After Molly left the cabin, Sherlock spent about ten minutes in contemplation. He had found to his surprise that he enjoyed her company. She was an intelligent woman, as he had discovered when they discussed the Mendelev book, and she was an outstanding chess player. He had never met a woman who could play chess. Then again, he didn't usually interact with women at all. Mycroft had tried on several occasions to convince Sherlock that he needed a woman to "soften your edges a bit."
Sherlock had merely retorted, "Sentiment is a chemical defect, found in the losing side." He was not about to allow any woman to ruin his ordered existence. A bachelor he was, and a bachelor he would remain, quite happily so.
Curiously, after those ten minutes had elapsed, Sherlock began to feel uneasy. He wondered whether he should have accompanied Molly on her walk along the deck, in order to protect her. Of course, that might have looked strange if anyone saw him walking with a cabin boy. Something niggled at him however, and on impulse he decided to seek her out.
He walked along the deck, seeing no one at first but one sailor scrubbing part of the deck. He continue to walk along and suddenly heard a scream. Immediately he increased his stride to find the source of the scream.
Sherlock rounded a corner and was extremely disturbed at the sight that met his eyes. He could see Molly pinned against a bulkhead by a burly sailor, her hair no longer inside its cap. A quick glance was enough to indicate to Sherlock the man was about to force himself upon her. With lightning speed he reached the man and pulled him backwards roughly by the collar, shaking him. "Get off her, you blackguard," he shouted. Then he let fly with a punch to the man's nose which left him sprawled on the deck, senseless. He saw to his relief that the man's britches were not fully opened.
Then he heard Molly's voice say in a whisper, "Sherlock, you saved me."
He turned in time to see Molly fall to the deck in a dead faint. His first reaction was to think, Not again! Then his eyes widened as he beheld her properly. Her breasts were completely exposed from where the sailor had ripped her shirt, as was her lower body where he had pulled down her britches and drawers. Sherlock gulped and he felt his breath hitch. He felt the involuntary response of his own body to her nakedness and was mortified. What the hell was going on?
It must just be the shock of seeing a naked woman, he decided. He hadn't seen a woman's body that way in the twelve years since he had spied Irene's in the moonlight as a gauche, idealistic sixteen-year-old.
He cast a quick glance towards the man who was still unconscious, then hastily went to Molly and tried not to look as he first pulled up her britches. His fingers involuntarily touched the curve of her breast as he tried to pull the shirt closed, and he felt a tingle run through them. Unfortunately, the garment was now missing its buttons due to the rough nature of what the sailor had been doing to her.
He was in a quandary. Should he wait for the crewman to wake and threaten him? Or should he take Molly back to his own cabin? He knew that if the sailor was permitted to return to his crew mates, Molly's secret would be exposed. However, his anxiety for her wellbeing won out. He picked up the cap which had fallen a few feet from where she lay, then lifted her, holding her close to him. Her shirt fell open as he did so and he caught his breath once again. Her sweet curves were beckoning him, tempting him in a way he had never experienced before. Steeling himself, he pulled her closer so that her chest was against his and strode back to his cabin.
Her eyes fluttered open as he laid her on the bed.
"You saved me, Sherlock. I prayed that you would save me, and you did," she said almost incoherently. Then, as if the shock of it all came back to her she sat up, seemed to notice her state of undress and pulled at the shirt to close it once again, then began to sob.
Sherlock felt his chest tighten at the sound. Molly looked so innocent, so vulnerable. A surge of anger spread through him and he clenched his fists, wishing he had killed the man instead of just punching him. Then he forced himself to relax and instead sat on the edge of the bed next to Molly. Awkwardly he put his arms out towards her, not really sure how to offer comfort, but instinctively knowing he should do so. She stretched out her arms to put them around his waist then buried her head against his shoulder as his arms came around her. He rocked her gently as she wept, making soft, soothing sounds. "It's okay, Molly, nobody's going to hurt you again. I will make certain of it."
She finally stopped crying and pulled her head back to look at him. Her soft brown eyes gazed at him in gratitude, and her lips still trembled slightly.
Without conscious thought, Sherlock bent his head slightly, intending to kiss her cheek comfortingly, but somehow his lips found hers. A streak of sensation shot through him at the touch of her lips, which were very soft and yielding. Sherlock had never known that the kiss of a woman could be so captivating. Fearing his own reaction, he tried to pull back, but Moly's small arms were still around his waist and she was leaning in towards him. He could feel her chest against his and was enthralled by the sensation.
