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Chapter Text

October 2, 2010  

JIM: Sorry. Wrong day to die. 
SHERLOCK: Oh. Did you get a better offer? 
JIM: You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock. 
JIM (into phone): So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes. 
JOHN: What happened there? 
SHERLOCK: Someone changed his mind. The question is: who? 

Sherlock started, “Molly!” He pulled out his phone and sent a rapid text, then started towards the pool door.   

John grabbed his sleeve and said, “What about Molly? What has she got to do with all this?”  

Sherlock spun and hissed, “Moriarty and Molly are dating! He’s a psychotic bomber! Don't you see she’s in danger!”  

John nodded wearily, “Yes, of course, we need to go check on her. Where are we heading first, is she at home or at Barts or...”  

Just then Sherlock's phone pinged and he eagerly checked it. “She says she just got home. A bit drunk from the looks of her overuse of exclamation points. I’ll head there now.”  

John pressed his hand to his forehead. “It sounds like she’s safely home, and Moriarty was going to deal with whoever called him, which didn’t seem to be Molly.”  

Sherlock waved his hand, “I need to ensure she is safe. Also, I need to speak with her in depth about her relationship with Moriarty. I didn’t put much thought into it before, when I thought he was just an IT yokel. But there is a high probability that he told her something that might be of relevance.”  

John yawned, “Mate, I’ve been up and on the go ever since this mad bomber thing began almost two days ago. Plus I’ve just had a vest of explosives strapped to my chest and sniper rifles aimed at my head. All I want to do is go home and collapse on my bed. If Molly is in imminent danger, of course I’ll come. But if just going to be you badgering her about Moriarty’s favourite flavour of ice cream, I’ll give it a pass.”  

*****  

Molly had just changed into her favourite UCL Medical School tee shirt from her old student days, and put on her loose plaid joggers. She walked to her mantle and picked up the framed photo of an orange cat and gave it a kiss, then she fiddled with her phone and set it up so that her music came from the speaker on the coffee table in the lounge. She was just starting to drunkenly sway as she sang to the new Beyonce song ‘I Miss You’ when she heard the front door rattle. She fearfully went and grabbed the cricket bat that she kept by the front door and held it unsteadily over her head. When the door burst open, she brought it down at an awkward angle and it impacted Sherlock's shoulder. In an instant, she was pushed up against the wall, her hand pinned over her head and her wrist squeezed so that she dropped the bat.  

She yelled, “Owweee! Quit it Sherlock, you’re hurting me!”  

He snarled and put his face close to hers, not lessening the pressure on her wrist. “You attacked me with a cricket bat! You could have done serious damage if your aim weren’t compromised due to your alcohol intake and if my shoulder weren’t well-padded due to my expensive coat.”  

She was a little tongue tied, he was closer to her than he’d ever been, his face a mere few inches from hers. She kept getting distracted by those striking pale eyes, but she managed to say, “You broke into my flat! If you don’t want to get brained by a bat, you need to learn to knock!”  

He released her and stepped back. “I didn’t knock because I wanted to test the security of your front door’s lock. It’s completely insufficient. It would barely keep out a slightly determined toddler.”  

Molly swayed towards him and asked, “Why would a slightly determined toddler try to break into my flat? What are you doing here anyway?”  

He motioned for her to accompany him to the lounge, but once they arrived he spun her around and grabbed her chin in his hand. He looked into her eyes in the light and said, “From the manner of your walk, your slurred speech, and the redness of your eyes, I’d estimate your blood alcohol level to be approximately .05 to .06%. Certainly inebriated, but still functional. I wouldn’t recommend you drive a car, but it will do for you to answer my questions.”  

Molly was confused, “Answer questions? Do I need to contact my barrister?”  

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I am not the police and there are no legal implications for you in answering these questions.”  

She asked, “Can I at least get a glass of water?”  

He brought her a glass of tap water and put it on the coffee table. He switched off the music, then sat on the sofa, facing her.  

She saw from his face that whatever he had come over for, it was serious. She said, “I’m sorry I got drunk! I didn’t know something serious would happen. I went out with my friends from the Cat Protection Charity Shop where I volunteer. We raised a glass in honor of my cat Toby. He died last week and a lot of people don’t understand how sad you can feel at the loss of a pet. But the others at the charity shop are all animal lovers, and they understand. I guess we raised more than one glass, but Toby was a special cat.”  

He ignored the information about her cat, or at least filed it away somewhere in his mind, and started by asking, “Are you still in a relationship with Jim Moriarty?”  

She shook her head, “That is not what I was expecting you to ask. Umm... no, I broke up with him last week. Why? He’s not a psychotic murderer or anything, is he?” She lightly joked.  

Sherlock gave her a stern look.  

She said, “Oh God, he is, isn’t he!”  

He said, “In the last 48 hours he has directed the murders of at least 12 people in a faked gas leak, additionally he had 4 people strapped with explosives. Not to mention that he assisted insurance fraud, art theft and several miscellaneous misdemeanors.”  

Molly reached forward and took a large gulp of water. Then she leaned forward with her head in her hands. “Did he try to kill you too?”  

“Not directly, although you could certainly make a case for the attempted murder of John.”  

She paled, “Is John okay?”  

“He’s uninjured, went home to sleep.”  

She asked, “What is Jim doing now?”  

He answered, “No idea, but mayhem is almost certainly involved.”  

Her mind was swirling. Jim could have murdered John. He did murder others. How was this possible? She said, “So what have I to with all of this? Obviously he was only dating me to get close to you.”  

Sherlock shook his head. “No, not at all. If he wanted to get close to me he could have pretended to be a client or just walked up to me on the street. I’m no Hollywood celebrity with body guards. I’m not difficult to get hold of. Anyone can make an appointment off a link from John’s blog.”  

She frowned, “Then why? Why would a vicious criminal pretend to be my boyfriend, if not to get to you?”  

He said, “Good question, it’s one of the things I came here to try to figure out.”  

She leaned back, “What do you want from me? I had no idea about any of this. He didn’t disclose any plans or intentions whilst we were eating ice cream and watching Glee.”  

She then had a sudden horrible thought, “Toby got sick the night we broke up, he died the next day. Oh my God! I never thought to put the two events together, do you think Jim did something to my cat?”  

He steepled his fingers below his chin, “Fascinating. It’s certainly possible, I have 7 ideas why he might do so, but without further data, I cannot draw any conclusions.” He paused, met her eyes and asked, “Did you have sexual intercourse with him?”  

Molly choked on her water, coughing. “What!?! What business is that of yours? How is that relevant?”  

“Everything about him is relevant to me. Tell me.”  

Molly was indignant. “You’re very demanding. You have no boundaries when it comes to the personal business of others, yet are very protective of your own personal boundaries.” This was something she had been thinking for a while, but it was the lowered inhibition from the alcohol that made her bold enough to say it.  

He frowned, “What are you talking about? How is my personal business germane to your romantic interactions with Moriarty?”  

Molly had an idea and she was very pleased with how clever she was being. She poked her index finger into his chest and said in a slurred voice, “For every personal question you ask me, you have to answer one about yourself. And it has to be truthful! Not one of those...” She waved her hands vaguely in the air, “... confusing suberterfugey thingies.”  

