Hello! Any of you who follow me on Tumblr know that I was having a little more trouble than usual staying motivated and excited with this chapter. I did end up happy with how it turned out, but I think most of my issue was the smaller amount of Sherlolly in this one. So you can be forewarned haha! I also built up the couple of chapters around Dr. Hooper's death so much in my mind, that once that was over, I was a little lost. But, hopefully I'll keep things going easily from here on. This won't be as long as some of my other multi-chapter fics, so we are definitely well past the half way point, just FYI. Ok, well hope you enjoy this one! ;)
Sherlock scribbled a couple of notes down on the sheet music and then picked up his violin to play again. Redbeard napped nearby on the settee by the window, and the rain that pattered on the window was the only accompanying sounds to the music Sherlock made.
There had been a number of rainy days in the week following the death of Dr. Hooper. It was as if the weather had shifted along with the somber mood. Even Redbeard had been less excitable than before. Sherlock had been confined inside for more time than he was accustomed to, and that had led to greater frustration on his part. He wanted something to occupy him, but there was little to choose from, so music had become one of his few diversions lately, though it wasn't as helpful as he wished it was.
She dominated his thoughts.
There was no sense in denying it. He was confused at first, because he hadn't ever experienced much in the way of pity for others. As the days began to pass after Dr. Hooper's death, that was what he thought he must be feeling. He couldn't stop the vague ache deep in his chest every time Molly Hooper came to mind, which was quite often. Naturally, he assumed he was pitying her for the loss of her father, since he knew how much pain it was causing her. But the more time went by, that explanation just didn't make sense to him. It just didn't fit.
This was more than pity. He felt her little hand inside his own, the weight of her head on his shoulder, and the warmth of her body next to his own in that carriage. Pity was a somewhat negative emotion. This wasn't all negative. Yes, he hated that she was suffering, but it wasn't just that. He found himself simply wanting to be there with her, and for her. He pictured the way Mrs. Hudson and Mary had rushed to Molly and wrapped her up in comforting embraces...and he found himself wishing that he could do the same. That was unusual for him. He realized that he wished he could do that sort of thing, not only for her, but because he just wanted to.
This was what really alerted him to the shift within himself. He'd never craved physical affection, or even been happy to receive it. But he realized that from almost the first contact he'd had with Molly Hooper, he'd not only accepted and enjoyed what they'd shared...but it had also lit a small and slow growing flame that burned for more. At this point, he wasn't even sure how much of it had to do with her grief. At times, more frequently as the days went by, his thoughts simply centered on memories of the brief contact that they'd shared. Along with the memories, always came desires lurking close behind.
Sherlock was used to getting his way, and having what he wanted when he wanted it. This wasn't simply because of the fact that he'd always been materially privileged, but also because he didn't care what others thought of him. He didn't care how he appeared in the eyes of society. If he wanted to spend hours experimenting on dead things, so be it. If he felt like keeping bees for a summer, well he just would. If he decided he wanted to spend his life solving crimes, despite the fact that he didn't need to earn a living, he'd spend his life doing just that. But this situation was different. Molly Hooper was different.
This was not an instance where he could simply take what he wanted, without a care. He did care. He cared about her. Clearly he felt something for her, something strong. But there was no way to act on those feelings without hurting the very object of his affection...unless...
It was the very first time he'd ever even remotely considered the possibility of marriage. The first moment the thought occurred to him, he'd immediately pushed it away. But then, slowly, it kept creeping back up on him and burying itself deeper and deeper into his mind. After a while, he found himself beginning to rationalize a life that he'd never in a million years considered for himself. Half the time he cursed his weak body and emotions for forcing this option into the forefront of his mind. But sometimes, sometimes...he found himself actually smiling at the thought of sharing his life with a person that he found so incredibly appealing. Was it really possible that he could have this? Then he'd shake his head and ask himself again how he was even considering this!
There was no doubt he was at war with himself. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know how to win. In fact, he felt like he was losing either way.
As Sherlock plucked absentmindedly at the strings of his violin, he heard the front door open and someone come walking in. He heard John's voice as he gave his coat to the butler, and then his footsteps began moving swiftly down the hall. Sherlock set his instrument down and went into the hallway to follow after him.
"Watson?" he called after his friend.
John turned as he continued running his hands through his hair, shaking the rain out. "Ah, Holmes, there you are."
"Did you find what I left for you yesterday?"
"Yes, thank you. I read through it. It was exactly what I needed to see. And I do hope it will prove useful today. In fact, I'm a bit late. I should go have a bath drawn. I am supposed to be speaking to your cousin within the hour. I was gone longer than I'd anticipated."
