The study doors had not quite settled on their hinges when John Watson jumped from the lounge.

"Oh, for God's sake, Holmes," he muttered. "Go after her."

Sherlock blinked a few times, momentarily stunned by the flight of his fiancé. He inhaled sharply. Hetried to move his feet, but they felt like lead.

"Holmes!"

"Blast, be quiet, Watson. I am thinking."

"Mmm, yes, do not expect too much of my little brother, Dr. Watson. He is, after all, the slow one in this family," Mycroft murmured.

Sherlock sneered at Mycroft but the clock on the mantel to his brother's right seemed to have developed a deafening tick. Without another word he turned and followed Molly out of the study. She moved quickly though, and the front doors of the Holmes Manor were already swinging shut.

"Hooper!"

He was about to sprint to catch up with her when someone stepped in his path. He had not seen his little brother for much of the evening, certainly not in the ball room. So, it was curious he chose that moment to interject himself. However, Sherlock was singularly focused on catching up to Molly.

"Get out of my way, Sherrinford. This is none of your concern."

He pushed by his younger brother but before he could take another step, he heard the snap of paper.

"Oh, but it is, brother mine, for I have a message from Miss Hooper."

Sherlock spun to observe Sherrinford dangle a letter between his fingers.

"Nonsense-"

However, his rejoinder died on his lips. He would recognize Molly's writing anywhere. In less than a heartbeat, he snatched it from his brother's hand.

"Holmes,

I would like to convey my gratitude for your having considered me as a potential marriage partner. However, I no longer believe we are a good match and do not wish to marry you. Best of luck in your future endeavors.

Regards, Hooper."

Sherlock's skin prickled. A chill stole over his flesh. He reread the letter in disbelief.

"Wh-When did she give you this?"

Sherrinford smiled like a cat, threw an arm over the bust of their Great Grandfather Holmes and leaned heavily on the statue as he tapped its scowl with his fingers.

"I acquired it just before the ball."

Sherlock glowered at Sherrinford. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to smash his smug younger sibling's face with his fist.

"She entrusted you with this?" He scoffed. "I do not believe it."

Sherrinford shrugged and produced a second letter from within his suit.

"I also have this one for mummy-"

Sherlock plucked it from his brother's grasp as well. The second letter confirmed the sentiment of the first. Sherlock swallowed a thick mass in his throat. His shoulders tensed and anger replaced confusion. He wadded both letters until they squeaked in his hands from the friction and threw them at Sherrinford. His little brother chuckled as he retrieved the balls of paper from the floor.

"But why?" Sherlock bit out. "Why would she just not inform me herself-?"

Sherrinford smirked as he smoothed out the letters and refolded them. "Would you have listened? Have you ever truly listened to Miss Hooper, dear brother, or have you just done what you have always done? Barked a command and expected compliance?"

"Th-That is a misrepresentation…"

Yet, a shiver of apprehension shot up his spine. Sherlock tugged at his waistcoat. He still had time to stop Molly's flight. Fortunately, his family footmen were notoriously slow. He could not rise to his brother's bait. He waved a hand at Sherrinford and started away once more.

"Yes, go on, Sherlock Holmes, oh great consulting defective," Sherrinford mocked him, "go make her submit again. I am sure you will succeed."

With a growl, Sherlock spun and pounced. Sherrinford dodged the tackle but then Sherlock faked left and cracked his little brother in the jaw. Sherrinford reeled but reached out, grabbed Sherlock by the ears and headbutted him. Sherlock saw stars and teetered. It was only a matter of seconds before they were on the floor and attempting to choke one another out. The commotion must have attracted those still in the study as the doors flew open with a bang that rattled the walls.

"For the love of God, stop this at once!" Came Mycroft's muffled directive.

Sherlock was too intent on throttling his brother. Neither he nor Sherrinford paid heed to their older brother and continued attempted murder on one another. Just when Sherlock thought he might get the upper hand; a plaintive cry pierced his ears.

"Mummy!" Mycroft belted out.

Sherlock looked up to see his mother stomping towards them in full night attire. He grimaced. They had awakened the beast.

"Shite!" He muttered.