Sherlock threw up his hands, “We don’t have time for this! Last I saw he’d received a call from someone with important enough information to postpone murdering me.”  

Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “Then let’s get on with it. I’ll start: what is the name of the last person you had sex with.” She was pleased with herself about this question. His answer could tell her several interesting things at once.  

He sighed. “Ramon Quijada. Now, answer my question: Did you have sexual intercourse with Moriarty?”  

She blurted out, “Does that mean you’re gay?” Of course she’d heard the rumors, and she was disappointed to find out they were probably true.  

He looked stern, “That’s a second question and you still haven’t answered mine: Did you have sexual intercourse with Moriarty?”  

She said, “No, I did not. Now: are you gay?”  

He gave her a patented you’re being stupid look, “Imbecilic notion. As if my attraction to someone would be limited to the few square inches of their genitalia. Tell me, did Moriarty speak of me? Tell me every word he said regarding me, in as exact detail as you can manage.”  

Molly’s mind was still boggling from what he’d said. His attraction not limited to someone’s genitalia, did that mean he was bisexual? She put that to the side and tried to focus on what he’d asked.  

“Um, he mentioned reading John’s blog and asked if I knew who you were. He asked if you were really as brilliant and as obtuse as his stories made you seem. He acted like you were some kind of minor celebrity, and asked if you were truly as obnoxious in real life. He really wanted to meet you. Now, my turn: what drugs were you addicted to?”  

He waved his hand, “Opiates, cocaine was my first choice, but heroin would do. But you didn’t tell me everything. What did he say about me after meeting me?”  

She closed her eyes to remember back what they’d talked about after meeting Sherlock at Barts. “He asked if you were always that much of an arsehole, and I said yes. He commented on how beautiful you are, which I thought was odd, especially after you said he was gay.”  

He asked, “Is that why you broke up?”  

She wagged her finger at him, “Unh-uh. My turn. How did you get clean from the drugs?”  

He ruffled his hands through his curls. “In a boringly typical way. I hit rock bottom, like everyone else. I was living in an abandoned Croyden warehouse with a group of other addicts. Selling myself for my next hit, nothing lay ahead of me. One morning when I woke up, I’d been robbed in my sleep. There were dozens of clues: footprints, the timing, what exactly had been stolen. But I couldn’t figure out who had done it. There were only maybe 8 others, and the answer was staring me in the face, but my mind was so addled that it was completely nonfunctional. My mind has always been my greatest friend and my worst enemy, but now it was a complete stranger to me. I called my brother Mycroft and he took me to Castle Craig, the most expensive drug facility in the UK. I’d been to rehab twice before, but this time it stuck, I haven’t used for 29 months.”  

Molly was stunned into silence. She’d learned more about Sherlock in the last few minutes than in the 2 years they’d known each other. She tried to imagine him as a homeless junkie, turning tricks for a fix. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Castle Craig rehab facility.  

She was so caught up in her imaginings, she missed that he’d been talking to her. He snapped his fingers in front of her nose and said, “Focus! Why did you break up with him?”  

She shook her head to clear it. “I reckoned you were probably onto something when you said he was gay. You’re pretty clever about things like that. But it was also that he never seemed sincere. He was affectionate and said nice things, but I never felt like I could really trust him, and for me, trust is everything. You know?”  

Sherlock nodded gravely. “Yes, that... makes sense.”  

They sat for a minute, each in their own thoughts. Molly took another big swig of water and realized she was definitely more sober than when this conversation had begun. She had one more question she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ask.  

“Sherlock, you and John, are you...?”  

He answered, “John is the most heterosexual man I’ve ever met. Nothing of that sort ever occurred between us, and never will occur.”  

Molly thought that was an interesting way to phrase it, but then she heard him ask, “This is my final question, and I want to think about it carefully. Is there anything Moriarty said or did that seemed... unusual? Anything, no matter how minor, that made you think, ‘That is odd.’ Take your time.”  

Molly considered. For the most part Jim had been a fairly ordinary guy. She realized now that it was an act, but at the time he didn’t seem exceptional for good or bad. But there was that one thing he’d said...  

“There was one thing he said that was unusual. On several occasions he said something like I was good marriage material. He even said it on our first date! And I remember thinking at the time, just like you said, ‘That is odd.’ It was the last thing he said to me too. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, and he very gentlemanly got up and walked to my front door. He kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘You’d make a wonderful wife’ before walking out. That's odd, don’t you think?”  

Chapter Text

Friday, November 7, 2010  

Molly sat in the Barts cafeteria and picked at her tomato and cheese toastie. She had another two hours to go until her shift was over, but at least she had finished with the final autopsy of the day. Now she just had to run a few lab tests and write up her results.  

She took a slurp of her coffee, hoping to gain some energy for the final push to get through the day. The next day she had off and was planning to volunteer for the morning at the Cat Protection charity shop. She'd done this once a week for years, and it made her feel good to know she was doing her bit to raise money to help stray cats get medical care and shelter. They got so many donations, everything from designer clothes to household items, and Molly sorted though them, thew out the rubbish, and got the rest clean and labeled for sale at the shop. The friends she’d met there had helped her through the tough time after Toby’s sudden death.  

Thinking about Toby made her mind turn to Jim Moriarty, and that night when Sherlock came to her flat to tell her that she’d dated a madman.  

In the several weeks since that happened, well... not much had happened. Jim hadn't appeared on her doorstep with an axe. No one had tried to kidnap her. Even things with Sherlock had been oddly normal.  

When she’d woken up the morning after his visit, she felt sluggish and headachy. But as she lay there putting the pieces together, besides the absurdity of learning about Jim, she also went over what she’d learned about Sherlock.   

She knew he had a history of drug use, but she’d always assumed it was the posh version that meant sneaking a line of coke at a fashionable soiree. But what he’d described was the decidedly unposh version that meant sleeping rough and passing out in a pool of vomit.  

And she’d learned that his most recent sexual partner was a man named Ramon, but he didn’t consider himself gay. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to ask him when his encounter with Ramon was. Last week? Years ago, when he was using?  

But since that time, even with all of the personal revelations, nothing had changed between them. Two days after his late-night visit, he’d come to the lab demanding a sample of a cancerous thyroid. Last week she’d spent hours helping him identify the difference between the sap of a narrow-leaved ash tree as compared to a claret ash tree. And just yesterday he’d wanted to watch her thaw the body that had been kept in an industrial freezer for 3 years, all the while complaining that she was doing it wrong.  

She stood to throw away the crusts of her sandwich and go back to work when the man she’d just been thinking about came striding through the cafeteria directly towards her. He grabbed her firmly by the upper arm and said in a low voice, “Come with me. Do not stop to interact with anyone. Walk swiftly.”  

Molly was dragged along, her legs having trouble keeping up with his long strides. Her phone pinged the meow sound that meant she had a text. She paused to check it, but Sherlock did not slow down or relax his grip. He said, “No, not now. Keep walking.”  

She heard her phone meow twice more in quick succession.  

He hurried her down the stairs, and through the door to the hospital’s main lobby. She was starting to get annoyed. “Get your hand off my arm, it hurts. What is going on? Why can’t you take 30 seconds to fill me in?”  