"Where were you?"
"Oh, a little boy fell out of a tree earlier. I had to set his arm and get it in a sling. Thankfully Miss Hooper was willing to accompany me. I needed an extra set of hands."
Sherlock frowned at him. "Miss Hooper? You took her with you?"
"Yes, I did." John frowned back at his friend, questioning his confusion. "I wouldn't normally bother her with such a thing in her current state, but I did need a competent second set of hands. And before you ask, no, you would not have been an acceptable option. He was a scared small boy, and you would have done little to help the situation. Your presence would have been almost as painful as the injury itself."
Sherlock huffed in indignation, despite the fact that he knew John was absolutely correct.
John continued. "It so happens that she was rather grateful. She has little to occupy her time these days, as you can imagine. She's stuck at home, and doesn't have much to distract her from her own sadness, aside from an occasional visitor expressing their sympathies."
Sherlock shifted his gaze and changed the subject. "Miss Adler is due to be arriving later this evening."
"Is she? Well, that will be an interesting addition to the party, won't it?" John had been in the company of Irene Adler only once before. Although he wouldn't call himself a man of science, there was so much chemistry between her and Sherlock that even he could have written up a study on it.
"Interesting indeed," Sherlock said and drew a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, but I really must be going. If all goes well, I do hope that I'll have a happy announcement to make."
Sherlock smiled at his friend. "Go then, Watson...and I wish you all the best."
John nodded and then rushed up the stairs to get himself ready.
Sherlock turned and went back into the drawing room where his violin and a now waking up Redbeard were waiting for him. He picked up his violin, but soon set it down again. His thoughts were once again filled with Molly Hooper. He could see her in his mind's eye assisting John in setting that small boy's arm, and it made him want to see her in person. He could imagine her now, sitting at home, with little to do besides some of the menial hobbies that many ladies occupied themselves with...and he knew she would rather be doing something else.
That was when he began formulating a plan in his mind.
John made his way to Seaborne's library, carrying with him a rather hefty file of papers. He hoped this would go well...he hoped she would be there! She'd said she would be, and he believed she meant it. He didn't believe she would blatantly avoid him anymore. The worst she could do now was to simply reject him.
But he couldn't think negatively, he reminded himself. He'd thought long and hard about how he wanted to do this, and there was no sense in feeling down before there was any real cause for it.
John pushed open the library door, and to his relief, Mary turned from where she stood by the window. He smiled nervously at her as he crossed the room, and she looked equally on edge. If he could have read her thoughts, he would have known how afraid she was. She was frightened that he didn't want her anymore...frightened that he did want her.
"Thank you for agreeing to let me speak to you again, Miss Morstan," he began.
"You're welcome. I said I would hear what you had to say, and I keep my word. I only hope that you did what you promised as well."
"I told you that I would think, and consider everything, and I want you to know that, yes, and I did just that. I have thought of everything you related to me, and every possibility you presented me with for the future...that and more."
Mary felt a stab in her gut as she observed the way he clutched at this bundle of papers, and the way his gaze had faltered from her own when finishing his sentence. Suddenly she felt uncomfortably unsure about how this conversation was about to go.
John advanced closer and stood by her in front of the large window. In that moment of silence, he could hear the rain hitting the glass next to them. He held up the file in his hand, displaying it for a moment in front of her eyes, before setting it down on a nearby small table.
"Do you know what this is?" John asked her softly,
Mary looked down at the papers and then back up at John. "I can only assume it has something to do with me."
John nodded. "You would be correct. I took advantage of your cousin's influence with Scotland Yard, and was able to get my hands on your husband's murder file...there's a lot of information in here," he said giving the file a little touch with his fingers.
"And...you read it all?" she asked, looking a little ashamed.
John looked into her eyes. "I did, Miss Morstan. I read it all, even though...it was rather difficult."
Mary's face fell. He realizes now, she thought. He sees what a nightmare I lived, and perhaps he finally understands the fact it could follow him as well.
"There were details I wasn't prepared for, details about you. There was a description of your mental and emotional state on the night your husband died. There was also description of marks on your body, which was evidence of recent abuse."
Mary sucked in a breath and turned away from him, wrapping her arms around her middle protectively. "Please...Dr. Watson, you needn't go on."
John didn't stop talking. "Everything in that file confirmed the things which you told me, and I thought you should know that. As I said though, it was difficult to for me to read it. Everything that happened to you, the troubles of your past, were for you, and you suffered them alone. But in the future..."
At that, he paused and gently wrapped his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him again before going on softly. "It would be my privilege to stand with you in the face of any hardship...no matter the cost."