He slammed his brother to the floor, eager to get in one final swipe. However, instilling any kind of fear in his sociopathic younger sibling was as frustrating as it had always been. Sherrinford was incapable of taking anything seriously, including his own mortality. He only smirked and wagged his brows.

"Gaaah!"

Sherlock felt a pain like no other as someone pinched his ear and then twisted it. His mother scolded him and wrenched so hard he was forced to stand. Across from Sherlock, his little brother's face was also twisted in agony as he was yanked to his feet; his ear similarly gripped firmly in his mother's other hand.

"Not now, not ever," the matriarch hissed, "not in my house, you wretched little heathens."

"Mother-"

"Quiet," she barked. "Mycroft, kindly explain."

Their older brother snapped to attention. He sucked in a breath.

"Miss Hooper fled. Sherlock went after her and was unsuccessful…?"

"Sherlock?"

"It is none-"

Their mother harumphed.

"She dropped him, mother," Sherrinford blubbered in a high voice. "Broke it off, ended it, rejected him-"

"Oh?" Mrs. Holmes barked. "How convenient."

"Convenient? Mother?" Sherlock huffed through the piercing pain in his ear.

"Convenient, yes," she slacked her hold and released Sherlock.

He stood up and smoothed back his hair. A deep furrow settled into his brow. His anger continued to percolate and he had to close his fists to quell the shake in his hands.

His mother kept Sherrinford's ear clenched tightly in her fingers. "How did you come to be a part of Miss Hooper's so-called rejection, Sherry?"

"Aaaah, m-mother, please. I am just a messenger," he replied in a kind of sing-song voice.

"Messenger my arse," she spit, "more like harbinger of expedient misfortune. You appreciate that you are but a cutting from this oak, boy? You think I would not know if you tipped the odds just to win a silly wager?"

"What wager?" Sherlock boiled over again and lunged at Sherrinford.

Mycroft wedged himself in between them.

"Get out of my way!" Sherlock ground out as he tried to shove his way by.

He may as well have been trying to tip over a monolith from Stonehenge.

"I assure you, brother, you will find me quite impassible."

Sherrinford cackled then howled in pain. "Mo-ther!"

She sighed and turned towards Sherlock while still wrangling her youngest by the ear. "It was a trifle, my dear, a bit of amusement."

Sherlock clenched his teeth.

"Ah, of course, Mother," his voice was deadly quiet and somehow, he knew exactly what they implied, "just a wager about whether or not Miss Hooper and I would ever exchange vows? Have I deduced that correctly?"

His mother blanched. "Sherl-"

He pushed off Mycroft. "A trifling wager with a known gambling addict."

Sherlock backed away from them. He shook his head at his mother. Her eyes misted over.

"O-Oh, Sherl . . ."

Sherlock wiped a hand over his face. He cast his eyes down. He couldn't look at his mother, nor his brothers. He staggered back and then pivoted so quickly that his vision swam. His knees threatened to buckle. He could almost hear the swoosh of sand as his inner mind palace walls sloughed away.

"Ha!" He heard Sherrinford sputtered a laugh. "Brother, in the end I really did not have to do anything. You did it all yourself. You see that, do you not?"

He continued to chuckle. "Oh yes, you see it-"

His brother screeched from what was likely another twist of his lobe. Sherlock forced his feet to keep moving. His brother had lanced a boil that Sherlock had ignored; taken a scalpel right to his festering relationship with Molly and exposed its rotting foundations. His stomach roiled. He had bullied and mistreated the woman he loved and quite possibly lost her for it.

He stumbled from his parent's home out into the night air but there was no relief from its stifling atmosphere. Sherrinford had forced him to finally admit an agonizing truth.

Molly Hooper deserved better.

Clack!

Molly bolted up.

Clack!

Something rattled off her window for a third time. She scooted from her bed and peaked out to the back lane of her home through her curtains.

"Eek!"

She jumped at the sight of a dark figure below. Her heart pounded. Then, almost on cue, the figure stepped back into the moonlight and she recognized his face. The whooshing of her blood in her ears subsided slightly but the artery just where her neck met her jaw started fluttering wildly.

"Holmes," she whispered.

He was still attired in his finery from the ball, but his hair was tousled as if his hands hand been run through its thick mass countless times. With shaking fingers, she unlatched her window and slid it up.

