Molly rolled her shoulders and rubbed her neck as she walked down the corridor and away from where she had just spent four hours completing a rigorous written exam. She let out a long breath. Despite feeling rather exhausted, she felt good about her performance. She had answered every question and even ran out of space in some sections with her responses. Barring an extreme cock-up on her part, she felt very good about how she had done.

"Finished so soon, Hooper?"

Molly's shoulders tensed. For a few moments, she stared at the double doors at the end of the corridor as she let the sound of Holmes' deep timber seep into her consciousness. Her heart stumbled as she tried to fortify herself. She should just ignore the man at her back and continue out onto the streets of London to sit down at a café unaccompanied for some lunch. Running away from him would be the most sensible thing to do, she told herself. She was, after all, dressed in her Mr. Hooper disguise and not even her future husband had any authority over her in that getup. Still, she turned because while she knew consuming a cup of tea by herself might settle her nerves, she also knew that those minutes would pass. Then more minutes would pass and she would find herself at that table very much alone.

Finally, Molly turned, still off-kilter from conflicts that raged within. She raised her gaze. As always, her fiancé was impeccably attired. Beneath his great coat, he wore a dark green plaid patterned suit, white shirt and deep crimson cravat. When their eyes met, he removed his infamous deerstalker and lifted his chin. Blue-green orbs fixed on her face.

She cleared her throat and practiced her best male bravado. "Ah, Holmes, good day! What brings you here?"

Her intended strolled forward with a hard set to his jaw. With every step, her world closed in a little more on her until she found herself in a skewed reality. The bustling halls of the college seemed to quiet and her vision blurred at the edges. His spectre became the whole of her focus.

"I thought I might check in on a friend. How are you getting along with your exams?" He asked in a low timber.

She swallowed. "Quite well, Holmes. Thank-you for your enquiry."

For several seconds, they squared off. Molly balled her hand at her side to prevent herself from rubbing her chest. She ached. Her heart suffered another hairline fracture at Holmes' hands. He had subjected her to some of the most acute embarrassment she had ever experienced by dragging her out in front of his family disheveled and so obviously compromised. Even though she had been almost immediately embraced by his mother, every half-truth she'd had to spew subsequently while planning their nuptials that evening had given to an indigestion that had loitered.

"This was your last exam, was it not?" Holmes queried, cutting through her tumultuous thoughts.

"Th-This was my final written examination. I have yet to demonstrate my practical skills."

Her intended twisted his hat in his hands. "When will that occur?"

Molly felt a pinch of pain in her neck as she stiffened. She rubbed her lips together; her faux mustache tickled her lower lip. The date of their wedding fast approached and her fiancé-to-be seemed less and less comfortable with every passing moment. She wondered how great his regrets had become. Were they as weighty as her own, she pondered? In the last week, he had not visited nor communicated in any other way and her mind had been left to run rampant with doubts.

"I perform a surgery early next week. Tuesday, to be more specific. Is there something you require of me?"

Holmes' head tilted sideways ever so slightly. Light glinted off his pomade and his eyes constricted as they flitted down her form. He looked like a hungry raptor.

"How does no one see through your disguise, Hooper?" he murmured.

Molly blinked at the change in subject. Her face went very warm.

"You explained it very well yourself not so long ago," she whispered hoarsely, "people see what they want to see."

His eyelid twitched.

"Indeed," his voice was a low growl, "I am having trouble seeing past the curve of your backside in those trousers."

A damn burst within Molly. After a week of nothing, he had no soft words, just his typical, blunt Holmes insouciance .

"Oh! Arg! You!"

She glanced around nervously to make sure no one overheard them and then stepped forward. "Holmes! Mind your tongue!"

He licked that very fleshy aggravator over his teeth. "Hooper, I have not seen hair nor . . . hide of you in a week. You have not answered any of my messages-"

Molly frowned. "Messages-?"

At that moment, several men filed from the classroom nearby griping to one another about the difficulty of their exam. Holmes stepped back and lifted his chin as they strode by. Once they passed, he stretched his neck.

"It seems we need to converse. Where can we be alone, Hooper?" Holmes muttered under his breath.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Oh, she had a mighty need to be alone with him, if only to harangue him for his imperious manner.

