Holmes doubled over panting on his knees as he reached the back alley behind Scotland Yard. At the far end of the lane, the tall metal gates securing the area were smashed open and curious onlookers peered into the enclosure. He huffed and knocked his deerstalker from his head as he gulped for air. Sally Donovan had effectively disappeared again. He stood up and cursed into the chilly afternoon air. Above him, he heard the crack of lightning as it jumped from one angry grey cloud to the next. A few seconds later, a clattering rumble reverberated between the stone walls of the narrow corridor. The gawkers scattered as rain whizzed to the ground. A fat rain drop splattered on his cheek just below his eye. He blinked away the remnants that clung to his lids.
"Perfect," he muttered as he wiped water from his face.
"Holmes!" Lestrade called as he sprinted from the direction he had just come, "i-is she gone?"
"Yes, no thanks to you!" He snapped as he rushed to examine the gaping hole in the side of the building just above street level.
More rain fell around the scene, bouncing off the cobblestones. Holmes waved the inspector over anxiously.
"Remove your jacket at once, I need you to preserve the scene while I examine it," he directed as he crouched.
Lestrade sniffed and crossed his arms. "What? You have the broader coat. Why do not you do that while I analyze the wreckage?"
Holmes' face twisted in disbelief as he gazed up at Lestrade. "Who is consulting for whom here?"
"Hell, Holmes, why do I always have to be the one who gets soaked?" His cohort shrugged out of his jacket, grumbling the whole time. "Why is it always me?"
Holmes bit back a dry retort. Ensuing guilt caused his jaw to clench. He wondered if Lestrade suspected that he was the competitor responsible for Hooper's rejection. Holmes rather thought he might and if so, the man was being a phenomenal good sport about it. Holmes' neck stiffened as the taut guilt spread downwards. He did not deserve such friendship. He shook his head and refocused on the imprint of half a horseshoe in the crumbled grout. Rough gouges marred the street's paving stones in front of the impression. His fingers hovered just above the evidence.
"Wide construction, substantial notches indicating larger nails. This is the tread of a heavy draft horseshoe," he murmured.
He pulled at the ends of a weighty chain partially buried by the bricks from the wall.
"This chain," he yanked it loose to inspect its manufacture, "it is made with stud links, marine grade. A very particular construction . . ."
Lestrade bent closer. "Oy, do you think you know its source?"
Sherlock dropped the chain, snatched his hat from where he had dropped it and stood up as several additional officers from within Scotland yard arrived. He shook the water from his deerstalker and tugged over his damp head. His voice dropped an octave.
"Well, Miss Donovan hails from Dominica, does she not?" He asked quietly. "So, it would make sense she has a support network among others from the British Caribbean islands. I have no doubt that Abraham Alleyne is behind her rescue. He emigrated from Barbados and is arguably the most skilled blacksmith at the West India Docks."
Lestrade donned his coat in a flourish. "Then we must seek him out immediately."
Holmes stopped his advance with an outstretched hand. "Mr. Alleyne is not a man one confronts without some semblance of a plan or, absent that, a large contingent of men. He stands taller than myself and weighs in excess of 18 stones. I have boxed this man in a ring. He knows how to fight."
Lestrade squinted at him as rain ran down his face. There was a question in his eyes.
"Did . . . did he beat you during a match?"
Holmes' shoulders tensed. He suppressed a grimace as heat flushed up his neck.
"I would not say that exactly,."
Lestrade's nose wrinkled. "What would you say?"
Holmes sniffed as he raised his chin. "I, ahem, lost. It is not the same."
The inspector snorted a laugh and twitched his brows. "Alright, Holmes, alright. So, what do we do then? Miss Donovan has gotten herself into this thing deep. I am afraid she might skip town."
The detective nodded. "This is a possibility . . ."
