Hello lovelies! I am SO sorry that it has been so long since I last updated. School, work, extracurriculars, etc blah blah blah. Either way, it was terrible that it took me so long to post this. Call it the worst case of writers block EVER. Anyways, I am happy that I am finally back to post for y'all again. I will not make any promises on the next update, because I am planning a 5K this semester, taking organic chemistry, doing 17 credit hours, and am the president of three clubs. But I will try my best to have another update out in another month or two. Think of this as a (late) holiday present. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who stuck with me!
Mollie could never have envisioned experiencing the traditional definition of domestic bliss with Sherlock Holmes- they were both too unconventional to find satisfaction in that manner of living. However, she was surprised at how easily she settled into her new life with Sherlock in the following weeks after they arrived in Oxford. Mollie was quite content in being able to run her home. She reveled in the simple pleasures of living without financial constraints; she was able to visit the market every day, purchasing all sorts of interesting ingredients for meals, and embracing the sights and scents of the busy city. Sherlock had urged Mollie to be very discreet in her behavior about town, so she usually only said that she was new to Oxford, and had recently moved here with her husband. When Mollie returned to the cottage, she would clean up, and if Sherlock wasn't home, she would read some of the books in his study. She knew that she really shouldn't be reading his books, but the science described in his books drew her back every time. She took great care in returning the books to their original place without any markings in the hope that Sherlock wouldn't discover that she was reading his books. When Sherlock returned to the cottage in the evening, Mollie would have a hot meal waiting for him. They would eat supper, and shortly afterwards Mollie would go to bed. Sherlock would usually join her a short time later. Mollie still occasionally would have nightmares about her father's illness, and Sherlock would quietly soothe her when she woke from the dream. They never spoke of her nightmares the next morning, something that she was relieved for. She occasionally received letters from Mrs. Hudson, and would happily read reports on her father's health; while it wasn't improving, it wasn't declining, a fact that brought hope to Mollie. However, domestic bliss, like most other forms of bliss, must end at some point, and Mollie's newly discovered love for keeping a home was unsettled by a dark haired detective.
It began with small things. Mollie took pride in the meals she prepared for Sherlock each night; food was something that was deeply important to her, as she didn't always know if she would have a good meal with her father's illness depleting their financial resources. So when Sherlock began to refuse the meals she prepared for him, she was offended at many different levels. It felt like an insult to her cooking and to the poverty she had spent the past few years in. Despite the issues at hand, Mollie was not one to provoke conflict, so she instead bore his behavior as quietly as possible. Had it been the food alone, Mollie could have tolerated Sherlock's behavior. But as the months wore on, Sherlock became unkind towards Mollie. It started with Mollie asking him about the case he was trying to solve.
"Have you made any progress on your case at the university, Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked up sharply at her question and narrowed his eyes. Then, in a snap instant, he muttered, "No, I haven't made any bloody progress. Have you made any progress on cleaning up the dishes from dinner?"
When Sherlock looked back at Mollie's face, he saw the hurt in her eyes. She quietly asked, "Is that all I am for you, then? A servant?"
Sherlock looked up and said, "Well, the job description asked for a housekeeper and a woman who could pretend to care about me. So far, you seem to be doing an adequate job at the second, but I think the first area could use some work. I would recommend the dishes as a starting place."
He turned back to the parchment he was illustrating some of the scenarios in his mind on, vaguely aware of the sound of dishes crashing into the tub of water, followed by vigorous scrubbing. He heard Mollie's light footsteps come back towards him, and when he looked up, her face was red and blotchy, with a few tears leaking from her eyes.
"How can you be so kind, so good sometimes, and then turn around and treat me how you just did? I am not a case to be solved or a game to be played- I am a human being, with real feelings, and you would do well to remember that."
Sherlock watched, stunned, as Mollie turned and marched away, small fists balled at her sides. He heard the bedroom door slam. He involuntarily leapt to his feet, and found himself going towards the bedroom. He tried to push open the door, but found he couldn't.
"Those safety precautions Mycroft put on the bedroom door are finally useful!" he heard Mollie call out from the bedroom.
Sherlock sighed in frustration, and ran his fingers through his curls. "Mollie, please open the door."
"No."
"Mollie, please, open the door. I am sorry for what I said."
Sherlock figured that the word "sorry" would repair the damage done. So he was shocked when Mollie replied back, "You will have to do with a better apology than that. You can sleep in your study or the parlor tonight."
Sherlock growled in anger at her perceived impudence, and shouted, "Fine. See how you feel when you wake up alone after a nightmare tonight."
No response came from the other side, and Sherlock suddenly felt even worse about himself. He lamely walked back to the parlor, and briefly considered going to sleep right then on the couch, before he thought better of it and decided to do some late-night reading. He headed straight to the science books in his library, when he noticed that something seemed out of place. He looked closer at his books on the human body and realized that they had been used. The dust that should be in front of them on the shelf was not there. He also saw that two of the books were slightly out of alignment with all the other books on the shelf. Someone had been reading his books. And considering there was no evidence of a break-in or robbery (he would know), this meant only one person could be reading his books.
