Chapter 1 The Wait

Coming here was a mistake.

Storming out of his brother's house, Sherlock, the Holmes's younger master of sixteen years of age, ignored the shocking looks from the household servants. His brother's senior steward with the name of- Graham or Gavin? whatever!- strode fluently to catch up with him to pushed and held the thick wooden gate wide open for him at the entrance of the estate, giving him a wild smile before closing the door.

Well…at least someone still remember their places, the young master thought resentfully as he kicked hard at the smooth pebbles on the neatly paved road. Two of the lads from the town giggled upon seeing him, mimicking his kicks. Sherlock bit hard on his lip, sheering away from the paved way and began to run as fast as he could towards the middle of the field ,throwing himself into the lushness of the mid-summer grass.

Rubbing his face against the slightly coarse herbage, he groaned loudly before flipping himself over to lie on his back. Looking straight into the cloudless afternoon sky, he refused to wink under the bright light for he was still angry at not only the tears from his wife but also the condemning glares from the impeccable and formidable Lady Anthea, his brother's wife of ten years, who had persuaded his family to make him tie the knot with her cousin little Margaret -also known as Molly- four years ago.

It had been considered the best arrangement at the time, with both sides of the families being friendly for generations and Sherlock seemed to be quite fond of Molly's company. The only extra condition required by Molly's father had been that the couple needed to wait for at least a year before consummating the marriage. Which had not been unacceptable for his family given that Molly did look particularly small when they had they wedded at the porch of the nearby monastery.

But now, just storming out of his brother's house, Sherlock frustratingly recalled that it had been already four years and he and Molly not only hadn't consummated anything but also still lived under different roofs. Since in order to honor the agreement with her father, Molly had been arranged to live in his brother's house under the care of her cousin Lady Anthea. Sherlock, on the other hand, being the married second son, was given another household in the town just outside the family estate.

It wasn't so bad in the beginning. At first, Sherlock enjoyed the liberty of living alone and having the dotting Mrs. Hudson running the household. Without being overseen by his sister-in-law, the young master was allowed to lock in the cellar to play with his alchemic devices or run between the town and the nearby city with his friend John, looking into mysteries or giving opinions on disputes while being asked by his brother's senior steward Gorge (was that really his name?). With Mycroft being constantly away, Lady Anthea only required his presence a few times a month so that he could speak with little Molly. And during those times, Sherlock was more than happy to share the mysteries he'd encountered to make her smile. She was very timid in front of him in those early days. Although Sherlock could tell that she loved their long walks -and sometimes chases - through the field from her admiring smiles and nervous giggles.

A year later, nothing had changed.

Then another year passed.

At the beginning of the third year, Sherlock sensed that Molly seemed to speak less. She became quite anxious during his visit. Sometimes she'd even make excuses to hide in her chamber. Talks in the town were suggesting that something hadn't been right about her. Sherlock ignored all those gossiping as he always did, only to bring it up to Lady Anthea once, after one day Molly bumped into him in the town but chose to flee from his presence without a word. Lady Anthea didn't say much, merely telling him that girls became different when they grew older. Sherlock snorted at her face. Lady Anthea always treated him like he was a boy. Such ambiguous answer was just typical.

It wasn't until the arrival of John's new wife, a swordmaster's daughter named Mary, that Sherlock started to understand why Lady Anthea didn't want to say anything. After the ceremony, the new couple soon made a new home in the town. And before Sherlock began to get used to Mary's teasing tone, suddenly John told him that he wouldn't be able to run around with him that often in the future, for Mary was with child. Sherlock would never forget the expression on John's face while making the announcement. It had been embarrassment and pride merging together. One of the oddest thing he'd even seen.

'No need to look so surprised, Sherlock,' John laughed, as he gave him a firm pat on the back. 'It's not like you don't know how this kind of thing goes. Sooner or later this would come to you as well!'

'Come to me…how?' Sherlock remembered himself uttering, his eyes glancing past the threshold of John's house, as a tittering Mary, with her arms folded in front of her, stepping out of the door to lean upon the wooden wall.

'Oh, no! Are you serious?' she exclaimed, eyes widening. 'For someone with your reputation and status, Master Sherlock, your ignorance of human nature is unbelievable!' She had smacked her tongue rather loudly, while shaking her head, giving her husband an intriguing look, which John responded with a suppressed smile…much to Sherlock's annoyance.

But he didn't snap at them. Turning his gaze between the husband and wife, an unknown sense of loss captured the chest of the young master, making him tighten his jaw and look away.

Sensing his displeasure, John moved closer to him and asked. 'Sherlock…' he began, taking a deep breath. 'My friend, did your family tell you anything before the nuptials? You know…things about how husband and wife being…um…together?'

