Because why not? Just because of the Christmas Special featured the best genderbent!Molly and crossdressed!Molly doesn't mean we can't hark back to the age old Personal Maid trope.

Of course, a word of warning: I have researched very little. I rely on my knowledge gathered by my Jeremy Brett phase and the frankly ENDLESS number of Victorian based shows I have seen. A lot also has to do with with the number of Victorian AUs I have read.

Sherlock detested finding a new maid every few months.

It was a difficult task getting a girl who was willing to work in one of the busiest cities where employment was manifold, even for women. It was more difficult training her how he saw fit. And it was difficult to see the ultimate failure he faced when the girl would eventually break down into tears or run away at the sight of a disembodied finger.

He had thrown his hands up at the whole process. After a lot of serious arguing with Mrs. Hudson, he had convinced her that he would not hire another maid. She insisted that she needed help, what with her hip and everything. Sherlock was convinced that she wanted this help out of sheer annoyance at what a task it was to manage him – particularly once Watson had left.

Sherlock had to confess, he was fond of his companion. Watson had been an excellent friend while unmarried, and it only stood to reason that the condition of love would worsen with every hurdle he and his wife would cross. Even when Sherlock had met Mary Watson – the then Mary Morstan, he had known that this one would be hard to get rid of. This one was in danger of being fallen in love with. This one might even make John happy.

It was a difficult thought to get used to, especially since he had wrapped his head around the idea that Watson would need no one else to be happy.

Still, Mary wasn't all bad. Despite Watson's rather obvious disregard for her as a woman who could very clearly handle herself in hell or high water, she persevered. But her perseverance immediately meant that Watson required things like a steady income, fixed times, and so on.

Something that Sherlock had always been happy to ignore. The lack of attachment made him hopelessly in control of what he wished to do. The only reason he had kept to London for so long was that he enjoyed the city. It was a cesspool of thoughts which he alone could decipher. The living London had far too many stories to tell.

And in the end, even he knew that one of those stories would be the hiring of another maid. Because while he could vehemently deny Mrs. Hudson's need for a maid to help her along, he also knew that the woman was old. And while Sherlock would like to believe that he took and objective view to her work being on top form, he also knew that he liked the old lady.

But for now, he could bully her into not needing to conduct more interviews.

"Yes?" answered an old lady at the door.

"Is this the residence of Mr. Holmes?" she asked. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes?" answered the old lady. "Have you come to seek his expertise?"

Molly filed that away for later use. She didn't care what Sherlock Holmes did, for she really needed a job. "I came answering your advertisement in the paper?" said Molly. "For a maid?"

"Oh, well, I'm afraid Mr. Holmes has decided not to hire after all," said the old woman. "Very sorry for the trouble you took."

Molly was almost ready to start crying at the frozen step. She had spent money on her trip to one of the more posh areas of London, and she was not getting it back.

"Please, ma'am," said Molly pleadingly. "I really need a job."

The old lady seemed to be relenting. "Well, you see, he has had a bit of a fit in the matter," she said. "He refuses to take on a maid because the interviews always cause him a headache. In addition, the man you intend to work for is a very, very difficult man to work with. It would be best if you returned in a while – once his temper has cooled. He will have to hire a maid, you can depend on that, dear. But it will not be today."

Molly wanted to hit her head on something.

"Very well," she said quietly. "I will return, should you ever need a maid."

The old woman seemed to be thinking rather deeply. "Tell me, what all do you know?"

"Ma'am?" asked Molly.

"Where keeping the house is concerned, dear," said the woman impatiently.

"Oh!" said Molly. "I know how to cook, sew, iron, clean and dust. I am willing to do almost anything you ask of me."

"I have an idea, however, it is a little unorthodox," said the woman.

"Believe me, ma'am, I am nothing if not unorthodox," said Molly fervently.

"What would you say if I told you that I intended to keep you for a week, only? As a trial period, to see how much you know?" she said.

"I would say that I will be completely all right with that," said Molly.

"I will give you a week's worth of wages, test your abilities and see if you are fit. By that time, Mr. Holmes should be ready to interview, and I will tell him of it. You can then see if you wish to work with as difficult a man as him."

"I do like the idea, ma'am," said Molly, smiling a little finally. "But what if this – well, as you say – difficult man flies into rage over the plot?"

