlock groaned inwardly. He was still unused to taking people's emotions into account.

"You got one thing wrong," Molly finally said.

Sherlock sat up. "Oh, did I? There's always one thing..."

He could hear Molly smiling. "It's black."

With that, Molly hung up unceremoniously.

Sherlock fell back onto the bed and let the phone drop down beside him. He let out a sigh. He was so confused about the new dynamic of his relationship with Molly. He wanted to traverse it properly, to get to the intended destination, but it all seemed to taking much too long.

He realized only after a minute it was the first time he'd talked to Molly during a case when he did not bring up the case in question. He was surprisingly okay with that fact. He wouldn't have traded the mental image of Molly's new nightdress for anything in the world. He closed his eyes to allow himself to fall into the picture he had created in his mind.

He would have allowed himself to indulge further, except there was a knock at the door. He took a deep breath, trying to gain control of his body once again. "Just a minute, John."

"Mr Holmes?" It was Miss Hunter. "It's Violet."

Sherlock rose to his feet and opened the door. "May I help you, Miss Hunter?"

Miss Hunter stepped into the room. She smiled at Sherlock. "I'm sorry. Am I bothering you, Mister Holmes?"

Sherlock grabbed his long coat, holding it in front of himself while he waited for the problem Molly had wrought to subside. "I was going to be going to Copper Beeches to intercept your- or rather, Miss Rucastle's- stalker."

Miss Hunter's smile widened. "I wanted to thank you. For everything you're doing."

"It is my job, Miss Hunter. You hired me to discover why Mr Rucastle was..."

Sherlock stopped when Miss Hunter reached back and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the ground. Sherlock stared at his now nude client impassively. "You'll catch a chill like that, Miss Hunter."

"You could keep me warm," Miss Hunter replied.

Sherlock remained cool. "Perhaps you are confused as to what services a consulting detective provides."

"I'm just trying to show my gratitude." Miss Hunter stepped towards Sherlock, placing her hands against his chest. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his.

Sherlock jerked back. "Many of my clients favour sending a tin of biscuits at Christmas." He took a hold of Miss Hunter's hands, moving them away. "I have a girlfriend."

"Oh." Miss Hunter looked down. "I heard that wasn't an issue anymore..."

"The papers are hardly a reliable source of information," Sherlock replied. He donned his jacket. "You may redress yourself while John and I go to Copper Beeches."

Sherlock was almost out the door when suddenly Miss Hunter yelped. "Oh! Mister Holmes! Be careful of the dog!"

"Dog?"

Sherlock jumped back as the giant mastiff leapt at the bars of the gate, snapping and biting in a vain attack.

"Afraid of dogs?" John said with a small smirk.

Sherlock glowered at his friend. "I've preferred felines ever since Baskerville."

He then went stock straight, hearing footsteps approaching. He put a hand on John's shoulder. "There's someone coming."

He dragged John back into the bushes, watching the figure approach.

He was a young man. No more than twenty. His hair was dyed black, but even in the dim light of the night Sherlock could see roots coming in where he was blonde. His style of dress matched that of what Violet Hunter was now forced to wear.

The boy reached into the satchel he carried, taking out a piece of meat wrapped in butcher's paper. He threw the meat to the dog, distracting him while he started to scale the fence.

Sherlock darted out of the bushes and grabbed the boy by the waist, pulling him off the gate. The boy writhed in his arms.

"Hey!" The boy demanded. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Why are you stalking Miss Rucastle?"

"What?" The boy yelped. "Stalking? What are you talking about? Where is Alice?"

John stepped in front of the struggling boy. "We're going to take you to the police. Stalking in a crime."

"I'm not stalking my girlfriend!" The boy protested.

"Oh, she's your girlfriend?" Sherlock mocked. "A common enough response for a stalker. Believing he has a relationship with his target he does not..."

"I do!" The boy stopped fighting with Sherlock. "I can prove it to you!"

Sherlock finally let the boy go, intrigued by this new development. Perhaps the boy was telling the truth. Or perhaps he would just show Sherlock something that would confirm his suspicions.

The boy took something out of his pocket and held it out. Sherlock accepted it, looking it over. It was a photo of the boy and a girl who looked very much like Violet Hunter- Alice Rucastle.

"A lot of men stalk their ex-girlfriends," John insisted.

"She wasn't my ex," The boy insisted. "We were going to get married."

"Why should we believe you?" John asked.

"Because it's the truth!" The boy insisted.

Sherlock held up a hand. "John." He looked down at the boy. "When was the last time you saw Miss Rucastle?"

"A month ago," The boy replied. "She asked me to run away with her. Her dad doesn't like me."

"Any particular reason why?"

The boy shrugged. "He's protective of her. Has been ever since her mum died seven years ago."

"Seven years ago? But Alice's brother is-" It was like something sparked in Sherlock's mind. Suddenly, all of the pieces were falling into place. He looked to John.

"Figured it out, have you?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. "This may be only time I've ever hoped I'm wrong."