"Upstairs," she ground out, "everyone departs for lunch. The upstairs stores will be empty."

Holmes' eyes constricted slightly. Molly steeled herself against the look of heat in his eyes. He waved his hand.

"Lead the way."

She stiffly brushed past him and continued into the nearest stairwell at the end of the wide corridor. Holmes followed on her heels up the narrow stairs, a strange reversal of the first time she had spent any extended time with the man. Light shone in through the skinny windows through each landing. Three stories they climbed up the sun-soaked, overly warm confines. Her heart pounded in her chest and her airways constricted. Neither condition she could blame on the exercise; nay, it was the hound at her heels that quickened her blood.

Holmes dogged her onto the quiet third floor and finally, into the farthest store room where row upon row of medical specimens lined wooden shelves. It was probably Molly's favorite room in the entire college. Light filtered through the stain-glass windows that ran the length of the top of the room. Depending on where one stood, the jars appeared tinged different colours due to the refraction of the light through the red and orange and purple glass.

"Why do I feel as if this is a room in which you spend an inordinate amount of time?" Holmes murmured at her back.

Molly continued towards the back of the stores and its lab benches made with butcher-block counters. She turned only when she felt as far from the entry and discovery as possible.

"Perhaps because this is a place where I feel I belong . . . among the oddities."

Holmes' face almost imperceptibly flinched. A muscle flecked in his jaw before he tossed his hat past her onto the counter.

"Well, you wanted to speak with me?" she chided herself for her too-soft voice.

His brows twitched. "Yes, several times. This past week I sent you no less than four invites and enquiries but you seemed determined to ignore my overtures.'

Molly's brow tightened with a frown. "I have not received any messages from you since I met your family."

His lips turned down. For a moment, he regarded her suspiciously.

She placed her hands on her hips indignantly. "I have not received any missives. If I had, I would not have ignored them, I would most certainly have politely declined every one. I do have some manners."

Holmes' lips pulled tight. He appeared to suppress a retort by half-turning away for a moment and shook his head. A stab of guilt pricked her conscience when she saw his adam's apple bob up and down.

"Wh-What do you want, Holmes?"

He stepped closer, reached up and tugged at her mustache. Her lip prickled as it peeled away. His eyes scanned back and forth across her face.

"I want . . . I want you."

She leaned back on the counter to support herself. The longing in his eyes softened her limbs like butter. Yet still, she wrestled with her acrimony. The question of whether he sent messages did not change the fact that her life seemed like something he sought to claim, but had little plans beyond its procurement.

"A-And now is just a convenient time for you, is it Holmes?"

He unbuttoned his overcoat and slung it over one of the shelves at his right. Several glass jars clinked together under its settling weight.

"Now is extremely inconvenient, in actual fact," he hissed, his lips strained over his teeth while he loosened his cuffs, "in fact, every moment of every day is made inconvenient as of late because all I can think about is possessing you."

Molly felt a flutter deep in her belly.

"Always, always you speak of me as an acquisition," she replied breathlessly. "T-Tell me, Holmes, what will you do with me once you have me bound up in matrimony?"

His nostrils flared as he exhaled a heavy breath. His head tilted sideways and his eyes narrowed. He proceeded to unfasten the buttons securing his blazer.

"Interesting choice of words, Hooper."

She leaned forward until she was right under his nose and stood on her toes. "You are an arse, Sherlock Holmes. Stop! Stop undressing. We are not going to fornicate in these stores."

He tilted his chin down to gaze at her and raised his brows. "No?"

"Grrr, you do not seem to comprehend how displeased I am with you!"

His nose wrinkled. "Your indignation is more than apparent, my dear Hooper, but being displeased with me and not wanting me are two very different things."

Her mouth dropped open. "My god, you are so arrogant-"

His eyes constricted. "I am not wrong, though."

Molly stared into his sea-green eyes for several seconds. Then, with a growl, she swore and slung and arm around his neck before mashing their lips together. Holmes crushed her to him and his plump lips devoured hers like she was his first bit of sustenance after a fast. A satisfied groan rumbled from his chest, one she could feel vibrate her to her bones.

