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bemused-writer · 5 years

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The Cain Saga Vol. 1 - Forgotten Juliet

I’ve been wanting to revisit some series I’d read in the past and I’m starting with The Cain Saga! This review isn’t spoiler free at all, so keep that in mind when reading. For anyone new to the series, I’m just going to put a content warning for the series; the themes are rated “Explicit” although this review itself is not.

This volume starts out with a one shot mystery following a character named Ariel. He works at a flower shop and promised Suzette, an aristocratic woman, he'd bring her some primroses. Unfortunately, it's not to be: she passes soon after. Regardless, Ariel's not our protagonist. Cain Hargreaves is and we meet him this chapter through Ariel's eyes. Honestly, at first it's a little puzzling why we're seeing all of this from Ariel's perspective instead of Cain's but I believe this is so we get an idea of how the outside world views him before we see his own opinion on himself.

He's mysterious and rather edgy and he seems to glorify in that because it becomes swiftly apparent that society’s opinion of Earl Hargreaves isn't very high--he's gone and missed Suzette's funeral, which appears to be a typical thing for him. She's also his cousin, so there's a family connection. In other words, his own family isn't terribly fond of him and expects this kind of behavior.

While this is enough to make it seem like he’s a bit questionable we also quickly learn grave digging isn't all that unusual for him either, which should give you some idea of how things are going to go in this series.

He then proceeds to mock his aunt later, saying she was always horrible to Suzette. We're not given nearly enough time with Suzette or her family to verify these claims but considering Suzette has come back from the dead to kill her I guess it's safe to assume things weren't great between them.

The whole thing is swiftly revealed to be a torrid love affair between Suzette, Ariel's uncle, Miles, and a Miss Claremont. In other words, Miles was a cheater. But Suzette didn’t just wake up wanting revenge; her plan to fake her death made her mad as she was forced to contend with being buried in a coffin for hours.

Furthermore, Cain was in on the whole thing and was hoping to help her do it right, hence the grave digging. Also, he was the one who gave her the poison to help her fake her death, which is now being used to kill a bunch of people.

Insanity is a common theme in this series, especially when mixed with love, so it makes sense that we start with it right away. Pulling a Romeo and Juliet proved to be a terrible idea though.

After going insane, she starts killing people including Miles, her would-be Romeo.

But the really pertinent part of all of this (at least for Cain) is the revelation that Cain himself loved Suzette.

Love becomes a very prominent them in this series and the fact that the very first person we see Cain admit to loving is his insane cousin who stages her death for the sake of romance only to come back and kill everyone who did her wrong is, uh, telling.

So, the first chapter is honestly pretty straightforward but it gives us some information that is going to be crucial later on: Cain doesn't have a good relationship with his extended family, he's not a stranger to "forbidden love" (loving your cousin in a romantic sense was hardly uncommon in the 19th century but I still count it as "forbidden" here because she had no idea how he felt), he's associated enough with poisons that his extended family comes to him for help faking their deaths, and, while it's brief, we see he has a servant that seems to stick close to his side.

Honestly, I wish we’d learned a little more about Suzette. As it is we only know she was super determined and, according to Cain, always had to have her way. I suppose that gives us a basis for the kind of person he likes but not a great deal more.

And with that out of the way we’re moving on to chapter 2! This one starts out from Cain's perspective, so it already feels like a more "proper" beginning to the series. And one page in we see that Cain has some serious Sherlock Holmes tendencies:

Riff isn’t paid enough for this.

Anyway, Cain definitely isn't overly concerned with treating animals well (although he claims the hen will be fine) and his servant, Riff, whom we saw in the last chapter, is apparently already used to this kind of behavior and has all but given up on expecting things to be any different. He's definitely the Watson of the piece (except that he’s also a butler).

This mystery is another family based one--Cain seems to have a constantly revolving door of relatives. In this instance it’s his uncle Leland who asks him to look into a letter he received from his deceased daughter, Maddy, whom Cain admits to not ever noticing much.

