Molly and Sherlock rested on a picnic blanket, just like any other couple out enjoying the fine day.
The remains of a nice picnic lunch were scattered around them and Archie was flying a kite.
Molly watched happy couples moving about; dogs and kids running hither and yon, military officers squiring their ladies, nurses with prams.
Sherlock was distinctly ill at ease, brooding, as she talks. "… Which is not to say we couldn't get some nice taxidermy animals to bring a touch of gentility to the place. You know; a boar's head or two…" She glanced at the unresponsive Sherlock, "Sherlock, are you listening to me?"
"Of course," he stated, monotonous.
"Then what did I just say?" Molly pouted.
Sherlock was back in his sombre reflections, "There must be a way to the Judge…"
"The bloody old Judge! Always harping on the bloody old Judge!" She snapped, anger creasing her face for a moment before her features softened. She massaged his neck. "We got a nice respectable business now, money coming in regular and — since we're careful to pick and choose — only strangers and such like wot won't be missed — who's going to catch on?"
There was no response from Sherlock. She leaned across and pecked him on the cheek.
Ooh, Mr. Todd–
She kissed him again.
I'm so happy–
Kiss
I could–
Kiss.
Eat you up, I really could!
You know what I'd like to Do, Mr. Todd?
She kissed Sherlock.
What I dream–
She kissed him again.
If the business stays as good,
Where I'd really like to go–
No response
In a year or so…
Still no response.
Don't you want to know?
Sherlock ignored her; he wanted revenge, he wanted John, he wanted Mycroft: he couldn't care less.
Do you really want to know?
Sherlock forced a pained smile. "Yes, yes, I do, I do."
Molly she leaned back comfortably, beginning to imagine a wonderful, domestic future.
"I've always had this dream of living at the seaside… I got a picture postcard from me Aunt Nettie once. Oh, it seems like such a grand place…" Molly sighed airily.
She gazed at Archie flying his Kite, "And all that fresh aquatic air's bound to be good for the lad's poxy lungs…"
By the sea, Mr. Holmes,
That's the life I covet;
By the sea, Mr. Holmes,
Ooh, I know you'd love it!
You and me, Mr. H.,
We could be alone
In a house wot we'd almost own
Down by the sea…
Sherlock mumbled, still somewhat withdrawn.
Anything you say.
Wouldn't that be smashing?
Molly began to slip into her daydream.
She and Sherlock sat in the exact same position as in reality; only now they were sitting on a beach. They were wearing what she imagined as fashionable seaside bathing clothes.
Archie, who was not consumptively pale but overly rosy-cheeked in her fantasy, was building a sandcastle nearby.
Molly was sitting with her Dream Sherlock, of course, so he had a bland smile on his face; somewhat unnatural. In fact, there was something vaguely unreal and stilted about this entire dream.
With the sea at our gate,
We'll have kippered herring
Wot have swum to us straight
From the Straits of Bering.
Every night in the kip
When we're through our kippers,
I'll be there slippin' off your
slippers
By the sea…
With the fishies splashing.
By the sea…
Wouldn't that be smashing?
Down by the sea–
Anything you say,
Anything you say.
Molly strolled with Sherlock on a boardwalk. Artificially lovely couples move about. Archie runs along ahead of them.
I can see us waking,
The breakers breaking,
The seagulls squawking:
Hoo! Hoo!
I do me baking,
Then I go walking
With yoo-hoo…
She waved to Archie.
Yoo-hoo…
Molly and Sherlock reclined on comfortable deck chairs, having tea and scones.
I'll warm me bones
On the esplanade
Have tea and scones
With me gay young blade…
Molly's notion of a fashionable little seaside cottage; crushing in its bourgeois blandness. She was making Archie try on a sweater; Sherlock was writing a letter.
Then I'll knit a sweater
While you write a letter…
Back on the beach, she cuddled into Sherlock.
Unless we got better
To do-hoo…
Anything you say…
Molly and Sherlock snuggled into their bed.
Think how snug it'll be
Underneath our flannel
When it's just you and me
And the English Channel…
In the cottage, Molly and Sherlock entertained some unnaturally jolly friends.
In our cozy retreat,
Kept all neat and tidy,
We'll have chums over every Friday…
They were back on the imaginary beach.
By the sea…
Anything you say…
Archie pulled Molly over to examine his little sandcastle.
Don't you love the weather
By the sea?
We'll grow old together
By the seaside,
Molly beckoned to Sherlock to join them.
Hoo! Hoo!
By the beautiful sea!
Sherlock joined them. He kneeled with Archie to help him work on the sandcastle. Molly stood, watching them, the picture of the doting mother.
It'll be so quiet
That who'll come by it
Except a seagull?
Hoo! Hoo!
We shouldn't try it,
Though, till it's legal,
For two-hoo!
In a bright, beautiful seaside chapel; Molly and Sherlock were getting married. This being her fantasy, she wore white. Sherlock was in a constricting morning coat with a rakish top hat. Archie, the best man, watches proudly.
But a seaside wedding
Could be devised,
Me rumpled bedding
Legitimized.
They exchanged vows and kissed. It felt almost real.
My eyelids'll flutter,
I'll turn into butter,
The moment I mutter
"I do-hoo!"
Molly was with Sherlock, Archie and a guest in the cottage; she placed a plate of kippers on the table amidst a proper English breakfast.
By the sea, in our nest,
We could share our kippers
With the odd paying guest
From the weekend trippers,
Have a nice sunny suite
For the guest to rest in –
Back at the beach, Molly, Sherlock and Archie sat comfortably, watching an unnaturally gorgeous sunset. The perfect picture of a happy family.
By the sea.
Married nice and proper,
By the sea–
Bring along your chopper
To the seaside,
Hoo! Hoo!
By the beautiful sea!
She throws her arms affectionately around her two men.
Molly was sitting in the exact same position with Sherlock as in her daydream. It was silence.
Her smile fades as she considers him. The grim, brooding reality is so clear next to her lovely dream. His and her world was so dark, full of murder and delusions, Sherlock was still thinking of revenge and that pesky John of his; maybe when this was all over, they could live that dream.