Oh my guys! I'm super nervous about this! I have never done a Sherlolly period AU before. But I was pretty inspired by the Mr. Darcy photo shoot that Benedict did, and somehow the idea of a Regency Sherlolly fic was born. But this took me quite a while. The historical issues were many! I was many times reminded of why I usually stick to my safe zone of the modern day. If anything doesn't make sense, feel free to PM me, but there's some stuff about beekeeping that may sound weird. Apparently the typical beekeeping stuff that we're familiar with didn't start untill the mid 19th century. This time period was pretty different!

I'd like to specially thank a reader Queencumberbitch, who was super excited about this idea and offered her help in the area of history and research. I got a lot of interesting info from her, and even some plot suggestions too. So glad some people know more about history than I do! And also a big thanks to my reader and real life bff Pillowslave. She helped with plot stuff, history, and also basic editing. You're the best, my friend! ;)

Ok, so here we go, and I hope you enjoy it! I'm mostly just setting things up here, so not too much thrill in this chapter. Go ahead and read, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! ;D

Bees...that was the best he could come up with.

Bees, Sherlock thought with an internal groan as he walked through the grass.

If there was one thing he hated, it was boredom. And it seemed likely that a summer in the country would have plenty of that to offer. It wasn't his choice. And he was rather convinced that nobody was really pleased with the idea. Well, nobody except mummy.

Sherlock loved the city of London. It was alive, strange, disturbing, and fascinating. There were always things to be discovered, and mysteries to be solved. There was activity, and that was enough. The country offered beauty and serenity...both of which left Sherlock feeling a bit unfulfilled.

But this was what Mummy wanted, and so it had to be done. She'd announced a couple months back that the family must spend the summer at the Sussex estate, Seaborne. She was experiencing a recent worsening of her gout, and though she wished to see her children, she didn't feel she'd be able to travel to the city. Her doctor had specifically told her not to attempt it, in fact. So that settled it. She had all but demanded that Sherlock, Mycroft, and his new wife Anthea, spend the summer at Seaborne.

It had long been a complaint of Lady Holmes' anyway, that her children mostly stayed away from the country. Mycroft made brief visits to take care of what was needed, being the owner of the property since the death of his father some years before, but he also had a home in London which allowed him to stay closely connected to affairs of state. His wife apparently wanted to be close to her husband for now, though Sherlock deduced that she would soon be running off to Sussex to live with her mother in law. Clearly Mycroft wasn't going to make much effort to keep her in London.

The Holmes' cousin Mary Morstan would be there throughout the summer as well. She had lately moved to Seaborne. She had suffered a bit of social disgrace in the past year, and was doing her best to pick up her life and move along again. Lady Holmes insisted that she stay with the family, in hopes that through association and with some time, her position in society could be at least partially mended.

Sherlock lived in his quiet little flat on Baker Street in London, thus allowing him to work alongside Scotland Yard as a consulting detective, much to his brother's constant shame. Mycroft desperately tried to encourage Sherlock toward the military, or the clergy, but Sherlock was having none of it. He was a detective. He had always been a detective. He didn't choose to be one, he simply was. And he didn't care one bit about how it made his brother look.

In the month before they were expected at Seaborne, he was given some books by his housekeeper Mrs. Hudson. She had been neatening up his personal office, and had discovered a few that he had loved as a child. They were on the subject of beekeeping. Sherlock had forgotten his brief period of interest in the subject, and began perusing the volumes again. He recalled that as a child he had begged his parents to let him keep bees, but they had refused, saying he was too young.

Sherlock's interest was renewed as he began rereading them, and he had immediately set about getting bee skeps and hackles delivered to their country estate. He hoped that it would be a little something to occupy his time and, with any luck, he'd actually harvest some honey before they returned to London in Autumn.

He'd decided, for a couple reasons, to travel to Seaborne a bit before the rest of the party. For one thing, he wanted to inspect the skeps that had been already set up. And he also had no desire to spend the entire ride in such close proximity to his brother. The ride was tedious enough as it was.