"This, unh, this d-does not mean I am still not extremely aggravated with you," Molly said between kisses, "you are an insensitive, selfish boor at times-"

A hand slid up her body and slid the wig from her head. Her hair tumbled down her back.

"You ascribe unjustified credit to my character," his fingers delved into her hair as he refuted her with a husky timber, "I am, in fact, selfish all the time where you are concerned."

"Arg, Holmes, mmmf, you are so wicked."

"Yes, and you, my darling, are my compliment in every way.'

Then, his fingers were buried deep in her tresses and massaged her scalp. She opened her mouth at the probe of his tongue and let it slide inside. Instantly her insides liquefied at the smooth friction of his strong, fleshy tongue rolling around hers. As she reveled in his debauched thrust and parry, he deftly tugged her shirt from her trousers with his free hand and unfastened the buttons of her waistcoat and tailored shirt. She trembled as long, elegant fingers caressed the binds over her breasts and then down over her quivering belly.

"God, Hooper," he panted, "how do you do this to me? It is witchcraft."

Not content to be the only one compromised, Molly yanked off his cravat and nearly tore open his shirt to expose his torso. At the same, he worked on her bottom half. Her trousers and pants dropped to her knees and her naked bum was hiked onto the counter. With a quick flick of his wrist, Holmes freed his aroused flesh from his pants and stepped between her legs. His rigid member strained up between her thighs and slid roughly against her folds. He did not immediately claim her though, rather, he jerked her binds down to reveal her breasts. An instant later, a hot, wet tongue swirled a nipple into his mouth.

"Unh," she squeezed his shoulders and bent against him while his lips and teeth pulled gently on her aching flesh.

Her core infused with warmth and wetness at the feel of his pull. When his mouth moved to her other breast, cool air on her wet flesh caused her still-tingling nipple to contract. She sucked air through her teeth to prevent a whimper from escaping her lips. At any moment, someone could walk into the room. However, the fear of discovery heightened her arousal. Again, her insides flushed with greedy anticipation. She could just imagine the two of them caught in action, of someone bearing witness to the flexing of Holmes' arse as he drove madly into her body. This time, she could not hold back a moan.

"Hmm, are you ready for me?" Holmes asked gruffly.

Molly nodded with a vigorous wag of her head.

"Open yourself to me," he instructed with a rasp.

She kicked off the trousers that hung from one leg and pulled back her knees until her stomach muscles burned with the effort. Her loose chest binds fell down around her waist. Holmes' gaze slid down her form like a caress. Fingers parted her lower lips and positioned his head. Before she could take a full breath, he rutted inside her in one, breath-stealing plunge without breaking eye contact. She gasped, clung to him with trembling hands and hooked her legs over his rear. A huff spurted from his lips. He adjusted and then thrust until her groin was stretched to its limit. A raw, primal groan filled her ears. He bucked and pulled back slightly to thrust into her again. At her back, glass implements rattled on the counter. Another, equally satisfied sound issued from deep within his chest. Then, he fell into a powerful, needy rhythm that pinioned her atop the counter and conformed her body to his unyielding cudgel.

Molly lost herself to the repetition of his invasion. Countless times he stroked into her marked only by an ever increasing ache of tension and the sound of things toppling over around them. Her eyes fluttered open every so often to encounter a realm where everything was bright and overwhelming. The jars with their blanched specimens shone like amber and the sun's rays burned from reflected surfaces. When she closed her eyes, their pleasure echoed back to her ears like a symphony of crescendoing lust. She squeezed her eyes tighter after awhile and clenched on him as she approached her release. Inside, she pleaded for deliverance. Soon her attention was fixed almost entirely on what was happening between her legs and she began to feel a great unraveling.

"Holmes, Holmes, uuuunh, dear god . . ."

He picked her up then and in a few steps, slammed her against the nearest wall. Their damp bodies stuck together between their open shirts. The renewed claim of him made her throb in the pits of her belly. She locked her arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

"Come for me," he rasped in her ear, gripped her bum tightly and stroked hard into her body, "yes, mmph, you are so deliciously wet for me."

Molly's head slid against the wall, her hair crackled. "I am there . . . oh, god, I am . . ."

"Yes," he thrust her back roughly up the wall, "yes."