'They…did,' Sherlock muttered in response, still looking at the other way, as he vaguely recalled the brief conversation between him and Mycroft days before the ceremony at the monastery. He hadn't paid the slightest attention throughout the whole lecture, far too occupied thinking about the dead moth on his desk and how he'd show it to little Molly when his brother had finished. But thinking back on that day, Sherlock could recollect the exact lecture Mycroft had given him. Among all the nonsense of the ways of nature and family duties…one particular thing he had said stood out - 'Patience is required in your union with little Margaret, Sherlock. It could be a long wait before she is able to be your wife in truth.'

His wife in truth, those were his brother's exact words.

He didn't bother to bid the Watsons goodbye before he found himself walking toward the manor. The household servants stared at him as if they had seen a ghost. He searched for Molly, his wife, wondering what she'd make of his sudden visit and unsure of how to tell her that he missed her company. But after looking into every room in the house, he was led to the stable to confront a slightly disgruntled Lady Anthea.

'Brother,' she called out. Sherlock couldn't help but gasp. It had been years since she addressed him as such when she first met him as the new mistress of the household and he was merely a six-year-old running about and messing with her servants. A thorough spank by her maidservant Sally had put him straight for good, at least within her ladyship's hearing range. Since then, Sherlock had learned to avoid her (and her maids!) when he planned to do anything fun in the house.

'Lady Anthea,' he responded, blinking slowly while her eyes bored into his. 'Ah…what a nice day? I haven't seen such clear sky for weeks…'

'Indeed.' She smiled, turning around to gesture the servants leave them then giving him a firm look, before leading him to walk to the open space behind the stable. So that she could speak with me in private, Sherlock noted immediately.

'Nice day,' she began, pointing directly to the field beyond the fence. 'That's why I sent Molly out for a ride. She can do with some fresh air and sun!'

Sherlock felt his jaw drop. 'Molly doesn't ride,' he said.

'She does now,' she cheerfully sang, raising a hand to put above her eyes, looking forwards to the distant field. 'Look, there she is! Gregory only taught her for a few days and see what a horsewoman she becomes! Very impressive, don't you think?'

'I…' Sherlock didn't answer. His eyes were drawn towards the green field where the afternoon ray shone brightly as if the sky was raining gold dust. Molly was there, wearing a cornflower blue gown and straddling Anthea's chestnut mare, while the young animal bounced up and down across the field, making her toss about on the saddle. But she didn't lose her balance, simply held the rein securely and managing to sit straight while moving accordingly. The groomsmen standing nearby looked quite nervous, as they kept trying to rush forwards when Molly seemingly lost her grip, only to hold back each every single time, when Molly balanced herself and laughed out loud.

Sherlock held his breath and swallowed hard. It was the first time he heard Molly laughed like that, cheerful and carefree. He turned his face away.

'Sherlock,' Lady Anthea called him, while he biting his lip, unsure of what made his stomach twist.

'Brother?'

'Yes?' he jerked.

'Are you well?'

'I'm fine, Lady Anthea,' he blurted out, knowing that she wouldn't believe him.

'Your cheeks are red.'

'The air is warm-'

'You may stop pretending, Sherlock,' she said with a light snort, then let out a sigh, 'I know why you're here. Sally said you almost tore down every door in the house in search of your wife!'

'That's a wild exaggeration, sister!'

'Don't be so grumpy. You know how Sally is like,' she shrugged, turning to look at the field, where Molly was still riding, the young mare had become less bouncy and trotting briskly across the long grass. 'You came here to see Molly, why?' she began. Sherlock immediately gritted his teeth.

'I don't suppose that's your ladyship's business. Molly and I are-'

'Married, yes. But that doesn't mean you may intrude here without notice. I believe I had made the instructions very clear.'

Sherlock could only smirk and try not to laugh at his brother's wife. 'You seem rather determined to interfere, Lady Anthea. Which is curious, given your position as the mistress of the house and my brother's wife. Surely you know you shouldn't stand in the way of- '

'She hasn't bled, Sherlock.' Flatly, Lady Anthea cut in, staring up at him. The groomsmen in the field suddenly raised their voices to call for Molly, asking her to ride back, as she reached the far end at the edge of the forest.

'What-'

'Don't play fool to me,' she sighed. 'You know what I'm talking about.'

'The…' Sherlock hesitated, his mind racing rapidly while his eyes fixed on Molly in the distance. She was calling and laughing out loudly while rushing back. Her head turned and halted for a moment, as she looked at the general direction of the servants. Sherlock felt his ears burning up.

