Chapter 2: Opportunities for Community Service
Molly was still enjoying the sleep of the justly exhausted when Sherlock was ready to depart for the Diogenes Club to see his brother the next morning. She'd stirred slightly when he'd disentangled himself from her embrace, but a kiss and soft words had reassured her, and he'd tucked her up warmly before he'd left the room to attend to his morning ablutions. By the time he returned to dress, she was once more deep in slumber, and there she remained when he was ready to depart. He paused, and smiled crookedly to see her there, huddled beneath the bedclothes, with only some of her mussed but beautiful auburn hair partially visible. He became aware of an odd feeling in his breast. Amazement? Pride? Contentment? Maybe all those things and more -something akin to what he had felt as a young boy, perhaps, when he would run and shout for the pure joy of living.
Molly had given that back to him.
He was no longer a boy, though, and there was a time and place for everything. So he took a deep breath, blew her a silent kiss, and went out to greet the day.
Archie was sitting on the bottom step as he descended to the hall, but the boy jumped up and whipped off his cap.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes! You have some errands for me?"
"Indeed, Archie. I have two messages for you to deliver, a shopping list, and money to complete the required purchases. There should be enough left over to treat yourself to a pie or sweets of some kind, and you can keep the remainder as a token of my gratitude. I am going out this morning but I should be back by noon. Presumably you can complete those tasks and return in time for our midday repast. I may have additional work for you this afternoon, depending on what my brother has to say to me."
"Thank you, sir!" said Archie, with a quick bow and, without more ado, took himself off.
Sherlock followed him out of the house at a more sedate pace, thankful that Mrs. Hudson did not emerge from her flat to quiz him about… well, anything, really. She had a very sharp eye for an elderly woman, and a sharp wit, too. He knew she was genuinely fond of him, but her raillery could wait until they all sat down to lunch and a glass or two of wine. Then, too, Molly would be there to draw her fire - though Molly seemed always to bring out the landlady's gentler side.
Molly brought out his own gentler side, too, though he wouldn't have thought until recently that he actually had one. But there it was: shot through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt shaft.Yet he felt quite certain he was still a man to encounter Tybalt - or any other rogue that could be brought to justice by one at the height of his strength and deductive powers. If anything, marriage had thoroughly roused the instinct to protect what was his. And she was his - just as he was hers. Their every encounter in the bedroom seemed to strengthen that bond. It wasn't merely the act itself. It was the caring and honesty replete in every moment, their hearts stripped bare along with their bodies.
Mycroft had always warned him about the danger of caring too much. Mycroft wasn't wrong, but Sherlock had begun to feel he'd only been half-alive before surrendering to the enchantment of love. Of loving, and being loved in return.
All these thoughts were with him on the cab ride to the Diogenes Club, and when he entered Mycroft's office it was evident that they were still writ large upon his countenance, at least to his discerning brother.
Mycroft greeted him with a sardonic smile. "Well, I see married life agrees with you. Welcome back to reality, brother mine."
Sherlock laughed, but did not dispute the point. "A reality that now features the woman I am privileged to call my wife is a happy one indeed."
Mycroft's brows rose slightly. "You have changed your tune, haven't you? Well, well. As I believe I said seven weeks ago, I wish you joy. Both of you!"
"Thank you, on both our behalves. And I believe I must thank you for the wedding gift as well. A kitchen and a French chef: really, Mycroft, you couldn't think of something a trifle more extravagant?"
"Well, I could have, but nothing that would so perfectly serve my own 're pleased then? Alphonse was trained at Le Cordon Bleu, but was something of a loose cannon. He acquired a reputation for being difficult and couldn't get a reference, nor any work that was worthy of his skill, so he came over here. Hopefully he won't give you any trouble."
"I believe we've made a start at coming to an understanding. And he is an excellent cook. You should come to dinner tonight and see for yourself."
Mycroft looked a little surprised. "Thank you. I'm afraid duty calls tonight however: a reception at the Russian Embassy that I must attend, However, another time the invitation will be most welcome."
"Ah. Molly will be disappointed."
"Will she? Please give my dear sister-in-law my regards, and tell her I will wait upon her soon. And now, what else can I do for you this morning, Sherlock? You aren't bored already?."
"Not at all. Just picking up old threads. I've sent a message round to Lestrade that I'm once again available, and if you have anything going, I might lend a hand by way of thanks. You've done a great deal for us these last months. But I beg you will consider that Molly won't begin her new term at the medical school for two more weeks."
"And you wish to enjoy her unfettered companionship as much as possible before she is consumed with her studies?" Mycroft's expression was surprisingly free of mockery. "You are a fortunate man, I believe.. And as it happens, I might have something that might suit the two of you. A short jaunt out of town to a pleasant seaside resort. Almost another honeymoon destination, though admittedly the atmosphere is not quite on a par with that of Italy."