Molly made a little sigh of what was it - pleasure? against his lips which he couldn't help responding to. She is certainly not screaming now as she did when that filthy sailor tried to force his attentions on her, he thought vaguely, as his usually ordered mind became overloaded with these unfamiliar sensations. Am I feeling desire for a woman after all these years?
By the way his body was reacting to her, he assumed so. He continued to kiss her, feeling the sweetness of her mouth as it opened under his kiss. Fire erupted within him as he felt her small hands slip underneath his shirt. Why do her hands feel so good on my skin?
His own hands moved beneath the ruined shirt to push it aside as his fingers sought the curves of her breasts. He heard her sharp intake of breath, but she offered no resistance.
Instead, her hands moved away from his back to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her fingers delicately along his chest. His dulled senses registered the fact that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He, who prided himself on his ability to put intellect above everything else, was completely lost in the waves of heady passion he had never expected to feel.
His senses dimly registered a sound, and a moment later an exclamation of, "Oh, my God, Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?"
Sherlock's face flamed with embarrassment, as he drew back from Molly and tried to pull her shirt closed as well as his own, before turning to face his friend.
John was standing just inside the cabin, with a look of utter astonishment on his face.
"I…I can explain," he stammered, feeling like a schoolboy who had been caught in an indecent act.
John narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "This should be good, coming from the man who has always been adamant that he has no interest in women."
Molly came to his rescue then, biting her lip and saying hesitatingly, "I...I was walking on the deck and one of the...sailors followed me. He...confronted me, saying he knew there had been a rich lady named Hooper at the inn. He pulled off my cap, and saw I was a woman, then he tried to…force himself...on me. He…he ripped my shirt and pulled down…my britches, but Sherlock saved me just in time, by punching him."
"She fainted, John," explained Sherlock hastily, "so I brought her back here and then, I don't know what happened. She was so frightened and when she came back to consciousness I was just going to kiss her cheek to comfort her." He flushed again and licked his lips nervously. "I don't understand myself what just happened."
John looked from one to the other, then addressed Sherlock. "It appears your attentions at least were not unwanted. My God, I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself." He shook his head and a slightly amused smile crossed his lips.
Sherlock looked away from John, feeling shame and mortification. "I don't know what came over me," he muttered, retreating further from the woman beside him.
"So, what do you propose to do about this situation?" asked John with a raised eyebrow. "It sounds like the jig is up in regard to this cabin boy pretense. Presumably this sailor chap is going to tell everybody you are harbouring a woman on the ship, and that will pose a danger for her."
Sherlock raked a hand through his hair. "Molly is under my protection, and I will make it clear that nobody is to get near her."
John snorted in derision and rolled his eyes. "You really think they're going to listen to you? As far as they are concerned, she will be fair game."
Sherlock looked at Molly who had gasped in horror. Her eyes were filling with tears again, as she said in a low voice filled with pain, "I am so sorry. I should have just tried to run away and hidden from my stepmother instead of causing this trouble."
Impulsively, Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it gently. "It is what it is, Molly. We just have to deal with the situation as it is now." Then he looked at John. "Do you have any suggestions as to how I can keep Molly safe?"
"I do," John said slowly, with a twist to his lips, "but you might not like it."
"Well, tell me anyway," Sherlock begged his friend. I should never have let her leave the cabin alone, he thought savagely to himself. This is all my fault, and I need to make amends.
John took a deep breath, then exhaled, before saying, "If you offered her the protection of your name, the sailors wouldn't dare try to take advantage of her."
Sherlock looked at his friend in bemusement. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
John looked at him unsmilingly. "Yes, Sherlock. As far as I'm concerned you've already compromised the girl anyway. Look what you almost did to her, so apparently you have already discovered you have, incredible as it seems to me, an attraction to her."
Sherlock stood and paced the floor of the cabin in agitation. "There's got to be some other way, John. You know I hate women."
John rolled his eyes. "You bloody moron. What you were doing just now when I came in here, was not the action of a man who hates women." He paused, then added, as a smile curved his lips, "At least not this woman."
Sherlock glanced over at Molly who had pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them as if she were trying to protect herself. She looked so vulnerable, and his heart lurched. Can I really do what John is suggesting? Do I even have a choice at this point?
He thought for a few moments then made his decision, pressing his lips together and nodding to himself. This situation was entirely his fault and he had to set it right.
"I'll do it, John. Tell Captain Lestrade he has a new duty to perform, and that he needs to get here right away."
"What…what are you going to do?" asked Molly, with a look of utter bewilderment on her face; she had obviously not understood the conversation the two men had been having.
Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. "There is nothing else to be done. I'm going to have to marry you, and Captain Lestrade can perform the ceremony because he has a licence to do so."
"No...no, I can't let you do that. I won't," she said with a note of resolution in her voice.
Sherlock sat back down on the bed. "Molly, you have to understand. I don't have time to think of any other solution. Within the next day we will be possibly in range of Moriarty's ship and I will have other things to worry about. I don't need the added stress of attempting to find a way to keep you safe, when this is the most practical solution." He couldn't help the way his lips tightened as he added, "For all I know, this may be my last mission. There's never any guarantee that I will succeed."
"I am just an encumbrance to you. You should just throw me overboard and be rid of me already," she said miserably in a low tone.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now you are just being overly dramatic, Molly. You will marry me and I shall hear no more about it, do you understand?" He spoke sternly to her, and was relieved when she nodded.
"Well that's all good then," said John brightly. I'll go get Captain Lestrade now, shall I?"
Sherlock nodded, and John departed. After he had left, Molly asked hesitantly, "Are you sure you want to do this? Is there really no other way?"
Sherlock sighed, looking at the young woman who still had her hands clasped about her knees, thinking once again how sweet and innocent she looked. "If there is, I cannot think of it right now. I have never wanted to be married, but if I must do so, at least I know there is an attraction between us. I hope that you do not find the thought of being with me intolerable."
"Of course not," she said without hesitation, and he heard the note of passion in her voice. "I only feel terrible to have forced you into this situation."
"We must just make the best of it," he told her, then pursed his lips. "I suppose we should have a ring for you. I have a signet ring that I can give you."
She looked at him wide-eyed. "Do men also wear rings?"
Sherlock chuckled. "I have not heard of such a thing, but if it would make you happy, I can give you this ring to put on my finger as well." He pulled off an ornate ring from his right hand and gave it to her. He would take off the signet ring from his left hand when it was time to place it on her finger.
It's strange, Sherlock thought to himself. I should be angry about this, being forced to marry; I never had any intention of doing so, but I'm not. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he was rather interested in exploring the relationship further. He had the distinct feeling that if John had not interrupted them, he would have made love to Molly anyway, and ruined her virtue.
"I… I should probably change my shirt?" suggested Molly, looking down at the ruined garment she still wore.
"That is most definitely a good idea," Sherlock agreed, giving her a slight smile. "I am sorry I cannot provide you with a gown. Tomorrow we shall go and talk to Mrs. Hudson, and I will see if she has any extra clothes with her." His smile broadened somewhat as he added, "I would not be at all surprised if she brought along an extra trunk of clothing, just in case. Perhaps you can alter some of her clothes so you can dress as a woman."
"I would like that. Thank you, Sherlock." She got off the bed and headed to her small cabin, reappearing a couple minutes later in her other shirt. In the meantime, Sherlock had re-buttoned his own shirt.
A few minutes later, John returned to the cabin, closely followed by Captain Lestrade.
Lestrade looked at Sherlock and Molly and said slowly, "So, it's true then. I half thought Doctor Watson was jesting about this. Now I see I was mistaken. Are you sure you wish to do this?"
Sherlock looked at Molly. She looked nervous, and he took her hand which was trembling slightly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at him trustingly, and he was filled with a desire to protect her at all costs. "I'm sure."
Author's note: Don't let anyone tell you that reviews don't make a difference in the motivation of an author. It is precisely the reason I am publishing another chapter this week, to thank those who did take the time to respond to the last one. Thank you also to Eve and the other guest reviewer for adding your pleas for another update to the mix. If more people would respond to the stories they read, I'm sure other authors would also update faster. So please, don't hesitate to leave that feedback, even if you don't have an account on this site.
So, of course, Sherlock saved her. Was there any doubt she would be rescued? Were you expecting to see the passion flare between them so quickly? Did you enjoy that first kiss? I love writing those. Did you find it funny that John interrupted them?, To think what might have happened if they had not been interrupted…
Will Sherlock be able to go through with actually marrying Molly, and if so, what will happen on their wedding night? As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts and guesses, it adds to the fun!
By the way, if you happen to be a Barbara Cartland fan, you will know that the heroines always think that they are an "encumbrance" to the hero. I couldn't resist using the term myself. If you are indeed a fan of that author, do you feel I am following her style? As I have done with my other two Victorian stories, each chapter is the title of an actual Barbara Cartland novel. Sometimes it's hard to find one to fit, though!