"You come to haunt me, Holmes?" She rasped, trying not to raise her voice to a level she might wake her uncle. "My very own Abominable Groom?"

He cleared his throat. "Forgive me Hooper, I know this is all untoward-"

"Dear me, untoward?" She repeated. "Sherlock Holmes?"

Despite her attempt at levity, Molly's voice quivered. She still felt grievously injured. She had torn away the grafts of his soul that had knitted to hers earlier that evening what remained was a gaping wound from which she knew she would never recover.

"I-I am sorry to disturb your slumber," he murmured, she could just faintly hear his words waft up to her window, "you must be very tired."

Molly could not help but wonder who stood beneath her window with such a defeated expression. This was not the Holmes she knew.

"I am."

He grimaced. A long stream of vapor escaped his lips as he let out a breath into the cool night air. Then he cursed and flipped on a top hat. He twitched its brim, made a stiff bow and turned.

"Do not take another step, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered as loudly as she dared. "I am coming down."

She watched his shoulders tense and then sag. She held her breath until he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then she stuffed her feet into her slippers and flew downstairs and through the house, closing doors as she went until she was in the kitchen and insulated from any curious ears should they awake. She paused only momentarily at the rear servant's entry to the lane. Her fingers trembled on the handle. She did not know if she had the fortitude to do what she needed to do but opened the door all the same.

"Kindly come in off the street, sir," she called softly.

Despite Holmes' apparent unease, his eyes glittered dangerously. He might be feeling the sting of a whip, she surmised, but the beast within was hardly tamed.

She backed away as he traversed the threshold and bumped into the large butcher's block in the middle of the kitchen. He stepped inside and pulled the door closed with a muted click. The kitchen seemed to contract in his presence. Molly's hand flew to the collar of her nightdress where she gathered its lapels together. It was true that he had already seen her in every state of undress, but something felt different, like she was in the company of a stranger. It seemed an age before he dragged his eyes from the floor but then his gaze pierced her soul. She gulped back a lump. Without an utterance, Sherlock flipped his hat off and placed it on the counter at his right. He paused a moment and inhaled a deep breath. His eyes never dropped.

"I rehearsed an entire speech on the journey here," he mumbled, "but now that I find myself before you, I cannot remember a word of it."

"Good," Molly replied.

His brow hiked. His lips drew in a line. Ah, she told herself, there was the man she knew.

"So," he grumbled, "what you wrote to me was the truth, you would like to be released from our engagement?"

"Yes."

"And what I . . . articulated . . . after our dance has no bearing on your decision?"

"No."

His face contorted in confusion, or was it pain? She could not entirely gauge his expression. Her simple answers were callous, she knew. They cut through her own psyche like a hot blade, but they were all she could manage without falling to pieces.

"I-If this is your answer, I wonder why you bother to speak with me at all."

Molly took several breaths to stave off tears. The back of her eyes kept tingling. She dared not blink. She knew the moment she blinked her tears would burst forth. Instead, she crossed the distance between them and stood under his nose. She felt a puff of air over the top of head. When she peered up, Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed. Molly fumbled with the ribbon at her throat.

"Hooper," he whispered. "Molly-"

She yanked at the ribbon again, but it refused to budge. She jerked it several more times until tears leaked from the corners of eyes.

"Please," Holmes said in a strangled voice, "do not . . . cry."

She sniffed. "I will do as I please."

"Yes, of course," he replied huskily.

Finally, the ribbon gave way. Her nightdress slipped from her shoulder.

Holmes' lips slacked as he gazed down at her bare collar.

"What is it that you want, Molly Hooper?" He rasped. "I would do anything that you ask…"

She licked her lips. "Anything?"

He groaned and cupped her face. She grabbed his waistcoat and launched herself up in her toes. Their lips met in a desperate fumble. She leaned into him. There was too much stiffness, too much starch in his attire. She needed it off. The only firmness she wanted to feel was the hard press of his muscular frame. He seemed reticent to match her pace, though. His fingers remained on her face; thumbs stroked her jaw.

"Holmes!" She huffed.

"Hooper," he growled, "y-you are making it impossible for me to . . . to be better b-behaved."