"I have enough power over him to hire someone I think is suitable for a short duration," said the woman. "Leave that to me. However, you must make yourself scarce. It will be impossible to hide you forever – he is an infuriatingly sharp man, but I suppose we can manage for a day or two. Maybe three, if we are careful, but that would be ambitious."

"That sharp?" asked Molly, her eyes wide.

"Oh, terribly. I can barely manage to do anything without him knowing whatever happened to me throughout the day. Now do come in. We must discuss your wages. By the by, I am Mrs. Hudson. None of that 'ma'am' business."

The first few days were an exercise in finding out what her employer did.

It was a difficult dance to play, especially since the man she was playing with didn't know he had an opponent. However, she was resolved in keeping her presence in two hundred and twenty one B a secret from the employer himself. A week. That was what was agreed on, despite Mrs. Hudson's assurance that she would not manage a day.

When Mrs. Hudson brought her in, she had a look at the house. She decided to make some careful calculations on what she could do to avoid him and what she could not.

For instance, it was obvious that his hours were irregular. At the same time, it was obvious that he cared little for who kept the house as long as Mrs. Hudson's hip didn't give away and as long as it was kept. This would be the easiest aspect to work with, since it ensured she didn't need to be too careful with her methods of cooking and cleaning.

But then there was everything that Mrs. Hudson had told her: the fact that he was unerringly sharp, bad tempered and someone who still seemed to like certain routines. That was obvious with the dust around the tea jar. He hadn't shifted it in ages.

Cleaning around it would be very difficult.

Molly was smart enough to realise this and dance around the edges, for the first day. She cleaned while he slept, determining that he was still in the middle of rather deep sleep. The living room was organised delicately, as if she had something to fear from the man who had employed him. She made sure all his specimens were kept carefully, not questioning why they were there. She found some of the experiments intriguing, but she did not linger. She itched to categorise them all, but knew that it was dangerous to do so.

She hadn't even seen her employer so far.

Once he was awake, she quickly made the breakfast in the downstairs kitchen. Mrs. Hudson delivered it, and Molly was careful to follow her instructions as to how he liked his meals. Once the breakfast had gone up, she took a deep breath, and began cleaning again.

There was laundry to take care of while the man was upstairs, shirts to be sewn (Mrs. Hudson had given her an enormous pile of them), and some more chores to be handled. The number of gashes that definitely looked like the work of swords and daggers worried Molly, but she was wise to stitch without questioning.

She darned and cleaned, carefully laundered all the clothes. Mrs. Hudson made his bed and came downstairs to clean the house. Molly began on the lunch. Just after she was done with it, Mrs. Hudson came down to announce that the man had left for a case.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and Mrs. Hudson enjoyed the meal she had made, judging her cooking to be adequate and her cleaning and darning satisfactory. She needed a little work with laundering and folding, but Mrs. Hudson felt that the trial had gone rather well, and she didn't worry too much about when the employer found her out. A day had almost gone by, which meant that Mr. Holmes will find out soon enough.

Molly was determined not to get on this man's bad side. Something told her that he could make life very difficult for her. But she needed the money, and Mrs. Hudson was willing to offer so much should she pass the test. She'd even be able to buy some new shoes.

Molly went upstairs to do a decent job of dusting again, and cleaned the hardwood floors with a mop. She organised the books and papers, and began to look at the messy library with a critical eye. Once Mr. Holmes was aware of her existence, he should have her clean it.

The second day was one of very close shaves. She was aware that he had not returned home after his case from the previous day, and so she stepped with a light foot as she cleaned the upstairs flat. She heard him return and had the foresight to hide, rather fast, in the spare bedroom. The man didn't seem to care, and didn't even look around to see the good job of cleaning Molly had done.

Molly was stuck in this spare room for the time being, so she cleaned it. The books here seemed a bit untouched, so she began to organise them. There was a while to lunch, and she was confident in the man's need to go to the lavatory eventually, so she cleaned. She organised according to subject and date. She stumbled on some rather interesting books which she itched to read: The Anatomy of Butterflies, A Detailed Instruction on the Upper Body of Man, and The Known Body Parts. Her employer was an interesting fellow, she noted. Along with all the medical books, he had a variety of books on history and politics, not to mention war and philosophy.

