Several days later, thanks to Robin's hard work, Sherlock's flat was like a home for the first time since he'd purchased it. She had cleaned and organized everything, bought several new pieces of furniture to complement what he already had, and stocked the kitchen.
It had only taken them those same several days to fall into a comfortable rhythm. He was currently at his desk, which was now in the main space of the flat. She had one right next to it. The room that had formerly been his office was now set up for the children they would soon have.
She was in the kitchen. The flat was wonderfully warm, and filled with the smells of bacon, baking bread, and plum pie.
And, of course, now that they were living alone together, he could have her whenever he wanted. The fainting couch he'd previously mostly used for sleeping when he never made it to his own bed had become a favorite spot of his to pin her on, sometimes for only a few moments, and sometimes for much longer.
When she emerged and informed him that food would be ready in roughly thirty minutes, he pounced. She'd taken to wearing loose gowns when they didn't have company, and it took basically no effort at all to tug the fabric down to expose her breasts.
"I'll certainly be with child before the end of the season if you keep doing this," she murmured.
Truthfully, they both hoped that she already was, but it was far too early to tell.
"Good," he murmured back, dragging her skirt up as she undid his breeches, then slid her hands around to squeeze his backside.
His hips worked feverishly as he drove into her, his curls falling over his forehead and brushing against her skin as they kissed.
This time, it didn't last long, but it was still incredibly satisfying.
She giggled and kissed his cheek before sneaking out from underneath him to head back to the kitchen. "You're getting quite good at that," she observed.
"Mm," he rumbled, redoing his breeches and reclining comfortably. "I aim to please."
"And you do, every time," she assured him.
After they ate, he returned to catching up on his correspondence while she worked on her next novel.
When he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and asked how it was going, she turned and kissed him. "I'm still not used to this part," she admitted. "Being able to work openly and talking to someone about it."
"You will be soon enough, Robin."
She nodded. "Yes, I will, Sherlock."
She kissed him again and began to show him everything she had written so far.
After reading everything Robin had written so far, Sherlock paid a visit to the docks and found Poseidon's Wrath. He and Robin had assumed, of course, that Miss Beverley had not used her real name when planning her escape, and they had guessed correctly. Sherlock bribed the captain so he could look at the list of passengers, however, and when he found the name of a character from Robin's most recent book, he knew exactly who he was looking for.
Another bribe for the captain ensured that he would delay the ship's departure and send for the detective when Miss Beverley arrived. Of course, he and Robin were hoping to find her before that, but it was prudent to be cautious.
After his bribes, they began spending their days running errands and exploring London to look for Miss Beverley. There were many lodging houses she could be staying at, as well as hotels. Robin was astonished by everything she was seeing, and it quickly became one of Sherlock's favorite pastimes to see the thrilled look on her face when she was experiencing something new.
He also reluctantly took her to meet Mycroft. His brother was already in a bad mood because they couldn't meet at the Diogenes Club, since it didn't allow women. He was also not particularly pleased when he saw Robin for the first time.
"Well, I thought she'd be prettier," he scoffed after they were introduced. "What even tempted you about her?"
"Your brother is just as you promised, Sherlock," Robin replied primly, rolling her eyes at Mycroft.
"Goodness gracious, don't tell me she's impertinent," Mycroft complained. "The last thing we need in this family is another impertinent woman."
"She is delightfully impertinent, Mycroft," Sherlock informed him, "but rest assured that she will not embarrass our family. She will also provide it with heirs, which it is sorely lacking."
Mycroft grumbled, but didn't protest further, which gave Sherlock an opportunity to continue. He thought it best to stick to facts with Mycroft, as he wasn't particularly interested in a conversation regarding the quality of his wife. He was perfectly happy, and Mycroft never would be, so there was no point arguing about it.
"I will be retaining my flat in London for working on cases. We'll be in the city until the end of the season, and will have a celebration of our marriage at some point. I'll invite you to be proper, of course, but if all you send is an excuse, that's fine with me."
Mycroft waved his hand dismissively and didn't respond at all.
"After that, we will be adjourning to Robin's estate, Norland Park. We recently visited the property together and have already started the process of restoring it."
Mycroft snorted. "And what did her father think of that, considering that the estate is his?"
"He passed recently, so the estate is Robin's now," Sherlock explained, skipping over the more complicated family history.
Mycroft would think Robin's father's behavior entirely justified, so Sherlock wasn't having that argument either.
"You mean it's yours," his older brother pointed out, sneering. "You're married, so everything she had belongs to you." He paused. "I suppose you're an earl now, aren't you, brother?"
"An earl?" Sherlock questioned. "But her father was a count."
"Because he received his title from the French king for services rendered to both France and England during one of their brief periods of peace during his youth," Robin clarified. "The English king merely honored it when he returned. He was a count because that was the title he received. I'm a countess because I'm his daughter and the title passes through his family. The equivalent English title is earl, which you now possess since you married a countess."
Mycroft spared her another glance. "I suppose you're not entirely worthless," he admitted begrudgingly.
"Thank goodness," she sighed. "My biggest fear was being worthless to my overly charming brother."
Sherlock smirked and rose, reaching for her hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. "Go back to your club, Mycroft. I simply wanted you to meet your new sister and inform you of our plans, since I know you hate being kept in the dark. Your responsibility ends now."