With that, Molly's tension reached a tipping point and pleasure flooded her body. Her inner walls contracted on him and then released with waves of pulses. Holmes swore and bucked into her one last time. Inside her, his shaft surged with his orgasm, emptied and began to lose its rigidity. For a spell, they remained entwined against the wall. Every so often, his body twitched and his shaft flexed until finally, she was limp in his arms and he labored to hold her up. Stiffly, he shuffled back to the bench and placed her bum upon it before withdrawing. As ever, his departure left her feeling vacant.

She watched in silence as he retrieved a towel from a drawer near the room's only sink. Heat crept into her face as he cleaned his shaft. His hooded gaze lingered upon her face. He blinked lazily a couple times as if reliving the pleasure of their coupling.

"I assume you wish to do the same," he presented her the towel.

Molly took it shyly. Her face burned while she wiped away the evidence of what they had just done. Holmes tipped her chin up with his finger. His eyes bored into hers as if he were a bit perturbed.

"Do not ever be ashamed of what you do with me, Hooper. I am going to be your husband. This is natural . . . this is right."

"This? Here? This was wholly wrong!" she whispered harshly.

Holmes smirked. "Then it was the right kind of wrong."

She hopped off the counter and jabbed a finger at him. "Do not!"

He raised his brows. "Do not what?"

"Do not be you right now. You are entirely too smug and y-you should not be proud of yourself for seducing me!"

Molly started gathering her clothes. Sherlock laughed.

"Seduce you?" he scoffed in a high tone. "Seduce you!?"

She ignored him and hastily pulled on her clothes while he rearranged his own. She swore as she stuffed her hair back under her wig and glanced around. When she didn't immediately find her missing item, she dropped down on all fours to peer under the nearest shelf. Anxiousness and confusion washed through her frame.

"Oh, for pity's sake," she cried, "where did it go?"

Her voice cracked. Suddenly, she wanted to bawl. She was beyond confused by her sudden rush of emotion.

"What have you misplaced?"

"My m-mustache!"

Her eyes watered. Yet again, she had gotten carried away and risked her career. She was one final hurdle away from achieving her dream, of becoming a doctor, yet she had tempted fate to upend it all. A shadow fell over her and she glanced up to see that Holmes had crouched down with his mustache pinched between his fingers. She swallowed and sat up.

"Hooper?" his voice was disturbingly soft

"No! D-Do not," she whispered.

"What this time?" he asked gruffly.

"Do not be nice to me."

"A moment ago you demanded I not be myself, now you demand I treat you unkindly. What is it that you want exactly?"

Molly's lip quivered. "I do not know!"

Holmes' brows arched. She expected some glib remark, but instead, he pulled her to her feet and then tugged her wig into place. He huffed a breath through his nose as if slightly disheartened.

"Better. Do you have your adhesive?" he asked.

She nodded and produced her small vial of mustache glue. Holmes gently applied a dab and pressed her disguise back on her upper lip. She was exasperated by him, infuriated even. She wanted to hate him, well, maybe dislike him at least, but when it came all down to it, she was never able muster the appropriate rancor. At times like this with his skin flushed from their joining and his face relaxed in thought, he was beyond beautiful. Was she wrong to think there was more to him than what he seemed, she wondered? Was she setting herself up to be crushed by an indifferent husband?

"Mm, your disguise is a bit worse for wear. I apologize, this was not my original intention when I came here."

Molly frowned and tapped at her mustache as the glue dried. Damn his melodious voice!

"It was not?"

Holmes sighed. "No. I did come here to see you, of course, but my initial intention was to ask for your help."

"With a case?" she queried.

He dipped his head. "Of a sort. It is a delicate situation, you see, my brother's fiancé has called off their engagement and has refused overtures from both Mycroft and myself. I suspect it is something more than just a change of heart. I was hoping that you might pay her a visit."

Molly's brows twitched up. "What makes you think she will speak with me?"

Holmes smirked. "Empathy? You are engaged to a Holmes, after all. Perhaps she will take pity on you."

The next day . . .

