"Despite the best efforts of Sherlock Holmes' elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, to repair his family's financial equilibrium upon the death of their father, forces-both political and natural- conspired them, leaving the viscountcy close to bankruptcy. The family and their tenants needed a large and quick infusion of capital into the family's lands and coffers. The surest and quickest way to alleviate their problems was simple: one of the brothers must marry[…]"

"[…]But the might of the British peerage was weakening. Heiresses were thin on the ground and aristocratic heiresses were even rarer. A modern minded man for his era, Mycroft Holmes found a bride, not for himself but for his younger brother, in the emerging and wealthy mercantile class. Lawrence Hooper was a millionaire even in the 19th century due to his savvy investing, cotton speculation, and the demand for his company's innovative train engines. More importantly, Lawrence Hooper had an unwed daughter: Mary. […]"

Excerpt from Forensics' Father: Biography of Sherlock Holmes, 10th Viscount Brackley by Percival Higgins.

January 1879

"Mrs. Hudson, has my husband returned yet?"

A grimace flittered across her housekeeper's face as she turned to face her. "No, ma'am he hasn't."

Mrs. Holmes placed her embroidery aside. "Has he or Dr. Watson sent a note along?"

It was her husband's birthday today and she had asked the cook to make his favorite meal to celebrate. Though he had remarked the day before that 'it was senseless to mark the day of one's birth for it was no great accomplishment on my part' she still thought the occasion deserved some recognition. She told him about the dinner menu earlier that morning as he sat on the divan, waving his arms about and mumbling about bands. After three minutes of no acknowledgment, she had slipped away, hoping he had heard her.

"No ma'am, he hasn't." Molly felt a stab of pity at the echo of shame in Mrs. Hudson's voice. Mrs. Hudson seemed to take Sherlock's neglect of her personally. She often heard her mutter under her breath about 'that sweet and stupid boy.'

"I see." Molly glanced at the clock and sighed. "Could you ask Annie to make up a plate for me and bring it here? No need to stand on ceremony if I am the only one. Feel free to distribute the food to the rest of the help if they so desire."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh and Mrs. Hudson?" Mrs. Holmes called the older woman back. "Please set aside a portion for my husband so he may have something to eat when he returns."

"Of course Mrs. Holmes."

Molly grimaced at the title. She sometimes wished she had the courage to ask if the kind housekeeper would call her by her Christian name. She picked up her embroidery and viciously continued her work.

Part of her felt it was a relief to not have dinner with her husband. Not have to face him and his disdain of her. As if she wasn't a victim in this farcical marriage concocted by his brother and her father as well. At nine and twenty she had successfully avoided the trap of marriage for ten years. She had plans that did not involve marriage.

"Blast," Molly muttered as she missed her targeted area and began to slowly work the thread out before trying again. This was the last thing she wanted. For someone who boasted so loudly of his own powers of observation, one would think he would see her misery. Her loneliness. If she didn't have a great distaste for melodrama she would claim that her life ended the day her father announced her betrothal.

It was a pleasant autumn day and his pronouncement was the last thing she had ever expected. Molly fooled herself into believing that her parents had given up on the notion of her marriage. She was quickly disabused of that the moment she entered her father's study.

Her father was a good though conservative man and it never sat well with him that his daughter had a great deal of intelligence. Her brother, Theodore, took it in stride, finding his precocious little sister a delight. Molly could always count on him to pick up books that the ladies' bookshops didn't carry and gentlemen refused to sell to her. Before he left to oversee the Bristol branch of the family business he would use Molly as a resource, counting on her keen memory to remember facts and figures. Theodore gave Molly his old university texts and notes for her perusal after she outgrew her schoolroom and governess.

Lawrence Hooper did not see her mind as something to be nourished but something to be hidden. He, as well as her mother, told her to hide her intelligence while on the marriage mart. Intelligent unmarried ladies were hoydens; intelligent married ladies were charming. He only had himself to blame that his daughter was unable to hide her intelligence. A shrewd businessman, her father did not suffer fools well and neither did she.