The shadow in question was Bibi, his uncle Leland’s illegitimate daughter that he had with a prostitute and it’ ultimately Bibi that we see Cain really grow attached to.

Maddy didn’t seem to think too highly of Cain after all:

And the feeling was apparently mutual.

This is an important scene for Cain down the road though because we eventually learn just how much he’s suffered in his own life. For him to say he can’t stand other people who wallow in self-pity it means he doesn’t allow it for himself either. It means he doesn’t allow himself to consider his own sorrow and that’s a difficult thing to maintain.

At any rate, while Cain has done a lot of questionable things in this volume so far, the one area he's shown to be chivalrous in is he doesn't take advantage of Bibi even though she’s a prostitute herself just like her mother. Even though he paid for her time he doesn't demand sexual compensation and instead admits their similarities: neither of them had parents who loved them. Bibi was never loved by her father, Leland, and her mother is cold to her as well.

This statement could have easily come from Cain himself. While the ultimate resolution of this particular story is one I'm unsure how to feel about, it parallels Cain's own life quite well, though we aren't supposed to know that just yet.

The twist of the story boils down to "Bibi" was actually "Maddy" all along and Bibi was the one who died and while Leland was contacted by his daughter it was a daughter who had been hypnotized by his ex-mistress to kill him for mistreating the real Bibi. And before you think Leland’s had it rough, he wanted to marry his daughter, Maddy, and that is why he stopped being a playboy.

...There’s a lot to take in there but we don’t have time to unpack all that but there are some tidbits of information that will be relevant later.

Maddy was an aristocrat who was forced to demean herself through prostitution just to survive and she had a father who desired her sexually. In other words, it was an abusive relationship between parent and child even though this element of the story doesn't really get touched on much. Maddy was also taken advantage of by Bibi's mother. The similarity is that Cain was also demeaned and abused by his parents and this is already being alluded to pretty early in the series. It’s also becoming apparent that it’s not just Cain’s immediate relatives who are problematic (something this volume has yet to even touch on really) but his extended family seems cursed as well. Is it a message about the aristocracy or just this bloodline? We’ll have to wait and see.

Another important element to this story is we also see that Riff is one of Cain's only constants in his life and that he supports him quietly but firmly. He doesn’t say anything accusative after Cain reveals he ultimately killed Maddy. He did it because it was the only kind thing left to do and it was at her own behest. It’s a cruel revelation: the only way he can be kind is by being cruel.

The third story is ... interesting for sure but unless I'm seriously missing something here, it doesn't seem to feature Cain at all...? I suppose one interpretation could be he was undercover years ago at a boarding school but that seems like it would be stretching it. Still, the themes very much fit in with The Cain Saga: failed attempts at immortality, the abuse of the weak by the strong, and things of that nature.

The fourth story also doesn't feature Cain at all but the themes of one person replacing another and fame corrupting fits in with the series. I would say more but, to be honest, neither of these stories give us a lot to interpret regarding Cain or the other primary characters in the series. In this particular story there’s a running thread of homophobia, which I suppose could be argued as fitting in with the forbidden love theme but I feel that’s a little tenuous at best. This is kind of an unusual thing to do in a series. I wonder if, originally, this wasn’t going to be about Cain but more of an exploration of themes? Hmm... With the fifth chapter we're back to Cain (and the 19th century...) and we're thrown in the thick of it right away with Cain accusing a man of killing his brother, and Cain's friend, Cleo. This is a very short story but it emphasizes that Cain is ... not always that kind, although ultimately he was trying to avenge Cleo. He tricks Orlando into thinking he has poisoned him (a legitimate threat considering we have already gotten it confirmed he's well known for poisons in general) and Orlando ultimately kills himself.

Once again, I would really have liked to know more about Cleo. How close were they? Later in the series it feels like Cain doesn’t have any friends at all but this points out that isn’t the case.

Riff hasn’t gotten a lot of focus this volume either but his quiet presence is notable in how it’s one of the few consistent things throughout for Cain.