Mary's eyes filled instantly, and she sniffed back a sob as she tried to form words in reply. "After all you saw, and all you know, you still-"
John lifted his hands to cradle the sides of her face and immediately interrupted her. "It only made me love you more. I love you, Miss Morstan, I do. Please tell me that you feel the same...and that you'll consent to be my wife." He finished his words with a grin that couldn't be stopped from spreading any longer.
Mary then began laughing as well as crying. She sputtered out strings of "yes" amongst the happy tears, and then she grasped one of John's hands on her cheek to pull it to her lips. She pressed a kiss against his palm, holding against her mouth for a few moments. When she released his hand, it only freed her arms so that she could dive forward and wrap them around his neck. John let out a little grunt at the force of her sudden embrace, but he found himself quickly, and happily, adjusting. He soon responded by tightly wrapping his arms around her as well.
She pulled away a moment later though, wiping her eyes and looking at him seriously. "But what about your work? What if you lose patients or your reputation is damaged? Have you considered what you would do?"
John chuckled. "Your cousin has. There's one man who will employ me regardless of my wife's tainted reputation and past!"
Mary smiled, knowing that it was true. And she was also warmed at heart to think that this had been a topic of discussion between the two men...the two men who meant the most to her in the entire world.
As she spoke again, she slipped her fingers into the hair right above his ear, and reveled in the way he shut his eyes and let out an almost inaudible sigh. "So you understand everything now, and you know that anything could happen, including that there are people who could recognize me...bad people. Perhaps they'll know that I might be able to identify them or remember something from the past that could incriminate them. Our life together...could be dangerous," she whispered.
John smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek again. "And yet, here I am," he whispered back.
And with that, no more words were needed between the pair. John happily leaned down to seal their future with a kiss. Despite the fact that their kiss was soft, chaste even, the promise for the future that it expressed...was enough to leave them both breathless.
"She was already asking after you when she arrived," Lady Holmes said in a disdainful tone. "I happily informed her that you were out with Redbeard."
"Why happily, Mother?" Sherlock asked as he took a seat at the table. "Are you afraid she's somehow dangerous?" he mocked.
"Pray, do not ask me to explain myself," the older woman said with a sigh, and took a sip of her wine. "It is hardly proper."
The conversation hushed though, because they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the dining hall. Mycroft walked in with Anthea on his arm, and entering the room not far behind them was Irene Adler.
Oh yes, Sherlock could see the danger in Irene Adler. He didn't need his mother to explain that to him. She was a woman who commanded the attention of the room simply by entering it. She wasn't just physically beautiful, no. She had intelligence about her that not many women chose to exhibit. The world around them did not value women for their independence and intelligence, but Irene Adler cared nothing for that. She would not be forced into the mold that encased most other women. She lived for herself, and quite happily too. It was those things, more so than her striking appearance, that placed her in Sherlock's high esteem. And it was rather obvious that the road went two ways.
"Mr. Holmes, always a pleasure," she said with a smile as she sauntered over closer. "It's been far too long."
Sherlock gave a small bow. "Has it? I'm flattered."
"I thought perhaps you would come to call this summer, but then I hear that you were all here. I was so pleased when Anthea wrote to me and invited me to join you." She threw a smile to her friend as they all took a seat at the table.
"And now perhaps you will be able to enjoy a wedding with all of us!" Anthea said happily while smiling at the happy couple.
"Oh, surely not!" Lady Holmes said jovially. "We could not possible put together a wedding in less than a fortnight. No doubt Miss Adler cannot...disrupt her normal schedule for longer than that!"
"Yes," she smirked knowingly in Sherlock's direction. "I certainly wouldn't want to disrupt anything."
After dinner, the seven of them filed out of the dining hall, and Irene purposefully lagged behind to walk with Sherlock.
"I am surprised to see you here, Mr. Holmes, and for the whole summer! I suspect you are missing the city, are you not?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I confess I miss the work. I miss the activity, especially in the past week or so. I have come to appreciate...some things about the country though."
"Have you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "How lovely...Anthea tells me you have all made some new friends as well."
"Yes, I suppose so," he admitted.
Irene paused for a moment, then she looked up at him again. "I have also heard that you recently lost one of those new friends...my sympathies."
Sherlock frowned at her. "False sentiment does not become you, Miss Adler...I am not sure genuine sentiment would either."
She chuckled lightly. "There it is, the brutal honestly I remember so well. There are not many like us, are there? And that is why I said it has been far too long, Mr. Holmes." They both stopped as they came to the drawing room door, and Irene looked into his eyes as she added, "I have missed you."