"Which seaside resort?" Sherlock demanded, fearing the worst.
"Blackpool, I'm afraid." Mycroft's lips quirked at Sherlock's groan. "Indeed, you see why I do not attempt to complete the errand myself. Not only legwork, but people - and so many of them, too. I really couldn't. But the mission may be completed quickly, if you don't wish to linger, and there is little likelihood of danger or mishap. An ideal assignment for a newlywed couple, in fact."
Sherlock glared a bit. "I suppose you saved this for my return."
"I may have done," Mycroft said, an amused glint in his eye. "But really, you have to admit that Molly, at least, will be charmed."
o-o-o
Molly was charmed. Ordinarily Sherlock would have been both annoyed and bored beyond permission, and the fact that he was neither was entirely due to Molly's unabashed enthusiasm for every aspect of their new "adventure".
Their second evening at Baker Street saw them sitting down to another extraordinary dinner, courtesy of Alphonse, this time attended by the Watsons as well as Mrs. Hudson and Archie. Over a really excellent bisque de homard, Sherlock announced that he and Molly would be off to Blackpool on the morrow to transact some business for the British government.
Mrs. Hudson nearly choked. "But you've only just returned!" she protested.
"True, but there's nothing for it. Mycroft sent word an hour ago that everything is arranged: first class accommodations on the train, a suite at a decent hotel, a stipend to cover the cost of meals and such souvenirs as Molly will be unable to resist - I believe I saw the inside of every shop in Rome and Florence these last weeks." He smirked at his wife's obvious chagrin, and added, "He's sending a cab to take us to the station at ten o'clock tomorrow."
Molly said, "You know I tried to limit my spending, and it was you who insisted on buying the pearl set, and this." She gestured to the very fine brooch at her throat, hand-painted roses on enamel, surrounded by a delicate gold filigree. "But how kind of Mycroft to give us such a treat!"
But John raised his brows. "Blackpool?" he asked, barely stifling a chuckle.
Sherlock gave him a quelling look. "I'm sure it will be fine. We should be back in a very few days, in any case."
"And Molly will enjoy it excessively," Mary said. "The sea air, walks on the beach, the aquarium, the new Tower, and dancing in the evenings. How I envy you!"
Sherlock had been skeptical of Mary's cheery predictions, but in the event they all came to pass. Seeing Blackpool through his bride's innocent eyes made the garish surroundings and teeming masses of holiday-goers tolerable - even amusing much of the time. They were away five days, two devoted mostly to travel, two to seaside fun in exceptionally clement weather, and one in which it poured rain and they stayed abed nearly all the day. The four evenings they were in town were devoted to some surprisingly excellent dining, theatre-going, and dancing, after which they would retire to their well-appointed suite at the Clifton Hotel in Talbot Square, by the North Pier, and be blessedly, completely alone. There was no need to rise early, so they enjoyed a delicious breakfast in bed each morning, in every sense of the phrase. And Mycroft's assignment merely consisted of contacting one of his agents - a stout grey-haired female who sold parasols and gathered gossip from one of the many booths on the strand - to receive a detailed report on some crime syndicate that was beginning to gain a foothold in the town.
It was almost with regret that Sherlock and Molly bid Blackpool adieu on the fifth day and boarded the train that would return them to London. They sat side by side in their large private compartment, watching the green countryside move past, and when Molly, replete with contentment, presently dozed off, leaning against his shoulder, Sherlock found himself realizing that he had rarely felt happier in his life.
o-o-o
The next morning, however, a shadow crept over Molly's contentment.
Returning from the toilet as dawn crept into their bedroom, Molly slipped into bed and curled close, her aspect subdued. "I… I've… um… it's that time of the month for me, I'm afraid," she said, trying to sound unconcerned and failing miserably.
Sherlock frowned and slid down, repositioning himself so that he could lay a warm hand upon her abdomen, well aware that, even discounting the previous month, when they were in Venice, she always found menstruation a trial for the first day or two. "Are you in much pain? A small dose of laudanum-"
"Oh, no!" she broke in. "I… I dislike it so very much. And I don't want to be half asleep all day. Mary and I are to meet for lunch at the Holborn."
"Very well. But if I find you martyring yourself for no good reason-"
"I won't! It… I don't think it will be as bad as it was last month."
"No, indeed."