He released her arm and bent to speak, when a woman Molly vaguely recognized as a nurse’s aide walked up and took a quick picture of them with her cell phone before hurrying off.  

Sherlock put his hand flat on Molly’s back and nudged her to keep walking. He said, “I’ll tell you all I know when we get to my flat. For now, say nothing and keep moving.”  

They walked outside and there was a taxi waiting that Sherlock ushered her into. Once the door shut, the taxi started moving immediately. Molly started to ask a question, but Sherlock shook his head firmly. The rest of the ride passed in silence and the two of them looked out their own windows.  

When they pulled up to 221 Baker Street, there were a couple of young women lingering by the front door. As they got out, Molly heard them giggle and say in American accents, “Look, it’s them. Sherlock, say it’s not true!”   

As Sherlock put his hand on Molly’s elbow to usher her through the front door, Molly heard the sound of their phone’s camera clicking.   

Within seconds Molly was upstairs and seated in John’s chair. Mrs. Hudson brought up a tray with tea and some millionaire shortbread. She said, “I saw Sherlock’s face looking like a thunderclap, so although I don’t know what’s going on, tea and biscuits help any situation.”  

John came out of the kitchen and said, “Molly, thank Christ you’re here. Sherlock wasn’t sure he could get to you before the news became known, but I’m sure it’s all over his Twitter hashtag by now.”  

Molly was really getting annoyed by now, “What is happening! Someone tell me what is going on!”  

Sherlock was seated at the desk in front of a laptop, He picked it up and showed her an image he had screenshotted from social media.  

It was a pale document with green print, oddly cropped so that not the entire thing was visible, and several parts were redacted with a thick black line. But the top part clearly said Certified Copy of an Entry of Marriage Given at the General Register Office. Below that it said 2010 Marriage Solemnized in the Metropolitain Borough of Greater Manchester.  

Molly furrowed her brow as she read further the certificate. The date of the marriage was obscured, but it clearly listed the parties as William Sherlock Scott Holmes (age 34 – profession: detective) and Molly Claire Hooper (age 33 – profession: medical doctor).  

She looked up, confused. “What’s this about? I’ve never even been to Manchester. Why would anyone put this Photoshopped thing on the internet?”  

John nodded at Sherlock and said, “Spock here doesn’t think it’s Photoshopped, but of course the question of why is the most relevant.”  

Mrs. Hudson was leaning over Molly’s shoulder looking at the certificate. “Why does it have those lines drawn through parts? You can hardly read the silly thing!”  

Sherlock said, “I assume the parts that are blocked out hold some pertinent information, but there is no way to know for sure without obtaining an original copy.”  

John asked, “Can’t Mycroft pull up a copy with just a snap of those perfectly manicured fingers?”  

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. “This morning my brother went on a highly classified diplomatic mission to North Korea. He will be out of contact for the next two weeks at least. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions as to whether you think that a coincidence.”  

Mrs. Hudson said, “I remember many years ago when my husband Gerold and I needed to get a certified copy of our marriage certificate when we were immigrating to America, it was ever so much of a faff! We both had to go together in person with our photo identifications. Perhaps it’s got easier these days.”  

Sherlock answered, “I believe the process is very much the same. Molly and I will need to travel to Manchester to see if this document is a clever internet forgery, or somehow a person has managed to forge the paperwork to have us truly registered as married.”  

Molly was sitting with her mouth open. “You think it’s really possible that someone actually faked a wedding, faked witnesses, faked everything and we’re technically married? Why would anyone do that?”  

He responded, “I have several theories, but until I have more data, it is mere conjecture.”  

Molly was getting annoyed, “Is this ridiculous thing the reason you practically abducted me from work? I still had two hours to go, I need to contact my boss or I’m likely to get sacked for skipping out.”  

He waved his hand. “I already sent her an email from you saying you suddenly took ill.”  

Molly sputtered, “You sent an email from me? You hacked into my email account!?! All this because you didn’t want some false rumors on social media to get out saying we’re married.”  

John added, “I don’t get why you responded so strongly either, mate. I mean you’re known from my blog, but you’re hardly a household name. I don’t think the BBC is going to have a breaking news special. ‘ Annoying Detective Berk believed to have married a woman no one has ever heard of. More news at 10 .’ Yah, I just don’t see it.”  

Sherlock said tightly, “I don’t CARE what people think of me.” He refreshed the Twitter feed and up popped the photo that was taken of them in the Barts lobby. The way he was bent down to talk privately to her made it look like they were going to kiss. There was also the photo that was taken by the American girls of them walking together into his home from just a few minutes ago. He continued, “The rumor mill doesn’t interest me in the slightest. But I do care a great deal about who is orchestrating this and why. Someone has gone to a great deal of effort, there is some plan behind this.”  

He leaned back in his chair. “It’s late on Friday so there is no way we can get the original certificate from the Manchester General Register Office before Monday. Molly, make up a list of things you’ll need from your flat. John and I will go pick the things up.”  

“Things I’ll need from my flat? What are you on about? I don’t need anything from my flat because I’ll be staying at my flat like always.”  

He said, “Do you not realize you are being targeted?”  

Sherlock looked up and John, Mrs. Hudson and Molly were all looking at him blankly. “How can you bear for your minds to work so slowly? It must be like having treacle between your ears.” He slapped his hands down on his knees. “This document was put on social media with my name hash tagged. Many of the details were blurred out, but not Molly’s name and profession. We don’t know what the point of all this is, but it’s clear someone is trying to link Molly and me. Normally, I am a prime target for every criminal and madman in England, and Molly is safely in the background, unnoticed. But this has pushed her out of the shadows, into the spotlight directly next to me. She is now a target.”  

He turned to Molly. “I demonstrated before that any determined person could break into your flat in a trice. It is not safe for you to stay there until we determine the person responsible for this fallacious certificate being posted.”  

Molly slowly nodded. The seriousness was starting to sink in. “Alright, but I’m going with you. I don’t want you two blokes pawing through my knickers.”  

Chapter Text

Friday, November 7, 2010  

John, Sherlock and Molly stood in the corridor outside Molly’s front door. Sherlock pulled out his magnifier and examined the lock. He then got up, shot them a significant look, and turned the door handle. It opened.  

Molly said, “I know I locked it this morning. I’m sure I did.”  

Sherlock said, “You used a lock that was no stronger than the cardboard box it came in.”  

John took out his handgun and went in first, tactical style. After just a minute he called out to them, “It’s all clear, come on in.”  

Molly walked in and grabbed a tote bag from her hallway closet. She went into her bathroom and started packing her favourite body lotion, her toothbrush and her shampoo. She vaguely noticed Sherlock was going from room to room, examining things and sniffing. Why was he sniffing?  

She went into her bedroom and began shoving some clothes, trousers, underwear, blouses and socks into her bag. Sherlock was standing next to her bed, staring at it. Then he dramatically flung back the duvet and underneath it was a single red rose, its head resting on Molly’s pink pillowcase.  

She jumped, startled. “Oh my God! Where did that come from?”  

Sherlock was looking closely at the rose with his magnifier. John came into the room to see what the fuss was about. Sherlock said, “Are there any more questions about why you can’t stay in this flat by yourself? No? Then let’s leave.”  