In the end, her intelligence would be her undoing as she caught the eye of Viscount Brackley while discussing political reform at the opera with her cousins. Though a confirmed bachelor, it turned out he was in the market for a wife. Only not for himself but for his brother. When her father expounded upon Mycroft Holmes' visit and the marriage contract to his shocked daughter he made sure to give her grudging credit.

"The viscount's brother's only demand was that he not be saddled with an idiot. It appears you were blessed with a brain for a reason, love. Chin up, Mary! Once Mycroft dies, you will be a viscountess. Not bad for a manufacturer's daughter."

Considering that her father took to calling her Mary despite her vocal protests that she preferred her childhood moniker of 'Molly' he didn't care about what she wanted. It certainly didn't cross her father's mind that she had no desire to be a viscountess. But her father saw no qualms in disregarding her own aspirations. Hers were unseemly and unladylike. She needed a husband to reign her in.

Mrs. Holmes squeaked as she struck her finger after stabbing the linen viciously in remembered anger. She stuck the wounded digit in her mouth, soothing it with her tongue. After a minute of nursing it she pulled it out for examination. Satisfied that there wasn't a great injury she once again put her needle back to work.

At least for all of her husband's foibles, he was an intelligent man. It was too bad he found her to be an imbecile. Though as he kindly told her 'everyone is.' Perhaps if he actually took some time to talk to her he would find she had a decent enough mind. Considering that would mean abandoning his hobby of solving mysteries if only for ten minutes a day she did not see that happening.

If he wasn't tearing about London with John Watson at his side, he was locked up in his bedroom or pseudo laboratory on the third floor conducting 'experiments' or torturing them all with his violin. On the rare occasion neither of those kept him occupied, he spent his time twitching and sulking in his dressing gown to the point that she went to the chemist herself to fetch morphine if they had run out. There was no time in his day for her.

Her husband with his ridiculous hobbies, ridiculous experiments, and ridiculous name was too busy to even have supper with her.

In her opinion the only good thing that came out of this arrangement was her meeting Doctor Watson's wife at their wedding breakfast.

Molly's stitching slowed as she thought about her meeting with Mrs. John Watson.

Molly was her parents' best chance of increasing their social capital that lagged drastically behind their actual capital. She was their chance to break into the near impenetrable upper class. To their despair she never mastered the floating elegance they had wanted her to despite the best tutors and companions money could buy.

It was typical of her to meet her newest friend by nearly spilling champagne on her dress.

At least it gave them an opening to talk. It was stilted and awkward but it was the first glimmer of hope she had for her marriage. Despite his horrid behavior on their wedding day, surely a man who would associate with those of a lower social rank so unashamedly couldn't be all that unredeemable. Especially considering how kind both Doctor Watson and his wife were.

Mary Watson went out of her way to introduce herself to the new Mrs. Holmes, inviting her over for tea once she had settled into her marriage. She even took it upon herself to tell her that her new husband was good man despite all his rough edges.

Molly would be lying if she said that didn't stun her. But when she inquired why Mrs. Watson thought so she merely replied, "my husband would not give his loyalty to anyone less than a good man."

Privately, Molly thought that Mrs. Watson merely had a rather high opinion of her own husband. Something she could forgive considering how almost embarrassingly in love they acted with each other. It was sweet that Mary still blushed every time her husband entered the room as if she was a schoolgirl. It was something that Dr. Watson found amusing, considering the boyish grin he would give her.

Annie placing the food tray down on the table next to the chair startled Molly. "Thank you Annie," Molly murmured quietly. Annie was the one servant she brought with her to her new home. She had been Molly's lady maid for the last four years and she couldn't bear to part with her. Though the household on Baker Street wasn't expansive with only six other servants besides Annie, it was comforting to have a familiar face around.

"Would you like anything else, ma'am?"

"No, that will be all."

Annie quietly withdrew, leaving her mistress to her increasingly melancholic thoughts.

The door opened before Sherlock Holmes could touch the knob. Sherlock smirked as he unraveled his scarf from around his neck and stepped inside. "Always prompt, Bentley."