She returned downstairs eventually and started on the lunch. Mrs. Hudson planned dinner and smiled at Molly merrily, impressed by her ability to hold her own.

"I say, Holmes, has Mrs. Hudson cleaned my room?" asked Watson.

"It is no longer your room," said Sherlock darkly.

"Oh, don't sulk. But tell me, has she?"

"She's been going on a bit of a spree of cleaning. The other day, the cupboards had all been cleaned and organised. She's even been shifting around my experiments. I made a particular one on decaying eyes just to test her, and not even a wink on the matter."

"That's out of character," said Watson.

"Mmh, I think it is more to do with the fact that I didn't let her hire another maid. She's had to clean, for that reason."

"And yet, she always struck me as somewhat lax when it came to organising," said Watson. "I didn't think she'd have the resolve to organise my library by subject and date."

Sherlock finally looked up. "That is odd. No matter. I'm sure she just became hopelessly determined, like she does sometimes."

The third day was the truly difficult one. Not because she was dancing at the edges, but because she knew he had sensed something. He asked Mrs. Hudson why she had organised the upstairs, and then added with a little asperity, that she might have organised his library as well.

Once he was done with lunch, a client came to see him, and Mrs. Hudson let him up. Molly heard them talking and she got snippets of blackmail, death and stuff which involved a lot of men who seemed to be rather angry. From what she gathered, the victim in question appeared to have died to poisoning. She wished she could test the theory, for the client only had the symptoms to give to Mr. Holmes. A theory based on symptoms was hardly ever enough.

It was also the first time she got a glimpse of her employer. He was tall, with impeccable hair. From what she could see, he looked handsome.

Once he was gone, she began to work on his library, cleaning and organising. Mrs. Hudson was pleased, and told her that she felt rather guilty of taking the credit of her work. She added that she was still impressed by how well Molly had hidden herself.

"He doesn't really see me, Mrs. Hudson. You know how it is for those in service. We are quite invisible," said Molly sagely.

"Well, good work anyway, dear."

Molly organised Mr. Holmes' books different. While she had done Dr. Watson's – Mrs. Hudson had informed her who owned the room previously – by date and subject, Mr Holmes was a different case altogether. He had books on so many bizarre subjects: something on tobacco ash, an interesting one titled The Theory of the Elements, and, obviously, multiple titles on anatomy and chemistry. She decided to organise his shelves according to subject and author, since the man clearly favoured certain authors over the others. She took apart his sheaves of newspapers and stacked them neatly, careful to label the month and year they belonged to. Once she was done, she had a profound sense of satisfaction. She returned home tired, but she had so, so much work left that she stayed up that night.

There was definitely something wrong with Mrs. Hudson.

She had gone ahead and cleaned his library. Every book was in place, if not with a coded sequence for the place. Even the newspapers had been stacked and labelled. It was bizarre.

Sherlock began to think about how clean the house had been looking lately and wondered if it were not better if he did hire a maid. He'd rather not have Mrs. Hudson on this cleaning spree.

Mrs. Hudson had always been careful not to imbalance his delicate system. Even the previous maids – despite their railing and ranting had never managed to do anything beyond what he had asked of them. And yet, here was everything – clean, and yet in his own order. It was a very disconcerting.

On the fourth day, Mrs. Hudson was beginning to be lulled into a false sense of security. Molly had begun to understand the nature of her employer better and better, and knew that the revelation was coming. Mrs. Hudson was just cheerful about having hidden it for so long so well that she thought it would continue without destabilisation on Mr. Holmes' side.

Molly knew that organising experiments would take a lot longer and would be overstepping boundaries. However, with the major cleaning finished, she began to take onto the task with a lighter hand, expecting lesser trouble. She was an idiot.

She was cleaning the hall when it happened. She slipped across a puddle of water and gripped the handle of the door for support. Unfortunately, that door was the one which lead to her employer's chambers.

It opened, almost immediately. She panicked, thinking about how much trouble she could be in, that damned puddle of water that had appeared from nowhere, and the fact that who didn't lock their room?

She fell into his room and got up, at once, to see a man who was stripped to the chest staring at her like she was a mildly interesting story in the Strand.

It was the first time she had seen her employer. His first words were monumental:

"And who the devil are you?" he asked calmly. Molly wondered how many women in maid uniforms which he had not known to be employed under him had wandered into his chambers while he was practically naked.