'It's fine for you to be eager, though,' Lady Anthea sighed, her tone turning a bit softer. 'Being married for more than two years and still unable to touch your wife,' she continued. 'But bear in mind, Sherlock. We made a promise to her father. There's no way we would push her to share your bed before she's ready. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Sherlock dropped his gaze. His cheeks were aflame! All he wanted at that moment was to run away. Of course, he knew what his sister-in-law meant. He wasn't stupid. He had heard discrete whispers and vulgar ballads spoken and sung by both men and women. But never had he imagined it would be Lady Anthea of all people to be the first one talking about his…wants. And never had he, before that moment, known how much he wanted Molly, his wife.

So he slipped away, despite Lady Anthea telling him it was fine to stay until Molly rode back. He retreated back to his house, hiding in his chamber, trying to ease the pain inflicted by the image of Molly's slim figure on the horseback by his hands. But he soon realized it was impossible, for her pearls of laughter remained in his ears even after he fell asleep. In his dream, the field was empty just for the two of them. There were no servant, no Lady Anthea watching from the distance, as he grabbed the flying blue gown to turn her around, kissing her lips until she was blushed like an apple. He couldn't wait to see how far did the redness on her skin go down from her neck.

That was the beginning of his suffering.

He missed the arranged call time of that week, then the next. Because he didn't know what to say to her.

He followed Molly from the distance a few times, just to see where she went and to whom she talked.

He was absolutely livid when she sprained her left ankle while getting down from her newly purchased grey mare and was picked up by the new servant in Lady Anthea's household named Dimmock.

He remembered lashing out at her on the street when he saw Dimmock carrying her on his back, with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her suppressed sobs broke into tears when he chastised her careless and childish manner. It was the first time he saw her cry.

Lady Anthea was furious, according to the talks in the town. Sally was sent to ask him what was that about. Sherlock told her that it was painful to see Molly behave so foolishly in public. Sally snorted at his face. The next day she brought a bunch of flower to his house, telling him that her lady demanded him to call on Molly and apologize later that day. He did as he was told, only to be thrown out moments after he arrived for upsetting Molly by his comment on her swelling ankle and bags under her eyes. ('These really make you more like a fool than yesterday on the street!' )

Then that was it. Her timid smiles disappeared. She was confined in the house for days. When he went to call on her a week later, Sally was there to accompany them. They sat together by the window, looking down to the front yard. Sherlock told her that he was glad that she stopped riding, for it was clearly not a suitable activity for her small figure. She stared at him for a while then told him it was one of the few things she believed she was actually good at. And she would be doing it again, once her foot was fully healed.

Sherlock remembered arguing with her. But she merely looked away when he spoke and, a few moments later, turned to tell Sally that she was tired.

A few days later, Lady Anthea sent words to his house, saying that Molly was to spend the rest of summer and autumn with her parents. So there was no need of him to call on her until she came back, probably before the first snow.

Sherlock felt like being punched in the stomach. Mary urged him to bid Molly goodbye before she left, but he ignored her. He stood aside near the road when the carriage drove away.

She didn't return when the snow fell. One morning after another flurry, a man bearing the Holmes crest rode into the town, asking for the audience of him and Lady Anthea. He brought along Mycroft's hand, which informed them that Molly's father had died.

The letter also told them that there was no need for them to travel to Molly in the snow because Mycroft had already been there when the message was sent. He shall return with Molly when the snow thawed and hopefully the lady's chamber in Sherlock's house would be ready by that time.

The hint was clear enough.

He dreamt of her again that night. This time, she wasn't in the field, but sitting on his bed, looking away but still wearing that cornflower blue gown, while he was turning and tossing under the cover, struggling to get up. And when he did sit up, he was surrounded by darkness except for the flickering light and cracking sounds from the fireplace.

Lady Anthea came to call on him the next morning, accompanied by her maidservants. She didn't pay him much attention, simply selecting a few rooms and told him to clear them for it would be necessary for Molly's use once she became the mistress of his household.

He did as he was told.

But those rooms never had a chance to be opened until now. For, when she and Mycroft came back shortly after the snowbreak, she chose to remain in the manor because she had been, as Mycroft put it, sinking deep in the well of grief. For the entire spring, she rarely went anywhere except for the chapel. Sherlock only had a glimpse of her once, when he visited John and Mary to congregate the arrival of their new daughter, little Mary. Sherlock didn't expect to come across Molly that day. She was standing by the cradle with Mary, as both of them had their backs to the entrance. He was stunned by her significant change. Only a few months past but she seemed to be two inches taller. Her chestnut braid was so much longer than he'd remembered, as she stood by the cradle, curling the end of her plait around her fingers to play with the infant. She then knelt down on the floor to look into the child, leaning close to place a kiss on the baby's head. Her pale grey gown draped down from her shoulders, bringing out the curvy shape of her back.

