Pytm 3

Something was going to have to be done about the new maid.

In the days since her arrival, Molly managed to endear herself to the other members of the household. Mrs Hudson, as her aunt already held a tender spot for the woman, but it was Molly's physical abilities along with her willingness perform the tasks that she herself could no longer could perform that left her all the more appreciative of her. John, fool that he was,

admired her efficient organization, as well as the biscuits she made (those were the source of that new damnable ginger smell that seemed to seep into everything, including the wash and was keeping Sherlock's senses more alert in his home than ever before) and of course there was Archie. The lad adored her company and could always be found near her while she worked and entertained him with her stories and silly songs. There was also the matter of the scamp loving those delicious biscuits as well.

Sherlock Holmes, however, was not a fan of her. The damnable woman was everywhere. Cleaning, moving things about and cheerfully greeting clients all while baking biscuits and scones. Everywhere he went there was obvious evidence of her being there. An extra shine on the mantle, more light pouring in through sparking panes of glass. She'd even done something about that creaking step on the stairwell- the one that had always alerted him to anyone's presence on the stairs, now gone, leaving him unaware once or twice as somone neared the room. And then there was the damn woman herself's stealthy entry the day before. Which irritated him ( how had she come in so quietly?) and led him to meditate on to insufferable woman herself some more. Try as he might, every time he saw her he found his eyes drawn to her busy form. No matter what task she was up to, it seemed that he took notice of her everywhere; could nearly sense her location at all times in the house. And should he walk by her, he couldn't help studying the woman as she worked to mop the hall, stirred at the evening stew or that one time he'd seen her relaxed with her afternoon tea as she sat with a gentle content smile with her eyes closed.

It's not that she was especially lovely to look upon, but there was a certain undeniable beauty to her. Perhaps it was that along with her ineffectual attempt to hide that made her stand out so to him all the more. Sherlock never had been able to resist a mystery. Yes, that must be all it was. Why it was that she seemed to capture his attention all the more for her need to it. After all, she seemed to take a natural inclination to staying as far away from him as possible, avoiding him whenever she could. They never spoke to one another past that first evening. Not that he'd needed to know much more than his initial deductions told him. Still though, she was a distraction. A distraction that needed to be dealt with before he got further distracted by deep brown eyes that were sad and warm silken hair that was soft and...

She needed to go. Soon. He'd not let all his hard work be ruined by an utterly avoidable dalliance with the hired help. And that wasn't only the danger of a physical distraction precisely, he needed help that could be of help to him. Like Sally, she had a crude manner about her and a sharp tongue to boot but she was whip smart and had this ability to make others listen. That along with her connections could open doors to a portion of London that wouldn't trust him on principal alone. Sally Donovan would be an asset to him, small babe and all. Molly, determined as she was to keep to boring housekeeping tasks would never suit his extraordinary needs.

But how to address his problem? The familial connection between her and Mrs. Hudson was most unfortunate. As much as the older lady loved him, the tie to her niece threatened to break that completely. So whatever he did he had to make it strong enough to make Molly, and Molly alone want to leave. It was going to be tricky and he had to be careful. A plan began to take hold. Ah...yes that should be enough to take care of that pesky maid!

That night Sherlock and John got summoned to a robbery at a local clerics office. It was a simple case, no more than a three, yet Sherlock jumped on it with surprising excitement, according to Doctor Watson. Disgruntled former employee, but it served to keep the two men out late. Which was exactly what Sherlock had intended. For the next morning he awoke late, rising only when the maid came in to perform her duties, finding him still in bed, but utterly unclothed save the thin sheet off the bed.

And it was thusly dressed that his new maid stumbled into the room.

"Oh! Forgive me, sir." She let out a soft whisper and went to back out of the bedchamber.

With a stretch and groan, Sherlock's sleep thickened voice called out. "No, no, come in, after all I am awake now." Sherlock sat up and pulled the corner of the sheet around himself before watching from under his lashes as the maids lips stayed in the form of a surprised 'o' before she pressed in to draw the rooms curtains and stoke and rebuild the fire. Sherlock rose from the bed stretching and walking over to the window, admiring the street below. The sheet, however he left upon the center of the bed.

Molly turned around to move to the next task and was greeted by Sherlock's very much nude backside. She stood still as her eyes roamed over the form before she remembered herself and spun away from him. "Did you... need your dressing gown, sir? Or, um... clothing?"

He smiled into the window, before calmly replying, "Oh no, I'd prefer to stay like this for now, thank you. Invigorates the mind and awakens the senses."