Molly had no plans to argue. She grabbed the framed photo of Toby off the mantle as she followed the men out the door.  

*********  

They were all subdued when they got back to the Baker Street Flat. Molly felt a sense of violation. She hated the thought that someone, some unknown person, had broken into her flat, her place of safety, and wandered around touching her things, even touching her bed, and putting in that horrible, disgusting rose. She shivered.  

John said, “Molly, I’m sure Mrs. Hudson won’t mind if you stay in the spare bedroom in her flat. I’ll just go down and speak to her.”  

“No.”  

Sherlock hadn’t moved, but his voice was clear.  

John took a step closer to him, “Why not? She can’t stay here, there are two bedrooms, one is mine and one is yours.”  

Sherlock said, “Mrs. Hudson’s flat is reasonably safe, considering she isn’t a primary target, but seeing the lengths the perpetrator has gone to regarding Molly, it isn’t safe enough. Besides, I know for a fact that Mrs. Hudson is entertaining Mr. Chatterjee tonight, and that would make things a bit awkward.”  

John said, “Then where is she going to stay? After all she’s been through, you aren’t making Molly sleep on the settee.”  

Sherlock waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “She can sleep in my bed. I have no intention of making use of it tonight. I have far too much to think about. If I need to nap, I’ll do so out here.”  

Molly was interested in this idea. Although she’d been to the flat several times, she’d never breached the sanctum that was Sherlock’s bedroom. She rather liked the idea of sleeping in his bed.  

She stood and grabbed the tote bag. She asked, “What about tomorrow? I’m scheduled to volunteer at the Cat Protection charity shop from 10 until 2.”  

Sherlock replied, “No, I forbid it.”  

All of the stress and frustration of the day overwhelmed Molly and she stamped her foot. “You can’t just forbid it! I’m not a child!”  

She took a moment to calm herself. “Look, Sherlock, I know you are trying to help and I appreciate everything you’ve done. I know you probably saved me from something horrible, and I recognize that you are doing me a favour by letting me stay here. But I love working at the charity shop. I’ll be surrounded by people I know and love, who won’t let any bad guys take me. I promise I’ll only work in the back processing room, I won’t go on the till or be out in the public eye.”  

Sherlock thought and nodded. “I’ll escort you there and keep an eye on the shop. It might be helpful to watch from the cafe across the street to see if I recognize anyone who comes to the shop.”  

*****  

After a brief stop in the bathroom to use the loo, brush her teeth and wash her face, Molly opened the door to the private space of Sherlock Holmes. It was a large, spacious room that was surprisingly orderly.  

There was a solid wood bed with clean light grey sheets and a solid navy duvet. There was an upholstered, comfortable looking chair with a pair of socks tossed onto it. The rest of the furniture looked simple but expensive and probably antique. She could just imagine that it had been in the Holmes family for generations.   

The bedside tables looked to be of the same quality wood, probably mahogany, as the wardrobe, dresser and bed frame. Molly had to restrain herself from pawing through it. What would she find? Dried rat eyeballs? Condoms? Smarties? But she didn’t want to repay his generosity at looking after her safety by invading his privacy. Besides, she had no doubt he would know in an instant if she opened that drawer.  

She tossed the tote bag onto the chair and grabbed an old tee shirt. In her hurried packing, she hadn’t thought to bring pyjamas, so the Cats Protection 5K Race tee would have to do.  

She crawled into the comfortable and warm bed and her mind raced. Was it really just a few hours ago that she’d been eating a toastie in the Barts cafeteria? She didn’t want to think about the document posted online. It led down scary roads of lunatics chasing her.  

So she thought about the bed. Sherlock slept here most nights, she could smell his natural scent on the pillow. Had he brought lovers here? Maybe even the mysterious Ramon? Had he been naked under these very sheets? She’d pictured him naked a thousand times, and now she was in the room where it happened. And technically, she might even be married to him. She giggled at the thought.   

But it had been a full, exhausting day, and it wasn’t long before sleep claimed her.  

*****  

Saturday, November 8, 2010  

In the end, volunteering at the charity shop turned out to be no big deal.  

Sherlock escorted her there, then hung out at the Mocha Cafe across the street to keep an eye on the shop. But there wasn’t anything interesting to see. The customers were a combination of cat lovers, tragically hip youngsters looking for vintage jumpers, single parents searching for low-cost cutlery and tourists looking for something uniquely London.  

Molly was as good as her word as she stayed in the back room, sorting through piles of donations, steaming clothes so they looked their best, and researching whether that tea set was actually valuable.  

No one at the shop knew anything about Sherlock, her work with him, or his internet presence, so at least she didn’t have to explain about the evidence of her ‘marriage.’  

When they got back to Baker Street in the afternoon, John was writing up his blog account of their most recent case. He called it The Plucked Chicken Code and was giggling as he typed on his laptop. “This is the bit where you got stuck in the hen coop!”  

Sherlock hmphed and clucked his tongue, “I see you are skipping the part when you fell in the muck in the chicken pen and had the rooster peck your arse.”  

John just nodded and said, “Yah, I’m not writing that bit.”  

Sherlock turned to head back down the stairs and Molly said, “Where are you going?”  

He replied, “I’m going to try to trace the rose left in your bed. It’s unlikely to lead anywhere, but I will make the attempt nonetheless. John, get tickets for the three of us to go to Manchester on Monday morning. And a place to stay that night.”  

John said, “Sure, but I’ve committed to working at the Westfield GP surgery for a week starting Wednesday, so I’ll need to catch a train back here on Tuesday.”  

Sherlock grunted without interest and said, “Stay with Molly whilst I am gone, don’t leave her alone.”  

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 8, 2010

The rest of the day passed without much happening. Sherlock didn’t reappear, John worked on his blog and Molly binge watched Netflix.

That night as she was getting ready for bed, she asked John if he thought it was okay for her to sleep in Sherlock's room again. He said, “There is a good chance he won’t be back tonight. It’s not infrequent for him to stay out all night, God only knows what he gets up to. But if he wants his bed back, you can be sure he won’t be shy about telling you. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s making his needs and desires known.”

Moly got ready for bed, put on her Cats Protection 5K Race tee and crawled under the covers. She fell asleep and dreamed of a single red rose on a pink pillow.

She awoke in the middle of the night to the sensation of the mattress dipping and a warm body settling next to her. She was instantly awake, with visions of Jim Moriaty in her head.

Sherlock’s deep voice said, “It’s only me, go back to sleep.”

She was confused, “Wha? No, if you need to use the bed, I’ll go out to the lounge.”

He said, “If you wish, but that seems a waste. I didn’t sleep at all last night and I’ll be asleep as soon as we stop this useless conversation. The bed is plenty big, so stop worrying and go back to sleep.”

No sooner were these words out of his mouth than she heard the deep, regular breathing that meant he was asleep. Her mind raced.

On the one hand, he had only agreed to let her sleep here when he wouldn’t be present. On the other hand, he encouraged her to stay where she was and sleep next to him. They didn’t exactly have the kind of relationship that allowed for things like bed sharing, but obviously things had changed a bit since yesterday.