'She smells so good!' Molly whispered to Mary by her side, unaware of Sherlock's presence. 'Do all of them smell so sweet?' she asked. Mary shook her head.

'I don't know, probably,' she shrugged, before giving Molly a pinch. 'You'll know when you have your own, I suppose. When will you move to live with Sherlock? Lady Anthea had made the household ready for you weeks ago.'

'I don't…' her voice broke apart, letting out a weak sob. 'I don't want to live with him. He's so cruel, Mary.'

And that was it. Sherlock didn't know what else they'd said. He turned on his heels then stalked out of the door. Mary's calls came from behind, as he walked away. He didn't stop. He didn't stop until he hit the threshold of his home, kicking the door opened then bolted himself in his chamber.

He ignored Mrs. Hudson's calls as he laid on his back, recollecting every moment he'd ever spent with little Molly. Guilt and anger flooded over him at the same time. How could she ever consider him as cruel? He did scold her a couple of times but surely she knew he was only concerning about her well-being. A girl with small stature like her should never be on horseback. Lady Anthea should never have let her ride in the first place.

He didn't know how many days he'd avoided the rest of the world, as he completely withdrew, staying in the cellar to work with his alchemic devices, trying to figure out why the soil from the hills was paler than the soil from the field. Then one afternoon, his brother's messenger came in, asking him to dine with the master and the lady on the next morning. The man didn't mention anything about Molly. But Sherlock knew that was the only reason that his brother would summon him.

So he went. He couldn't think of any reason to turn it down. Sherlock was fully prepared to be lectured in the dining room by Mycroft, the master of the house. But to his surprise, only Molly awaited him when he pushed into the door. She looked at him with doe eyes, before timidly stepped forward and drop a curtsy.

Sherlock clenched his fists. Since when did she ever curtsy to him?

'What is this?' he demanded, watching fear rising in Molly's brown eyes. She had become so thin and white. The mark under her eyes suggested she had been crying, quite a bit it seemed. Oh, the way she stared at him. It was as if he had done something wrong.

'Sherlock,' she began, her voice was weak and a bit coarse. Did that mean she didn't sleep well the night before? It could be. But why would he even care?

'Margaret,' he bit out, the wrong name slipping out from his mouth like a dart throwing to a target.

She flinched a little.

'I'm…sorry but I…I just hope that…' she stammered, lowering her face to stare at her fingers, twisting her hair around them.

'What do you want?' he cut in, rolling his eyes, as he lifted up his chin.

'It's…about the arrangement of my residence. I mean…I'm supposed to move in with you now…' She bit her tongue, hard, swallowing several times to force herself looking at him. Sherlock pressed his lips together, intrigued by what she was going to say. Didn't she tell Mary that she thought he was cruel?

'I'm hoping that…if you don't mind, of course, I'm hoping that my mother could live with me after I move into your…'

Sherlock blinked. 'Your mother?' he narrowed his gaze, recalling the stuffy pain within his chest when he went to see her carriage drive off to her parents.

'I'm thinking that after my father…'

'What are you?' Sherlock snorted. 'A three-year-old still needing to be tended day and night? You already spent the entire winter with your family and that wasn't enough!'

She gaped at him, trying to speak a few times, beads of sweats forming between her eyebrows.

'But…my father had just…and mother she…ugh…' Still stammering, Molly's hands tightened, as she withdrawal backward.

'Stop being a child, Margaret! I won't have you like this if you're-'

'Oh, who said I want you, then?!' Suddenly, she snapped, shouting out with all her strength and stamped hard on the floor, making a loud thud, as the she continued to yell at him. 'I'm more than happy to stay here! Better to die alone than being stuck with a brute like you! I was a fool to actually think you liked me once. So thanks for making me see how childish I was, Sherlock! You may rest assured, now. Because I'd never get in your way, again. Ever!'

With that, she turned and ran across the large hall, palms covering her face. The door flung opened, as she approached. Lady Anthea stepped in, and Molly threw herself into her arms and began to sob. The lady of the manor looked at him firmly, expressionless, before she demanded him to leave.

He hesitated when he walked past them. Molly was crying, shakily but silently, on her cousin's shoulder. Her whitened knuckles clenched tightly onto Lady Anthea's white headscarf. He inhaled a few times, trying to say something but his sister-in-law merely gave him an icy glare. She pierced at him, didn't even blink until he resumed to move away, running faster and faster through the hallway then storming out of the house.