A/N: Blame this bit o' crack on broomclosetkink. She says it's not an evil idea.
You shall be the judges.
Rated M, includes marital infidelity (sort of), making fun of Tom, and quaint old-fashioned ideas of how to cure 'female hysteria'
"Doctor Watson! Thank goodness you've come!" Sir Thomas grasped the arm of the man who'd knocked at his townhouse door, pushing aside his own butler and allowing neither man to protest as he hustled the visitor into the entryway. "My wife, I'm at my wit's end! Her parents claimed she was most biddable and modest, and yet in the two months we've been wed she's proven herself to be anything but! I fear it is..." Here he lowered his voice and looked around nervously, although the butler had already vanished from sight. "...female hysteria. And you, Doctor Watson, are surely the man to cure her of this ailment."
Sherlock Holmes - for it was he whom the inbred idiot had mistaken for his dear friend and boon companion Doctor John Watson - chose not to disabuse Sir Thomas of this notion, but rather allowed himself to be half-dragged up the imposing staircase and down several long, drafty corridors.
"You come highly recommended, Doctor Watson," Sir Thomas babbled as he walked. "Miss Janine Hawkins, a dear friend, cannot sing your praises too highly. In truth, it was she who advised me of this solution to my marital woes."
'Marital woes' indeed. Sherlock refrained from snorting at this ridiculous understatement. Sir Thomas had wed Molly out of desire for her family's money; she'd only agreed because the man she truly loved was an even bigger idiot than her (current) husband.
That man, of course, being one William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Consulting Detective and utter arse who'd bollixed things up so badly that he'd been forced to resort to subertuge in order to gain access to the woman he had taken far too long to realize he loved.
"And tell me, Sir Thomas," he said, "do you often confide such intimate details to your 'dear friends'?" He raised his eyebrows in an expression of polite interest, and was rather savagely pleased to see the fellow's gaze drop as he blushed and stuttered an attempt at an explanation.
"Enough," Sherlock snapped as the idiot babbled on about men having needs and wives not understanding such things. "I believe it is high time I attended to my patient." With those words, he gave a peremptory knock on the door.
"Bugger off, I already told you I have a migraine! Surely you can find comfort in your favorite little trollops' arms tonight!"
Sherlock's lip curled in a delighted grin, and he wasted no time in wrenching open the door. Or rather, in attempting to so do; the little minx had locked it. "Good for you, Molly," he muttered to himself, then set about picking the lock while Sir Thomas fretted and muttered in the hall behind him.
As soon as the door opened, he ducked, and was therefore saved from a headache of his own since the hurled missile - a tea-cup - smashed against the far wall of the corridor instead (alas, entirely missing Sir Thomas' face). "I said, leave me a-oh!"
Molly, arm cocked to throw a second missile - the jam jar this time - and mouth open to deliver another insult, spluttered into silence as Sherlock strode confidently into the room. "Ah, Lady Molly, how very nice to make your acquaintance," he said, not giving her time to do more than lower her arm and clutch her dressing gown to her chest. "I am Doctor Watson, and have been summoned by your husband to assist you with your current, no doubt vexatious, indisposition."
"I-what?" was her rather inarticulate response.
"I have come to confirm your husband's diagnosis of female hysteria," he replied as he reached her side - and scooped her into his arms. "And in order to do so, I shall, of course, be required to give you a full examination."
"Sh-Doctor Watson, I thank you for your concern, but I can assure you, I am in no need of any medical assistance at this time," she said haughtily - but he saw the unhappiness in her eyes, and it made him almost physically ill to know that he was the reason for her current predicament.
"You just said you had a migraine," he countered, ignoring the clenching of his gut.
"It is much better, thank you," she riposted, pushing feebly at his chest. "All I needed was rest and privacy." With those words she shot a glare at her husband, who continued to pace near the door, wringing his hands and biting his lower lip in agitation.
"I'll be the judge of that," Sherlock said, in his most autocratic voice. Then he laid her on the bed and undid the tie to her dressing-gown.
