A real world interlude

Sherlock continued to kiss Molly passionately, aware that the dream had served to stir his emotions, inflame his desire for her. Her body was so soft, warm and inviting.

Molly pulled her mouth away from his to demand, "What has happened to get you into this state, Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes to look at her, feeling very grateful that he had only been dreaming. "It was another one of your bloody Barbara Cartland books. Can we talk about it after we've made love?"

Molly giggled. She was straddling him in the manner in which he had pulled her on top of him. "Maybe I don't want to make love right now," she taunted him, sitting up and wiggling against him in an erotic manner that suggested otherwise.

Sherlock groaned and reached up to trail his hands along her breasts. "Vixen," he murmured, doing his own teasing, which elicited a soft gasp from her.

It wasn't long before they were both busy with their touches and caresses. Sherlock allowed Molly to set the pace - for a time. Then he took control, grasping her hips firmly and driving them both into joyful ecstasy and fulfillment.

She flopped onto him as their chests heaved, and they struggled to regain their breath. Sherlock enjoyed the feeling of her chest against his, as he stroked her back softly, contentedly. I wonder how many other forty year old men are enjoying this kind if passion? he wondered, smirking to himself.

"What on earth is that smile - or should I say smirk, about?" Molly asked him curiously, her chin resting on his chest so she could look at him.

"Oh, I was just wondering if many men my age are enjoying such frequent intimacies of a sexual nature," he responded honestly, as his hand stroked her hair.

"Oh, as in having a lot of sex?" asked Molly playfully, with a smirk of her own.

Sherlock frowned at her. "You know I dislike that turn of phrase. Besides, it reminds me too much of what you said about you and your ex-fiancé."

"But you know that wasn't true, and I was just trying to provoke a reaction," she pointed out, reaching forward with her hands to give his shoulders a calming squeeze, "even if I failed abysmally at getting one from you."

"Well, I couldn't let down my guard with you, even if I was pretty certain you were not being truthful." His hands caressed her back. "Nevertheless, getting back to the subject at hand, you shall never hear that phrase from my lips. The point is, I very much enjoy making love with you, and doing it frequently. I hope we can continue to do so for many years to come."

Molly responded with a smile and placed a soft kiss on his chest. "If I have anything to say about it, we will." She continued with, "Well then, what is this latest dream about? It certainly elicited some strong emotions from you."

Sherlock stroked his hands down her back lazily. "I was Lord Sherlock Holmes, on a government sanctioned mission to apprehend Moriarty, who had become a notorious pirate."

"Sounds dangerous," commented Molly, giggling a little at his light touch. "Tell me more."

"Well, Lestrade was the captain of the ship, and I had John act as my first mate, and Mrs. Hudson as the cook on the ship I was using, which happened to be called The Sherrinford." His fingers continued to dance lightly along her back until she squirmed and shifted off of his body. Immediately he felt regret at the loss of her warmth.

"Stop tickling me like that, or I will move away from you properly," she warned and he reluctantly moved to just hold her instead. "Now where do I fit into this? Unless of course it was some other woman you were dreaming about." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Of course you were in it, my love," he assured her. "Actually I have something to tell you first about that high-induced mind palace dream I had, the one that happened when I had just left for that one-way mission after the whole Magnussen thing."

Molly furrowed her brow at him. "You never told me anything about that."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "I guess I didn't think it was that important. In that dream-like state, I imagined myself in the Victorian era. You were there, and you were working in the morgue disguised as a man."

Molly chuckled. "That makes sense, I guess. I don't suppose too many women would have been involved in a profession like mine back then."

"Indeed not," agreed Sherlock, unable to resist the temptation to pull Molly closer to him. "What was really funny, is that you were wearing a false moustache and I didn't even realise you were a woman, yet John did."

Molly laughed. "Isn't one of your catchphrases the fact that you always miss something?"

This time Sherlock joined her with his own chuckle. "That is absolutely correct, and it proved true once again in this dream."

Molly raised her head a little to look at him properly. "Are you saying I was disguised as a man in this dream as well?"

Sherlock's lips quirked at the remembrance of the dream Molly with that ridiculously enormous bulge in her britches. "You were indeed. You were a young lady who was to be forced into marriage with her stepmother's lover. After overhearing a conversation between John and myself, where he said my cabin boy, Wiggins, had been struck ill with food poisoning, you decided to take his place."

"Oh my, you are going to have to tell Billy he was in your dream," Molly said with a grin.

"You haven't told him that he featured in your dream as my valet," Sherlock pointed out, recalling the dream she had had of them being a prince and princess.