"Molly, sir," she said, dipping in curtsey. "Molly Hooper."

"Short for Margaret, I presume," he sneered.

"Yes," she said. "Sir," she added, unable to wrap her head around the man with the lean and rather blush inducing chest talking to her with such informality.

"I have no memory of when I hired you, so I assume Mrs. Hudson did it in secret. I suppose you were the one who organised the shelves?"

"Yes, sir," said Molly quietly.

"Do speak up, Molly," he said irritably.

"Yes, sir," she raised her voice.

"In future, Miss Hooper," said Mr. Holmes to her darkly. "Do not meddle with the belongings I consider private."

"I will not, sir," she said. "But I thought you enjoyed the organisation – erm... well," she quailed under the look he gave her.

"And how did you deduce that, Miss Hooper?" he asked her acidly.

She swallowed, determined to hold her ground. "You were reading a book called The Structure of Bones, sir," she said. "There was a bookmark in it."

"And?" he asked.

"Well, I didn't put it in the shelves, for I knew you were reading it," continued Molly doggedly. "However, when I came in today, you had placed it yourself in the correct place."

She made it a point to look anywhere but his chest.

The man did not say anything for a while.

"Very well," he said, and his voice was brittle. "You may stay for a while. I suppose we should discuss your wages and other things."

"Sir," said Molly a little breathlessly. "I will give you a minute to – well, to get dressed," she said, dashing out of the room.

Well no wonder. He seemed to categorically detest maids.

The girl had nerve.

She had walked in on him sleeping – presumably because she had slipped (he could see the bruises in the right places on her) – and told him of her hiring in a completely ridiculous fashion.

He assumed that she had been hiding in his home for two days now, for that would be understandable, since it shouldn't have taken him more than a day, ideally, to deduce her presence in two hundred and twenty one B. However, she had been a well kept secret for three days, and he suspected that she would have managed to hide out till five.

She was a bit expensive – she had told him what Mrs. Hudson was offering while staring at her shoes, like she could divine something out of them.

She must be embarrassed at having seen him without a shirt on, but Sherlock couldn't have cared less. He agreed to her price because he got the sense that Mrs. Hudson liked her, but he was furious at his duping. He disliked her on principle – because she had fooled him and because she had had the gumption to organise his things. And because he disliked his maids a lot.

Angered though he was, he had to admit (grudgingly) that she was an intelligent girl. She was better than the other maids on this account, and her organisation had worked wonders on his book shelves and kitchen cupboards. However, he was determined to give her as difficult a time as possible, just to see if she could take it.

"Well dear, I suppose the cat it out of the bag, then?" said Mrs. Hudson sympathetically.

"It had to be out today or tomorrow, ma'am," said Molly, sighing. "Luckily he agreed to everything you offered."

"He's a testy man, dear, especially when there's a new girl in the house. He always gives them a difficult time. You better be careful."

"I will, Mrs. Hudson," said Molly obediently. She hesitated. "Ma'am, I am afraid that I have not been completely plain about why I am in London. Or about the amount of work I am doing outside the house."

Mrs. Hudson frowned and urged her on.

"You see, it is a matter of bettering oneself," began Molly, taking a deep breath.

Mr. Holmes was a difficult, difficult man.

Molly didn't know what to make of him. Earlier, when he had not known of her existence, she had managed to go home at a reasonable time and continue with her work. However, now that the man knew all about her, she didn't return home before nine or ten – and her residence was a little disreputable. She went home armed with a stick.

And then there was the endless bickering. He went at her with a tongue which was forked.

"Molly, when do you plan to clean the bathroom?"

"Molly, what are you doing with my books?"

"Molly, you have to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

And then there was an endless array of things that she was supposed to do outside her purview, which he had thought of at random. She had to clean all the lamps and lights, and have a few of them fixed. She went, armed with her lamps to London, haggling with shop owners for better prices. It was annoying work, but she did it without complaining.

Then she had to clean his sheets, which had also happened at random and which required her attention two hours past her time. Molly almost started crying at the matter.

Mr. Holmes was unfeeling at her would-be tears.

She was not going to give him the satisfaction, she decided. She will not cry, or break, no matter what he threw at her.

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