Chapter Five - Problems

Molly awoke to the sounds of quiet groans. Sherlock of Holmes was apparently dreaming. She shifted her body a little and the moans stopped, and his arm tightened about her. It was still dark, but the storm had passed. She could still hear the soft patter of rain on the canvas of the tent. It had a soothing sound.

Molly found herself facing away from the man next to her, their bodies neatly spooned together. It was quite comfortable she realized. Molly had never been so close to a man other than her father before and she found the experience surprisingly nice. She was warm under their shared blanket. His face was gently pressed into the back of her neck, his breath tickling slightly as he breathed in and out. He had one arm around her waist and she decided she could easily get used to this position. She felt safe, in a disturbing kind of way that couldn't quite be described. It was kind of like cuddling up to a strange dog that acted friendly, but you weren't quite sure whether or not it just might eat you alive. Molly shivered a little, it was so strange. She lay there quietly absorbing the feel of him. He smelled nice, she noted, a kind of woodsy and clothing baked in sunshine smell with an underlying scent that she instinctively knew was just him. All in all, it was a very pleasing aroma.

The men from her village did not smell so sweet. Their odor often announced their arrival before they came around a corner. Bathing was not a high priority for them. Molly had made a game of guessing who the man was before turning to look. She could identify most of them by nose alone.

Molly had always practiced her father's instruction that cleanliness was important to good health, besides she had a sensitive nose. It was one of the many reasons why she was still single at the advanced age of thirty-two. Another was her resentment of idiots thinking they were better than she just because of their gender. Most of the townspeople considered her quite plain in appearance. They constantly remarked about her thinness and small frame. More than one country man had remarked in her hearing that they preferred women with a little meat to their bones. Molly resented that they didn't seem to mind hurting her feelings and treating her like a pig or cow that needed to be fattened up for market. The fact that everyone still considered her to be an outlander because her father moved to the village only thirty years ago did not help. Strangers were not accepted easily. The result of all this was inevitable spinsterhood.

Molly didn't mind much. She had never met a man she thought was worth a second glance. Not until recently. Not until this overly tall creature walked into her life. He intimidated her a little, but in spite of the fact that he was often arrogant, annoying and even unbearable, he drew her. She resented that part of her wanted to please him, to seek his approval. She didn't want to be drawn.

He certainly was no prize. He was way too tall, his arms and legs seemed to go on forever. His hands were too big and his feet were massive. He was thinner than she was and resembled a sapling stripped of its limbs. His head was too big. His lips too fleshy. His eyebrows too bushy. When he wore his funny pointy hat, it made his face look too long. Yesterday evening she noticed his beard beginning to grow in and it was ginger. GINGER! Whoever heard of a man having a ginger beard and black hair? In spite of all these oddities, she reluctantly admitted to herself he was rather nice looking. The sum of all his defects had melded into a pleasing whole. And no one would deny that his eyes were beautiful, least of all her. She had never seen blue eyes before. They shone with incredible intelligence and that fascinated her the most. Intelligence was a rare prize, and deserved her respect. Molly wondered what this strange man thought of her and decided wisely that she didn't want to know. She snuggled back closer to him and drifted back to sleep.

- ɸ -

"Woman!" An angry male voice roared." What have you done to me! Get out here now!"

Molly's eyes popped open. What was going on? Were they being attacked? Molly rolled out of the tent, grabbed her quarterstaff and stood in one fluid motion. Her eyes rapidly cast about searching for the source of whatever peril must be faced. All she saw was Sherlock hunched over his pack, a mirror in his hand. "What on earth is going on?" she asked.

"Just look at what you have done!" Sherlock bellowed as he turned to face Molly.

"How am I going to lead you into The Deep when I can't even hold a mirror correctly?"

It was true, his fingers were covered in splotchy bumps and were swollen to the point the mirror was in danger of dropping from his hands. That wasn't the only thing that was swollen or covered in spots and bumps. She could tell his bare feet were affected and his face was almost unrecognizable. He didn't look much like a human.

"Oh my," Molly gasped. "You look terrible. You can't think that this is my fault. I have done nothing to you!"

Sherlock glared out of the slits that were all that were left of his eyes. "Of course it's your fault!" he gritted. "I mention to you that I am allergic to honey and you try to do me in whilst I sleep? What did you do? Pour a whole pot on me?"

Molly opened her mouth to deny any wrong doing but shut it again quickly when a thought occurred to her.

"Oh my," she said again this time in a very small voice. "I do believe you may be correct. I am so sorry."

"Of course I'm correct!" Sherlock snapped. "What is it? Do you hate men so much that you must harm an innocent stranger?"