"Al- alright.. Sir," Molly stuttered. That man! He was insisting on walking around in the nude! Molly was struggling to keep her eyes on her task of making the bed and not allowing herself to look at his creamy skin and the spattering of freckles across those deceptively strong shoulders. The very alluring freckles that lead down to his... Molly pinched herself on the back of her hand reminding herself that she most certainly should be avoiding the man. Definitely not staring at the skin and muscle structure that closely resembled the marble statues she and her friends would titter over at the museum when they'd been younger. Task at hand Molly, stick to the task at hand! She shook herself got refocus her eyes and her thoughts.

Once the bed was made she need only take care of the fire, chamber pot, and wash stand before she could leave his presence. Mr Holmes continued his standing watch of the alley below, so Molly locked her eyes on the wash stand, and that alone. It was however, attached to a mirror. A mirror that reflected the physique on display behind her far too well. Her gaze was interrupted as the man in the mirror turned, yawned sleepily and reached up to ruffle his gently curling hair. He began a slow leisurely stroll to the wardrobe. Strolling as if he had absolutely no shame as he did so. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, Molly's mind noted. She caught her own burning reflection in the mirror as she shifted her focus off of his back side and considering on her own face; bright and rosy and very, very alert. How she wasn't absolutely sparking on fire from the burning shame she didn't quite know. Once more she told herself that he was just a man. No different from any she'd seen in her father's anatomy books. Besides he wasn't the even the first man that she had seen without his clothes on...Well she couldn't dwell on that now. Not with the Adonis behind her being the one on whom her position depended. In fact, she wouldn't put it past him to do this simply to test her. That must be it! Well, if that was so, she most certainly was not going to let him win. Stealing her breath, grabbed the wash bowl from the table in front of her and turned towards him, holding it at an uncomfortable height, but one that blocked her view of the most basic party of his... Maleness.

She went to her bowl waiting in the hall to transfer to used liquids and returned to her duty. Avoiding looking at her employer who was idly thumbing through the wardrobe at all cost. It didn't seem to help at all. Molly was still all too aware of the man mere feet from herself. And it wasn't merely his nudity that bothered her, but instead her own traitorous reaction to him. The way she longed to look her fill and to run her fingers along the line of abdominal muscles. She'd never experienced the desire to do so with her father's clients. And she'd never wondered how the anatomy diagrams touch would have felt as they held her. No, this was an entirely different thirst for knowledge that he was inspiring in her. She knew from when he'd held her how firm those muscles were and just how warm his hands were as they spread across her back, pulling her close...

"Are you quite done Molly, or was there something else you needed?"

"Oh. Well I, that is..." Damn damn damn. Had she simply been standing there? "I apologize sir, I was lost in thought. I was...Reminded of my father," Molly hastily lied. She most assuredly had not been thinking of her father.

An eyebrow shot up. "You were thinking about your father?" His obvious disbelief was tangible.

Oh no, she really didn't want to talk of her father. Not particularly ever and certainly not right now with this naked man. "I mean.. I.. You see...How..."

"On with it, Molly! I do not have all day."

"I'd assist him in the mornings. Help to dress and shave him in when he became to ill to do so himself." She paused before a thought struck her. "The way you are wondering about... Waiting, almost as if you were waiting for someone to dress you... it reminded me of my father, I suppose."

Ah. He seemed to accept that answer mercifully, but still he stood there looking at her as he accepted her explanation, looking unsure of himself only for a moment before his expression grew into a challenging smirk, as if he were a kitten who'd been given a pan of cream. Molly's eyes looked onto his lips. Oh those lips… they were a problem. Those lips were a big problem. Not them so much, as Molly's fascination with them. Paired with the voice they spoke with and Molly realized that she was stupidly just standing and staring at him all the while holding that damn heavy bowl that threatened to drop the longer she just stood there. She needed to move. Forcing herself, she spun around, setting the wash bowl down, and moving on to empty the pot into the necessary bucket. When she returned Sherlock spoke to her once more. "You said you helped your Father shave, And we're you any good at giving him a shave?"

Molly had moved on to the emptying of the chamber pot. Not glancing to, him she answered. "Yes. I am. I mean I was. Not... that my father ever complained."

"Well no, he wouldn't have though would he? It's clear that he valued and spoiled you. He'd have lied to you, complimenting and assuring you even if you were atrocious." Sherlock reasoned, as if she were thick headed.

Molly couldn't help it. She felt her temper begin to heat rapidly. It didn't matter what the man looked like, to say that... It was rude! And then before she knew it, her mouth opened without her mind's full consent. "Would you like me to shave you to see for yourself, or would you rather call my late father a liar again, sir?" Molly challenged. And that man, oh he merely kept smiling at her his eyes sparkling in amusement. The cheeky man!