As he walked to Oxford early that morning, all he could think of was how foolish he had been for missing the signs of Mollie's ability to read. The candlewax burns on her thumbs when he first met her- clearly evidence of late nights spent reading. A few small cuts on Mollie's fingers- obviously from turning a page. Mollie's vocabulary, so advanced for someone of her station- obviously she had gleaned her diction from reading. How else would her father's shop have remained open without Mollie being able to read recipes for herbal tinctures? Mollie Hooper, a small girl with no particularly special features or qualities, had deceived him. Though he would concede that Mollie was quite smart, particularly for someone of her station. Sherlock found himself pondering more on Mollie's mind as he made his way towards the science area of Oxford's library. He found the book that he was looking for, then told one of the library's guards that it was essential for the research in his case that he take home this book and read it thoroughly. The guard permitted him to take it back with a wave of his hand. When he arrived back at the cottage, he was surprised to find that Mollie hadn't emerged from the bedroom yet. He quickly tied a note to the top of the book in his arms, then set book and note in front of the bedroom door before making a quick exit from the cottage to continue his investigations into the case.
When Mollie awoke, she found she had a horrible headache, probably from crying all night before. She rose from bed and heated up some water on the fire, preparing a warm bath for herself. As she soaked in the warm water, she tried to close out all the thoughts of what Sherlock had said to her the previous evening. After drying, dressing, and fixing her hair for the day, Mollie hesitantly opened the bedroom door. As she opened it wider, she noticed a book lying on the floor in front of her door. She curiously approached it, and pulled the note that was attached to the book off. Her eyes widened as she took in the contents of the note.
Dearest Mollie,
Please, never make the mistake of thinking that you do not count. You are wrong, you do count. I have been quite frustrated over the past few weeks over the lack of leads in my case, but it was wrong of me to take this out on you. I hope you will forgive me. As you can tell by the fact that I wrote this note to you, I now know your secret- you are an accomplished reader. Rest assured that your secret is safe with me. I hope this book will help to smooth over some of the conflict that I have created.
Sherlock
Mollie felt tears welling up in her eyes again, this time more from excitement and happiness at what lay beneath the note. It was a book on anatomy of the human body, by Andreas Vesalius. Though Mollie was a peasant girl, she knew that this book was quite famous. This also meant that Sherlock must have found out that she had been sneaking around reading his books on the humours of the body when he was out at Oxford. With an ecstatic grin, she pulled the book gently to her chest and threw open a window, eager to get some light to start reading this new book.
While Mollie engulfed herself in the knowledge of human anatomy at home, Sherlock felt that he may have finally had a bit of a breakthrough in his case. He had found it difficult at first to understand what the connection was between the documents that were stolen. While Mycroft had only reported "significant" lost documents, Sherlock, always thorough, had requested a list of all the missing scrolls and books. He found that there was a seemingly random assortment of books missing throughout the library. An English copy of Libri Feudorum was missing, which was most disturbing to the officials. However, other pieces began to come together as well. Primers were missing; why would someone who was advanced enough to read treatises on feudal law need to learn the alphabet over again? Furthermore, there were scholarly articles missing as well that detailed why feudalism would not be a sustainable model for economic growth in England. Finally, there were some detailed accounts (first-hand and scholarly) of the Jacquerie missing. However, the pieces did not come together for Sherlock until he went back to the library, still thinking of Mollie and her ability to read. He was admiring the tenacity it would take for a woman of her stature to look past the social stigma and read, when he began to solve the first part of the puzzle. What would happen if knowledge was put into the hands of the peasants? What if this knowledge lead peasants to the conclusion that the feudal system was not the right system for them?
"Of course," he gasped, and ran straight back to the cottage.
Mollie shrieked and nearly fell out of her chair when Sherlock burst through the door of the cottage and slammed the door behind him. She quickly jumped to her feet.
"Sherlock, I wasn't expecting you until late! I swear I was intent on cleaning later, but I just got so caught up in the book…"
Sherlock silenced her with a quick flap of his hands. "Nevermind that, Mollie. How did you learn to read?!"
"Oh about that…I was going to tell you eventually, but…" When she saw Sherlock's impatient expression, she quickly said, "My father taught me when I was quite young."
"So only your father taught you"
"As far as I know"
"Who else in Bakerston besides you and your father can read?"
"I don't believe anyone else, except the priest…there are quite a number of peasant folk here who can read, though. I thought it was a bit odd at first, but with the college here, I suppose it makes sense."
Sherlock was silent. No, it didn't make sense. Even with a highly educated upper class, it was unlikely they would want their servants to have that kind of power…so who was teaching the peasants to read? And what was the motive?