Holmes glanced through the sheeting rain to the busy street. It was little use lingering. However, he wasn't sure that their best course of action was to chase after the medium. Sally Donovan was a distraction. They were meant to suspect her of the crime and waste precious time and resources pursuing her all over London. He wouldn't put it past the cunning woman to have purposefully allowed herself to be arrested. What better way to solidify suspicion than to subsequently break out of jail? The question was, why was she complicit in being branded a criminal? Why would she take such a risk with her own neck?
"Unfortunately, I do not believe we will find Miss Donovan tonight, Lestrade," Holmes turned to head out of the deluge.
The inspector skipped after him stuttering protests. They pushed their way past a gaggle of officers and ducked back inside the station. Holmes whirled on his friend when his chatter become too much.
"Inspector," he stepped up to the officer and hissed through his teeth, "despite your assertions, your medium will not want to be discovered again any time soon. Besides, even if you do manage to track her down, she will not provide you with the answers you seek. I guarantee, the more time you spend speaking with her, the more confused you will become."
Lestrade frowned and scratched his sideburns. "What? She is not that clever!"
Holmes raised his brows and blinked a couple times. "Miss Donovan is exceptionally clever. Why do you think she fascinates you? You are unusually attracted to women with superior intellects."
The Inspector's face flushed red. "Am not!"
Holmes rolled his eyes.
"Such a witty rejoinder. Do not take offense, my good man. I cannot fault you for your predilection," he mumbled as Molly's face floated into his mind. "Intelligence in a woman can have a potent appeal."
Lestrade eyes rounded.
"My word," he gasped, "Sherlock Holmes speaks of women and appeal in the same sentence -have I fallen down a rabbit hole?"
Holmes' stomach gurgled. He stretched his neck and flipped up his collar.
"Perhaps we all have."
He grimaced and pinched his nose. What a thing to say! If he wasn't careful, he would end up the fodder of Lestrade's most repugnant cronies. He needed to redouble his efforts to expunge Hooper from his psyche. A single encounter, it seemed, was not enough to rid her from his system. He exhaled a rattling sigh.
"Holmes?"
The detective shook out his shoulders. "Apologies, Lestrade, I have something that more urgently needs my attention."
"What? Now?"
"Yes."
He brushed the last of the water from his coat, though, he did not know why. He was about to head back out in the rain.
"B-But . . . we have a case to solve, Holmes!"
Anger welled up within the consulting detective. He was livid with his damned eidetic memory which decided to act up at that moment. Molly Hooper's essence pervaded his senses. His nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume, wild roses and vanilla. Her heady cries echoed through his skull. Even the softness of her skin seemed to slide beneath the layers of his clothing. Yet, as intoxicating as all that was, it was the vision of her warm brown eyes regarding him that had the most deleterious effect on his constitution. His stomach felt like runny oatmeal. His palms sweated. He needed to see her immediately or he would be driven insane.
"I will let you know when I solve it, of course," Holmes rasped as he tipped his hat. "Good day, Inspector."
Molly ran her fingers over the print in her well-worn anatomy text at her writing desk in her Uncle's parlor. She loved the distinguished tome above all the others in her collection. She could still feel the imprint of the characters struck by the printing press. It smelled so wonderfully technical as well, a man-made confection of ink and preservatives. She fancied she knew every page. Each illustration was etched in her memory. She knew many of the footnotes word for word. Her eyes tingled. A tear formed along her lid and rolled down her cheek. With a sniff, she hefted the heavy text closed. Air from between its pages stirred the tendrils around her face. She wiped the tear from her face and then rubbed the moisture on her pale blue and brown pin-striped dress.
Molly did not know why she even bothered to study for exams she would not be allowed to write. She swallowed a lump of bitter disappointment. Janine, Emilia, and Mary would all be proper doctors soon and she would be left behind. She dreaded bumping into one of them and having it lorded over her, but that was almost assuredly going to happen. She could not possibly avoid a run-in if she intended to continue a medical career of some sort in London. God forbid she end up a nurse under one of her classmate's supervision.
