Special Note 3/17/19: New cover image by lovely reader Elizabeth Robello.

Sherlock was restless. He had gone to bed soon after Molly left for nightshift, but he couldn't sleep. He sent a text to his new wife.

"I can't sleep without you in bed beside me."

Molly's response had been prompt, as it usually was when she was on the graveyard shift, because things were usually quiet at the hospital.

"Why don't you read a book? That might help you fall asleep."

"Good idea, love." After sending the text, the detective went upstairs to the smaller bedroom, to check out the bookcase which contained Molly's collection of novels.

What to read? He ran his thumb along the spines of the books. Agatha Christie, nope, he didn't think reading a mystery novel would help him sleep, it was far more likely to keep him awake and trying to figure out the ending before it was revealed in the book. Besides, he'd read most of those books. Enid Blyton, definitely not. Those children's stories could wait until he and Molly had their own family. Ah, here was a possibility. There were several romance novels by Barbara Cartland, historical romances that were not overly long in length.

Sherlock had been curious about Molly's collection of romance novels, and had even wondered sometimes if Molly thought he was her own personal hero. She had made reference to the "tall, dark and handsome" persona he presented. Perhaps he could read a story to try and understand his wife's thought processes on romance a little better. He might even get some new ideas on how to please her.

Sherlock selected one of the novels at random. It was about a penniless Marquis who was being forced to marry the daughter of a rich neighbour in order to restore his family estate.

The detective took the book downstairs with him and climbed into bed. He began to read the story. Ir was certainly romantic enough and rather sweet. Of course, the hero fell in love with the heroine after they were married for some time and they finally consummated the marriage only when they loved each other. The wording was rather quaint. "And as he made her his, It was if he carried her up into the Heavens. It was a union of their bodies and souls which came from God."

Sherlock snorted, then realized it was actually how he felt when he and his wife made love. Each and every time was better than the last, as they explored each other's bodies and learned more each time

The sleuth yawned. Molly was right. Reading did make one sleepy. Even though he felt lonely due to the empty space beside him, Sherlock's eyes eventually drifted shut and he slept.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

Lord Sherlock Holmes, the new Marquis of Sherrinford stared at his mother in open-mouther horror.

"It can't be true. How could Father have allowed things to get to this? You are saying all the money is gone?"

Violet Holmes, the now dowager Marchioness of Sherrinford explained. "Your father made some very bad investments. He mortgaged everything that was not entailed, certain of the investment opportunity. Now the venture has failed and we are virtually penniless."

"And Father conveniently had to have a heart attack and die before he saw the ruination of our family. May he re burn in hell," the Marquis sneered.

"Sherlock, you mustn't speak ill of the dead. Your father," Violet Holmes paused, and a tear escaped down her face, "has only been dead forthree weeks."

"This should not have been my problem. I was not raised to run an estate as my brother was. You allowed me to attend university to gain scientific knowledge because I was the second son and not the heir. Mycroft would have made a better Marquis because he was trained for it from birth."

"I know, my dear."

"What in God's name are we to do about this?" asked her son, running a frustrated hand through his dark, curly hair.

"I only know of one solution," said his mother.

"Tell me," ordered the Marquis.

"Our new neighbour, the wealthy one who left England and struck it rich in America, before returning, - Mr. Sheldon Hooper and his wife Amy, are offering their daughter, Molly's hand in marriage to you. They will provide an enormous dowry to settle our debts and restore the estate to full solvency, in order to gain a title for their daughter."

Lord Sherlock stared at his mother in disbelief. "Marriage? I never intended to marry. If my older brother Mycroft hadn't run off with that totally unsuitable harlot, Irene, he would be the one standing here in my position."

"Nevertheless, he made his decision and was cut off by your father as a result. You are now the head of the family. It is your duty to produce an heir to carry on the family name and title, or it will fall to the next person in line. Surely you don't want the title to fall into the hands of your distant cousin, James Moriarty? I fear he craves the title already. He has always envied our station, and lusted for power."

"I am aware of that. I also suspect he was the one who put that Irene trollop in Mycroft's path, with the idea that she would seduce him, and he would be disinherited."

"Well, if that is the case, it certainly worked. Now, all that stands between him and the title are you and any heirs you might have. Besides, you must think of me and your younger sister, Eurus."

"I know," answered the handsome Marquis heavily. "I cannot allow James to inherit. He would attempt to use the power of our title and his underworld connections to disrupt the nation and undermine the king."

"That's true enough, so will you marry the girl?"

"How old is this Molly, anyway?" demanded the Marquis.

"She is three years younger than you, 27."

"My God, what is wrong with the girl to still be unmarried at her advanced age? Did she have the pox as a child and is so ugly no man would have her?"

