Chapter Text
Sherlock was pleased that, after a bumpy first few days of marriage, his wife seemed to be adjusting to their life in London. He had always considered Mrs. Hudson an excellent landlady, but he had no idea that a wife could so greatly improve his own domestic comforts, such as having warm water and other household matters. Not to mention that their endeavor to produce a baby was satisfying to him on many levels even though Mrs. Holmes had not yet become with child.
So, to that end, he felt rather happy when he was able to procure tickets to an opera. It was something that they had in common, in fact, it was her love of music that first made Sherlock feel a desire for physical release with his wife. And so, he was quite pleased to present her with tickets to Cossi Fan Tutte to be performed at the Theater Royal.
“Oh! Sherlock!” Francesca exclaimed when he handed her the tickets. Her dark eyes lit with happiness and Sherlock felt a bit surprised when he realized he hadn’t seen that look in her eyes since the first night of their marriage. He pushed aside the discomfort that came with that realization and focused on the moment.
“Yes, I saw a poster for it while on a case and remembered that I had promised to take you to an opera when we were both in London.” Sherlock said. Frankie looked up at him with an enigmatic smile.
“So you did.” She seemed to be in an odd mood and Sherlock was about to ask her if anything was bothering her, but she soon smiled at him, pushing all his concern away. “I believe I also said I am rather fond of Mozart. So this is rather perfect.”
“I did recall that also.” Sherlock said, flushing from pleasure at her praise. He hadn’t realized that he had so much invested in the good opinion of his wife.
“I might need to purchase a new dress. I fear nothing I own will be grand enough for the opera.” Frankie said as she bustled into her room. Sherlock tentatively followed her and stood in the doorway as she seemed to shift through layer after layer of innumerable types of female folderal.
“I rather like your blue dress. The one you wore to the ball at Ferndell.” Sherlock said with a hint of a blush. Francesca paused and looked over at him, bemused.
“I rather like that dress too. Unfortunately, it’s more of a summer dress and it’s a bit out of season.” She took a step towards her husband. “Is it alright, I mean, do we have the funds for me to get a new dress?”
“Of course.” Sherlock answered, feeling like he would promise her anything to make her happy when she looked at him so earnestly. “Maybe in a similar shade of blue?” He suggested. Frankie smiled and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
“I’ll scour all the milliners in London.” She promised. “Are the Watsons attending as well?” She asked as she moved over to her vanity to sort through some items there. Sherlock cleared his throat.
“I didn’t ask. I thought it would be something just for us. Together.” He said, feeling rather embarrassed. To his surprise, he saw a rather fond look in Francesca’s eyes.
“That’s…that will be lovely, Sherlock.” She said. At the sound of his name on her lips, Sherlock felt that it would be wise for them to continue their more personal endeavor . Immediately.
“Francesca,” He murmured as he moved towards her. She stood to meet him, looking a little confused. He gripped her waist and kissed her firmly on the mouth, swallowing her gasp of surprise. But he was gratified when he felt her arms reach around him as she seemed to pull him close to her heart.
“Have you plans?” Sherlock murmured as he brushed her hair aside to kiss her neck. He was gratified when his wife took in a shaky breath.
“None. My committee meeting was cancelled.” Francesca murmured and Sherlock was pleased when she whimpered as he moved down and kissed her shoulder. “Do you…do you have a case?”
“I just finished up with LeStrade.” Sherlock said, kissing her shoulder again.
“In the middle of the day?” Francesca asked. Sherlock smiled against her skin. The way she sounded both scandalized and intrigued made her even more beguiling to him.
“Yes.” He said and made quick work of loosening the laces on her gown and corset. After all, it was the middle of the day and he had no desire to undress completely. Sherlock felt a surge of what he figured could only be passion as he kissed his wife and leaned her against the desk in her room. Was this what most men of his acquaintance felt around women? Sherlock thought it was a most inconvenient way to go through the day and felt rather pleased with himself that he had never felt this burning desire for anyone except the woman in his arms. Although, he rather thought Mycroft had never felt anything close to such a burn for anyone. He snorted at his thoughts as he moved to pull Francesca’s skirts up.
“What is it?” She asked even as she helped him shift the heavy skirts.
“A stray thought. Let me banish it and pay all my attentions to you, my dear.” Sherlock murmured. Francesca sighed and Sherlock moved to kiss her again as he positioned himself to take her as a man does his wife.
“Oh!” Francesca called out as he entered her at last.
“Alright?” Sherlock asked briefly, as he moved to kiss and suck at a spot on her neck that he noticed seemed to delight her in past encounters.