Yet, London wasn't her only option. Hope sparked in her chest and her heart began beating an excited rhythm. Why had she never considered that before? Perhaps she had been too distracted by her obsession with Sherlock Holmes. There was a women's medical school in Edinburgh also established by Dr. Sophia Jex-Blake, one of the original founders of her institution. There should be no reason why they wouldn't grant Molly credit from a sister school nor reject her application either. If anything, the Scots would be sympathetic to her predicament. She was confident they would help her if only as a thumb in the eye of the English aristocracy who had been responsible for her expulsion.
Molly sprang from her seat so suddenly, she awoke her uncle with a start in his favorite chair. He snorted and coughed several times.
"Good, Lord, Molly!" He wheezed. "What the devil has you in such a tizzy?"
"Scotland!" She whirled from her small writing desk.
"Wh-What?!" He stuttered groggily. "Are th-they threatening to separate again?"
Molly turned back with a beaming smile. "Oh, that's not what I meant. Though, I think it would be rather more shocking if they had suddenly announced they were going to start flying the Union Jack from all their government buildings. No, Uncle, I have decided I will finish my degree in Edinburgh and if not there, America. A thousand pardons for waking you, but I have some letters to write."
"America!" He exclaimed as he sat upright. "You are not serious!"
Molly raised her chin defiantly. "I am."
"You cannot run off to America," he blustered, "I . . . I forbid it!"
She planted her hands on her hips. "You what?"
Her uncle struggled up from his chair. He pushed his glasses up his nose once he was on his feet. His cheeks were pink.
"My dear child," he panted, "do not be so nonsensical. You do not know anyone in America. You have no support there."
Molly opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by Gomery clearing his throat. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the old Butler standing in the shadow cast by the dark figure of none other than Sherlock Holmes.
"Mr. Holmes for you," he announced awkwardly.
Molly flushed over every inch of her flesh. If it were possible, he made her even more nervous than before they had been intimate. In fact, she absolutely did not know where she should look except at his polished boots. The temperature of her face increased by several degrees. The man had seen her naked, done wicked things to her body and made her lose all semblance of decorum and control.
"Dr. Stamford, I hope I am not interrupting anything," his deep voice intoned from the entry.
She closed her eyes as her uncle reassured the detective. Holmes' baritone voice set her nerves alight with each utterance. Every secret place on and in her body perked up like a puppy anxious for table scraps.
"In actual fact, Holmes," her uncle sighed, "your timing is perfect. You must convince Molly that moving to America is a terrible idea."
She opened her eyes just in time to see Holmes' brows contract and his eyes narrow. His head jerked towards her with a confused frown fixed upon his face.
"I do not follow. Since when are you moving to America, Hoo-, I mean, Miss Hooper?"
She crossed her arms as she braced for the full impact of his blue-green gaze. Her tummy quivered as she fully took him in. He really was a breathtaking man. He was so tall and broad next to her diminutive uncle. He wore a well-tailored, dark grey tweed suit with a navy-blue waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. A somewhat lighter blue and black cravat in a simple knot at his throat completed the look. She bit the inside of her lip as her eyes flitted to his hair. He hadn't styled it so severely this day, the curls on the top of his head were looser waves of dark hair.
"Molly, go on," her uncle chided, "tell him about your foolhardy plans."
She pursed her lips an instant. "Well, they are not foolhardy for one. Really, Uncle! I am twenty-eight and I am perfectly capable of sorting out my own life-"
Lines formed at the corners of Holmes' eyes as they contracted further. "Are you?"
She nodded quickly. "Y-Yes and it is high time I do so. Now, Uncle is being a tad histrionic. You see, I need to complete my education and there are several schools at which I can do that. America is not my first choice, though. I am quite set on Edinburgh."
Holmes' nostrils flared as he took a breath. His attention turned ever so slightly to her uncle. He dipped his head.