"I suppose that's not the sort of thing one necessarily talks about, people featuring in their dreams. They may start to get an inflated opinion of themselves," Molly conceded, as her eyes twinkled. Then she reached to gently tug on one of his curls. "But tell me more about how I managed to trick you into thinking I was a man."

Sherlock grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his hair and placing it on his chest. "You and your obsession with my hair, woman! Quit distracting me."

Molly pouted at him. "But it is so silky and springy, and I can't help myself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "Very well. Apparently your obsession with my hair outweighs your curiosity about the dream. Guess I'll just go back to sleep now." He deliberately shut his eyes as if in preparation to do just that.

He felt Molly's toes brushing lightly up and down his leg. "Aw, come on, honey, don't be like that. You know you want to tell me about your dream." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Now, tell me how I was able to fool you into thinking I was a man."

Sherlock opened his eyes again, and his lips twitched. "Seeing as you asked so nicely..." He kissed Molly's forehead before continuing. "I believed you to be a boy, rather than a man. The most amusing part was that you had put stockings in your britches, and I thought you were rather well endowed for such a young lad."

Molly burst into laughter at that. "This dream sounds like so much fun. Did you find out I was a woman, then?"

"Eventually. Of course, I discovered that John had figured it out from the beginning. To cut a long story short, soon after I found out you were a woman, another sailor discovered it and decided he wanted to force himself upon you. I happened to come along just in time, punch him and take you back to my cabin." He gave Molly a sly look. "Then things got a little, uh, heated between us."

"Mmm, sounds rather sexy," she commented, leaning over to kiss Sherlock on his cheek. He moved his head quickly so their lips met instead, and he flicked those sweet lips of hers with his tongue, drawing a little gasp of surprise from her.

"Who is being the distracting one now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock grinned. "Alright, I'll behave. Getting back to the dream, John interrupted us and then said we would have to marry so I could protect your virtue, because you had been discovered as a woman. Lestrade performed the honours. Later you got some women's clothes from Mrs. Hudson. By that time I was regretting marrying you and trying to get out of it. It seems dream me was just as much of an idiot as I was with you before Sherrinford happened."

Molly sighed. "This dream is quickly going downhill."

"I know," answered Sherlock solemnly. "We spent our wedding night in separate cabins. The next day everything went down with Moriarty. I ended up in a situation similar to what really happened before I jumped off the roof of Barts. Moriarty had had a spy who informed him of my movements, and instead of surprising him with our weapons when he boarded our ship, he surprised us first. He said his men would kill Greg, Mrs. Hudson and John if I did not jump off the ship to my death. It was then that I realised I loved you, and I told John to let you know. Then I began to climb the railing in order to jump overboard."

Molly gasped and reached a hand to squeeze his bicep. "And what happened next?" she enquired breathlessly,

Sherlock looked at her worried face. "I can't tell you, sweetheart. That's when I woke up."

"The dream can't just end there," she exclaimed in horror, biting her lip as a crease formed between her brows.

"I suppose I shall just have to hope it picks up where it left off, much as our dreams have had a habit of doing in the past," he told her, bending his head to kiss her gently.

"Then you had better go back to sleep right now," Molly informed him, tapping her finger on his chest as if to stress the point.

"You are becoming quite the bossy lady, my love," he told her, grasping her hand and kissing it, before placing it back on his chest.

Molly pursed her lips. "I'll make you a deal. If you will try and go back to sleep and continue the dream, I will let you rest your head on my shoulder so I can soothe you to sleep."

"Now that sounds like a very good plan." He shifted his position downwards as Molly scooted closer to the headboard. He then laid his head on the softness of her shoulder, close to her breast as she put an arm around him and stroked his curls in a loving, protective manner. There was something so comforting when Molly held him that way.

He moved his free arm onto Molly and placed a hand gently onto her belly, briefly thinking about the baby she was carrying. He allowed her soft, even breathing to relax him. He thought about the dream, willing it to continue until finally, sleep claimed him once more.

As had happened on the last occasion a few weeks earlier, in which he had had a Barbara Cartland style dream, it manifested into his consciousness and continued, but began at a slightly earlier point in time from Molly's perspective after she had been left alone in the cabin initially while Sherlock had gone to talk to the captain.

Author's note: I hope this little interlude didn't take away from the story too much. I do like to have these glimpses into the "real world" during these Victorian era stories. I know, I'm probably the only person who has ever done anything like that, but I do love my real Sherlock and Molly, and it is fun to show a glimpse into their life to highlight the fact that this is a dream.

So, now that I've made you wait an extra chapter to find out what happens, are you on the edge of your seats with anticipation? Put on your thinking caps and share your deductions about what the next chapter contains.

Don't forget to keep those reviews coming to get your own acknowledgement in the final chapter!

I might try and publish the next chapter this week if enough people respond.