Chapter Three - Struggles

Molly found it most difficult to keep up with the stranger's pace. His long legs and swift stride was impossible to match without running. She refused to run. She decided she could track him if he got too far ahead and settled into her comfortable stride which she could maintain for hours on end. Sir Luck, or Shy Lock, or whatever he was called was soon out of sight. He left few signs of his passing. If Molly hadn't been so skillful, she would have soon lost him. Each time she forded a small stream she had to diligently search up and down the opposite bank to pick up his trail. It was almost if he were trying to elude her.

Several hours passed and soon the sun shone straight down on her shoulders. It was time for lunch, but Molly found no indication that her illusive companion had any intentions of stopping. Perhaps he didn't require sustenance? He was so thin she could almost believe he existed on air alone. Well, her body was not so ethereal. She decided would stop by the next stream and take a rest and eat. Squaring her shoulders she marched on for another hour. Coming out of the woods into a small clearing bordered by stream, she saw Sherlock sitting on a large rock patiently waiting.

"It took you long enough," his deep voice grumbled. "I was almost ready to come and get you."

"You did that on purpose," Molly said flatly, "why?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "I needed to know if you could track. The Deep is a dangerous place, one never knows what will happen there. I wanted to be sure you can find me if we become separated."

Molly stood looking at him silently. When he didn't appear to be going to continue his commentary, she sighed.

"So how did I do?"

Sherlock eyed her disdainfully. "Obviously, since you are here you passed the test. You preformed adequately."

Molly knew she had performed more than just adequately; brilliantly was the word that came to her mind. There were only two men in the village who could match her skills and they were now too old to venture out much. She decided not to press the issue. Let the man think he had successfully dampened her opinion of her skills.

He was staring at her oddly; Molly wished she knew what her was thinking. He made her a little nervous.

"Oh-Okay." she stuttered. What was with the stuttering? She never stuttered! What was it about him that made her stutter? "I-I'm hungry. Could we eat lunch now?"

"Not yet," he said shortly and swiftly stood. Removing his cloak he picked up his staff and held it across his body, hands loosely sliding into position. "Prepare to defend yourself."

Molly stood. "What is this? Another test?" With a frown she began to untie the length of rope wound about her middle. Sherlock didn't say anything, just watched her with a curious look as she pulled the rope away from her body. One end was still tied to her belt in the back. Bending over, Molly pulled the rope up between her legs drawing her skirts up as she shorted the length. Finally she tied the loose end to her belt in front, turning her skirts into a makeshift set of pantaloons. Molly picked up her staff and nodded. "Ready."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really think an attacker is going to wait while you transform your clothing?" She had spectacular legs he silently noted to himself before returning his gaze to her face.

"N-n-not really." Molly admitted. "But you said I could prepare myself. Besides, you want to know the best I can do don't you?"

Sherlock nodded silently and abruptly attacked. Molly just barely had time to bring her own staff up in the correct block. For a few minutes no sound could be heard in the clearing except for grunts and the clacking of quarterstaffs. Sherlock was very good Molly discovered. His extreme height was a disadvantage to her, forcing her to be constantly on the defensive. She couldn't find a spot to shift the fight to her advantage. Once as he swung his staff and knocked her off her feet, she heard his crow of triumph but she smoothly rolled to her feet and blocked his next move. Back and forth the two struggled. Fifteen minutes went by, then a half hour, Molly was beginning to tire. If she didn't find a way to end this on her terms he was going to win because of superior strength alone. Slowing, Molly began stagger slightly, leaving openings in her defense. Sherlock ruthlessly took advantage and landed several raps to her ribs and backside. To his credit he pulled his punches enough that nothing was broken, though she was going to be severely bruised, especially on her buttocks. Molly gritted her teeth and bided her time watching his moves closely. Finally she saw him begin to relax as she consistently moved sluggishly. There it was, the opening she had been waiting for. With a swift lightening strike her staff whirled through the air and swept the tall man's feet out from under him. Stepping closer, her staff blurred in her hands as it turned in the air and stopped abruptly just above Sherlock's throat.

"Yield or pay the consequences!" Molly shouted grimly as she stared into the eyes of a very surprised Sherlock.

With the staff merely inches away, he realized it would be a killing blow. How had she managed that? Too late, he realized her ploy, her slowness had been a ruse to distract him.

"Yield," he said softly. He rolled to his feet as Molly stood back and held the staff in home position. He noted approvingly that she did not trust him that the battle was over. "You actually did quite well," he admitted grudgingly.