Anyway, this is a bit of a rough start to the series but I actually enjoyed it quite a bit! The gothic vibe is excellent, of course, and the conundrums presented are interesting to sort through. Since it’s been so long since I read I’ll admit I’d forgotten a lot of details but I’m looking forward to relearning them. ^^ I hope to get a review up of volume 2 soon.

#cain saga #count cain #godchild #long post #Bemused's post #spoilers

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pennywaltzy · 5 years

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A Study In Pink (3/?) (A “The Adventures Of S. Holmes & R. Watson” Story)

So I had managed to update this with a full chapter before I dropped it from WIPBB, so here it is for all of you (and particularly @strangelock221b) to enjoy. Have fun!

A Study In Pink - Rosamund Mary Watson had never expected to set foot in London again, but she finds herself in need of employment and a better flat. Enter her old professor Mike Stamford, who tells her about the man who will change her life forever...

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 3 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

It was nice to catch up with Molly. Her office was close to the morgue but not too close, and the sound had dulled. Not that the sight had done anything for her, really; she had her own set of kinks and a riding crop to the arse was not one of them. But the glimpse of Holmes doing that had told her one thing, at least: should her past ever come back to haunt her, he could hold his own.

“So you fancy him? Holmes?” Mary asked.

“A bit, yeah,” Molly said, shaking her head. “But he’ll never see me that way. He never sees anyone that way, as far as I can tell. But you’re going to try and room with him! I wish you the best of luck.”

“Why?” she asked. She knew it was best to get facts about multiple sides of a person’s personality before making any decisions on a roommate situation.

“Well, he’s prickly,” Molly said. “He isn’t very open about things, rather gruff. But he can be nice. I suppose he tolerates me because I’m useful, but he’s never as sharp with me as he is with others.”

“That’s something, at least, but I’ve dealt with worse,” Mary said with a reassuring smile. Yeah, they wouldn’t get on perfectly, she thought to herself, but she wasn’t the type to be open and share the bits of her past either.

“His deductions are eerily accurate,” she said. “With a glimpse, it’s almost like he can sum you up to the essentials of your being.”

That...was admittedly more problematic, but she’d just have to deal with what came as it came in regards to her potential flatmate. “Could be a parlour trick,” she said.

“I don’t think it is. He’s just that good,” Molly said. “But let’s talk about other things. If we want any time to catch up it’s best not to talk about Sherlock. He usually takes that as a signal to be seen around the corner.”

“Like a ghost?” Mary asked with an amused smile on her face this time.

“Yes, rather like a ghost,” Molly said. With that, they launched into a conversation of what had been going on the past few years. Mary kept her musings on married life to a minimum as she’d fleshed her John Watson out but didn’t want to drop too many details at once. But Molly seemed convinced she’d had a brief, somewhat happy marriage and a fulfilling life, and after their chat, they made their way to the upstairs lab where Holmes worked.

She leaned on her cane as Molly knocked on the door and then opened it, hanging back. The man was peering into a microscope. “Stamford said he might have solved your flatmate problem,” she said, but he still didn’t look up. “I mean if you don’t mind a female flatmate.”

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” Sherlock asked.

“Afghanistan,” Mary said, moving in more. “Gunshot wound to the thigh.”

“It’s psychosomatic,” he said.

“Yeah, I have that feeling, but still haven’t broken out of it yet,” she said. Oh, he was good. That was a hunch she’d had about her wound for a while now, that it was more in her mind than any real lingering injury. That caused him to look up. “Mary Watson. Also known as Rosie, but please, don’t use that particular name. Trying to put the past behind me.”

“I can see that,” he murmured. “May I have use of your phone?” She nodded. The things he didn’t need to see were well encrypted and a cursory glance wouldn’t show much. She handed him her mobile and he opened up the text messaging, tapped something out and then handed it back. “Bad habit of mine. I don’t like having my mobile on me. Makes it easier for Big Brother to trace me.”

“Understandable,” Mary said with a nod, pocketing her mobile back in her coat. “About housing...you are looking for a flatmate, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow, seven in the morning. 221B Baker Street.” He nodded to the cane. “Try not using that for the rest of the day.”

