A/N: Okay for this I completely changed the time setting and shot it back a century or so. Actually more because it's Victorian but you get the idea!

Day 19: Wearing Formal Clothes

Clashes of Classes

Molly Hooper was not fond of the starched black gown nor the slightly yellowing but mainly white apron that she was forced to wear.

The Holmes family were returning to their country mansion and she'd spent the past two weeks scrubbing every floor on the third and fourth floor of the mansion. Her hands were red raw but it was better than being on the streets.

Poor orphan Molly Hooper had been with various families since her parents died in a factory blast - those damn new stoves were killing more people than anyone was willing to admit. Regardless of the injustice of her family, Molly was an orphan at 13 and was in dire need of work. The Holmes' were her third family and this was only the second time she was to meet them - but they seemed the nicest so far. Saying that Molly had only met Lady Holmes but she had heard various rumours about the three gentlemen of the family.

Lady Violet Holmes was a strong willed woman who ran her household well but fairly - it was a well-oiled machine but she knew every servant and their backgrounds, she had even offered Molly commiserations on the loss of her parents, telling the awed 17 year old maid that she too felt the sting of death too often. Lord Holmes was somewhat reclusive; though he attended the dinners with his family, Molly had gleaned that he was often travelling for the Government and had just inducted his oldest son, Mycroft into the business and both were often absent. Mycroft Holmes was 21 years old and acted as the eldest should; often demanding complete submission and obedience from his servants - this trait had been quashed repeatedly by his caring mother but his father's pride often made it rear its ugly head. He had never struck a servant though. Molly with her fractured wrist that still creaked and ached in the winter was thankful for his lack of violence towards others.

The youngest son was Molly's main interest, and that wasn't even including the fact that she was to be his personal maid as well. Sherlock Holmes was apparently aloof, cold and more than a little grumpy. But she was interested by the strange man who took no part in aristocratic society no matter how often his mother tutted and scolded. With her eldest in the secret service, Lady Holmes was clearly concerned about the future of her family but more importantly the happiness of her boys.

Sherlock was sat in the horse drawn carriage looking furious.

"Mother." He snapped and looked at the tails he had been forced to wear.

"All your other clothes had been packed!" She smiled cheekily, Sherlock may have been a genius but Violet Holmes was crafty and cunning and knew how to play her sons. As any mother should after all when they grow bigger than you, you need every advantage possible! She smiled across at her sulking son, there was only the two of them in the carriage and Violet enjoyed these moments with either of her children; away from the commandeering influence of their father.

Sherlock sulked for the rest of the journey home, however his grace and admiration towards his mother argued with his sulky self and he did answer his mother's questions albeit somewhat petulantly.

Finally two of the four Holmes' stepped out from the carriage into the spring sunshine; Sherlock did like to see his Mother happy and Elderflower Mansion made his mother happy. She enjoyed being away from the bustle of London and while Elderflower had been a great place to grow up, for a boy at the cusp of manhood it wasn't as fun. Saying that Sherlock hated socialising but he did like to watch the people of London in their queer mannerisms and quaint behaviour - not much happened at Elderflower.

"Sherlock please stop pulling that face." She hissed under her breath and with a great show of reluctance Sherlock made his features somewhat more neutral. "Good." She had that smile in her voice again, which meant his dear innocent mother was plotting something. "Sherlock I want you to meet your new serving girl, Molly Hooper. Miss Hooper this is Master Holmes." Sherlock was suddenly aghast; his dastardly mother was helping him interact with girls via the serving wenches?! Oh she'd gone a step too far. Unfortunately his breeding, and the gleam in his mother's eye meant he was going to have to be cordial to the mousey looking girl. He nodded in respect and mother and son sauntered into the house, being updated by Mrs Bells the housekeeper.

Molly stared in awe at the retreating figure of Sherlock Holmes; he was beautiful. She'd blushed crimson at his roving stare, she felt as though he had read every vein and mark on her body, even those beneath her clothes! What a scandalous thought. A thought that had made her hot beneath this starched collar. She longed to tug the stupid white bonnet off her head but Mrs Bells would make her keep it on while she was privvy servant to one of the esteemed family members.

It wasn't until Molly was taking Master Holmes supper up for the night that she really became acquainted with the peevish young man. She knocked, as expected, heard his low murmur for her to come in and saw his long figure silhouetted in the fireplace. She swallowed nervously but cleared her throat and walked in quietly.

"Your tea Master Holmes." She muttered and set to put the silver tray on his table but halted in her ministrations. "Would you like me to move the paperwork for you Sir?" Her voice was still low, but it was the loudest sound in the room minus the cheerful crackle of the fire.
"How do you propose to do that Miss Hooper? That tray is far too heavy for you already. Your arms are far too underdeveloped but I rightfully presume that you are an orphan. It's still painful and you miss your parents dreadfully, I mean who wouldn't miss their mother. You're resentful of your life somewhat which tells me your parents were the better end of the poor scale and you have been thrown back into complete poverty." Sherlock's face was in almost near darkness and he watched, with a small amount of satisfaction that Molly coloured at his words.
Molly had been warned by the other servants of Sherlock's attempts to belittle you and show off his genius. He craved intelligence and often couldn't find someone to match him.
"Like this Master Holmes." Molly held the edge of the silver tray with the priceless bone china in the crook of her hip and with one hand before collecting the papers together with her free hand. With the papers into a neater pile, she placed the tray at the edge of the table and bowed her head, averting her eyes.

"You are different Miss Hooper." Sherlock looked at her with a strange mixture of astonishment and resentment. She had ignored his jibe and had managed to neaten the table up. He didn't want her dismissed or thrown out but he was eager to test his servants - it's why his mother almost had a continuous ad up for new ones. Not many lasted long.

"Thank you Master Holmes." He watched her eyes linger on the paperwork, a look of longing on her face. Then she tore her eyes away, as if she was aware that she had been staring fervently at the paper.

"Do you read Miss Hooper?" His baritone voice sent shivers up and down her spine and for the first time Sherlock read nervousness in Molly's behaviour. She picked at the starched skirt, played with the trimmings of her sleeves and touched her bonnet more than once - she clearly didn't like the formal wear either.

"I read a little Sir, not as much as you, for I cannot understand your paperwork." She gasped and he smiled softly at her faux pas. "I didn't mean to read... Oh I am sorry sir!" She squeaked. She was well aware that in a house of the secret service, reading the Master's paperwork was a big no-no.

"It is only a little Latin text I am translating Miss Hooper. Do not be afraid." He soothed and noted again the shiver that ran through her body. How bizarre. Was she cold? Even by this roaring fire?

"Apologies Sir. Please ring if you require anything more. Goodnight Sir." She whispered, bobbed a curtsey and practically fled into the hallway.

'You idiot Molls, reading their papers! Has it really been that long since you read anything?!' She scolded herself but was sure to wait up until Sherlock rang the bell again.