Molly took another sip of tea as she studied her hostess in the high-backed parlor chair adjacent to her own. Miss Anthea Salisbury was the picture of posh perfection wearing a deep crimson and black-striped dress with her auburn hair rolled into a chic coif. Molly had the distinct feeling she was ashamed of her deportment. Her pale face appeared anxious angled towards the window of her parlor where rain streaked down the panes. Her brown eyes shone as if she had cried in the not too distant past.

"I know why you are really here," she said in a flat tone.

Molly choked on her tea. "Pardon?"

Miss Salisbury finally regarded Molly with a misery shining in her eyes. "Sherlock Holmes sent you, did he not?"

Molly grimaced with guilt. She set down her tea and cleared her throat.

"Miss Salisbury-"

"Please," she sighed, "you may call me Anthea. I loathe formalities."

"Alright, A-Anthea, do address me as Molly then. Yes, Sherlock Holmes asked me to meet with you. He is quite concerned about you and so is his brother, as I understand."

A flush of colour tinged Anthea's cheeks. She laughed sadly.

"Mycroft? I highly doubt that. I would think he is relieved that we are no longer engaged."

Molly put down her tea. Holmes had been correct, she and Anthea had much in common. Molly stared down at her hands for a tick as she conducted an internal argument about what to say to her hostess. It was clear that Anthea's feelings for Mycroft were as tender as her own for Sherlock. She did not want to insult her hostess, but at the same time, she could not bring herself to temper her words with a lie.

"He is heartbroken, in actual fact," Molly said softly as she raised her eyes, "I have not seen it myself, but Holmes assures me it is so."

Anthea shook her head weakly. Her expression took on a faint grimace.

"I-Impossible. Mycroft d-does not have a heart to break."

Molly scooted forward and covered Anthea's hands. "Oh, lord, you cannot believe that is true. I have met him. He is not as cold as some would claim. Holmes is very concerned for him. He is not eating at all, apparently."

Anthea's head wagged defiantly. She wiped her nose with a tissue and laughed sadly.

"Now I know you are not telling me the truth! There is nothing more Mycroft loves to do than eat-"

"Holmes said he refused even a fresh plum pudding."

Molly felt her stomach drop at the pained look on Anthea's face. Molly hesitated with her words once again but decided that honesty was still the best course of action.

"Anthea, please tell me you have a very good reason for calling an end to your engagement. Mycroft thinks you reject him because you are repulsed by his appearance. I would like to provide him with a different explanation, one that will not drive him to any more self-harm."

Anthea blanched. Molly gulped back a lump of guilt in her throat. Even though Holmes and she had discussed the necessity of revealing such details in order to draw Anthea out of her shell, she felt godawful causing the woman any pain.

Suddenly, Anthea began to sob. Molly rose quickly from her chair and wrapped her arms around her weeping companion. She cursed. Why had she let herself be persuaded into going along with this subversion, she wondered?

"I-I-I do not find him repulsive at all," Anthea cried, "I love him. I love that silly man to death."

Molly squeezed her shoulders. "Then why? Why do you separate yourself from him?"

Anthea reached into a pocket and drew out a tiny, cotton pouch. She shakily pulled the drawstring and dumped the contents into her palm. Molly frowned down at what looked like some nuts or seeds.

"Molly, I had to cry off, I had to do it. My father is involved in something . . . something very bad. No doubt you have heard of Mrs. Emilia Ricoletti, the phantom bride?'

Molly's breath hitched. A cold tingle crept up her spine.

"Wh-What does she have to do with your engagement?"

Anthea looked up at her with wide, petrified eyes. "Nothing, but also, everything. Molly, I feel my father has done something terrible. Unlawful even. He is the prime minister. I . . . I would die if Mycroft was maligned by association."

Molly shook her head. "Please, Anthea, tell me what has happened. What do these seeds have to do with anything?"

Anthea closed her fingers over the pods and tightened them until her knuckles were white. "The phantom bride has been spotted on our grounds more than once, Molly. I fear she haunts my father. No, I am certain of it, especially after last week. You see, he received these pips eight days ago. Five orange pips. I thought it was a joke but you should have seen his face . . ."

"Fear?" Molly breathed.

"Terror, sheer terror. I asked him what it meant. He could barely speak. He said it was a message."

"What sort of message?"

Anthea's lip trembled. "Death."