She raised an eyebrow and then looked at him. “You think you can cure me so easily?”

“I hate the thudding sound of a cane on the floorboards,” he said, giving her a half-grin. “Try. I suppose I can manage one bad habit if you can manage that.”

“You drive an interesting bargain, Mister Holmes,” Mary said. This was almost fun, this conversation with him. She hadn’t had such an excellent verbal pairing with anyone in a long time. This was almost like flirting. “We’ll see what I can do, so long as you hold up your end.”

“Good,” he said. “Molly, coffee? Black, two sugars.”

Molly started to nod and Mary shook her head before he spoke. “Only get him coffee if he pays and it’s at a coffee shop. You’re not his errand girl, you have your own important work here to do.”

Sherlock looked over at her, an amused smile on his face as he tilted his head. “You are a fascinating woman, Rosie.”

“Call me Rosie again and you won’t like what happens,” she said, a sweet smile on her face but steel in her voice.

“Understood,” he said, pushing away from the microscope. “Molly, will you join me for coffee? My treat.”

“I’d like that,” Molly said, a wide smile on her face as she turned to Mary and Mary gave her a thumbs up.

“Then let’s be off. Tomorrow morning...Mary,” he said, the amused smile still on his face as he went for his greatcoat.

“Tomorrow morning, Holmes,” Mary said with a nod. Soon he and Molly left the lab, leaving her alone, and she started to wonder exactly what she had gotten herself into.

#sherlock #marylock #sherlock x mary #fanfic #fanfiction #mary morstan #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #my au: the adventures of s holmes and r watson #multipart: a study in pink

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geekmama · 7 years

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Resolved

Chapter 2; Opportunities for Community Service

Molly was still enjoying the sleep of the justly exhausted when Sherlock was ready to depart for the Diogenes Club to see his brother the next morning.

She’d stirred slightly when he’d disentangled himself from her embrace, but a kiss and soft words had reassured her, and he’d tucked her up warmly before he’d left the room to attend to his morning ablutions. By the time he returned to dress, she was once more deep in slumber, and there she remained when he was ready to depart. He paused, and smiled crookedly to see her there, huddled beneath the bedclothes, with only some of her mussed but beautiful auburn hair partially visible. He became aware of an odd feeling in his breast. Amazement? Pride? Contentment? Maybe all those things and more --something akin to what he had felt as a young boy, perhaps, when he would run and shout for the pure joy of living.

Molly had given that back to him.

He was no longer a boy, though, and there was a time and place for everything. So he took a deep breath, blew her a silent kiss, and went out to greet the day.

Archie was sitting on the bottom step as he descended to the hall, but the boy jumped up and whipped off his cap.

“Good morning, Mr. Holmes! You have some errands for me?”

“Indeed, Archie. I have two messages for you to deliver, a shopping list, and money to complete the required purchases. There should be enough left over to treat yourself to a pie or sweets of some kind, and you can keep the remainder as a token of my gratitude. I am going out this morning but I should be back by noon. Presumably you can complete those tasks and return in time for our midday repast. I may have additional work for you this afternoon, depending on what my brother has to say to me.”

“Thank you, sir!” said Archie, with a quick bow and, without more ado, took himself off.

Sherlock followed him out of the house at a more sedate pace, thankful that Mrs. Hudson did not emerge from her flat to quiz him about… well, anything, really. She had a very sharp eye for an elderly woman, and a sharp wit, too. He knew she was genuinely fond of him, but her raillery could wait until they all sat down to lunch and a glass or two of wine. Then, too, Molly would be there to draw her fire -- though Molly seemed always to bring out the landlady’s gentler side.

Molly brought out his own gentler side, too, though he wouldn’t have thought until recently that he actually had one. But there it was: shot through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt shaft. Yet he felt quite certain he was still a man to encounter Tybalt -- or any other rogue that could be brought to justice by one at the height of his strength and deductive powers. If anything, marriage had thoroughly roused the instinct to protect what was his. And she was his -- just as he was hers. Their every encounter in the bedroom seemed to strengthen that bond. It wasn’t merely the act itself. It was the caring and honesty replete in every moment, their hearts stripped bare along with their bodies.