Could she really pass up this golden opportunity to sleep next to this man who she’d had endless fantasies about?

She rolled over and went back to sleep.

*********

Sunday, November 9, 2010

In Molly’s fantasies, waking up next to Sherlock involved sweet kisses, whispered conversations, and wandering hands.

The reality was that she woke up freezing cold because Mr. Selfish stole the duvet and he was half-awake as he elbowed her to prevent her from taking it back.

It wasn’t long before she planned to get up anyway, so she pulled on her joggers and found her way into the lounge, where she flumped on the settee and pulled the throw blanket over her. She was reading when John made his way downstairs an hour later.

He said, “His Nibs make his way home last night and kick you out of the bed? Typical. Anyway, I’m going to make some scrambled eggs and toast. Care for some?”

Molly agreed to the breakfast and didn’t feel the need to correct John on his assumptions about their sleeping arrangements. It felt weird to say that she and Sherlock had shared a bed for most of the night. She could barely believe it herself.

The rest of the day didn’t go much better.

Sherlock hadn’t been able to trace the rose, despite harassing most of the florists in London. Since Mycroft was out of town, he didn’t have access to CCTV footage. So he was grumpy and out of sorts.

Sherlock couldn’t figure out why, with so many fascinating questions to occupy his mind, it kept going back to the feeling of Molly’s warm soft body lying next to his for those few seconds before he fell asleep. It was a pointless thought. He’d fallen asleep practically immediately, nothing untoward had happened, and sharing a bed had no special significance. Yet still, he found his mind returning to that feeling, before he forced his brain to concentrate on the more important matters at hand.

It didn’t help that he had nothing to do all day. He complained that John's breathing disturbed his concentration. He demanded that Molly supply him with skin flakes from atopic dermatitis, and was put out when she commented that she wasn’t scheduled to work at Barts that day, so couldn’t help him.

Normally on Sundays Molly went to a Lazy Girls Running group. The idea was for women who enjoyed running, but not the intense, competitive sort. They ran around the park, not too far and not too fast. But it was a fun socialable time to get some exercise. Molly didn’t even bother to enquire about attending, as she knew what the answer would be.

Molly wasn’t thrilled when her period started. When she’d grabbed random things from her flat, she hadn’t thought to grab her birth control pills, and as soon as she stopped taking them, here came Aunt Flo. She knew Sherlock wouldn’t want her to nip to Boots for supplies, so she had a quick word with Mrs. Hudson, who soon brought her a box of Tampex and panty liners.

Things finally improved when DI Lestrade stopped by at noon with a case. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave Sherlock something to do, even though Lestrade made several joking comments about ‘the newlyweds’ and Molly being ‘his bride.’ It seemed as if he was an active Twitter user and followed #SherlockHolmes.

Sherlock ignored these comments completely, but they made Molly blush, even though from context it was clear that the Met didn’t believe a word of it. She was sure the whole Twitter post was the topic of Scotland Yard gossip and tittering.

In the end the case was solved (“It was clearly the village butcher, several of these witness statements mention how tender the pork loin was”)

*****

Monday, November 10, 2010

It struck Molly that it was remarkable she had never been to Manchester. After all, it was the second largest city in the UK, and with over 2.7 million inhabitants, it had a lot to offer. Perhaps she was a typical Londoner, not really considering that cities outside the capital were all that interesting.

But there would be no time for sightseeing on this trip. As soon as their train pulled into the station, they were in a cab heading to the General Register’s Office.

Sherlock was giving instructions. “Molly, come with me and we’ll apply for a certified copy of the marriage license in the normal way. John, I assume you brought your Met ID?”

John nodded and flashed his badge that read, ‘Sgt. Philip Anderson – London Metropolitan Police’

Sherlock continued, “Go to the security office and see if they have CCTV of the day the record was pulled, or if they have any pertinent information. Meet us later at the Mowry Hotel. Text me the room numbers.”

*****

Hours later they all were crowded around the small table in the hotel suite that they had reserved.

Sherlock said, “John, give me a full report.”

John said, “The blokes down in security were willing to cooperate, but said their CCTV system went down about 2 weeks ago, and it took them days to fix it. The days we are interested in were not recorded.”

Sherlock steepled his hands, “Hmmm, convenient. Well, I suppose it’s time for us to open the envelope with the marriage license.”

The certificate was simple. It listed that they had married on October 22, 2010 at the Manchester Town Hall. Their witnesses were Michael Brown and Jennifer Smith, and the officiant was Rev. Christopher Wilson. Their signatures were on the bottom.

Molly said, “Wait! That really looks like my signature. The M is spiky and the H is swooped, just like I do it.”

Sherlock pulled out his magnifier and examined the signatures. “Yes, this is eerily accurate. That is exactly how I sign my name.”

John said, “I suppose the next thing we have to do is find these people, the witnesses and officiant and interview them.”

Sherlock waved his hand, “No, they are meaningless, it’s obvious.”

Molly asked, “Why? Why are they meaningless?”

Sherlock shrugged and said, “Look on your smart phone as to the most common surnames from the era when you and I were both born.”

Molly did and read out, “The three most common surnames were Smith, Brown and Wilson.”

John had cottoned on and was searching on his laptop, “The most common boys first names were Michael and Christopher. The most common girl’s name was Jennifer.”

Sherlock said, “Correct, it might just as well say ‘John and Jane Doe,’ it gives us no information. But this, this is interesting.”

He pointed to the part that listed the party’s home towns. “It says I am from Roame, Holy Island, Northumberland, a place I have never been. Molly, I assume you are unfamiliar with Tyro Amir Village in Cornwall.”

She replied, “I’ve never even heard of it.”

Sherlock said, “First order of business tomorrow is to go to the Manchester Town Hall, if the wedding was there, people should remember something about it. We’ll need to interview people, look for witnesses, John can go again to the security office to look for video footage.”

Sherlock pulled the laptop towards himself and started typing. “It looks like Holy Island is off the east coast of England, about as far north as you can get before you’re in Scotland. Hmmm, the only way there is a boat that goes twice a week, we need to catch the Wednesday morning boat, or it will be days before we have another opportunity.”

John said, “Woah, slow down. Remember I told you that I’m working starting on Wednesday morning, so I can stay with you until mid-day tomorrow, then I have to catch a train back to London.”

Sherlock stared at him, “You’re abandoning Molly and me to the whim of a madman so that you can treat some old man with piles and some young man for chlamydia? I thought you placed a higher value on Molly’s wellbeing than that?”

John frowned and said, “If she had piles or you had chlamydia, I assume you would want treatment from your GP? What am I saying, of course you wouldn’t get chlamydia! You’d have to get your dick within close proximity to another actual human, and we all know that’s not your style!”

Molly decided that they’d had enough for one evening, and it was better to get some distance. She and John went to their own hotel rooms to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, November 11, 2010  

The Manchester Town Hall was a striking neo-Gothic building in the middle of town. It is the home to the city council and numerous local government departments. It was a bustling hive of activity.  

John peeled off to go talk with the security department, whilst Sherlock and Molly followed the signs to the marriage venue. They stood in a long queue to talk to the harried woman who was in charge of the public ceremony room. She had papers covering her desk, her phone rang every few minutes, and other office workers were buzzing around behind her.  

