A/N: For the March 29th prompt - "Write about something astonishing." Rated T.

How ironic that I came all the way to California only to find an English castle. The thought amused Molly Hooper as she walked around the relocated 14th Century castle. She was on an extended holiday after being laid off from Bart's and was trying to figure out what to do with her life.

I'm almost thirty and I have no idea what I want. Maybe it'll just come to me.

She was in the castle's great hall, admiring a suit of armor, when she heard a man's voice behind her.

"Impressive, isn't it? You'd almost think it was the real thing instead of a very good replica."

The voice was deep enough to make her toes curl, as smooth and rich as dark chocolate. She turned to see the owner of the voice and her jaw dropped. He was easily the handsomest man she'd ever seen – tall, the muscular build of an Olympic swimmer, a head of silky-looking black curls, a face like sculpted marble, and the most unusual blue-green-gold eyes. She wanted to drown in them and his voice. He wore sinfully tight black jeans and an aubergine dress shirt that went perfectly with his coloring.

He grinned at her and she nearly forgot her name. "Sorry, were you under the impression that everything here is real?"

"I … um … no." Actually, yes.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her body. "The castle itself is real but everything inside it is fake. The owner couldn't afford to fill it with actual antiques after paying to have the castle shipped here then reassembled."

"Ah." She smiled a bit. "You're English, unless that accent is a really good fake too."

The man smirked. "Yes, I'm English. Welsh, if you go back far enough."

"Me too." She held out her hand. "I'm Molly Hooper."

He took her hand then bowed and kissed it, grinning up at her. "Call me Sherlock."

She blinked in surprise at his gesture. "Um, Sherlock what?"

"Holmes."

"Are you a curator or something?"

He grinned. "You could say that. Would you like a private tour?"

"I'd love it."

Sherlock had absolutely no idea what possessed him. He was only supposed to observe the humans, not engage in conversation with one, but the petite Englishwoman appealed to him. Oh, he knew she was English before she even opened her mouth – her "English rose" complexion gave her away. She was sweet in face and character, a charming little thing. It was rare for him to feel attracted to any human female, but he felt her drawing him in without any effort on her part whatsoever. Perhaps that was what appealed to him the most.

He showed her the entire castle and the grounds and couldn't help sharing her wonder at it all. Seeing it through her eyes was a balm to his jaded nature. After they climbed the hill overlooking the castle courtyard, she sat down on the grass then patted the space next to her. He willingly obeyed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"Are you going to be here long?" Sherlock heard himself say. He could just kick himself. You're supposed to keep your distance, not draw them in.

"I'm … not sure, actually," she said, smiling weakly. "I'm currently between jobs. I decided to travel while I weighed my options."

He nodded. "There aren't any openings here, unfortunately."

"Too bad, I already like one of the employees."

Sherlock chuckled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She turned to look at the partially ruined tower nearby. "Are visitors allowed in there?"

"No, it's a private residence."

She stared at him. "That?" The stone tower was five stories tall. The roof was gone, as was part of the fifth story.

He chuckled. "The first three floors are perfectly intact."

"Oh. Who lives there?"

Sherlock grinned. "Me."

Molly stayed and talked until the castle closed at dusk. Despite every ounce of sense he had telling him not to, he asked her to come back the next day, and was thrilled when she agreed.

As soon as she was gone, he climbed the tower's stairs to the ruined fifth story and looked out at the castle. A light was on in the castle's east wing, in the master suite.

Rupert will be expecting his little show, he thought, sighing heavily. Shedding first his clothes then his human form, Sherlock took to the sky, his leathery wings carrying him far above the castle. Rays from the setting sun hit his brown-gold scales, making him shine like the coins he hoarded in the cavern below his tower.

As the ancient dragon soared over the nearby hills, he wondered what Molly would say if she saw him like this.