"Yes."

It was a long, charged moment before Molly remembered how to use her voice again, unsure though it was. "You wish for me to shave you sir?" He wanted her to do so now. Right now. Her job was supposed to be cleaning the bed chambers, not acting valet, and with him utterly unclothed. Her wits returned to her. "I can't. I'd need to ask my.. Um... that is to say...Mrs Hudson if I... I mean if that is an allowable-"

"Oh, stop the stuttering. I say it is allowable, now may we get on with it? Unless you have been telling me false tales and thus you can leave this house immediately," Sherlock threatened.

Molly glared at him. He was trying to trap her; to make her give him reason to terminate her. Well, he'd just have to learn that she was capable of working and worthy of working here. "Sit then, sir." She motioned to the chair sitting adjacent to the wash stand. To her absolute gall he then (finally!) reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a beautiful purple velvet dressing gown, wrapping it around himself, securing the tie with a bit of a flourish.

"Wouldn't want to have you distracted." He winked as he sat into the chair.

"It takes more than mere nudity to distract me Mr. Holmes." Molly chirped before she could stop herself. She snapped her eyes closed and said a silent, 'damn it' before it occurred to her what she had actually said. Then fear flashed over her then as she worried he'd punish her for her own cheekiness. To her absolute surprise however, he instead let out a low, almost private chuckle.

"What would it take to distract you then I wonder, Molly?" Sherlock said his voice going low, intimate almost, as his eyes closing as he relaxed himself back into his chair. Thankfully Molly was able to turn her face and bite her tongue against the answer that immediately came to mind. Try me and see.

Molly wet a small towel in the warm water she'd carried in earlier and wrapped it around Sherlocks face, taking care that he could breath. Next, she placed the puck of soap into the ornate mug he had to make lather in.

"It was a gift," he said reading her thoughts and unasked question. "A thank you for solving a case." He said, making her jump. His eyes were still covered to the towel- how had he known? "It's obvious you stopped to look at it closer. It's an elementary deduction. Now, could you continue on? I don't relish spending all day like this."

"Right, sir." She poured in a large amount of water. "I apologize that I didn't have a chance to properly warm the brush. It's moderately soft however." He made no reply. Obvious. She heard in her head in his condescending voice. The brush was after all of the highest quality she'd ever seen or touched. She whipped the brush around and around, this direction and that, creating the desired lather. Once that was set, she looked at the straight razor to see how sharp it was. Dull of course, she tusked in irritation.

"My equipment not up to your standards?" He queried.

"Any knife can become dull if it is properly cared for," She answered as she found the leather strap to sharpen the blade. Pulling it out, she whipped it back and forth till it was sharp enough to split a hair. "There. Easily remedied." She pulled off the wet towel, and set it on the edge of the bowl. "Are we set to begin?"

"You tell me," Eyes still closed, he sat still; relaxed.

My God, he was a brat! Molly brought the lather brush over to his face. "Let's get on with it before I'm late to my other duties."

"Mmhmm. We can't have you falling behind on your work. That would certainly reflect badly on your performance." Sherlock threatened again, still determined to find fault in her and to rattle her, she supposed. He was not going to shake her though. This is right where she wanted- no needed to be. With her family. So respond she did not, instead she reached across him with one hand to pull the skin as flat as possible before letting the razor do its job. Once she got started the habit came back. In truth, it had never left. She'd been giving men a shave since she was a youth. It was the first thing her father allowed to her to help with in his work. Of course, those clients never complained if she slipped, and of course they never bled either.

But her father had. About the fifth time she'd shaved him she got a bit rushed and careless and had nicked his skin. Oh how it had bled! He was fine, truly he had been, but Molly had felt so awful about hurting him that she'd cried the full hour after till he'd found her and soothed her. After that she'd learned to kept herself calm, slow and steady. Which was a good thing for this moment.

Quietly she worked, contorting his skin this way and that to reach each spot of growth. She had been doing fairly well, forgetting her unease around him as she focused on her task. That was, until she reached his lip area. While pulling the top lip down, she'd gotten a small drip of lather on his lower lip. Rather than reaching for the towel she'd wiped the offensive spot with the pad of her thumb and felt him startle beneath her thumb. His eyes had flashed open bright and blue to see her, bending low and close over him. "Easy now, nearly done." Molly whispered, keeping her eyes locked on the white areas of his face.

