As the king, William Sherlock Scott Holmes certainly had his pick of willing women to share his bed and body. He'd been thus favored even before he gained that title, when he was only Prince William, the younger brother of the heir presumptive, Edward Mycroft Richard Holmes. Did he desire someone in his bed, all he'd ever had to do was crook his littlest finger or slant his eyebrow just so, and the wenches practically flung themselves at him.
Partly because of that over-eagerness and partly because he was fully aware that his attraction was more due to his status and physical appearance than anything deeper, he very seldom indulged in carnal relations. It became much the same thing after a while - grunting bodies slamming together, pooling in sweat, and for what? A few moments release before the frustrations began once again building in his body. It interfered with his more intellectual pursuits and so, after a time, he stopped crooking his finger or slanting his eyebrow altogether.
Molly was different to any other woman he'd bedded, and not just because she was a virgin. Her shyness and lack of experience were both quickly overcome as they reached their mutual pleasure - again and again as the night bore on. No, it wasn't just the joining of their bodies that was different he mused as he held her in his arms afterwards, watching as she drifted into sleep. There was something else, something he had no words for.
As she murmured in her sleep and nestled closer to him, he felt a surge of tender protectiveness toward her. If he were a more ruthless man, he would take her with him to London, consequences be damned, or find some way for her despicable husband to meet a fatal accident...but if he did, even if he told no one of his involvement, somehow he knew that he would lose Molly even in the winning of her. If he sought to purchase her loyalty through promises of safety for her family, she'd see him as just another man using the ones she loved in order to claim her for his own. A man no better than her loathsome husband.
And that was company he'd far rather avoid.
He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Molly's forehead. She smiled and rested her hand on his heart; carefully, so as not to awaken her, he entwined their fingers together. A smile curved his lips as he considered how their bodies had earlier been so entwined - and would be again, did Sherlock have his way. And as king, of course, he often had his way.
Just not when it mattered most.
He huffed in annoyance at himself for allowing his thoughts to range to such bleak territory, feeling Molly startle awake. "My lord?" she murmured in sleepy confusion, looking up at him through eyes gone wide with concern. Belike she thought his sudden tension was due to her, but he refused to allow such a belief to last more than a single breath. "Tis nothing," he reassured her, his arm tightening around her body when he felt her start to pull away. "Stay."
She subsided, but not back into the blessed arms of sleep. He could feel the tension in her body and knew she was gazing at him through her eyelashes. Curse his restless mind for ruining the peace she'd found!
Casting his wayward thoughts into a mental chest, he bound it with chains of iron, locked it, and thrust it into the darkest recesses of his mind. Once unbound they would come roaring free to plague him tenfold, but he could hold that moment off till after Molly and he were forced to part, and not a moment sooner.
Molly. The one that mattered most, in this moment and, he suspected, in future moments as well. His brother would be disgusted with him for falling prey to sentiment; he could hear him now, within his own mind: Sentiment, Sherlock? There is no place for such in our lives. I pray you do not fancy yourself in love with some lowborn wench after a single night's bliss; it will only lead to folly.
He could still feel Molly's gaze upon him; determined to make it up to her for waking her, he pulled her closer, tugging lightly on her hair until she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Her shy smile was welcoming, but as she shifted her body she winced. "Are you...sore?" he asked, changing his mind at the last instant, holding back the sweet words he'd meant to whisper in her ear.
"Tis nothing," she made to assure him, but he frowned and sat up, his eyes cataloging every inch of her body.
"Wait for me."
With that imperious command he sat up and removed himself from the bed. He returned moments later with a small basin of water and some small clothes in one hand, a pair of goblets in the other, and an uncorked bottle of wine beneath his arm. His mother would have his hide for having forgotten to offer Molly a drink before debauching her...not that she would have approved the debauching, but she would have been just as concerned with his lapse in manners as with his lapse in self-control!
Once his task was completed he offered Molly her goblet of wine. She accepted it gratefully, sitting up and sipping from it as daintily as any court lady...and with far more grace than some.