"I say, is it really necessary to touch her in so...intimate a manner?" Sir Thomas bleated as he hurried up to the pair of them, hands fluttering uselessly at his sides. "Surely there is some medicine you can dose her with? Or, or something I can do to -"
Sherlock and Molly turned equally withering stares on the man, who moved back a step before coming to a stubborn stop. Perhaps he'd finally recalled that he was the supposed master of this house.
"The preferred treatment for female hysteria is to bring about an hysterical paroxysm via direct pelvic stimulation," Sherlock replied crisply. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you capable of performing this highly specialized medical treatment?"
Sir Thomas shook his head and folded his hands behind his back while Molly bit her lip in an obvious attempt to keep herself from laughing aloud at her husband's ignorance. How she had managed two entire months of marriage to such a man without stabbing him in the hand (or elsewhere) with a fork was beyond his ken.
"Lady Molly, it is vital to the treatment that you be restrained," Sherlock said, turning his attention back where it should be - to the woman in his arms. Swiftly removing the tie to her dressing-gown, he held it suggestively in his hands. "You understand, of course."
Now she was biting her lip to hold back an entirely different sort of reaction; he could see the heat in her eyes and knew that the trembling in her limbs was not out of fear or outrage...but desire. The same desire that coursed through his own veins like molten lava. Although he'd initially intended only to persuade her to come to 'his' medical offices (and then to further persuade her to nullify her unfortunate marriage), now...now he had other plans.
Plans which his good friend, the real Doctor John Watson, would no doubt berate him for most insistently, were he to be privy to them.
"What, what do you intend to do to me, 'Doctor'?" Molly asked as he tenderly placed the strip of fabric around her wrists and drew her arms over her head. the slight stutter in her voice was not born of nerves but of further arousal. The question was disingenuous, for he could see that she knew exactly what he intended. He watched as her eyes darted to the nervously pacing form of her husband, and Sherlock gave a slight nod - both of approval for her quick wittedness, and of confirmation that she'd deduced him correctly.
A quick dart of her tongue over her lips, a heated stare, and he allowed another grin to spread across his lips as he fastened the other end of the ties to the brass headboard. "Lady Molly, as your husband claims - and as I have just witnessed - you are in need of immediate medical attention. He believes that your peculiarities must be tamed, your temper calmed, and your willfulness subdued. I am here to provide you with exactly what you need in order to accomplish one goal: to improve your quality of life and bring you to a permanent state of personal happiness and contentment."
He did not ask for her permission; it had already been granted through that wordless understanding they'd once shared and had now rekindled. She had studied the current medical treatment for female hysteria and therefore knew as much about - if not more - than he did.
That both of them considered it so much falderal was entirely beside the point in this particular moment.
"Sir Thomas, if you would kindly close and lock the door?" he called over his shoulder as he removed his body from where it had been covering hers and sat next to her on the bed. "Do I need to restrain your nether limbs, my lady?" he asked in a soft purr as Sir Thomas hastened to do as he'd been bid.
She shook her head, lowering her gaze demurely. The soft click of the lock being engaged captured neither her attention nor that of her erstwhile doctor. Nor did they take notice of the sound of Sir Thomas' hesitant shuffling steps as he approached the foot of the bed and took up a watchful stance there.
After all, both inhabitants of the bed had their own, not dissimilar, reasons for wishing The Idiot to remain. A lesson in how to truly please a woman might not go entirely over his head.
"Are you certain that this will cure what ails my wife?" the other man asked, eyes darting anxiously from one to the other. He remained oblivious of the undertones, of the electricity sparking between the two people now occupying his wife's bed. "Will this treatment help her with her failings as a wife - not that they're your fault, my darling," he added hastily when she turned her glare upon him. "You cannot help your upbringing, of course, coming from such common roots…"
"Sir Thomas, do shut up," Sherlock snapped, unable to bear the sound of the man's voice one second longer. "I require utter silence from you from now on," he added smoothly when he reared back in offence. "Part of the treatment, you know."
"Ahh, yes of course-er," Sir Thomas broke off and nodded vigorously, his eyes veritably glued to the pair on the bed.
Without breaking eye contact with Molly, Sherlock removed his coat, laying it casually across his lap. He held up one arm, undoing the cuff links and rolling the sleeve deliberately up to a point just below his elbow. He did the same for the other sleeve, carefully placing the cuff links in his waistcoat pocket.