"Sherlock, I have seen the girl. She is lovely and has a very sweet disposition. According to her mother, she was engaged at one point to a man named Tom, but she broke off the engagement for some reason. The man accused her of secretly seeing another man and allowing herself to be seduced, thereby ruining her virtue. A huge scandal ensued, and the family has been ostracized in the highest circles of society as a result. You would have known this if you didn't have your nose in a book so often, or if you would spend time away from those strange experiments. I could have sworn I saw you experimenting on an eyeball once."

"This situation has nothing to do with my experiments. Is this really the only solution, Mother? There has to be some other way. We have some very valuable paintings in the gallery. Perhaps I could sell them?"

"Dear boy, you know as well as I do that those paintings are all entailed, to protect them for future generations to enjoy. Anything that was not entailed has been sold to pay the interest on the mortgages to our smaller properties."

Lord Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I shall have to do this, for the sake of those future generations, or they will inherit nothing but more debt." Then he added dark,y, "Or even worse, my cousin James would inherit everything."

"That is very wise of you, my son." Violet Holmes kissed her son on the cheek. "I will speak with Mr. Hooper and we will make the arrangements for the wedding to take place as soon as possible."

"Very well. I have but one condition."

The dowager Marchioness looked at him inquiringly.

"I do not wish to see this girl, this Molly, until she walks down the aisle to me. I wish to enjoy the few days of freedom I have left, to work on my experiments."

Violet sighed, "It shall be as you ask, my son, although I do not believe delaying your meeting before the wedding will make for a healthy marriage."

"What do I care for a healthy marriage?" asked Lord Sherlock angrily. "I never asked for this damned title or these estates. I shall do my duty as a husband, get her with child, and then she can leave me to do my experiments in peace."

"I wish you didn't feel that way, Sherlock. Don't you want to allow yourself to get to know her and fall in love?"

"Love?" he echoed mockingly. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"Those are very cynical words, my son. Your father and I were very happy."

"And look where it got you. A husband who had no sense when it came to money and was prepared to leave you destitute, a son who ran off with a harlot, a daughter who is simple of mind and must be kept in an asylum, and myself, a man who longs only to spend his time conducting scientific experiments. Not to mention my best friend John, who lost his wife Mary in childbirth and now has to contend with raising little Rosamund alone."

"Love is not perfect, Sherlock, but it is possible. You should open your heart to it. What if this Molly Hooper is the one whom God intended for you?"

"God? God is a ludicrous fantasy, designed to provide a career opportunity for the third son of a titled family. I am only glad Father did not force me to go into the military, as is traditional for a second son."

"I am glad of it too. Your best friend John was in the military, though. Wasn't he a medic? You should ask him to stand up for you as your best man."

The Marquis groaned. "I do not wish to be subjected to the detailsof planning this farce of a wedding."

"You must have a best man. Ask John, and Mr.s Hooper and I will take care of the rest of the details."

"I shall do so. Leave me now, Mother. I must take refuge in my mind palace or I shall go mad."

"I shall speak with you again once the arrangements have been made."

He gave a curt nod of dismissal and the dowager Marchioness left the room.

So, he thought, if I must be married, I shall just have to make the best of it. The sooner I get the girl with child and fulfill my duties to provide an heir for the Sherrinford title, the sooner I can be left to my own devices.

He retreated into his mind palace to provide some solitude from this unwelcome turn of events.

It was only when the housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson appeared with a fresh tray of ginger nut biscuits, that he forced himself to return to the present. At all costs, he had to make sure Janes Moriarty did not have the opportunity to steal the title of Marquis of Sherrinford for himself.

Author's note: The very first romance novel I read as a teenager was "The pretty Little Horse-breakers," by Barbara Cartland. Reading that novel began a long obsession with her beautifully sweet and romantic stores, set usually in the Regency era. I loved reading about the different noblemen, and would go to various libraries in my area just to find more of Barbara Cartland's novels to read. Incidentally she holds the world record for the most books published in a year, 26, (a book every two weeks? Phew!) and wrote 723 books in her career, most of them historical romances.

This is my attempt to write in the style if Barbara Cartland, while still remaining faithful to my own Sherlock universe. Therefore the events in this multi-chapter chronicle will all be part of my "real" Sherlock's dream.

I hope you enjoy my flight of fancy. If you are a Barbara Cartland fan, I would love to know if you think I remain faithful to her writing style. I hope you also enjoy the "Easter eggs" I incorporate from the series.

By the way, what did you think of me making Mrs. Hudson the housekeeper? I couldn'r resist, and I had a laugh over that!

Titles for the chapters are titles of Barbara Cartland books.

I apologize for any typos you may find. I proof read as best I can, several times over, but, like Sherlock "I always miss something." I am legally blind so do have a lot of trouble finding errors (especially n and m). If you find errors, please pm me and point them out and I will edit and re-load. Thanks!