Sherlock felt a little flustered under her intense gaze and breathy words, but there was certainly something missing. It reminded him why he didn't want to linger with the rest of the party tonight. He cleared his throat and answered her.
"Well, fortunately for you, you will be seeing plenty of me in this next two weeks...goodnight, Miss Adler."
"You won't be joining us in the drawing room? Try you luck at a game of cards?"
"Not tonight. There's something else I must take care of in my lab. Do make my apologies to the rest of the party." He bowed his head to her, then he turned away to continue down the hall in the direction of the back staircase.
Sherlock handed the large wooden box to the butler. "Make sure this is delivered today, please."
"Yes, sir," the man replied.
Sherlock walked back down the hall with Redbeard in tow, bouncing along happily. He went in the library and found his brother sitting along reading a book.
"Hiding away, Mycroft?" Sherlock smirked, and took a seat nearby.
He sighed as he set the book down in his lap and gave Redbeard a couple of obligatory pats on the head. "I have no desire to socialize with Miss Adler. She is Anthea's guest, not mine. The ladies have gone riding and I am able to enjoy some solitude. Best that Anthea keeps her busy anyway. Mummy will surely be driven mad if she finds Miss Adler occupying somebody else's time."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not going to marry Miss Adler. There is no danger of that happening. Miss Adler may be even less agreeable to the institute of marriage than I am."
Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "I didn't think that was possible. Could anybody be less agreeable to it than you?"
Sherlock averted his gaze, not wanting to give away any of the recent and secret thoughts of his heart...but it did get him to thinking. He wondered if his brother may be a useful source of information on this topic.
"People can certainly be full of surprises...you, for instance," Sherlock answered pointedly. "Tell me, brother...why did you marry?"
Mycroft frowned at him for a moment, then he took a long breath as he set his book on the side table. "Why are you asking me this?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I am trying to make sense of the matter. You and I are so similar. Surely there had to be something that induced you to make a decision as extreme as sharing your life with another person."
Mycroft perched his chin on his fingers. "It was the next thing I had to do," he said simply.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Is there some sort of...list?" he asked mockingly.
"You know what I mean," he sneered. "It was expected, and even hoped for by some...Mummy, of course. I am a business man, and it was the next order of business. You are not naive enough to think that marriage is not sometimes little more than business."
"No, I am not. I did think though, knowing you, that perhaps something different moved you to make such an...out of character decision."
Mycroft seemed to become a little uncomfortable. He swallowed hard before replying. "It was another deal to make, another negotiation, another paper to sign...though I do not think everyone views it quite that way. Some have...different expectations."
"Your wife, for instance?" Sherlock questioned.
Mycroft started back at him evenly, not replying, so Sherlock went on.
"And do you...regret that you did this?" he asked, afraid of what the answer might be.
Mycroft drew another slow breath and hesitated a little before actually answering quietly, almost as if his answer was shameful. "I- I do not mind the union. Marriage is not wholly unpleasant."
Sherlock felt a strange surge of relief at his brother's answer, as if it solidified a chance that he wasn't crazy to be considering such a thing...but then Mycroft went on.
"But I do, in a way, regret it." He looked at Sherlock with a somber expression. "I regret it...for her."
As quickly as Sherlock's hopes had been raised, he felt them fall again. His brother wasn't suffering through his daily life, but he knew his wife wasn't happy, and he believed that it was his fault. Did Mycroft have the ability to create a happy marriage and home? Sherlock didn't know. He also didn't know if he himself possessed the ability. Sherlock wondered if he would be willing to take such a chance. Would he put Molly's lifelong happiness at risk when that was really what mattered most to him?
His own selfish desires and feelings were the only thing that kept him motivated to bet against the odds.
"I see," Sherlock said quietly. He was no expert, and had no storehouse of knowledge to offer his brother, but he felt the need to say something in that moment.
As Sherlock stood from his seat, he added, "Well, as you said, you are a business man. Perhaps you should handle things in that fashion."
"And how is that?" Mycroft frowned.
Sherlock smirked at his brother. "Friendly negotiations with your business partner, of course...Good day, Mycroft. I will leave you to enjoy your solitude."
Mycroft was alone again a moment later, but he could no longer enjoy his solitude. He ran a hand across his forehead and wondered exactly how he had reached the point of receiving marriage advice from his unmarried brother. And in a way...he wished it felt as simple as Sherlock made it sound.
Molly let out a little yelp, winced, and restrained herself from using words that no lady should. She shook her hand a bit, then looked down at her finger...this time she'd actually drawn blood. Just marvelous!