In Venice, Sherlock had felt that a doctor should be summoned, Molly seemed to be suffering so. The man's diagnosis - "... it is perhaps a miscarriage, but not to worry, there's little danger from what you tell me, she can't be very far along…" - had shocked Sherlock to the bone, and Molly had wept as though her heart were breaking until the doctor's prescribed draft had pulled her under, immersing her in restful, healing sleep. Physically, she recovered within a few days, and their remaining time in Venice had been quite enjoyable, but a cloud had hung over her spirits until they moved onto Milan and intimate relations were resumed, though he put firm limits on their activities until the full fortnight of abstinence the doctor had recommended was complete - much to Molly's indignation.
From that first night at the Savoy, she'd seemed to enjoy sexual congress as much as he did himself.
And she wanted a child. His child.
Sherlock, however, was ambivalent about the prospect of offspring, and he had a (thus far hidden but all too real) dread at the thought of inflicting upon his beloved young wife the pain and risks associated with childbirth. He realized that the event was probably inevitable, and soon, considering their mutual enthusiasm in the bedroom, but on this morning he could not help thinking it was all to the good that she would at least begin the fall term at the medical school unencumbered by pregnancy.
Unfortunately, he made the mistake of saying as much.
She lay very still, looking at him, biting her lip. And then she blurted, "Sherlock… don't you want us to have a child?"
"Did I say that?" he said, with a pretense of strong resentment.
"No! I'm… Forgive me. I just find it so disappointing myself that… well."
Sherlock drew her against him and she clung to him, rather stiffly, trying not to give in to tears. "Sweetheart," he said quietly, "you've plenty of time for that. And excessive anxiety will only hinder the process - I have it on good authority."
He felt her smile. "John and Mary?" she asked.
"Precisely. Watson says that it wasn't until they both stopped worrying about it that they achieved a favorable outcome."
"Mary told me before we left for Blackpool that she suspects that Rosamund may have a little brother or sister in eight months. Don't tell John, though - she wants to wait just a little longer. She told me she miscarried twice before she was able to carry Rosamund to term."
"Mmm. I won't say anything. But you must promise me you will put the notion out of your head for now, as far as Baby Holmes is concerned. Enjoy your experience at school, and your studies!"
"And my beloved husband, again, in a few days," she said, making an effort to sound impishly cheerful.
He smiled, and slid his hand down to caress her lovely, round backside. "You know, there are any number of things we can do right now, provided you are so inclined. I'm not at all squeamish about a little blood, and studies have shown that orgasm can be an aid in the relief of menstrual cramps."
"Really? They've done studies on such things?"
"I know I read it somewhere. But perhaps we should do what we can to confirm their findings. In a spirit of scientific enquiry."
She chuckled at having her own phraseology tossed back at her, and moved, raising her lips to his and saying huskily, "Yes, please, Mr. Holmes," before she kissed him.
o-o-o
Molly started the fall term at the London School of Medicine for Women a week later and happily settled into her studies. But within the first few days, her interest was increased tenfold by the announcement that all third year students would be required to participate in community service.
"And where do they have you going? You are supervised, are you not?" asked Sherlock over one of Alphonse's simpler, yet still excellent repasts one evening. Archie was dining with the family of a friend, and Mrs. Hudson had traveled into Devon to visit her sister, so it was just the two of them sitting at the small dining table in their own flat, a cheerful fire burning in the grate and thick fog closing in outside, increasing the sense of seclusion.
"Oh, yes. There is an advisor and often other students from my class. We've been assigned to the Brooks-Henley Institution for Girls - they are most of them orphans, but there are some who are placed there because of difficult situations at home. And we married ladies are able to go also to the Magdalene Hospital."
"Really?" said Sherlock, lifting a brow. "And how do you find that?"
Molly grimaced. "Rather dreadful, as a woman. There, but for the grace of God…. But as a medical student, I find it quite fascinating, and I am very happy to be able to aid those poor women in some small way. I was able to witness a birth yesterday."
"Did you?" Sherlock said, too blandly.
Molly smiled. "It was most interesting, and my advisor told us that it was quite an easy birth, too. It did not seem that way to me, but I daresay I'll get used to such things. They gave the mother a little chloroform at the end, just as the queen had with her eighth child, which made the last of it go much more smoothly and quietly. But the poor thing was only fifteen years of age - it's not surprising she was terrified, and unable to bear the pain with any kind of stoicism." Molly took another bite of Poulet à la Provençale, then frowned at Sherlock, who looked a little disturbed, and even rather pale. "Are you alright?"
"Of course," he said, and visibly rallied, with the help of a big sip of wine.
But it was noticeable that he asked no more questions about the Magdalene Hospital or the Institution, at least at that time, and she did not share with him that she had actually been assigned a third venue for community service, and one that she quite naturally, if reprehensibly, found to be the most interesting of all: Madame Celeste's in Bennet Street, off St. James'.