Sherlock had taken a brief walk about the inside of the grand estate once he'd arrived. His mother was apparently taking an afternoon nap, and Mary was out riding, so he wasn't obligated to greet them yet. The staff was busily freshening the place up and preparing for the rest of the family's arrival. Sherlock hadn't much desire to spend time inside though. He wanted to check on what was waiting for him outside. The skeps and hackles had been placed well beyond the front lawn and topiary garden, at the request of his mother. She didn't want them at all close to the house, and didn't want them causing any trouble for her or anyone else in the small party.

Sherlock left the front entrance of Seaborne and began the long walk out to where the bees hopefully were. He began mentally composing a letter to his friend, Dr. John Watson, as he walked. He needed to make sure that Watson didn't lag behind in London for too long.

He decided that it was his friend's responsibility to spend the majority of the summer here as well. He'd informed him of this the week before leaving London...

"How is this such a terrible problem, Holmes? Seaborne is lovely, and it's a beautiful countryside! I can think of a lot worse than spending three months there!" Watson tossed some papers aside on Sherlock's desk in some frustration and sighed at his friend's "problem."

Sherlock jumped up from his seat and waved his hands around as he stomped about the room. "London is a bustle of activity in the summer, Watson! There's always things to do and ways to occupy my mind. I'm going to miss all of it! I'm likely to die of boredom in the country!"

"Oh honestly, Holmes, do not be dramatic! There will be plenty to do. I'm sure your mother will throw some parties, and you'll see people you haven't seen in years perhaps. You can deduce all sorts of shocking things about them, and make lots of new enemies. How is that not entertainment for you?"

Sherlock stopped walking and placed his palms on his friend's desk to lean over and give him a menacing stare. "You will be joining us! I will not be left alone with my family for that long!"

John sighed in exasperation. "Look, I really just got my leg back in action, I can't push it too much...you'd better not make me walk for miles around that countryside!"

"Oh excellent!" Sherlock clapped his hands as he stood again. "You'll join us no later than the end of June then, yes? Wonderful! I'll tell my mother that her favorite eligible doctor will be joining the party. She'll be sure to include lots of young ladies in the guest list of whatever parties she throws."

Dr. Watson cracked a smile. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I probably would have agreed sooner...though are you sure those young ladies wouldn't be included for the benefit of her youngest son?" He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock in teasing.

Sherlock let out a little chuckle as he put his hat back on and fixed his collar. "Oh, thankfully I believe my mother has almost completely given up hope in that regard. She's also still basking in the glow of shock and joy at Mycroft's marriage to Anthea. That should last her quite a while. But now that you mention it, it is possible she would have hopes that this summer will end in an engagement for myself as well...again, it will prove most useful to have you there. She could focus all her matchmaking energies in your direction instead." Sherlock grinned at his friend, pleased at his plan.

Watson shook his head and laughed as his friend took his leave...

Sherlock walked past the freshly manicured gardens, and into the wilder parts of their land. He saw the half dozen hackles sitting there right where he was told they would be. And he had brought with him the necessary protective clothes. There was a jacket, gloves, and a hat with a veil.

He decided that he'd really like to get a closer look. He was incredibly curious as to whether bees had taken up residence yet. There wouldn't be much to do at this point, but he wanted to take a peek. He decided against bothering with the jacket. He instead put on the hat and veil, and the gloves.

Sherlock gingerly took off the hackle. He looked inside, examining the flurry of activity that was going on. The gentle buzz was the only sound he could hear. He envied the fact that these creatures are always occupied and never feel bored.

As he leaned down to examine closer, the edge of the mesh veil hung further away from his body. This created the space for a bee to unfortunately fly up into the protective hat.

Sherlock quickly noticed this, and at first he did exactly what one is supposed to do. He stayed perfectly still and calm. He decided to gently lift the hat from off his head. He figured that after he did this, he would just carefully replace the hackle over the skep, and then make his exit. But once he'd removed the hat and was in the process of lowering his arms, he knocked over the hackle, tripped trying to grab it, and actually bumped into the skep that sat atop the wooden bench.