"Now, my lady," he said in a velvety purr when he'd completed these actions, "shall we begin your...treatment?"
Molly's response was a breathless nod, her chest heaving in a most intoxicating manner. She was uncorseted, clad only in her ruffled dressing-gown and virginal white night-dress. After pushing aside the former, Sherlock slid one hand up her leg, being sure to slide the latter up well past the top of her thigh. A slight gasp escaped both Molly and Sir Thomas' lips at the same time, but Sherlock concentrated his attention on his 'patient'.
If only he'd thought to do so earlier in their relationship, it might not have come to this subterfuge. The fact that she was willingly abetting him, however, gave him hopes that it wasn't entirely too late.
"As I have already explained, Lady Molly," he said, keeping his voice to the dark rumble he knew she found most arousing, "the aim of today's session is to bring about an hysterical paroxysm via the method of pelvic massage. Do you understand?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, circling his fingers lightly along the top of her thigh. She wore no undergarments, and knew his teasing touch was just beyond where she most longed to feel him.
She nodded, cheeks pinkening, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, and shifted her hips just the slightest bit. Everything else faded from his consciousness: he no longer registered the presence of the other man, the features of the room or even the time of day. The only thing left was his hand on Molly's thigh and the woman herself. He focused every ounce of his considerable intellect on her and her alone - and found it not the least bit difficult to do so.
He leaned forward, lowering his head so that his lips brushed her ear. "And now," he murmured lowly, "I shall relieve you of the many stresses, frustrations and irritations you have endured these past two months - and I can assure you, it is my intention that you not suffer them ever again."
"If that is the case, Doctor, then I will offer no further resistance," she said with a tender smile.
He met it with one of his own, only barely stopping himself from clasping her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her palm. She understood - she approved - she agreed!
Now it was up to him to show her exactly what he was offering her, aside from his humble self.
Her breath hitched again as his fingers trailed beneath the delicate fabric that modestly - albeit barely - covered her sex. She was already dewy with want - a state which her husband undoubtedly would find himself unfamiliar with should he ever bother to check - and the slight tremble in her limbs was as unmistakable as it was arousing. He shifted slightly to ease the growing tightness in his trousers, glancing down to ensure that - yes, his neatly folded coat did indeed hide any evidence of his own, erm, personal interest in his actions.
Thus reassured, he returned his focus to Molly Hooper - now Lady Molly Milverton. But not, he was determined, for long. With multiple goals firmly in hand - as it were - he returned his fingers to their light stroking of Molly's soft upper thigh. With the other hand he reached down and boldly grasped one breast through the fine batiste of her night-gown. In anticipation of Sir Thomas' imminent protest - revealed by the slightest intake of breath - he said in his most professorly voice, "Direct physical stimulation of the mammaries via the medium of the female breasts is a proven ancillary method of preventing hysterical outbursts. Especially if the nipple is directly vitalized...thusly."
He pinched his fingers together, as much to keep back Molly's evident giggles at his pseudo-scientific quackery as to bring about the much more desired effect of further arousing her. It worked on both levels, much to his satisfaction. And since Sir Thomas could not, at this time, see his expression, he allowed a smile to quirk the corners of his lips as Molly made a soft 'Ohhh' and squirmed beneath his touch.
His other hand was not idle, having inched further beneath her night-gown, his thumb stroking the outer lips of her sex, the tip of one finger just barely flicking against her hidden pearl of pleasure.
He nearly let out a snort of derision aimed at himself for such coyness. The technical term was the clitoris. Yes, some inner cynical voice responded. And it is your penis that is throbbing so painfully in your trousers. Stop analyzing and get on with it, man!
"The key to bringing about the desired result is, of course, proper technique," he said, as much to silence his inner critic as to (one could only hope) educate Molly's soon-to-be former spouse in how to please a woman. Miss Hawkins, at the very least, might someday benefit from such instruction. "Pelvic massage must be performed delicately." He slid his fingers up the wet seam of Molly's sex. "Carefully." He teased her clitoris with his thumb. "At least at first."