Molly and Sherlock had discussed their plan to get information, and when they finally got to the front of the line, Sherlock said to the local official in a sweet, casual voice, “Hi! Ummm, we got married here a few weeks ago, and the whole thing was such a blur that we forgot to take pictures or anything. We feel like we were so caught up in the moment that we missed all of the details! But we don’t want the magic of that day to be forgotten, so we were hoping to talk to someone else who remembers us there, and can help jog our memories of each special moment.”  

He gave Molly a brief kiss on the lips. She knew it was part of the act, but couldn’t stop her heart from racing.  

The woman looked at him blankly. “Can’t you ask the other people who were there? The guests or witnesses?”  

Molly chimed in, “We’ve talked to them, but we were hoping to talk to someone who works here for another point of view, just to make sure we have every detail possible.”  

The woman looked harried. “We have dozens of weddings here every day. Dozens of brides, dozens of grooms. It’s the cheapest, most popular place to get married in the greater Manchester area, so it’s very conveyor belt. You step up, say the words, kiss, sign the documents. Then it’s the next couple’s turn to do the same thing. It takes a LOT to be memorable around here.”  

Sherlock sharply asked, “Did you have any highly memorable weddings from that time, 2 or 3 weeks ago?”  

She shook her head, “The last one that I remember specifically was the couple who tried to bring their emotional support llama in the building. Said they couldn’t go through with the stress of the wedding without ‘Nacho the llama’ by their side. But that was back in September.”  

They thanked her and went downstairs to meet up with John. He said, “Another dead end. They have an extensive camera system in this building, but they tape over it after two weeks. I asked them if they had any disruptions or anything unexpected around the 22nd of October date, but they couldn’t think of anything unusual.”  

Sherlock shook his head, “He covered his tracks well. Very clever.”  

*****  

They all went together to the main Manchester train station. John caught a train back to London and Molly and Sherlock got a train to Newcastle for the first leg of their journey. Sherlock spent much of the time examining the certificate with his magnifier.  

After an hour of near total silence he said, “You’d stay Molly Hooper I presume.”  

Molly, who had been staring out the window, said “Huh?”  

He motioned to the certificate. “If this were real, if we were actually married. The majority of women who marry opt to take their husband's name. But you have established yourself in your career as Dr. Hooper and you were exceptionally close to your father, as you were an only child raised by a single father. Those factors in addition to your innate independent nature would most likely lead you to retaining your surname instead of taking Holmes.”  

Molly’s cheeks turned pink because it felt like he was inside her head. She’d always desired to keep her name as Hooper, even after marriage. But she had childishly fantasized about what it would be like to be Molly Holmes for real.  

She said, “Yes, I’d stay Molly Hooper, but it’s hardly relevant, seeing as that certificate is fraudulent.”  

Sherlock grunted and lapsed back into silence.  

*****  

From Newcastle they headed to the tiny town of Fenham where the boat would pick them up in the morning to take them to the village of Roame on Holy Island.  

The trains to small towns are less comfortable than the larger city ones. It stopped at every tiny village in the region, which took forever, and the seats were hard plastic, not the cushioned ones on express trains.   

Molly tried to rest her head on the hard seat back, as it was late and she was tired. After getting jolted awake again , Sherlock said, “Put your head on my shoulder. It’s well-padded with this coat and will be more comfortable for you.”  

Molly felt weird. On the one hand, it made sense. His shoulder was the right height and between his suit jacket and Belfast coat, it had layers of softness. On the other hand, it felt almost like she was snuggling up to him, which was not something Sherlock generally encouraged.   

At first she lay her head gingerly on his shoulder, careful not to put its full weight on him. It was still more comfortable than the alternative. Her mind started wandering to how she was running out of clean clothes. The evening she went to grab clothes from her flat she hadn’t been sure what she would need, and she grabbed an odd assortment of things. Now she only had one more pair of clean knickers. She assumed they probably wouldn’t have access to a laundry machine wherever they would stay on the island. Maybe she could at least wash things out in the bathroom sink. She wondered what Sherlock did about clean underwear when he was traveling on cases.  

Suddenly Sherlock was shaking her awake, she was sprawled half on top of him and had been sound asleep.  

He said, “We’re coming into the Fenham station. Grab your tote bag. Why were you mumbling ‘knickers’ in your sleep?”  

She was spared from answering as the train pulled into the station and they got off.  

As they walked through the station to the exit, he asked, “Have you ever slept rough?”  

“What? No! Of course not.”  

He responded, “It’s after midnight and the only rental accommodations in this village are in Mrs. McCromby’s Guest House, and I doubt she’ll thank us for turning up this late. The boat leaves first thing in the morning, so I think it’s best if we just find a place to hunker down for the next few hours.”  

Molly was shocked, “Hunker down? Do you mean I’m going to sleep in a back alley?” Suddenly washing knickers in a sink didn’t seem so bad.  

Sherlock was walking purposely somewhere, “Normally I would suggest we stay at the train station, always a good place when you’ve nowhere to go. But in a village they close them down for the night, so that's not an option. Considering where we are, we have another good choice.” He pointed at a sign mounted on an arrow. It simply said beach .  

She hurried to catch up to him. “The beach would be a good option in summer, but it’s mid November!”  

They walked down a short path that led to a sandy beach. There were huts for fishermen to store their nets and equipment. Sherlock led her over to an area with a hut on one side, some stacked pallets on another side, and some small metal boats on a third side. There was no overhead shelter, but the wind was at least blocked on three sides.  

He said, “We’re lucky that the weather is unusually mild for this time of year, and it’s not raining, so this will be our spot for the night.”  

He found a piece of tarpaulin and put it on the ground to avoid the worst of the sand, and sat with his back resting against the hut. Molly sat next to him and looked up at the moon. She thought about how she had ended up here, on a beach in Fenham Village with Sherlock. It was nothing she ever would have predicted.  

He said, “You might as well get comfortable. It will be hours before the boat leaves for the island.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “You can use me as a pillow again, like on the train. I have no intention of sleeping tonight.”  

He placed a small kiss on her forehead.  

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 12, 2010  

The sky had begun to lighten, although the sun was not yet above the horizon when they saw a man on the beach loading up a sturdy boat with boxes of supplies.  

Molly had slept fitfully, although Sherlock was surprised at how pleasing it had felt having her curled up against him. It tickled that same part of his brain that had enjoyed her warmth next to him in his bed back at his flat.  

They grabbed their bags and approached the man. Sherlock smiled in a hearty manner, “Hi! Need a hand with those supplies? I’m Sherlock and this is my wife Molly, and we’re looking for a ride over to Roame on the island.”  

They shook hands and the man said, “I’m Joe Kelly, and I’d love a hand. Everything from that van needs to come onto this boat. I can sell you tickets for a ride to the island, but I’m surprised you are asking. No visitors want to go there at this time of year. We get plenty of visitors from May through August, but it dries up after that. You’ll be the talk of the island.”  

The boat journey itself didn’t take long, which Molly was grateful for because the choppy water and swaying boat made her stomach churn, even Sherlock looked a little green about the gills. 45 minutes after taking off they were standing on what passed for a high street in the village of Roame on Holy Island.  