"I do believe I may be of assistance, Dr. Stamford, but I think my persuasion might be most effective if I have your niece's undivided attention."
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye deliberately. Her stomach flip-flopped.
"Oh, yes! Yes, please do so. I will tootle off to my study for a spell," Dr. Stamford agreed. "Come, Gomery, let us leave so that Mr. Holmes might talk some sense into our dear Molly."
Molly's arms tightened across her chest as her uncle left the parlor. His whistles could be heard out in the front hall as he navigated his way to his study. Once Gomery had cleared the room as well, Holmes made his way to the entry. Molly watched his back flex beneath his suit jacket as he pulled the heavy wooden sliding doors closed with a loud thud. He leaned against them momentarily after they were shut and took a deep breath. She watched his shoulders rise and fall before he turned around.
"I am somewhat perplexed, Hooper," he murmured as he tucked a thumb into the pocket of his waistcoat, "I thought you understood that I was going to correct your situation."
Molly smoothed her damp palms over her skirts as he approached her with his eyes fixed on her face. "I do not know that actually. You are a busy man, Mr. Holmes, and thus far your answer has been to supply me with a wardrobe meant for a man. I am not certain this will solve any problems for me. Am I meant to disguise myself to work in the morgue or something?"
He shook his head once. He was almost upon her where she stood quaking in the middle of the parlor. She looked up as he stopped just shy of bumping into her. His lips pulled at the corners before he spoke.
"You are meant to attend school."
Molly's nose crinkled, then she scoffed. "Wh-What? Are you having a laugh at my expense, Holmes? I attend a women's institute, they do not train men there. Not to mention, I am certain my instructors would recognize me in such a getup."
Holmes leaned down.
"Not the women's institute, Hooper," his eyes flicked back and forth over her face, "with the help of my brother, we have convinced the London Hospital Medical College to allow a Mr. M Hooper, an exceptional transfer student from the military, to write his exams and perform his final evaluations with an endorsement in pathology."
Her lips parted in shock.
"That . . . that is impossible," she whispered, "it is mad!"
"No more so than dressing as a man to traipse about your uncle's morgue," he retorted.
"But-"
Holmes' eyes narrowed. A frustrated, sort of distressed wrinkle appeared between his brows.
"Hooper," his eyes darted around as if searching for the words, "Molly . . . if the solution can be found in London, is that not preferable? Would not you rather remain here amongst your family and, erm, friends?"
Molly laughed sadly.
"I love my Uncle dearly, Sh-" she swallowed so she could attempt again to utter his name as she wrung her hands, "Sh-Sherlock, but he will not be around forever. As for friends, well, I cannot count any among my regular companions. I . . . I have never been the sort of girl to make friends easily actually, but, I mean, it is fine. I am not sad or anything. God, I just mean, it would not be all that great a hardship for me to start anew somewhere."
He cast his eyes down a moment in contemplation. His lips twitched as he thought about something. Then he drew in a breath.
"Am I not your friend?" He asked quietly.
Her heart twisted in her chest. Her lungs stung as she held her breath. She wondered how could he appear so strong yet so vulnerable at the same time.
"At the moment, yes," she whispered in a shaky tone, "but wh-who knows if you will want anything to do with me this time next month."
Holmes flinched and jerked his head sideways as if he heard something distasteful. Then, his luminous eyes caught hers in a troubled gaze.
"I do not apportion my friendship lightly, Molly Hooper. Whatever comes of our association, I will always be your ally," Holmes cleared his throat, "a-always. Never doubt it."
Molly's heart seized. Her peripheral vision went dark and he became the glowing center of her vision. It was as if the only thing that existed in the entire universe was this fascinating contradiction of a man in front of her. Her heart beat picked up until it buffeted in her chest like a windmill in a storm. Oh, she loved him so much in that interval. She adored him. When tears threatened to pour from her eyes, she threw her arm around his neck and kissed him to stave off waterworks. He groaned and in an instant, she was clasped against him. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other spread out between her shoulders. He licked his lips between hers and responded as if they were lovers separated by years of yawning loneliness, not mere hours.