Robin took a deep breath and smiled at Mycroft. "However you might feel about me, Mr. Holmes, please be assured that you are always welcome at Norland Park. You are family, after all."
"While that's very generous of you," he sniffed, "I'm sure it won't be necessary."
He stood and dusted himself off, as if he couldn't stand to be anywhere but where he wanted to be for a moment longer, then hurried away, leaving them alone again.
Sherlock blew out a breath. "You are far kinder than I would have been, Robin."
She laughed. "Hardly. Now that he knows he has an invitation, he'll never use it. If we didn't give him one, he'd complain about it every single time we saw him and eventually just show up when he was least wanted."
"You are much more socially savvy than I am," he confessed after a moment of silence.
"Well, of course I am," she agreed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "It's one of the benefits of being married to me."
"Not the one I like the most, Mrs. Holmes," he replied cheekily, offering her his arm. "Let's go home and explore some of the others."
But when they returned, there was an urgent message waiting for him. Robin hovered while he read it.
"Is it about Miss Beverley?" she asked.
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "No, it's from the queen. She requires my services and requests my presence this evening. I must leave you to fend for yourself, I suppose."
He changed and prepared to leave, looking rather put out as she kissed him goodbye. "I wish she had invited you as well," he murmured.
"I'm sure she would have if she knew we were married. A new Lady Whistledown hasn't come out since our return to London, and I doubt anyone's informed her. I'll be waiting for you with a hot dinner when you return."
"You are quite good to me, Mrs. Holmes," he whispered, stealing one more kiss before he went to keep his appointment.
He returned two hours later, and she had kept her promise. She was waiting in one of her loose gowns, and he could smell meat pie.
"I need a break from breakfast," she apologized.
It was his favorite meal of the day, so she fixed it often. He shook his head and bent down to kiss her with a smile. "You're allowed to cook whatever you'd like, Robin."
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back as she stood. "What did the queen want?" she wondered as she went to get the pie, along with the cheese and plums she was serving with it.
"She wants me to discover who Lady Whistledown is," Sherlock announced as he set the table.
"I thought Eloise was attempting that."
She had told him about her conversation with her cousin upon returning to London.
"She was also in attendance," Sherlock revealed. "It was quite the ambush. Apparently the queen is getting impatient. She's had enough of Lady Whistledown embarrassing her and the ton and wants the whole affair finished as soon as possible."
"Did Eloise seem upset?"
"Yes, but she hid it well."
"I'll have to go visit her tomorrow. I'm sure she's feeling inadequate, but she's hardly to blame. She's never done any detective work before, and there are barely any clues about Lady Whistledown's true identity available. Not to mention that she isn't responsible for the queen's shifting moods."
"Of course not. It's hardly surprising that the queen has sought out a professional," Sherlock agreed. "From what the queen told me, it sounds like she gave in to Eloise as more of a hobby. Now that she's truly interested, she doesn't want to trust an amateur."
"Eloise will be more determined than ever," Robin laughed. "You're going to have some competition."
"I don't mind that at all. I used to find it odious, but it's refreshing when my adversary is worthy. My sister outdid me once and I rather enjoyed it. And Eloise was brave enough to accuse you, so she clearly has potential."
"How do you feel about having to unmask Lady Whistledown?"
Robin cut slices of pie, cheese, and plums and Sherlock poured tea as he answered. "Silencing her might be a good thing," he decided. "I'm not sure all of this gossip is doing anyone any favors."
"You might be right," Robin agreed.
"Whatever I think, I can't say no," Sherlock reminded her. "It's the queen."
"Well, of course not. I was just curious."
He took a bite of pie and groaned happily. "You are such an amazing cook. I know I say that every time, but it's true."
"Wait until you see what I have planned for dessert."
She winked and he grinned. Whatever was happening in the world outside, at least he could be secure in the fact that he would always be happy within their walls.
The next morning, after keeping his wife in bed a little later than usual, he was relaxing with the paper. Ever since the business with Enola and his mother, he'd taken to reading it, though he'd previously found it tedious.
He turned the page and glanced at the personals, which he always did out of habit. There were rarely any messages that would interest him, but today a garbled entry that would only make sense to a select few caught his eye.
He laughed and jumped up to join Robin in the kitchen.
"Expect company at noon, precisely," he informed her, kissing her cheek. "You won't need a corset."
She raised her eyebrow, but didn't voice her suspicions. "All right. I'll make sure to have something ready."
She worked for the rest of the morning to come up with a spread. When noon arrived, there was a brisk knock on the door. Sherlock answered it, surprised when two women entered.
He was even more surprised when he realized who the second one was.
Robin emerged from the kitchen and smiled at their guests.
"You must be my brother's wife," one of them announced decisively. "I'm Enola Holmes. I'm sure he's told you about me."
"He has, Enola," Robin said warmly. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."
"And who is with you, Enola?" Sherlock asked witheringly, though he was obviously impressed.
"Well, brother," Enola replied archly, "I heard you were missing a baroness. This is Miss Cecilia Beverley."
Miss Beverley sighed and looked vaguely annoyed, but otherwise said nothing.
Robin started to laugh gaily as she realized that her brilliant husband had once again been outdone by his much younger sister. She kissed his cheek affectionately and turned to invite everyone in so she could serve the lunch she'd made.