About 300 people lived on the island in the summer, not counting occasional visitors, tourists, backpackers and whale watchers. But the winters there were harsh, with the location in the far north part of England, and the island being out in the cold North Sea. During the winter only about 65 people stayed.  

Many of the villagers had shown up to unload the boat. The twice-weekly arrival of Joe Kelly was a vital event on the island, and their main connection with the mainland. He brought people, food, packages, clothing, and anything else the villagers needed.  

Joe stepped onto the island, gestured to his passengers and said to the town, “This is Sherlock and Molly Holmes. Can you believe it, they are visiting!”  

A murmur went up in the crowd and someone asked, “Where will they stay? The Holy Inn is shut down for the season and the extra room upstairs at the Crown and Anchor is full.”  

A short, rotund woman stepped forward and said, “Hello, my name is Mrs. Hull and I have a place to offer you. It’s a small stone cottage near the beach on the edge of town, just a single room, but it should be big enough for two. The only issue with it is that it’s gas heated, and the furnace isn’t working. I was planning to get it fixed next spring before the tourists come, but if you don’t mind being a bit chilly, I’m happy to offer it to you at a reduced price.”  

Sherlock nodded and said, “It’s been unseasonably warm, so as long as the walls are thick and there are plenty of blankets, we should be fine. Thank you for your offer.”  

The rest of the village went back to looking at the goods Joe had brought from the mainland, and Molly and Sherlock followed Mrs. Hull for a short walk to a squat, square cottage with thick stone walls and small windows. It was near a cliff that overlooked a secluded beach. She handed them a key from her pocket and said, “Take a look around, if it suits, come see me at the post office and we’ll arrange payment.”  

Molly wondered if the building was once a small barn or animal shelter, but on the inside it was now a cozy spot. It had a large, solid bed, an armchair, a small shower room, a wooden table and chairs. The windows were small and let in very little light, but there were several lamps that gave off a warm glow. The bed had a nice, thick duvet, but it was clear they would have to share it.  

She asked, “Is this going to work? We don’t have separate rooms like we did at the hotel in Manchester.”  

He answered, “We shared a bed back at my flat, I don’t see the issue. Besides, we are posing as a married couple, so it would look odd to request separate rooms.”  

Molly said, “I meant to ask you about that, why did you say we’re married?”  

Sherlock tossed his bag on the bed. “We are being led, step by step. The falsified marriage certificate is leaked so that we will see it, but pertinent information is blocked out, so we have to go to Manchester to discover details. Places are listed that we know nothing about, presumably so we will go explore those places. I don’t know the reason behind this, but we are acting out the part that was written for us. I assume we will find out some information here that will lead us to the next step.”  

He went around the room, peering in corners, under the table and in the bedside table drawers. Molly asked, “What are you doing?”  

“Just a habit I suppose. I’m checking for recording devices. Unlikely on this remote island, but better to be sure.”  

He seemed satisfied then pulled some clothes out of his bag, “You were thinking about laundry. Give me whatever you want washed. I’ll give Mrs. Hull some extra money when I pay her for this cottage.”  

Molly started to unpack. She took the framed picture of Toby and put it on the table, then added her dirty things to the pile on the bed. “How did you know I was thinking about laundry?”   

He stuffed all of the dirty things into a bag and said, “You grabbed 5 pair of underthings when you were packing on Friday night, this is day 5 of being away from your flat, and you were dreaming of knickers.” He threw the bag over his shoulder and headed out the door. He said over his shoulder, “You can shower whilst I’m gone. I’ll grab some food and be back shortly.”  

Once Molly was showered and dressed, Sherlock turned up with an egg and cheese butty, and she sat at the table eating it whilst he showered. She thought about how comfortable they had become with each other. Just a week ago, she would never have imagined that she would be calmly eating whilst just a few feet away, Sherlock was in the shower naked. And they would share a bed, and he’d kissed her, if only briefly. But the biggest change was that she felt more comfortable being physically close to him. Having her head on his shoulder, or his arm around her. It just felt natural.  

The door to the bathroom opened and Sherlock came out wearing only a navy towel wrapped around his pale hips. He rummaged through his clothing bag and said, “Since we are going to spend at least a few days on this island, it makes sense for me to wear more casual clothes.”  

Molly, who rarely wore anything that was not casual, agreed, and looked forward to seeing his butt in the Levis jeans he pulled out. He hesitated, then pulled out a light tan cable knitted fisherman’s sweater and said, “Do not, under pain of death, ever tell John that I wore a wooly jumper.”  

*****  

Sherlock and Molly walked back into the village. It was the first time Molly was able to get a decent look at where they had somehow wound up. Roame High Street had a nice hotel, the Holy Inn, that was shut for the winter. There was also a small Co-op grocery, the post office, the Tea Time Cafe, a hardware shop, and the Crown and Anchor pub.   

They went into the post office and Mrs. Hull said, “I see you’ve settled into the cottage. Your clothes will be dry in a few hours. Now tell me, what brought you two to Roame in November?”  

Sherlock reached over and took Molly’s hand. “We are newlyweds and Molly has encouraged me to find out more about my family. My parents died when I was a baby and I was raised by distant relatives who didn’t know much but told me my family has a connection with the village of Roame on Holy Island.”  

He paused, gave Molly a small kiss on the mouth and continued, “My wife and I hope to start a family soon, and we would like to be able to tell our children about their family history. Where can we look at village records?”  

Mrs. Hull said, “There is a small museum or library of sorts that is attached to the one-room schoolhouse. That’s where we keep old records, births, deaths, marriages, that sort of thing. That’s probably the best place to start looking. Mr. Phillips should be there now and he’ll give you access to the records.”  

She gave them directions to the schoolhouse and they walked hand-in-hand down the high street to it. Mr. Phillips showed them to a room that was well organized and full of old ledgers, baptismal papers, and diaries.  

After Mr. Phillips left them to it, Molly said, “What is it exactly we’re looking for? And don’t say we’ll know it when we see it, because I probably won’t.”  

He shrugged, “We were led here, so there must be something, but I don’t know what it might be. Anything that seems odd or has my name on it. Anything you have the slightest suspicion about, put to the side and I’ll look over.”  

They spent the rest of the day in the small room, digging through paperwork. But nothing caught their eye. Sherlock then directed Molly to look into the history of the island and the village. Perhaps something there would give them some direction.  

They both read about Viking raids, the construction of the Holy Priory, and how Henry VIII used the island to store ammunition. It was interesting, but nothing that seemed relevant to them.  

Whilst Sherlock took a toilet break, Molly noticed that there was a cart on the side on the library that had a sign saying Free Books Please Take One ! It looked picked over, and only one fiction book was left, it was called The Husband’s Secret , and Molly decided to take it. She was a keen reader and hoped to have some down time to read it.  

After a while more fruitlessly researching, they were discouraged and decided to walk back to the village and stop by the Crown and Anchor Pub for dinner.  

Considering how small the village was, the pub had a good crowd inside. People were crowded around the large telly watching the Grand Slam of Darts and drinking beer. They hadn’t eaten since their small breakfast, so they both ordered large savory pies and mash with veg.  

Molly had just tucked into her mushroom and leek pie when the darts game came to an end, and the locals wandered over to talk to them.  