"I did more than quite well," Molly smirked, "I bested you fair and square."

"You did," Sherlock admitted with a small grin. "But the next time it could be I who wins. We are evenly matched I would say." There was genuine admiration in his voice.

Molly grinned back. "Perhaps," she said in a saucy tone, "or maybe I'll land a few strokes to your backside to teach you a lesson."

Sherlock's eyes glowed with mischief in the sunlight. "Speaking of such, how is your backside?"

"Sore," Molly ruefully acknowledged, then grinned back. "Are you ready for lunch now?"

Sherlock nodded, and the two shared a companionable silence as Molly split the remains of yesterday's rabbit between them. At first Sherlock just picked at the food, but soon he set to with more enthusiasm.

"This is quite good," he mumbled around the food in his mouth. "Why does this taste so different?"

"It's my secret blend of twelve herbs and spices," Molly smiled. "And don't ask, I won't share the recipe!"

Sherlock grunted in disapproval, but continued to devour the rabbit, going so far as to suck rather noisily on the bones in an effort to find every last scrap.

Luncheon finished, the two sat side by side on a fallen tree trunk and rested. They still had a fair distance to go before entering the deep. Molly pushed her hair away from her eyes and snuck a sideways glance at her companion. He was a strange looking man. All arms and legs and bushy hair. He was very different from the short but sturdy village men she was used to. He was thin to the point of emaciation, however as their exercise had shown, he was deceptively strong. His large hands looked almost delicate, as if he were unused to heavy physical labor. His skin was so white he looked like death. His face was long, his high cheekbones were prominently displayed. His face constantly changed to the point of appearing to be that of another person as he turned or shifted expressions. She supposed some women would find him handsome, but his features were so exotic, Molly wasn't quite sure what she thought of him. She thought his eyes were beautiful however. Sometimes blue-grey, sometimes green, they shone with an inner light that totally mesmerized her.

"You're staring at me," Sherlock's low voice rumbled.

"S-s-sorry It's just I've never seen a man who looks the way you do," Molly apologized in embarrassment.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to respond when Molly suddenly stood up and raised her hand in the air.

"Someone's coming," she whispered. Sherlock cocked his head to the side and nodded. They both stood and picked up their quarterstaffs.

Into the clearing strode six burly soldiers. They looked rough and definitely not the type you would want to make friends with. The heavy one in the front smiled broadly displaying several missing teeth.

"Well, well, what do we see here?" He sized up Sherlock and dismissed him as a threat. Next he slowly eyed Molly. His nose began to twitch. "Oh," he sighed lustfully, "I think I am in love."

"Me too!" each of the five other soldiers behind him echoed.

"Come to me, my fair beauty. Give me a kiss!"

"Me too!" echoed his companions in chorus.

"Over my dead body!" Molly growled.

"That'll work," the leader said with a leer.

Molly glanced at Sherlock who gave her a nod. The two raised their staffs and launched into the midst of the rowdy buffoons. With roars of surprise the men pulled their swords and the battle was on.

Quarterstaffs whirling, Sherlock and Molly dispatched three of the objectionable men in no time. Sherlock was then assaulted by two men as Molly faced the leader.

"You don't want to hurt me," the leader crooned. "Let me show you what a real man feels like. Trust me sweetheart, you don't want to miss me." He circled Molly grinning evilly.

Molly had had enough. "Oh just shut up," she shouted angrily and with a precise whirl of her staff managed to break two ribs, crush a big toe and land a blow to the objectionable man's head. He crashed to the ground with a grunt and lay unmoving in the dirt.

Molly looked up and watched Sherlock dispatch the last soldier with a solid whack to the solar plexus. He looked over at Molly and gave her an audacious wink and a grin.

"That was fun." He smiled in delight, there could be no doubt he meant every word.

What kind of man was this Sherlock of Holmes? He seemed to thrive on danger. Molly watched as he rooted about his pack and produced a long length of rope which he used to bind the vanquished lovers.

"That will hold them for a time," he explained. He returned to his pack and pulled out a small leather pouch. Motioning to Molly he said, "You lead for a while. Head west." Molly nodded and picked up her belongings and started out. Sherlock followed behind, scattering a green powder from the pouch behind him.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked curiously as she walked backwards gazing back at Sherlock.

"Spreading track diffuser," he said. "When the soldiers get free they won't be able to follow us."

"O-okay." Molly muttered. She turned and headed toward the deep without another word.