She'd just about finished when she happened to feel his breath on her lips. Swiftly, she pulled back and spun back to the wash stand. Dampening the towel once more to wipe the soap remnants away. She chided herself for her careless actions and her foolish awareness of his closeness once more. When she turned once more back to him she found him looking at her oddly, as if perhaps she'd scared him. Moving forward slowly to wipe his face, she nearly anticipated him telling her to stop but he didn't. Hand carefully wrapped in the towel, she stroked the skin carefully, cleansing it fully. When she once more washed at his lip area, he reached up and grasped her wrist, making them both freeze, faces mere inches apart. She watched his eyes flicker to her lips. Surely he couldn't and wouldn't be considering what she thought he was! And yet... She couldn't help letting that hope flicker in her as her breath ceased at the thought.

Before she did something rash, her senses returned to her, causing her her to pull away from him as much as much as she could. He swiftly followed her up and stood holding onto her wrist, making it feel tiny as a child's own within his large hands grasps. Embarrassment filled her anew as she realized that he must be feeling her pulse thundering beneath her sleeve for the sound of it filled her ears and sounded like an oncoming parade in her head. The way he looked at her, almost as if he was affected by her nearness just as she was to him.

Sherlock looked hard at her but stayed silent and still as he seemed to be analyzing her. Molly stayed frozen there within his grasp waiting for him to speak or to do something worse. Just then, Doctor Watson's voice sounded just outside the rooms door. "Sherlock, did you still want to come to luncheon with Stamford and myself?" And the good doctor appeared in the doorway, freezing when he saw the two standing together; Sherlock's hand still wrapped tightly around Molly's wrist. "Ah... So um... What's going on in here?"

Dropping and flinging her hand away rapidly, Sherlock walked away from her, back to his wardrobe. "Luncheon... Yes. I have a few questions I'd like to ask Stamford. So yes. I shall join you." Doctor Watson looked back and forth between his friend and the maid, finding it odd that both were not saying a word about what they'd been doing before he'd walked in. For her part, the maid was carrying a damp rag and shaving equipment out of the room, leaving the men alone as Sherlock pulled various pieces of clothing he'd need for the day. Once she was finished, Molly pulled the chamber door shut leaving the two men inside before running away as fast as she could.

After steps sounded down the hall, Watson exploded. "What the hell did I just walk in on, Holmes?"

"Relax, John, I was simply giving the new maid a test. Nothing more." He walked to the wardrobe once more pulling out the desired suit of the day, slipping into his trousers and selecting a shirt.

"That didn't look like just anything." His arms crossed as he tried to convey how 'not good' it had been. "That looked like a man about to plant a good one onto a woman he fancies."

"Must you be crude, Watson?" Sherlock pulled on a morning vest of a cornflower blue. "I simply called her to show me her shaving skills after her proclamation that she could perform the task, that is all."

Eyebrow cocked, John showed he understood. "But if she was shaving you, just how do you go from sitting in a chair to standing so close over her, virtually holding the woman?"

"I was not holding." That experience felt entirely too pleasant his mind had recalled against his will and better judgment. "Testing her pulse, looking to see what reaction she gave to ME, John," He said as if that explained everything.

"Uh-huh. And what did you do that she was affected by you?"

"I only bade her to shave me, since the woman made some idle comment about how she used to shave her father. It was test. I needed a shave, so there the problem was solved," Holmes thundered. "Perhaps you should try it. Lose the wet rat of a mustache you've been sporting all these months."

"Oh get off it! It's distinguished, and you know that the illustrator requested-"

"Yes a 'signature' look. It's thanks to that imbecile that I'm known as 'that detective chap with the silly hat,'"Sherlock whined.

"So, Molly does shaves then?" Watson said rubbing at his cheeks. "That will a right useful skill we can use to our advantage, eh? Worth keeping the girl on just for that, I'd say. I'll get her to do mine in the morning, I think."

"You will not!" Sherlock spun and thundered at his friend, a stern look darkening his face. "Molly said that the extra work may interfere with her other duties. Seems she's having trouble enough as is in keeping up. Neither you nor I will be letting her shave us again. Am I clear?"

Watson tilted his head, unbothered by Sherlock's proclamation. "Oh, so that's how it is then?" Sherlock didn't bother to answer, merely turned to look out his window once more. "I'll wait for you down stairs, my friend. Try not to think too long in that head of yours alright?"

Watson went off scratching his chin once more. Sherlock seemed determined to be rid of the girl. And if he knew one thing, it was that Sherlock Holmes nearly always got what he wanted. Letting out a heavy sigh he set off down the steps. He was going to miss that woman and her ginger biscuits.

Notes:

First off thank you to by beta TheNewJefferson. Bless you my friend. Also to Writingwife83 for saying 'do it' when I had the deliciously naughty idea of Sherlock challenging her so. Also thank you to Soyeahso for her insight too.