"Thank you sir," the butler said as he took the scarf, coat, and hat from the younger man. "Are you in for the night, Mr. Holmes?"

"I should think so, unless Lestrade comes begging for help yet again. I'll take my supper in the drawing room. Something light."

"Of course."

Sherlock stretched his long limbs before loping down the hallway. A good case always put him a good mood and this was a good case. He was ruminating on the details when he stopped suddenly in the doorway of the drawing room.

His wife was in a chair by the dying fire, her embroidery neglected on her lap. She was making those odd breathy noises he came to associate with her sleeping state. She only made those noises when she slept on her back. He learned much about her sleeping habits over their short marriage. He made it a habit to sleep in her chambers at least once a week to keep up appearances. It was easier than to face Mycroft's taunts and lectures about family responsibility. He had little time for the softer passions of life. All he needed in life was the work. The only time he eagerly sought his wife's bed was after he set his own on fire when reading late into night.

It was on John's advice that he offered to delay their wedding night until Mary was ready. An offer she eagerly accepted. Even though she chose the time, Sherlock still could barely look at her without feeling brutish. Obligations, familial and otherwise, were satisfied with truly as little inconvenience to himself as was possible.

"You couldn't have sent a note?" Came a quiet but firm voice behind him.

Sherlock grimaced as he turned to face his housekeeper. As his former nanny, Mrs. Martha Hudson had no problems scolding her employer. And Sherlock could not find it in him to reprimand her. "The case was more important."

"More important than your birthday? Your wife?"

Sherlock tilted his head as he looked at her. "Of course, everything is."

Judging by the resignation and sorrow on his housekeeper's face that was not the right thing to say. It didn't mean it wasn't true.

Sherlock quickly changed the subject. "She didn't finish her supper. This is the fifth meal this week at which she has picked."

"I know, poor girl. You should spend more time with her, she is a lovely young lady."

Sherlock bristled at the sympathy in her voice. It felt like Mrs. Hudson was scolding him. She was supposed to be on his side. She was supposed to sympathize with him for being forced into this match.

"I didn't want this marriage," he whispered fiercely. He didn't ask for his father to ruin his family financially. He didn't ask for Mycroft to find him a rich bride. He didn't want his home to be invaded by a tiny woman with too large eyes and a quiet, nervous demeanor. Yes, life became easier after her overly generous dowry infused the family estates with much needed cash and his own pockets became lined with more money. He was able to buy anything the laboratory equipment he wanted without taking on boring cases. That didn't mean he liked the trade off.

Mrs. Hudson looked him straight in the eye, throwing all etiquette aside. "Neither did she."

"I'll take my supper in the study," he said suddenly and too loudly. He cringed when he heard the sudden sharp inhalation that signaled his wife return to wakefulness.

"Mr. Holmes?" She asked drowsily. He winced slightly at her usage of the formal manner of a wife addressing her husband. In the two months they had been wed, he could count the number of times he called him by his Christian name on one hand.

"I did not mean to wake you." He glanced over his shoulder to see her straighten up from her slumped position.

"You missed supper, do you need me to ring for-"

"I've already taken care of it."

The responding silence was deafening. "Oh. Well. How was your ah mystery?"

Sherlock glowered. It was obvious that she thought his work to be a waste of time. She would rather see him as a typical member of the ton. Doing nothing but flitting from event to event, commenting on who met with whom. Letting his brain rot until he was no more than an imbecile at Bedlam. The only work worthy of such a member would be the running of estates. "Solved. I need to eat. Good night, Mary."

As he quickly walked down the hall he could have sworn he heard her softly say, "Molly."

Posting will probably be slow but I wanted to get this up.

I hope to make this story fairly realistic in general and for the time period it takes place. That doesn't mean I am not going to play with some things and take liberties (because hey! It's fic, not a history text). The main characters, in some respects, will be quite modern but in other respects they'll be a product of their time, so keep that in mind.

Thanks to the-keeper-of-the-keys for beta-ing and Lexie for her advice and encouragement.