Molly's emotional swell was displaced by lust as soon as his tongue plunged into her mouth. Her body was already wise to this embrace. Frenetic sensations whooshed through her extremities, her flesh and her loins. Her skin sensitized, her fine hairs bristled and even sounds amplified in her ears as if she were in an amphitheater. She felt like an animal all of a sudden, consumed with an urge to splay herself out to him and then eat him alive. With a little growl, she slipped her arm from his shoulder and gave him a light push. At first, he didn't move but then stepped backwards with an intense concentrated expression. She followed him.
"Hooper?" His deep voice questioned between kisses.
She pushed him again. "Holmes."
She sucked in his luxurious bottom lip and nibbled on it, her hands were already popping the buttons of his waistcoat apart and pulling his shirt out from his trousers. He grabbed her around the waist and walked back into the nearest sofa.
"Huh, Christ, this is ill-advised. We cannot copulate in your Uncle's parlor," he expunged a heavy breath, "it is the surest route to disaster."
Molly didn't care. She would have him right then and there, or she would die of sexual asphyxiation. She yanked at his belt until it was loose and a second later his pants and briefs hit the floor at his feet.
"Sit down, Holmes," she demanded breathily.
He stretched his neck briefly but he lowered himself to the sofa and stared up at her with anticipation. He pulled at his cravat. His pupils expanded until his irises were but thin slivers. Molly hiked up her skirts to divest herself of her drawers. She didn't have the most coherent plan but Holmes had shown her that it was possible to be intimate in more than one way. When she looked at him again, he stroked his shaft with a heated look in his eyes, a look that told her she was on to something. She shimmied out of her stockings, her face ever warming, and stepped forward with her dress wadded up around her waist. Carefully, she straddled him one knee at a time.
"You are a wicked girl," Holmes growled as his hands slid up the sides of her thighs.
She sucked in a shaky breath as she leaned closer to him. "Do . . . do you really like my being aggressive, or is it unbecoming?"
His slightly calloused hands cupped her rear.
"Oh I do like this," he leaned forward and kissed the hollow of her throat, "mm, very much."
Molly threaded her fingers into his hair, tugged his head back and fell on his lips. Holmes' submitted to the fervency of her kiss but continued to explore her naked torso beneath her skirts. There was something wonderfully sinful about being almost fully dressed except where she hovered over him. She probed her tongue between his lips again and felt a satisfying little stream of tingles when his mouth opened and invited her in. The moment she lapped his tongue, he shuddered beneath her and she felt his stiff rod twitch on her leg.
"Can I touch you?" She whispered.
"Yes," he panted, "oh, God, please do."
She reached between them and gripped his manhood. Her thumb brushed over the tip and a slick bead of moisture wetted her print She felt the excited flesh grow even harder in her hand. Her fingers explored its considerable length to where it rooted to his body. It was an amazing piece of anatomy, so buttery soft on the surface like the finest cashmere, yet it was stiff as a broom handle. She swallowed another moan from the man beneath her with a tongue-clashing kiss. Every sound he made as she ran her hands up and down his length and over the ripples of veins caused her sex to flush. It was erotic and addictive to elicit such a reaction from him, to have this dangerous man completely under her control.
"Hu-uh, hell, Hooper," he rasped, "I need you. Put me out of my misery."
Molly shifted her hips and positioned herself over him. "You need me?"
His hips jerked upwards when she rubbed him against her damp cleft. "Christ, yes!"
She paused, reveling in the torture she was putting him through until a heavy exhalation escaped his throat. Then she relaxed her legs and let her weight sink down on him. Even as wet as she was for him, it was a snug fit. She bit her lip to prevent a satisfied cry as he gripped her hips and pushed upwards into her body. The stretch of his penetration burned a little and she felt a dull ache, like a bruise from their encounter the previous night. However, as his thickness traveled inwards and eventually reached her depths, there was no lancing pain like there had been when he breached her maidenhead.