"You are no longer my fiancé. I do not care a whit about your behavior."

Holmes growled and in the next instant, he sucked in air against her lips and she was devoured. He walked her back into the butcher block and with a quick tug, pulled her nightdress down. She shook the sleeves from her wrists as it whisked down her body. Once free, she tore at his buttons and divested him from layer after layer of his finery until their naked torsos were pressed together. Her hands next flew to his trousers be he caught her wrists and stilled her frenzied fingers. When she looked up into his face, his expression blazed. She opened her mouth to protest his sudden cessation of their activities but his brow twitched and his eyes narrowed darkly.

"This is your best expectation of me, is it then?" He asked gruffly.

Molly's skin prickled. For a moment she thought he was going to redress and leave but he snorted and gripped her by the hips. With a quick spin, he faced her towards the butcher block. Molly pressed her hands against its worn surface to steady herself, she could feel every ridge of every blade that ever bit into the wood. He stepped back a second and cool air goose-pimpled her skin. She heard a rustle and then felt the hard press of him into her backside. She nervously curled her fingers and scraped her nails across a deep groove. She could not help but be intoxicated by the very physical lust he exhibited.

His hands slipped over her skin of her belly and her chest. He ground his hips into hers, so intimate and intense was his contact that she could have described every detail of his engorged member, sight unseen. He pulled her back up against him and she felt the graze of his lips and then the gentle drag of his teeth over the taut flesh that covered her trapezius muscle. She moaned.

"Unh!"

Fingers slid from her belly and delved between her legs. A calloused hand cupped her breast and lightly pinched a nipple between two knuckles. His hips cycled and his shaft wedged itself more firmly into the seam of her arse as his fingers stroked over her clit. He held her that way, his hips moving in rhythm with her instinctive bucking until she was panting and shuddering and had made his fingers slick with her arousal. His breaths came ragged at her back. She felt the dribble of his pre-cum slip down her crack.

"Unh, please, Holmes…"

He huffed against her neck and then pushed her up against the butcher block again. A hand stroked up her back and he urged her torso down to the table until her breasts were flattened against it. Another hand stroked over her cheeks and spread her legs. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as his large head rubbed impatiently at her entry, pushed apart the folds and the pressure between her legs increased. Once his invasion began, his hands found her waist and he thrust inside until the hairs of his lower belly were imprinted on her backside.

She let out a quivering whimper. He grunted.

"This is what you want," he leaned over her, his voice shaking, "no softness?"

"God, yes," she nodded.

His next thrust pushed her hard against the block and it pinched the skin at her hipbones. She clenched on him with her sex. A quake coursed his body.

"Mmph."

He thrust again.

Molly had to strain on her toes to meet him. His hold tightened and he increased his pace until all she could hear was the rhythmic slapping of their joining intermingled with his harsh breaths. She made a sound with every pinion, its volume increasing until she was crying out and begging him for release. Her hands clawed at the table as the tension within her built. Her legs burned as she held her bum aloft and absorbed his every stroke but soon all she could feel was that singular point where they were joined. Just when she thought either he or she might tip over the edge, he withdrew. He picked her up off the table and turned her around. Then, hiked her bum up on the table.

"I-I," he wheezed, his eyes were wide, his pupils large and fathomless, "I need you in my arms."

Molly nodded. Se felt inexplicably teary-eyed even as she thought she might expire from lust. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he thrust back inside her body with a moan. He shook in her arms and then kissed her with desperation on his lips. She buried her hands in his hair and held on as his pace resumed. She was gone before she could drag in another breath. Holmes mumbled an endearment and stroked into her a final time as she gasped and came. As soon as he felt the first spasm, he buried himself and shuddered through his own culmination. His shaft flexed and emptied deep in her womb.

They rested there in one anther's arms for several minutes. Molly dropped her forehead to his shoulder and tried to regain her faculties. Holmes murmured endearments and stroked her back.

"Stop," she panted.

His hand stilled.

"Molly-"

"Please, do not make this any more difficult, H-Holmes."

His breath hitched. "Wh-What was this then, Hooper?"

A new fissure ripped through her soul.

"Goodbye, Holmes," she whispered miserably. "This was goodbye."