He quickly picked up the hackle again and placed it over the skep...but the damage had clearly already been done. He realized it the split second before he felt the first sting on his forearm. A few bees had bravely taken it upon themselves to rid their home of this six foot tall threat.

After he felt a second and third sting in quick succession, Sherlock began to realize that standing still and remaining calm was no longer going to do much good. He really just needed to get away. And that's exactly what he did. Sherlock headed straight for the pond...

He shed some layers as he ran. His coat came off and was thrown to the side. His waistcoat came next, and just as he reached the water, he had pulled his cravat off and thrown it on the ground as well. It wasn't as if he cared so much about his clothing, but he didn't want to make himself sink to the bottom of the pond with the extra weight either.

Just as he reached the edge of the water, he paused to quickly kick off his shoes, but the bees who had followed him were still not pleased. So right before he dove into the pond, he felt one more bee exact revenge at the base of his neck...

Molly Hooper hummed softly to herself as she walked across the hills. She'd always enjoyed walking, and she was pleased that the weather was becoming warm enough to make it more pleasant now. Even the spring had made for some chilly walks, especially in the morning and evening.

She'd been doing a lot more walking and riding the past few months. Her father, Dr. Nicolas Hooper, had been experiencing more and more trouble keeping up with all his patients. Molly was almost as qualified to care for the basic needs of her father's patients as he was. And most of them trusted her. Her father may clean and stitch a wound, but Molly would be the one to call two more times and change the bandage while checking to make sure the site was healing properly.

It was foolish to deny the fact that her father's health was failing. He had become convinced of the fact that cancer was spreading in his body. Molly knew that her father was no fool, and if he believed this to be the case, he was probably right.

Nicholas Hooper was an excellent and well respected physician. He'd practiced for much of his young life in London, and was widely regarded as highly skilled. It was only after the tragic death of his wife, by child bed fever shortly after the birth of their daughter Molly, that Dr. Hooper decided it best to live in the country. It was difficult enough for the man to continue practicing medicine, but at the very least, he wanted to get out of the city and lead a quieter life. He used all the resources he had to acquire a small bit of land and a home for himself and his daughter. And from then forward, he had come to be a much loved Doctor to mostly the landed gentry in the area. And that included Lady Holmes and her household.

It was best that he hadn't remained in the city, since his health had been taking a steady decline in the past year. Molly did what she always did. She remained positive and strong. It was what her father needed, and she refused to give in to feelings of despair when that would do nothing to mend him. Deep down, being the woman that she was, she believed that if she did what was needed and put her whole heart into it, things would get better. She was optimistic to a fault.

Molly took the shawl off her shoulders and let the sun hit her arms and neck as she walked the dirt path. She cut through a patch of trees and took another turn as she came upon the edge of Seaborne.

She was in the habit of cutting through some of the land on Seaborne. It made for some of the nicest views, and it also cut a good ten minutes off her trip home from many places she tended to walk to and from.

As Molly passed over a small hill, the grand house came into view...and she was sure she saw a number of people out and about around the grounds. She stopped to squint and look more closely. As she watched from a distance, she became convinced that there was much more activity going on than she'd seen in a very long time. Lady Holmes kept quietly to herself, and didn't throw parties anymore. She hadn't done so in many years, since the whole family had been there regularly.

From what Molly saw, she began guessing that there would soon be, or perhaps already was, more inhabitants at Seaborne.

Sherlock's whole body sunk down in the waters of the pond with a splash. His feet quickly touched the bottom, and he made a mental note that he remembered this pond to be a lot deeper the last time he'd been in it...perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was thirteen at the time. He stayed under for as long as he could possibly hold his breath, opening his eyes briefly and looking around him. Finally, when he had to, he surfaced and shook his head a bit. He wiped the water from his eyes and took deep breaths. He could feel the sting sites on his body burning, so he didn't feel much rush to exit the cool water. He took a deep breath and fell backwards again, letting the water cradle his body. He lay floating, staring up into the shockingly bright blue of the sky. His ears were submerged and filled with the sounds of the pond water...so he naturally didn't hear the footsteps that weren't too far away.

