A/N: Thank you to the folks who've commented. I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Two chapters left after this one.
Sherlock held the woman he loved in his arms, her lips warm beneath his. It was a moment he would savor for the rest of his days, burned deeply into both mind and heart. A single perfect instant of time where it was just the two of them.
Nay, he thought with a smile as he reluctantly pulled his lips from Molly's, the three of them. Wee William was still making his displeasure at the close quarters known; his fretful grunts and cries and flailing arms made it impossible for Sherlock to hold Molly as close as he would have liked, yet he knew he would change nothing about this reunion.
Well, perhaps one thing, but it was unlikely God or Fate or Luck - none of which he believed in - would be so kind. The crown still sat heavy on his brow, and he knew it was the one thing that would keep them apart, widow and widower though they now were.
"You will not come to London with me," he said, knowing it was fruitless to ask. He could only bring her there as his mistress, and such a life was not for his Molly.
She shook her head sadly, caramel strands of her hair tumbling free of her modest black cap. "Nay," she replied softly, reaching up with her free hand to cup his cheek. William tracked the movement intently, leaning forward a bit in order to imitate her.
"May I?" Sherlock asked, nodding toward their son, willingly distracted from the bittersweetness that threatened to taint the moment. Molly smiled and handed him to his father. He looked back at her, nose scrunched in uncertainty, and Sherlock felt his heart clench at the sight of his own features on one so small.
"Say hello to your father, William," she said with an encouraging smile. "Your papa. Can you say papa?"
"Surely he's too young to -" Sherlock began to object, only to fall silent at the sound of his son's voice.
"Pa-pa," the babe said, very clearly. He looked back at Molly, touching her cheek with one chubby finger. "Mama."
"He's so clever," Molly said after kissing the finger, which William then promptly put into his mouth. "He's nearly walking already, and he loves to play with little interlocking puzzles made of twigs; he can spend hours just taking them apart and putting them back together. And he seems to be fascinated by bees; I cannot count the times he's set out for the hives behind Mistress Turner's cottage whenever we visit!"
"I've long held an interest in apiary myself," Sherlock confessed with a small chuckle. "Do you take after me in more than looks and inquisitiveness, then?" he said to William.
The babe cocked his head to one side, for all the world as if he understood and was pondering his father's words.
"I acknowledge him," Sherlock said, glancing away from the mesmerizing sight of his son's blue-green eyes - identical to his own - and nodding at Molly. "I will do so publicly before I leave Appledore. You have my word on it."
"And when will that be?" Molly asked, reaching up to stroke a gentle finger along her son's arm as he continued to pat and poke at his father.
"Perhaps a fortnight, no more," Sherlock replied, his voice heavy with regret. "There is much to do, especially since Magnussen left no heir, but there is even more to do in London."
"Now that the plague seems to have finally run its course, thanks be to God," Molly replied with a nod, crossing herself piously. "It is all we have been praying for, and yet I find myself improperly happy that it blighted our land in the first place, since it brought you back to me even for so short a time."
"I feel much the same," Sherlock murmured in reply. He kissed the top of William's forehead before reluctantly handing the boy back to his mother. "May I ask how he - how you both - managed to avoid your husband's fate?"
Molly took a moment to adjust William's small jerkin before answering. "He sent us back to live with my mother when he knew I was with child," she finally answered. William nestled his head against her shoulder. "He - he knew William was yours, as did I because he never once came to our marriage bed. At first I thought it twas some belated courtesy on his part for forcing the wedding in the first place, or for being so willing to send me to you that night, but then I realized the truth."
"He hoped from the start that you would come away with my child," Sherlock finished soberly. "He no doubt had plans to exploit the situation, to bring William to London once it became obvious that the babe was mine and demand some kind of financial compensation." His mouth twisted in a grimace as Molly nodded silent confirmation of his deductions. "Well. At least you were spared his husbandly attentions."
"And his ambitions for William, whatever they were, died with him, praise God." Molly met his gaze squarely. "You know I harbor none of my own? I only wanted you to see him, to know that our single night together bound us with more than mere physical pleasure."
"Ah, but we both it was more than that even before we knew we'd conceived a son," Sherlock replied, bending down to kiss her again. "I would that things were different, Molly."
He hesitated before speaking again; their previous union had been sanctioned, if only barely, by the ancient tradition of jus prima noctis, but they would have no such excuse to hide behind this time were they to take up with each other once again. If he asked her to stay with him, in his chambers here at Appledore, even for a single night, there would be gossip. Her reputation would be stained, possibly beyond redemption, and she could lose the status she'd gained as Smith's successor.
And yet he could no more hold back the words than he could stem the tides. "Stay with me, Molly. You and William. Just for tonight."
He saw the conflict in her eyes, and felt resignation settle in his chest before she ever opened her lips to speak, her answer writ clearly on her features. "I cannot," she whispered, holding William close and half-turning from him. "Please, I beg of you, do not ask me a second time."
Because if he did, she would say yes. They would take their desperate pleasure of one another, but in the morning would come the regrets. Those regrets would settle like a poison on her soul until she came to resent both herself and him for their mutual weakness.
He was a selfish man, but he was not so selfish as that.
He took a formal step backwards, his posture straightening, his expression turning aloof as he forcibly took on his public persona in front of the one woman he least wished to show it to. "I will not," he said crisply, offering a half-bow. "Bring William back to Appledore in two week's time that I might publicly acknowledge him before taking my leave. When he is of age, he will join me in London to take on the responsibilities and duties of the royal heir."
Molly's eyes widened in dismay. "That, that will surely not be necessary," she stammered out. "You will marry again, have legitimate children…"
"I will not marry again," Sherlock replied in a tone that brooked no argument. "I did so only under pressure to produce an heir; having performed that royal duty, I will not take another wife I do not love."
"Then perhaps you should take a wife that you do love."
That voice...impossible. Sherlock whirled to face the now-opened door, automatically pulling Molly and William behind him as he drew his sword. He had no belief in the supernatural, yet felt a chill course the length of his spine as he beheld what could only be a specter.
"Mycroft?" he gasped.