Chapter Text
They did, indeed, have separate rooms to rest in, and she took herself to the task of making her room feel like home with the help of Beatrice and Mary. Sherlock had to admit, he had not thought the three of them would get on so well, but they did and it pleased him. Margaret had always had few friends beside himself, he knew that, and seeing these two women help rouse her from the melancholy of her family’s reaction to the elopement was a balm he didn’t know he needed. Feminine laughter filled the halls of his abode, as did discussions of rights for women and whatever thoughts Beatrice had for turns of phrase or new stories to tell.
His abode was quickly becoming a home, he realized one evening a fortnight after the elopement. It was just he and Margaret, and he was smoking his pipe, looking over information on the asylum that the infamous Eurus had escaped from. He had gone there in person and had never seen a more dismal and dreary place. If this Eurus had wanted freedom, he could certainly see why.
Margaret was sitting in his favorite chair, her feet stretched out in front of her and heels on a stool, absolutely absorbed in a book on anatomy. Her reading spectacles were perched on the end of her nose and the only thing of note was how little she had on, wearing simply her nightclothes and a loose dressing-gown, and that her hair was down.
And he was struck by the odd thought that this was how it should be.
Not just her looking the way she did, but her being here, in his home, with him, as though she had always been there and rightfully belonged there. He was so caught up in the thoughts that perhaps his feelings of friendship for Margaret were growing into something fonder that it was the snap of her closing the book that caught his attention.
“I swear, I know a woman’s body better than this...this hack! And his theories are all wrong!” She glared at the book and then tossed it towards the other chair as she usually did with a tome or a newspaper she disagreed with and then lifted herself up to pace. “Hysteria is not related to women’s anatomy! It’s a charge made against women to confine them to their homes and under the thumb of the men in their lives. Though admittedly there may be some maladies cured by hysterical paroxysm, I think that it’s not the end of all medical treatments to treat women.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her ranting, a fond smile on his face. “And what exactly do you know of hysterical paroxysms?”
"More than you," she said, crossing her arms. "They're very...liberating."
“Do you know from firsthand experience?” he asked, now more curious as Margaret turned a peculiar shade of red he had never seen before.
“Once. It was...it did not work the way Mother had supposed it would.” She flushed and turned aside. “The clitoral stimulation was something I thought about studying so I had an electronic hand vibration machine purchased. I have yet to use it and I am unsure if it was transferred with the rest of my belongings or...confiscated by my mother, who would not deign to buy one for herself but would enjoy the clitoral stimulative treatments from a doctor.”
He moved closer to her and gently touched her face, turning her face to face him. He did not want to embarrass her, and while he was a worldly man, and he knew she was a woman for whom social mores meant little, even then, some topics might be too sensitive for them to discuss. “You don’t have to say anymore if you choose not to,” he said. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not that,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I just feel that if I’m to try and replicate the results with...something more than a machine or even my own hands, I would much rather have it be with my own intentions and with my own choice in partners.”
“And just what would those intentions be?” he asked curiously.
“To know if clitoral stimulation is simply a cure for certain female maladies or something...more,” she said. “I think it could be more, but then, I have never...” She trailed off then. “Aside from you, I have never even kissed a man, much less thought of asking one to help me with such experiments.”
“Then perhaps I am the man for you to do those experiments with if you choose,” he murmured, suddenly struck by the idea of having her in his own bed for a night.
“You? You would...with me?” she asked, so shocked she could barely get the words out. He wasn’t the most handsome of fellows, and he was socially awkward in many respects, he realized. And this had been a gaffe of epic proportions, he realized.
“I’m not suitable,” he said. “My apologies.” He let go of her face and turned away.
“Sherlock, no. Wait,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I know this is a marriage of convenience, but...if we were to...take precautions, perhaps?” She gently tugged him back to her. “I just fear you’ll have me and then not...” She trailed off.
“Not want you?” he asked. “Margaret, there is no place you should be other than this place, with me. If having relations would make this more palatable for you, I would do anything. You are my dearest friend and I want you to be happy with this arrangement. I would do much to make you happy.”
“Then I accept,” she said, giving him a small, soft smile the lit up her face.
“And how should we seal this agreement?” he asked.
“With a kiss,” she replied. “As that may be an area I need practice in for scientific results as well.”
“Then we will seal this agreement with a real kiss,” he said. “Just let me guide you.” She nodded and he pulled her close, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, and then bent his head towards hers, capturing her lips in a soft, patient kiss. She was surprised at first but then kissed him back for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him more enthusiastically. There could be more practice later, and he had to resist the urge to take it further right there in the study, but at least he was fairly sure that this was a good start for, perhaps, giving this marriage a better chance at succeeding for as long as they wanted it to.