Molly continued on, and was about to veer off to leave the area of Seaborne, but then she caught sight of some movement out of the corner of her eye.

Through a few trees, she saw something moving in the shimmering pond to her left. Molly stopped and turned to look. Yes, she was sure there was something in that pond. Her instinct to help drove her to walk closer, wanting to make sure that it wasn't a child in need of assistance. But as she moved past the branches, and came into the clearing, what she saw surprised her.

There was indeed someone in the pond...but it was a grown man. He floated lazily on his back, and as Molly took a few steps closer, she could clearly make out the fact that he was almost fully clothed. She almost let out a laugh, wondering what in the world he was doing.

Though, very soon, any possibility of laughter faded away...because the man set his feet down and stood up.

Molly felt her jaw go slack as he stood up in a shallower part of the pond, and ran his hands roughly through his dark curly hair, shaking some of the excess water out. His white shirt hung heavily against his back, and she was pretty sure there wasn't even one muscle that she couldn't see perfectly outlined. He examined something on his arm, and Molly continued to remain statue still, not sure what to do with herself. She wasn't really even wondering what to do actually...she was completely transfixed. But her mind came back to her a bit, when the man in the pond turned around and caught sight of her standing there.

The man's blue green piercing eyes connected with Molly's wide brown ones, and despite the fact that he was standing in the water with a soaking wet open shirt and partially bared chest, she was the one who felt completely exposed under his gaze. She may as well have been without a stitch of clothing. It was as if he was looking right through her...but missing nothing along the way. It was one of the most pleasantly unnerving feelings she'd ever experienced.

Molly finally forced her lips together again and she swallowed hard before attempting to open her mouth again. "H-hello," she said, attempting to sound relaxed.

The corner of the man's mouth crept up just a touch and he frowned a little, clearly wondering who she was. "Yes...hello...and you are?"

"Molly Hooper, sir. I, um, was just passing through. Forgive the intrusion, but I thought perhaps someone might need help. I see though, you're...just fine," she said with a little nod.

"I believe I'll live, yes," he answered without looking back at her, and began to trudge his way out of the water with his heavy sopping clothes.

As he came up onto the bank, Molly noticed one of his sting sites. She saw the red swollen mark at his neck.

"Oh...are you alright? What happened to your neck?" she asked with a grimace.

Sherlock touched the skin and winced. "Ah yes, there's one of them. I was forced to take a quick swim in an effort to escape some unhappy bees. Though, as you can see, I didn't escape unscathed."

"Did you say, 'that's one of them?' How many times were you stung?" As she spoke, Molly set down her father's medical bag and took a couple steps closer to the man.

Sherlock shrugged and looked at his arm again, at that sting site. "A few times I believe."

"Perhaps you'd allow me to take a look. You really should make sure the stingers are out. They'll get better so much faster. I can remove them if needed." She went to pick up the case again.

"I'm sure I can manage," he said casually as he flopped down onto the grass.

"You'll have a difficult time seeing...at least the one on your neck. I do...know what I'm doing."

Sherlock looked up from his place on the grass and narrowed his eyes, deducing her more carefully. Small but strong hands that clearly work daily, bag containing medical equipment, immediate attempt to assist with an injury...some sort of medical experience and background...Hooper...Dr. Hooper...this must be a female relative of his. Most likely his daughter.

"Yes, clearly you do...alright." He gestured with his gaze to the grass beside him.

Molly came forward right away and took a seat facing him. She met his gaze briefly, but then focused on getting a pair of tweezers out of her bag. As she did, she asked, "Are you...Lord Holmes?"