He reclined against the pillows as he swallowed a heartier draught of his own wine, enjoying the view of her even with the bedding modestly covering her body. "Come, no need to be shy," he said as she turned away with a very becoming blush.
He studied her at his leisure, smiling slightly when he caught her looking him over as well.
"You're very beautiful."
He blinked, not expecting such words from her; he was the one meant to be paying her compliments, was he not?
"But I expect you know that," she continued. "People - women - must tell you that all the time."
"Not that exact word, no," he admitted, reaching out with one hand. "But I thank you for the compliment. And I return it to you a hundredfold."
He refused to accept her mumbled protests to the contrary, prefering to find other ways to show her the truth of his words, with lips and hands and every inch of his body.
oOo
After passion had again been quenched, he urged her to sleep despite her protests. "Wiggins will be here at first light that we might break our fast together. I need not be forced into Magnussen's company before noon, and by then you'll be on your way back to Fitton, to take up the life I so rudely interrupted." He dropped a soft kiss to her wrist, noting the small shudder she gave at his words, the way she turned her head from his.
"If I were to ask…" he began, unable to stop the words, but she turned to face him, her expression sad but resolute as she shook her head.
"Nay, my lord - Sherlock," she corrected herself softly. "I have given my word and will not go back on it no matter how distasteful a future I face." She hesitated, and he saw that she faced some inner struggle. Although it was his nature to discern the causes of inner turmoil in those around him, he held his tongue and waited patiently for her to speak, already knowing that whatever boon she might ask of him, he would gladly grant.
"I have two brothers, Archie and Aldwin, both younger - Archie is seven, Aldwin twelve. They can read and write and do their sums, and are strong and healthy as well…"
He stayed her words with a soft kiss. "I'm sure they're very paragons of young manhood, Molly, but I need not hear their praises sung to say yes to what you are about to ask me. But," he added, "I do need you to ask."
She took in a trembling breath. "I would that they were far from my husband's reach. My mother will not leave me, knowing what manner of man I've wed, but we would both rest easier should we know Archie and Aldwin were safely away. Would you, could you - be willing to take them on, to bring them back to London with you?"
Her breath wasn't the only thing trembling by the time she finished speaking; both her voice and her entire body shook. He took her into his arms, cradling her close and kissing her eyelids before giving his answer. "I'll see to it before I leave at week's end. You have my word."
Molly's eyes shone with a combination of gratitude and unshed tears. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Sherlock's heart clenched at the formal use of his title, but for this moment she was once again his subject, seeking a favor from her king, and so he refrained from chastising her. Instead he guided her gently into conversation, letting her tell him about boisterous, perpetually curious Archie and quiet, scholarly Aldwin. Eventually her words trailed off and she fell asleep in his arms.
He held her until the morning, then all too soon it was time for them to make their farewells.
Alas, they were unable to do so in private, not with John Watson jiggling impatiently from foot to foot by the door, his cloak held tightly in his hands. Molly would depart as she'd arrived: shrouded in that heavy bolt of cloth, the hood over her face to spare her from prying eyes...although he misdoubted the gossip from Fitton had arrived at the keep with morning light.
Sherlock took the heavy cloak from John, ignoring the other man's under-breath muttering of 'please sire we need to hurry' and carefully placing the garment over Molly's shoulders. "John will return you safely home," he said in a low murmur as he tied a neat bow at her throat.
She nodded, offering a wan smile as he took her hands in his. "I want you to know that I, I wish you as much joy as you can find in your marriage," she whispered, darting a nervous glance at John.
Sherlock bent down in order to kiss her, uncaring of their lack of privacy. "And I wish the same for you, Molly. Be sure to say your farewells to your brothers before John fetches them," he added, not wishing her to worry that he might have forgotten his promise to her.
Her smile this time was brighter, tinged more with relief than sadness. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, gently easing her hands from his and stepping back in order to pull the hood up to hide her neatly braided hair. "Good bye."
Sherlock watched as she and John slipped away. As Wiggins and a gaggle of other unwanted servants entered his room shortly thereafter to prepare him for the afternoon's hunt, he could have sworn he felt the weight of the crown settling on his head like the iron burden it was, though it rested still on his bedside table.