He smiled at Molly as she trembled beneath his careful ministrations. "Once you have brought the subject to the proper level of preparedness, then you must become...firmer." He slipped both fingers inside, feeling her muscles clenching around the digits as the pooling moisture slicked the way for more aggressive movements. "Continued stimulation of the breasts, as I've already demonstrated, will aid in bringing about the desired result." He pinched each nipple between the fingers of his free hand, first the left, then the right, tugging and teasing at them through the lightweight material of her night-dress.
"Yes, ahh, I, ahem, I see," Sir Thomas stammered, keeping his voice low - but Sherlock was not unaware of the way the man was shifting from foot to foot, and allowed himself a secretive smile, to be shared only with Molly.
"The movements must be regular, and you must watch the patient carefully for signs that the treatment is working. Note the flushed cheeks, the slight movements of the hips, the way her hands are clenching and unclenching even though bound above her head." Sherlock matched actions to words, his fingers rubbing with more urgency against Molly's slick interior, building the friction that would soon bring her to completion. "The increased breathing is another sign that the treatment is working, and of course you've noted the pulse throbbing in her neck. Were I to lay a hand here…" Sherlock's hand hovered over the left side of Molly's chest. . "...you would feel the speed at which her heart is beating." He lowered the appendage slowly, with deliberation, and rested his palm on her breast, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb over the hard peak of her nipple.
He slid the hand down to her hip, tugging her legs further apart and making sure that Sir Thomas had a clear view of her glistening sex, that he could see 'Doctor Watson's' fingers pumping in and out of her. He brought his other hand down, rubbing her clitoris until it peaked beneath his fingers into a hard little nub. He pressed ever deeper with the fingers of his other hand, until he found the spongy softness that the real John Watson had whispered about one drinks-fueled evening a few weeks after his wedding. Stimulating that spot, he'd advised Sherlock with a self-satisfied smirk, had a most salutary effect on the new Mrs. Watson - and Sherlock was keen to discover if his friend was simply exaggerating his own prowess.
Judging by Molly's cries of pleasure, the way her sex was spasming about his fingers, the gush of slick wetness now coating his fingers, John had been nothing but truthful. In vino veritas, indeed.
Only when the last shudder had eased did he remove his hands from her body, being sure to wipe his fingers on his pocket handkerchief before gently pulling her gown back down her legs. There was a light blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed; he pulled it up and laid it across her before reaching down to take her hand tenderly in his. "When you are quite recovered, I would be pleased if you would join me in my consulting rooms," he said. "We will need to discuss future treatments, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes," she said, but her expression had sobered, and Sherlock saw her eyes flick toward her husband, who was blustering in the background about 'what future treatments' and 'I will be the judge of what's necessary for my wife' and other such nonsense. "I will join you as soon as I have made the necessary arrangements."
"Excellent." Giving in to his own need, Sherlock swooped down and pressed a claiming kiss to her lips before jumping to his feet, catching up his suit jacket before it slipped to the floor. "Well, Sir Thomas, I hope you were paying attention - and if you weren't, then I hope the next Mrs. Milverton will be willing to point out your deficiencies in the marital bed."
Whistling a sprightly tune, he exited the bedroom, confident that Molly would be able to explain things to poor Sir Thomas in simple enough terms that even a man of his monumental stupidity would be able to grasp their meaning.
oOo
Two hours later, his landlady admitted a new client to his Baker Street digs. "Lady Milverton to see you, Sherlock," she said, ushering a smiling Molly into his presence. "The poor dear needs your assistance in a matter of some delicacy." She gave Molly's hand an encouraging squeeze as Sherlock rose to his feet and gave a slight bow of greeting. "Some men just don't realize what they stand to lose when they forget to treat their wives with the proper respect," Mrs. Hudson sniffed as she bustled off to fetch the tea things.
"Some men," Sherlock agreed softly, "are fools."
Molly stepped up to him, laid her hand over his thundering heart. "Some men are," she agreed. "But some men learn from their mistakes."
"I am so very grateful that I managed to become such a man despite myself," Sherlock said, taking her hands in his.
"As am I," Molly said with another smile, allowing him to pull her into his arms for a lingering kiss - the first of many they would share through their long, happy lives together.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read, follow and review. You guys rock!