Molly groaned as she took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the little wound on her finger tip. She wasn't usually one for stitching, but being at home so much with little else to occupy her mind left her with few options. She had been incredibly grateful that Dr. Watson needed her assistance the previous day, even more grateful than she'd let on. She may have allowed him to thank her as if she was doing him a favor, but in reality she felt that he was the one deserving of thanks. She'd been home for days with nothing to dwell on except her aching grief and the fact that she missed her father's presence with the same intensity as lungs missing air. She'd picked up a stitching project that had been sitting untouched for many months and begun plugging away at it again in desperation.
After she got her finger to stop bleeding, she picked up the cross stitch again and groaned even louder. She'd gotten blood on the fabric as she'd injured her hand! In pain and irritation, she tossed the project over to the other side of the couch. Molly felt her eyes starting to sting again and her throat tightened up in the all too familiar way. She'd cried more in this past week than she had in the entire course of her life, and frankly she was getting sick of the feeling. Sometimes it came out of nowhere, sometimes she thought of something specific about her father, and sometimes it was something stupid that started the tears rolling...like pricking her finger and ruining the cross stitch she hated anyway. She didn't want to forget her father, or even the things she'd experienced when losing him, but she was tired of the crippling grief...literally, physically tired.
Molly was sitting there trying to hold back another round of tears and simultaneously trying to come up with a book to read in order to occupy her mind, when Mrs. Hart came in.
"Miss, I don't mean to disturb you," she said with concern written on her features as she observed Molly's expression. "I just wanted to inform you that there was a package just delivered."
Molly sat up and sniffed. "Oh it's no trouble, Mrs. Hart. I'll come right away."
Molly followed Mrs. Hart into the back kitchen where the box was now sitting on the long wooden table.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hart." She smiled at the older woman. Mrs. Hart returned the smile and exited the kitchen, leaving her alone with the mystery package.
Molly approached the table and pulled at the thick string that held the top closed. She finally opened the two sides, shedding the first light on its contents. The first thing that she saw inside the box was a familiar object...it was a microscope.
Molly placed her hand over her mouth for a moment as she took in the meaning of this package. She saw the microscope, and the noticed a number of smaller items wrapped in paper, at least a half dozen. She took each out and unwrapped it. Each one turned out to be some sort of item from nature enclosed in a glass dish; insects, unusual flowers or plants, or even some sort of dirt or rock. She laid them all out on the kitchen table, and then removed the beautiful microscope gingerly.
When she set the microscope down, she noticed that there was a paper attached to the dial with some string. She untied it, unfolded the sheet, and began to read the words.
Dear Miss Hooper,
I do not mean to trouble you during this difficult time, and I hope that this delivery arrives to find you well.
As you can see, I have included a number of items, including one of my microscopes. It is my hope that you would be able to use the microscope to examine the items enclosed. Perhaps you would then be kind enough to sketch whatever you find in your examination. No need to hurry, you may do this at your leisure. It would be a great favor to me though, and I would certainly be in your debt.
Redbeard sends his sincere regards. As he is currently jumping about my legs while I attempt to compose this note, I can only assume that he is attempting to convey some sort of message to send in his behalf. I feel sure that if he could speak...there would be much that he would say.
I, on the other hand, do not possess his conversation skills. I have much less to say it seems, so I will close this brief note. Good day to you, Miss Hooper, and perhaps, by chance, we will meet again soon.
Your Friend,
S. Holmes
A tear slid down Molly's cheek and hit the page that she held. But that was all right, because it was the first tear she'd shed in over a week that wasn't a tear of pain or sadness. These were tears of gratitude, and maybe even a touch of happiness.
"It would be a great favor to me," she whispered to herself while shaking her head and even laughing a little. Even she knew better than that. Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing. He was no fool, and he would never have sent that box if he hadn't known that she needed it. And she did need it ever so much.
She smoothed her fingers over the words and imagined him writing them as Redbeard gave him no peace. The image in her head made her smile again, and she suddenly felt more alive than she had in many days. She touched the signature and was reminded of how true the words your friend were. Sherlock was her friend, he cared for her, and he was trying to help. In that moment, it was more than enough to sustain her.
Oh, how she loved him for it.
I was happy once I got to this last scene hehe! I liked writing this one. I know it stinks to have them keeping some distance, but it is probably more realistic. But don't worry, I plan for them to have some actual interaction next chapter. A big thanks to MizJoely again for editing last minute. Much appreciated! ;) Thanks to everyone for the reading, following, reviewing etc. As always, would love to hear your thoughts on here or Tumblr. Till next chapter! ;)