"No, thank God. You're thinking of my brother, Lord Mycroft Holmes. He'll be arriving within the week as well...Forgive me, my name is Sherlock Holmes."

"I see. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes," she smiled. "So, where exactly were you stung? I see the one on your neck."

Sherlock held his arm out. "There's this one here, and then there's another here." He pulled the soggy fabric of his shirt aside to reveal another red welt on the right side of his upper chest. "And I believe there's another on my back."

"Alright, well let's start with the arm, shall we?" Molly held out her hand and he placed his forearm in it. She wrapped her fingers around the cool damp skin of his arm and leaned down to inspect the sting. "Hold still, this will only take a second. I can see the stinger..."

"There!" she held the tiny point up in the tweezers. "Removing the stinger should help almost immediately. Give it a few minutes and it should look and feel much better."

"I suppose I should get used to this. I'm toying with some beekeeping." He turned his head to give her easier access to the sting on his neck.

"Are you? How fascinating..." Molly placed her fingers gently on his neck as she leaned in with the tweezers, and she began to feel more nervous than she had when working on his arm. She had loads of experience working on her father's patients, and nothing really shook her anymore...but this...this felt different. She didn't usually feel her hands involuntarily shake when working.

Sherlock seemed rather unaffected by the contact and kept his head to the side as she finally got a good hold on the little stinger and managed to keep her eyes focused on pulling it out, instead of allowing herself to be distracted by his visible pulse point that was moving beautifully right near her fingers.

"Ok, two more to go," she said, discarding the second stinger. She gingerly pulled the damp shirt aside to reveal the third sting site and momentarily met his eyes as she did. She began to feel a blush creeping into her face and desperately hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Your father is a doctor," he suddenly said in a low voice, and she felt the words vibrate against her hand that was placed on his chest near the red wound.

"Y-yes, that's right, he is. Do you know him?" she asked as she moved in a bit closer.

"I remember him. I haven't seen him in years though. I think the last time I'd seen him for myself was a bout of measles when I was a child...I believe my mother considers him to be an excellent doctor. She certainly listens to his council."

Molly could detect a negative tone in his voice. "And that's...not good?"

"In this case, perhaps not. Your father apparently advised against her traveling this summer. She then demanded that my brother and I spend the summer here instead...not exactly my first choice," he sighed, and she felt him jump ever so slightly as she pulled that stinger out.

"Sorry...got it though. Only one left."

Sherlock swiveled around without being asked, and automatically pulled his shirt up in the back, letting it rest over his shoulders. Molly was incredibly grateful that he couldn't see her face, because she knew it was now very red indeed. She gulped quickly, and then placed her hand below the sting and leaned forward. He moved his arms a bit and she not only saw, but felt the muscles in his back contract. Molly stopped while pressing her lips together, with the tweezers poised, and she actually had to close her eyes for a moment.

"Do you see it?" he asked, noticing that she'd paused.

Molly opened her eyes and took a breath. "Yes, um, I do...just a moment." She concentrated harder then, and found the stinger, pulling it out quickly. "There. All done!"

Sherlock rolled his shoulders backward, causing his shirt to fall down over his back again, then he turned again. He lifted his arm and examined the site that had first been relieved of the stinger. "Mmm, looking a bit less red and swollen."

"Yes, it helps rather quickly. If you get the stinger out, you can at least limit how much of the bee's venom you absorb. So, timing is important...you'll want to remember that if you're going to be keeping bees. I'd imagine this won't be your last bee sting."

Sherlock stood and reached a hand down to pull her up as well. Molly took the offer, feeling like his large hand practically swallowed up her much smaller one. She was pulled to a stand, and quickly took a step back because of how close she then was to him. Molly looked away and smoothed the fabric of her blue pin striped dress.

"I am still getting used to beekeeping, it's true. So yes, I'm sure this won't be my last incident. Though I have learned to be a bit less careless next time." Sherlock gave her a small smile as he clasped his hands behind his back.