Mycroft had always warned him about the danger of caring too much. Mycroft wasn’t wrong, but Sherlock had begun to feel he’d only been half-alive before surrendering to the enchantment of love. Of loving, and being loved in return.

All these thoughts were with him on the cab ride to the Diogenes Club, and when he entered Mycroft’s office it was evident that they were still writ large upon his countenance, at least to his discerning brother.

Mycroft greeted him with a sardonic smile. “Well, I see married life agrees with you. Welcome back to reality, brother mine.”

Sherlock laughed, but did not dispute the point. “A reality that now features the woman I am privileged to call my wife is a happy one indeed.”

Mycroft’s brows rose slightly. “You have changed your tune, haven’t you? Well, well. As I believe I said seven weeks ago, I wish you joy. Both of you!”

“Thank you, on both our behalves. And I believe I must thank you for the wedding gift as well. A kitchen and a French chef: really, Mycroft, you couldn’t think of something a trifle more extravagant?”

“Well, I could have, but nothing that would so perfectly serve my own interests.You’re pleased then? Alphonse was trained at Le Cordon Bleu, but was something of a loose cannon. He acquired a reputation for being difficult and couldn’t get a reference, nor any work that was worthy of his skill, so he came over here. Hopefully he won’t give you any trouble.”

“I believe we’ve made a start at coming to an understanding. And he is an excellent cook. You should come to dinner tonight and see for yourself.”

Mycroft looked a little surprised. “Thank you. I’m afraid duty calls tonight however: a reception at the Russian Embassy that I must attend, However, another time the invitation will be most welcome.”

“Ah. Molly will be disappointed.”

“Will she? Please give my dear sister-in-law my regards, and tell her I will wait upon her soon. And now, what else can I do for you this morning, Sherlock? You aren’t bored already?.”

“Not at all. Just picking up old threads. I’ve sent a message round to Lestrade that I’m once again available, and if you have anything going, I might lend a hand by way of thanks. You’ve done a great deal for us these last months. But I beg you will consider that Molly won’t begin her new term at the medical school for two more weeks.”

“And you wish to enjoy her unfettered companionship as much as possible before she is consumed with her studies?” Mycroft’s expression was surprisingly free of mockery. “You are a fortunate man, I believe.. And as it happens, I might have something that might suit the two of you. A short jaunt out of town to a pleasant seaside resort. Almost another honeymoon destination, though admittedly the atmosphere is not quite on a par with that of Italy.”

“ Which seaside resort?” Sherlock demanded, fearing the worst.

“Blackpool, I’m afraid.” Mycroft’s lips quirked at Sherlock’s groan. “Indeed, you see why I do not attempt to complete the errand myself. Not only legwork , but people -- and so many of them, too . I really couldn’t. But the mission may be completed quickly, if you don’t wish to linger, and there is little likelihood of danger or mishap. An ideal assignment for a newlywed couple, in fact.”

Sherlock glared a bit. “I suppose you saved this for my return.”

“I may have done,” Mycroft said, an amused glint in his eye. “But really, you have to admit that Molly, at least, will be charmed.”

Molly was charmed. Ordinarily Sherlock would have been both annoyed and bored beyond permission, and the fact that he was neither was entirely due to Molly’s unabashed enthusiasm for every aspect of their new “adventure”.

Their second evening at Baker Street saw them sitting down to another extraordinary dinner, courtesy of Alphonse, this time attended by the Watsons as well as Mrs. Hudson and Archie. Over a really excellent bisque de homard, Sherlock announced that he and Molly would be off to Blackpool on the morrow to transact some business for the British government.

Mrs. Hudson nearly choked. “But you’ve only just returned!” she protested.