"I don't think anyone would ever describe you as innocent," Molly retorted with an irritated note in her meek voice. "I didn't do it on purpose. I forgot all about your allergy. It's the love potion. It's base is honey. Honey for a sweet disposition. I can definitely tell you are immune to its effects," She said a rather tartly. "I will make some soothing salve for you. It will help with the swelling."

"Don't bother, I think you've 'helped' more than I can handle for one day, and we haven't even had breakfast yet."

Molly hung her head in shame. It wasn't her fault. But she felt responsible. She should have remembered he was allergic to honey. "I'm truly sorry." she said sadly.

Sherlock stared at her for a few moments then snorted. "I'm going to change and bathe. I suppose everything you've touched is contaminated. I'll have to wash everything inside the tent and burn what can't be cleansed." He eyed Molly as if she were a carrier of the plague.

"It doesn't operate like that." Molly tried to explain. "It doesn't settle on objects. it uses scent and skin to skin contact to work. You are immune to the effects of the potion, so the smell is not a problem. However, we did have some very limited skin to skin contact." Molly's face flushed at the thought of how her words sounded in the bright morning sunlight. "So," she bravely continued, "there must have been enough honey in my skin to trigger your allergies when we . . . touched. Your coat and my blanket are not susceptible." she finished with a rush and stared at the ground.

Sherlock snorted, turned and gathered up a change of clothing, a towel and a cake of soap. "Be ready to leave when I get back," he growled. He headed through the tall grass in the direction of the stream still grumbling under his breath.

Molly sighed. She wished Anderson was sitting across from her right now. She distinctly felt the need to beat him with her staff.

- ɸ -

Molly washed in the rainwater that had collected in the pot left on the drowned remains of last night's fire. She decided going to the stream to bathe was too risky. She might accidentally come across Sherlock. She didn't even want to think about what might happen. It was much safer with a quick wash and change of knickers. He seemed to be taking a very long time. After she had gathered her things together, she began sorting through some of her rarer herbs. Satisfied with her selections, she placed them on the flat rock she had been sitting on and started grinding the herbs with a small smooth rock from her pouch. She hummed as she worked adding a small amount of water.

Molly looked up at the sounds of Sherlock's return. He looked terrible. If anything his face was more swollen. She felt pity swell inside her. After all, it wasn't his fault he looked like an inflated pig's bladder. And his poor lips were swollen and misshaped so much they resembled the mouth of the trout they had for supper last night. Oh dear!

She watched silently as he struggled to pull his boots on his feet. With stiffened fingers the size of sausages he wasn't having much luck. Poor man. Molly stood up from where she had been bending over the rock. She looked at Sherlock steadily.

Pulling on the leather gloves she used for collecting thorns and the like, she made sure her hands and arms were covered from fingers to elbows. She walked over and stood in front of Sherlock.

"Y-you are miserable," she quavered softly. "Please allow me to help Sherlock. I have made a mixture that will sooth the swelling. Will you allow me to use it on your feet? If you don't like it I will stop." Molly smiled a little timidly at him. What was it about this man that affected her so? She wasn't nervous around anyone else.

Sherlock of Holmes stared into Molly Hooper's soft pleading eyes. If his face hadn't been so swollen, Molly might have seen a softening of expression. As it was he merely nodded his assent and waited as she scooped the herbs into her hands.

"This would work better if I had some fat to mix it in, but I think it will still work." Molly frowned slightly as Sherlock held up a hand the size of a horse turnip.

"Wait, I have some." She heard him mumble. He went over to his ever-abundant pack and pulled out a small stone pot sealed with wax. "Will lard work?" he asked.

Molly smiled, nodded and took the small container from his bloated fingers. She quickly mixed her herbs into the lard. Kneeling before a seated Sherlock she began to gently rub the salve onto the tops and bottom of his feet. Rubbing, massaging carefully. She looked up and even through his swollen features she could see a look of wonder. Molly quickly lowered her eyes. This small act of kindness was curiously intimate. Even with the gloves on she felt slightly embarrassed. She ran her fingers up the sides of his ankles and rubbed them gently in small circles. She paused when she heard a groan of pleasure roll over her head. Keeping her head down she continued moving up and down each ankle until all the herbs had been absorbed into the skin.

"May I continue?" she asked softly.

"Oh my, yes," Sherlock groaned in voice that had Molly's face turning beet red.

She took one of his hands in hers and hesitantly began to smooth the ointment over the tops and palms. His hands were strong and rather large. In their current condition they were easily four or five times larger than normal. But even when back to their correct size they would be twice the size of her own. Molly felt a curious tingling in the pit of her stomach.