His dark hair had dried a bit in the sun, and was shining now. A few curls fell across his brow, and Molly was struck by this feeling of wanting to reach out and touch them. She'd never felt something like that before. She couldn't ever recall having the sudden inappropriate desire to simply reach out and touch a man...and a man she'd just met only minutes before! Molly felt the heat pooling in her cheeks again and had to look away.

"Give your father my regards, though I imagine he remembers me as a nothing more than child. Perhaps I'll be able to meet him properly over the summer."

"Perhaps," she answered with a tight smile, and her gaze faltered a bit.

Sherlock picked up on it. It was subtle, but he saw it. There's something wrong...she's concerned for him. Slight darkening under her eyes from fatigue, hands having been worked more often now than in years past, making visits to patients using her father's medical supplies, slight sadness at the mention of my meeting her father...he's unwell...could be serious.

"And you often walk through Seaborne?" he questioned.

Molly looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, um, well yes. It's a bit of a short cut. This is really the only area where I walk across." She pointed beyond them through the trees.

"It's fine," he said simply. "I was merely asking."

Molly found this Mr. Holmes to be slightly intimidating to converse with, and she was afraid it turned her into a bit of a fool. It was difficult to control though. He was just so tall, and handsome, and his eyes seemed to cut through her like a knife, and his voice...

"I should perhaps be going inside to fetch some dry clothes," he said, breaking through her thoughts.

"Yes of course! I didn't mean to keep you," she said, suddenly becoming self conscious. "I'll certainly tell my father you said hello, and perhaps we'll see you again."

"Good day, Miss Hooper, and thank you for the assistance." He gave her a small nod, but his expression was very difficult to read.

"My pleasure, Mr. Holmes," she said with a warm smile.

Molly turned and walked away briskly, having the self control not to look back, and wondering if this was the feeling. This had to be it...that feeling she'd heard about, and read about, and wondered if she'd ever get to experience. She had no idea that being around a man could literally make it difficult to breathe. As she kept walking, she couldn't help but wonder how very many young women had their breath stolen away by the presence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The numbers would surely make her head spin. He was the sort of man she couldn't even begin to hope for.

And yet, rather unconsciously, there was indeed a hope that had almost immediately planted itself like a seed in her heart. It took root more quickly than she'd like to admit.

Sherlock Holmes walked away that summer day, and looked down at his arm again. The red welt had shrunk down even more now, and was looking far less angry. He touched his neck and felt that the swelling there had also decreased.

He didn't tend to enjoy making the acquaintance of new people...but he did enjoy the unusual. And that was an unusual woman. A woman connected to the medical field...fascinating. She would perhaps be less dull than some of the other people he'd no doubt be forced to associate with this summer. He would be happy to take any bit of entertainment he could manage.

Sherlock stopped to pick up his discarded shoes, jacket, vest, and cravat as he made his way back across the grounds. And unlike Miss Hooper, Sherlock did turn to look.

As he ascended the large stone steps of Seaborne, he stopped and looked out across the expanse of land. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the now very small form of Molly Hooper disappearing over a hill. He watched quietly for a moment, then he turned and entered his home.

And thus began Sherlock Holmes' boring summer in the country...

Alright, so there we have it! Hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you'd like me to keep going with it. :)

Just a note that the main characters will be a good deal younger in this setting than they are in the canon of the BBC show. For example, I'd imagine Molly to be no older than her very early 20s, and Sherlock would be more like late 20s. Maybe at most 30. As you can see, I'm taking some liberties and changing some stuff, like making Mary Morstan the Holmes' cousin. Also, I'm not planning on doing to much in the way of paralleling actual events in the show. I'll be using the characters and their personalities, but probably not making much of a plot that fits with any of the three BBC Sherlock series. It seemed to me that I'd have a lot of trouble making some of that stuff fit.

Ok, so I'll be taking my time with this and hopefully you'll give me some feedback. I'm in uncharted territory for me! This will take some getting used to... but it sure feels good to be back. ;)