“True, but there’s nothing for it. Mycroft sent word an hour ago that everything is arranged: first class accommodations on the train, a suite at a decent hotel, a stipend to cover the cost of meals and such souvenirs as Molly will be unable to resist -- I believe I saw the inside of every shop in Rome and Florence these last weeks.” He smirked at his wife’s obvious chagrin, and added, “He’s sending a cab to take us to the station at ten o’clock tomorrow.”

Molly said, “You know I tried to limit my spending, and it was you who insisted on buying the pearl set, and this.” She gestured to the very fine brooch at her throat, hand-painted roses on enamel, surrounded by a delicate gold filigree. “But how kind of Mycroft to give us such a treat!”

But John raised his brows. “Blackpool?” he asked, barely stifling a chuckle.

Sherlock gave him a quelling look. “I’m sure it will be fine. We should be back in a very few days, in any case.”

“And Molly will enjoy it excessively,” Mary said. “The sea air, walks on the beach, the aquarium, the new Tower, and dancing in the evenings. How I envy you!”

Sherlock had been skeptical of Mary’s cheery predictions, but in the event they all came to pass. Seeing Blackpool through his bride’s innocent eyes made the garish surroundings and teeming masses of holiday-goers tolerable -- even amusing much of the time. They were away five days, two devoted mostly to travel, two to seaside fun in exceptionally clement weather, and one in which it poured rain and they stayed abed nearly all the day. The four evenings they were in town were devoted to some surprisingly excellent dining, theatre-going, and dancing, after which they would retire to their well-appointed suite at the Clifton Hotel in Talbot Square, by the North Pier, and be blessedly, completely alone. There was no need to rise early, so they enjoyed a delicious breakfast in bed each morning, in every sense of the phrase. And Mycroft’s assignment merely consisted of contacting one of his agents -- a stout grey-haired female who sold parasols and gathered gossip from one of the many booths on the strand -- to receive a detailed report on some crime syndicate that was beginning to gain a foothold in the town.

It was almost with regret that Sherlock and Molly bid Blackpool adieu on the fifth day and boarded the train that would return them to London. They sat side by side in their large private compartment, watching the green countryside move past, and when Molly, replete with contentment, presently dozed off, leaning against his shoulder, Sherlock found himself realizing that he had rarely felt happier in his life.

The next morning, however, a shadow crept over Molly’s contentment.

Returning from the toilet as dawn crept into their bedroom, Molly slipped into bed and curled close, her aspect subdued. “I… I’ve… um… it’s that time of the month for me, I’m afraid,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned and failing miserably.

Sherlock frowned and slid down, repositioning himself so that he could lay a warm hand upon her abdomen, well aware that, even discounting the previous month, when they were in Venice, she always found menstruation a trial for the first day or two. “Are you in much pain? A small dose of laudanum--”

“Oh, no!” she broke in. “I… I dislike it so very much. And I don’t want to be half asleep all day. Mary and I are to meet for lunch at the Holborn.”

“Very well. But if I find you martyring yourself for no good reason--”

“I won’t! It… I don’t think it will be as bad as it was last month.”

“No, indeed.”

In Venice, Sherlock had felt that a doctor should be summoned, Molly seemed to be suffering so. The man’s diagnosis -- “... it is perhaps a miscarriage, but not to worry, there’s little danger from what you tell me, she can’t be very far along …” -- had shocked Sherlock to the bone, and Molly had wept as though her heart were breaking until the doctor’s prescribed draft had pulled her under, immersing her in restful, healing sleep. Physically, she recovered within a few days, and their remaining time in Venice had been quite enjoyable, but a cloud had hung over her spirits until they moved onto Milan and intimate relations were resumed, though he put firm limits on their activities until the full fortnight of abstinence the doctor had recommended was complete -- much to Molly’s indignation.

From that first night at the Savoy, she’d seemed to enjoy sexual congress as much as he did himself.

And she wanted a child. His child.