"Mm, unh," she mumbled, "Sherlock, you undo me."
His frame shook "Molly, Molly . . ."
He jerked his hips upwards, thrusting into her so deep, she could swear she felt him near her spine. As she seated on him, his fleshy bollocks pressed against her posterior. His hips shifted again but she pushed her hands onto his shoulders.
"Allow me," she murmured as she raised herself up only to slide back down.
He grunted and cursed as if in pain. She repeated the movement until she found her rhythm. Over and over, she guided herself up and down on him, her pace ever increasing. In the midst of it, she pinned his wrists on the top of the sofa. At one point, she had to let go and cover his mouth when he cried out.
"Shush," she panted, "do you want to be discovered?"
"I do not bloody care," came his muffled replied against her lips.
Molly's body involuntarily clenched on his erection at the gruff sound of his voice. Holmes flopped his head back and swore again. She gulped in air. He had her so excited that the little pleasure point between her legs had ballooned to a raging inferno. She clutched his wrists and ground her hips against him to increase the pleasurable ache. Her core was hot and slick with need. When he shuddered with pleasure again, she felt it all the way up into her body. That little vibration pushed her over the edge. She felt as if she were a tumbling mass picking up speed.
"Sherlock, ummm, I-I cannot continue much longer."
"Do not," he exhaled heavily, "come for me, Molly. I want to feel it."
Molly whimpered and plunged back on him. She let go of him and bit her knuckle as she erupted. Her ache exploded and radiated outwards. Little spasms caused her inner walls to pulsate on the keen flesh inside her body. Holmes took over thrusting into her as she savored her orgasm.
"Molly," he pinioned up, "unh, be prepared to lift off me . . . I am nearly there . . ."
A couple of more savage thrusts and Holmes urged her from his lap. She just released him in time to see fluid spurt from the end of his slick manhood. The jets of milky liquid coated her inner thigh and stained her skirts. She couldn't help thinking how close they had been to letting him bathe her insides with his seed.
"Unh, huh," he gasped as he twitched, "hell."
Molly felt his arms wrap around her. He kissed her and leaned his forehead against hers. She hugged him as his body's convulsions quieted. Holmes squeezed her back tightly. She gave him a quick peck on the nose. They held one another for a few minutes as their breathing returned to normal. Then, Holmes raised his chin. She gazed at him, fully enamored by his visage. His features were slack and glistened with a sheen of sweat. A damp curl fell over his forehead. His eyes darted back and forth as he studied her face.
"Molly-"
There came a banging at the parlor doors. His eyes rounded. Molly's breath caught. They scrambled off the sofa. Holmes jerked his pants up as she attempted to rearrange her dress. Her uncle called out for them. Before Molly could find her drawers, the doors began to slide open. She spied them as she spun and kicked them under the sofa just as her Uncle appeared between the two massive sliders. She felt her face twist into a grimace as she realized they were caught. Holmes was still stuffing his shirt into trousers even as Uncle Mike stepped into the room.
His lips pressed together in a thin line when he saw the two of them. "I see I left you two alone a little too long."
Holmes hurried to explain but her uncle held up his hand. His eyes flicked to Molly and away again.
"As clever as you are, Holmes," he sighed, "I do not think even you are creative enough to produce an acceptable excuse for this scene."
Molly glanced to Holmes. His face was flushed pink. He pushed his hair back on his head. He opened his mouth to reply but then made a face and clapped it shut again.
"Uncle-"
"My dear, please save your breath, this situation has only one resolution," he raised his brows pointedly at her partner in crime, "is not that right, Holmes? One does not need to be a genius to sort this out."
The detective dipped his head like a scolded schoolboy. "I-Indeed, Dr. Stamford. No, in fact, one only needs to have been very stupid to believe in any other inevitability."