“Yes. Just…sometimes it’s still surprising.” Francesca answered and Sherlock could feel her blush as he continued to pay his amorous attentions to her neck and bosom. He grunted in reply and began to move, gratified when he could feel her tiny hands clutch at his shoulders before they moved into his hair. Her whimpers were sweeter to him than any opera could ever hope to be. He felt himself fall off the precipice and allowed himself to linger in his wife’s embrace for a moment. He gave one more kiss to the spot on her neck before pulling away.
“I think I left a bruise.” He said with a frown, his hand letting go of her skirt and rubbing her neck with his thumb.
“It’s alright. I have plenty of scarves and the weather is cold enough that it won’t look odd.” Francesca returned. She moved away from him and Sherlock watched as she moved to fix her hair from his earlier attentions.
“Very sensible.” Sherlock replied, even though his frown deepened at the thought of covering up the evidence of this encounter. He shook himself of the feeling. It was the middle of the day and they both had other tasks to attend to. “Here. Let me relace you.”
“Thank you.” His wife replied, pausing from her work on her hair to allow him to relace first her corset then her gown. He was careful about it after all the talk he’d heard from Enola and his own experience as part of the conclusion of the case that Enola liked to call “The Case of the Disappearing Duchess”.
“Not too tight?” He asked a bit anxiously. He was surprised when Francesca turned around and cupped his cheek in her hand and leaned up to kiss him lightly on the mouth.
“Perfect.” She responded. For some reason, Sherlock felt inordinately pleased with himself even though it was quite a simple task and did not require any of his advanced deductive powers. But he couldn’t think of anything to say about that so he merely bowed to her and exited the room.
“I will be home for supper tonight.” He said as he moved to gather his hat and coat. He thought he heard Francesca sigh, but he didn’t let that deter him from his intentions to leave the flat.
“I shall see you then.” She replied. Sherlock nodded and left their cozy flat. He hadn’t intended to take that long at home but he felt extremely satisfied with the encounter.
*~*~*~
On the night of the opera, his wife was practically bouncing in the seat next to him as they rode the carriage to the Theater Royal. He was quite pleased that she had managed to find a deep blue fabric for her dress. And her hair was done up quite nicely too. He supposed that had something to do with the ladies maid whose accommodations in Mrs. Hudson’s servant quarters he started to pay for at the end of the Summer. He frowned a bit at the thought of the increase in his household expenses, but he supposed that those expenses would increase again once their endeavors eventually resulted in a child. He turned his attention back to Francesca, who was prattling on about the history of the opera.
“...and since he didn’t like the soprano who was originating the lead role, he made her main aria leap between high and low notes so that she would bob her head as she sang it and look like a chicken!”
Sherlock smiled at her happiness and recalled their carriage ride to the concert in Coalbrookedale during the summer. It had been rather silent, but he had a distinct memory of wanting to touch her arm. Well. Now they were married and all things were permitted. He slowly removed his glove and stroked her arm with his thumb. Francesca abruptly stopped talking and looked at him curiously.
“Sherlock. Are you listening to me?” She asked. Sherlock leaned closer to her, nudging her head with his nose and lips. He was disappointed that there were no gardenias in her hair, only a single jeweled hair clip. But she still smelled like flowers and he wondered where she had bought the scent as it was quite natural and not at all like the cloying scents he usually had to deal with during his investigations.
“Sherlock?” She asked again and he smiled to hear a slight waiver in her voice.
“I admit, I was not attending to your every word.” He said and pulled back slightly to catch the expression on her face. She looked at him curiously and when she bit her lip, Sherlock couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her. He was rather gratified that she kissed him back, following after him when he pulled back to breathe.
His hand gripped her arm more firmly and he had to control himself so that he would not clasp her to him and run his hands through her hair, ruining her coiffure. He realized that this was one of their first public engagements in London as a married couple and he didn’t want to do anything to damage his wife’s reputation. The carriage began to slow and he reluctantly pulled back.
“We’re here.” Sherlock said and turned slightly to pull his glove back on. As the carriage stopped, he was surprised as Francesca leaned in and kissed him briefly on the cheek.
“Thank you for arranging this, husband.” She said, with a shy smile. He smiled at her, surprised but pleased by the spontaneous affection.
“It was nothing.” He replied, but reveled in her happy smile as he stepped out of the coach and turned to take her hand and assist her down. Once out of the coach, she slipped her arm through his and pressed into his side for a brief moment before letting him escort her to their box for the evening.
The next morning, waking up in his room, Sherlock vaguely recalled that the opera seemed to have been well performed. He might have been worried at a deterioration in his observational skills, but he brushed it off. After all, he could remember every detail and every expression on Francesca’s face and that seemed much more worthy of his memory than the color of the dress of the leading lady, or whether the cast sang in tune at all.