"They are just hands," she told herself severely. "You can't even feel them properly through your gloves."

No matter how she silently scolded herself, it didn't stop the tingling. When she moved to work the joints of each of his fingers she thought she would die of embarrassment at the sound of Sherlock's quiet hums and intakes of breath. The man was only relaxing, but it was certainly having the opposite effect on her. As she gently pressed her fingers back and forth between his thumb and first finger he sighed so deeply Molly thought she just might faint. She wasn't sure she could survive much more if he continued to sound like that. Time to move on.

Molly stood gracefully and began to pat the mixture on to Sherlock's forehead. Working gently she slowly smoothed the herbs and worked them into his scalp. He didn't really need them in that area but Molly felt compelled to work her fingers methodically through his thick curls and down to the back of his neck where she firmly kneaded the muscles of his neck and shoulders. With grunts of satisfaction and enjoyment Sherlock closed his eyes and basked under Molly's marvelous fingers.

As she worked around to the front of his long neck, she could feel him swallowing rather compulsively as her hands moved smoothly up and down under his chin.

"Careful Molly." she warned herself. She felt like she could massage him here forever. She forced herself to move down to the collar bones and shoulders in front. "Be professional Molly. He's just a patient who needs your healing touch!"

No matter how she scolded herself it didn't change the fact of how much she was enjoying this. Her eyes widened at the thought of how he would feel without her gloves on. Oh dear!

Finally, her fingers moved up and began to knead those high cheekbones, softly moving to caress his nose and ears. Molly had thought touching his neck was overwhelming, but it was nothing to how she felt when she began to massage his lips. "Oh my!" It was especially disturbing the way he kept watching her face. His eyes locked with hers. She thought she was going to drown in those eyes. Molly couldn't look away. She swore to herself that she could see eternity in those eyes. It was devastating. She was vastly relived when he closed them suddenly and sighed deeply. She used the opportunity to glance away and lower her face shyly.

The massage was complete. There was nothing more to do except move away. Molly tried to back away. She truly did. It was her feet that rebelled. They refused to move. She glanced down at them and saw Sherlock's feet placed between hers. They weren't touching, but Molly thought it was one of the most erotic things she had ever seen. Then she noticed something incredible.

The mood was broken and Molly came back to herself in her excitement.

"Oh! Look at your feet!" she exclaimed. "The swelling is almost gone! It must be so fast acting because of the limited amount of honey still in my skin!"

She backed away from Sherlock so he could see that It was true. His feet were back to normal. Molly watched in fascination as Sherlock wiggled his toes and laughed. His hands were smaller as well. His fingers opening and closing into a fist with ease. He was returning to normal quite rapidly now.

He looked at her with a satisfied grin that actually was a grin and not a grimace. His lips were still puffy, but Molly thought they only looked rather like he had been well kissed instead of the embarrassing fish like lips of a few minutes ago. Molly's heart swelled with happiness. She had been able to help after all.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper." Sherlock's deep tones vibrated. For a moment they stared at each other. Then the moment was gone as Sherlock stood and stretched his body about.

Molly could hear the gratitude and bloomed in his praise. She didn't know this man very well, but she was already sure she would do most anything to see him smile.

"Would you like something to eat? I have bread and cheese," he said as he crossed to his pack and pulled the items out along with a knife and began to slice thick crusty slices of bread. Placing cheese on the bread, he carefully handed the food to a now gloveless Molly. She accepted his offering with a trembling smile.

This was certainly a let down after such an intense emotional experience, but Molly was grateful for the ease in which Sherlock faced the situation. He didn't apologize or even mention his reactions to Molly's touch. He didn't comment about Molly's somewhat obvious response.

He just smiled and said, "I'll fetch water for us to drink," and headed off to the small stream.

Molly watched his broad shoulders disappear into the tall grass and promptly felt her feet give out from under her. Oh my! Her emotions were all in a tizzy. What was she going to do? How could she feel this way about someone she couldn't even touch?

Molly was relieved when a more familiar Sherlock returned from the stream with the water. His gruff voice urged her to hurry with her food. He folded the tent and shoved it into his pack with ease. Molly was determined to figure out what was going on with that pack. She hesitated bringing up the subject. She didn't want to spoil the happy feeling that was bouncing about inside her. It could wait. They had a long way to go. There would be plenty of time to ask about the pack.

Molly looked at Sherlock of Holmes. Was it possible she had met him only yesterday? How incredible. She looked at his hair slicked back with salve. She liked his curls best, but this look definitely had something going for it. She took a deep breath and began to relax as they headed across the last mile. They were actually going into The Deep!