Sherlock, however, was ambivalent about the prospect of offspring, and he had a (thus far hidden but all too real) dread at the thought of inflicting upon his beloved young wife the pain and risks associated with childbirth. He realized that the event was probably inevitable, and soon, considering their mutual enthusiasm in the bedroom, but on this morning he could not help thinking it was all to the good that she would at least begin the fall term at the medical school unencumbered by pregnancy.

Unfortunately, he made the mistake of saying as much.

She lay very still, looking at him, biting her lip. And then she blurted, “Sherlock… don’t you want us to have a child?”

“Did I say that?” he said, with a pretense of strong resentment.

“No! I’m… Forgive me. I just find it so disappointing myself that… well.”

Sherlock drew her against him and she clung to him, rather stiffly, trying not to give in to tears. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “you’ve plenty of time for that. And excessive anxiety will only hinder the process -- I have it on good authority.”

He felt her smile. “John and Mary?” she asked.

“Precisely. Watson says that it wasn’t until they both stopped worrying about it that they achieved a favorable outcome.”

“Mary told me before we left for Blackpool that she suspects that Rosamund may have a little brother or sister in eight months. Don’t tell John, though -- she wants to wait just a little longer. She told me she miscarried twice before she was able to carry Rosamund to term.”

“Mmm. I won’t say anything. But you must promise me you will put the notion out of your head for now, as far as Baby Holmes is concerned. Enjoy your experience at school, and your studies!”

“And my beloved husband, again, in a few days,” she said, making an effort to sound impishly cheerful.

He smiled, and slid his hand down to caress her lovely, round backside. “You know, there are any number of things we can do right now, provided you are so inclined. I’m not at all squeamish about a little blood, and studies have shown that orgasm can be an aid in the relief of menstrual cramps.”

“Really? They’ve done studies on such things?”

“I know I read it somewhere. But perhaps we should do what we can to confirm their findings. In a spirit of scientific enquiry.”

She chuckled at having her own phraseology tossed back at her, and moved, raising her lips to his and saying huskily, “Yes, please, Mr. Holmes,” before she kissed him.

Molly started the fall term at the London School of Medicine for Women a week later and happily settled into her studies. But within the first few days, her interest was increased tenfold by the announcement that all third year students would be required to participate in community service.

“And where do they have you going? You are supervised, are you not?” asked Sherlock over one of Alphonse’s simpler, yet still excellent repasts one evening. Archie was dining with the family of a friend, and Mrs. Hudson had traveled into Devon to visit her sister, so it was just the two of them sitting at the small dining table in their own flat, a cheerful fire burning in the grate and thick fog closing in outside, increasing the sense of seclusion.

“Oh, yes. There is an advisor and often other students from my class. We’ve been assigned to the Brooks-Henley Institution for Girls -- they are most of them orphans, but there are some who are placed there because of difficult situations at home. And we married ladies are able to go also to the Magdalene Hospital.”

“Really?” said Sherlock, lifting a brow. “And how do you find that?”

Molly grimaced. “Rather dreadful, as a woman. There, but for the grace of God…. But as a medical student, I find it quite fascinating, and I am very happy to be able to aid those poor women in some small way. I was able to witness a birth yesterday.”

“Did you?” Sherlock said, too blandly.

Molly smiled. “It was most interesting, and my advisor told us that it was quite an easy birth, too. It did not seem that way to me, but I daresay I’ll get used to such things. They gave the mother a little chloroform at the end, just as the queen had with her eighth child, which made the last of it go much more smoothly and quietly. But the poor thing was only fifteen years of age -- it’s not surprising she was terrified, and unable to bear the pain with any kind of stoicism.” Molly took another bite of Poulet à la Provençale, then frowned at Sherlock, who looked a little disturbed, and even rather pale. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” he said, and visibly rallied, with the help of a big sip of wine.

But it was noticeable that he asked no more questions about the Magdalene Hospital or the Institution, at least at that time, and she did not share with him that she had actually been assigned a third venue for community service, and one that she quite naturally, if reprehensibly, found to be the most interesting of all: Madame Celeste’s in Bennet Street, off St. James’.

#Sherlock #sherlolly

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