Hazel, who worked at the bar, said, “Word on the street is that you came to research your family roots here. Find anything interesting?”  

Swallowing a mouth full of curried lamb pie, Sherlock answered truthfully, “No, unfortunately not.”  

Hazel said, “Shame about that, but seeing as you have to stay here at least until Joe comes back on Saturday, how about the two of you come to the quiz night tomorrow? It’s nothing serious, but it can be a laugh, and we could use with some new blood around here.”  

They agreed to come the following day to the pub quiz, and finished their dinners.  

On their way back to the cottage they picked up their clean clothes and it gave Molly a measure of comfort to know she had clean socks and knickers to wear the following day.  

When they got back to the cottage, Sherlock looked around to make sure it was undisturbed since leaving in the morning.  

Molly sat in the armchair and took off her shoes, “Nothing that we learned today seems to be relevant. What should we do tomorrow?”  

Sherlock sat on the bed and also took off his shoes. “Tomorrow we explore the island. It’s not large and we can easily circumnavigate it. Perhaps we’ll discover something. I just wish I had a better idea of what we are looking for.”  

He was frustrated and clenched his fists. Molly went over and sat next to him on the bed, she put her hands on his shoulders from behind and gave them a little squeeze. “We have several more days here, we’ll figure it out.”  

He turned to face her, and from the position they were in, his face was just an inch or two from hers. She had the brief, wild desire to lean forward and kiss those beautiful lips. Then he rubbed his hand over his face and said, “From reading John’s blog you would be forgiven for the belief that whilst on a case I don’t eat or sleep. Nonsense of course. I have the same physical needs and desires of any other human. Last night on the beach I didn’t sleep at all, so tonight I am exhausted.”  

He got up and went into the loo. Molly hadn’t slept well on the sand, so she was also ready for an early night. Whilst he was in the bathroom she changed into her freshly laundered Cats Protection 5K Race tee shirt and running shorts. It was chilly in the cottage, so she kept her socks on, not the sexiest of looks, but she hated to have cold feet.  

After she had her turn in the loo, she came out and found Sherlock already under the blankets. She turned out the light and was glad to get under the thick, warm duvet. She wasn’t sure how she felt sleeping next to Sherlock. On the one hand, it was every dream come true, but she was also mortified to think that she might molest him in her sleep. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him.  

Then she felt an arm around her waist and his body molded to hers from the back. He said simply, “It’s warmer this way. Good night, Molly.”  

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 13, 2010  

When Molly woke up the next morning, she was practically on top of Sherlock. Her head was resting on his bare chest, her arm was around his waist, and one of her legs was wedged between his.   

She was mortified. All her fears had come true and she had jumped on him in her sleep.  

She raised her head and looked at his relaxed sleeping face. She felt the same insane urge to kiss him that she had the previous night. She knew she had to detangle herself from him before he woke up.  

She started to move away from his chest when those startling eyes blinked open. He said, “Last night was remarkably warm considering we are staying in an unheated cottage in the North Sea at this time of year.” He seemed completely unbothered by her laying on top of him.  

She rolled off of him, sat on her side of the bed and started getting ready for the day.  

*****  

After a breakfast at the Tea Time Cafe they started around the island. It was about 6 miles in circumference, but walking along the coast was not so straightforward. There were hills, hedges, coves, and cliffs to navigate around.  

The major landmarks on the island were an old priory and castle ruins, but both were closed for the winter. There were two lighthouses, but both were automated and not open to the public. Roame Village was by far the largest population centre, besides that were scattered farms and remote cottages.  

By the time they got back to the village, Molly’s feet were sore and her mind was disgruntled. They headed straight for the Crown and Anchor Pub for some food before the quiz began.  

As they tucked into their dinner (veggie burger, hold the onions), Molly said, “I feel like we’re having the same conversation that we did last night. We don’t know what we’re looking for, and we’re no closer to figuring it out than we were when Joe brought us to the island.”  

Sherlock said, “Last night I slept well, so tonight I can stay up and spend time in my mind palace thinking about what we might be missing and how to approach this differently.”  

Just then the door to the pub opened and a dozen villagers poured in and approached them. Hazel was working at the bar and said to Sherlock and Molly, “That’s the regular lot who show up for the quiz, I’m the quizmaster, so let me give you a rundown on how it works. There are 5 rounds and a different theme for each round. Most pub quizes start easy and get harder, but we do it different. Before each new round, all participants have to take a shot of our cheapest whisky. We start hard, but by the final round, everyone is pretty sloshed, so the questions get easier. Whichever team wins gets a £10 bar tab.”  

Hazel lined up a row of shot glasses and poured generous shots of Sainsbury’s brand whisky. She passed them around and said “Cheers!” Everyone pounded them down. Molly hesitated, she’d never been fond of straight alcohol, but she tossed it down her throat. It tasted disgusting and burned going down.  

The theme of the first round was Science and Nature, right up their alley. “What element has the chemical symbol W ?”  

Sherlock said, “Hmph. I thought they said they started hard and got easier. That question is facile, who doesn’t know it’s tungsten?”  

Molly answered, “Most people have no reason to know that. If you’re a farmer living on Holy Island, what possible reason would you have to know the chemical symbol of tungsten?”  

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but Hazel went on to question 2, “What is the largest organ of the lymphatic system?”  

Without bothering to consult him, Molly wrote on the note paper spleen .  

The rest of the round continued to go well for them, although Molly heard some of the other teams complaining that it was too hard.  

There was a short break before round 2 started, everyone had another shot, and Hazel announced that the theme would be Sports. Molly groaned, “I’m hopeless at sports. I did mid-distance running in school, and I still enjoy that today, but I don’t follow the footie or care who won at Wimbledon or anything. What about you? Did you do sport at school?”  

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I got kicked out of so many schools that I never had the opportunity nor the desire to get into team sports. I enjoyed swimming though. I never did it competitively, just by myself. In the pool you are alone with your thoughts. I still do it at least once a week. Through Mycroft I have access to the Pall Mall private clubhouse and pool. Don't tell John, sometimes I make a more-than-usual dramatic exit, and little does he know I have Speedos on under my Belstaff.”  

Molly almost choked, laughing at the idea. It made sense though. He had the broad shoulders, tiny waist and wiry muscles of a swimmer. She’s seen more of his body on this trip than she’d ever thought possible. You didn’t get a body like that by spending all your time in your mind palace.  

Sherlock, of course, had already known that Molly was a runner. He’d spent an afternoon in the shadows of the trees in Shoreditch Park watching her Lazy Girls Running Group . He was just making sure this activity that she engaged in regularly had no inherent dangers to her. As she ran, she and the other women talked and laughed. Sherlock watched them with something akin to envy in his eyes. He was quite sure whatever they were laughing about was stupid and trivial, but the easy way she socialized with friends made him envy the ease with which she navigated the world.  

Molly knew they were in trouble as soon as the first Sports question asked about the most decorated athlete on Team GB at the Beijing Olympics. She sometimes had the Olympics on in the background as she cleaned her flat, but she never paid it that much attention. Plus there was the fact that the cheap whisky was starting to go to her head, and Sherlock looked blank at the question. The Sports round was a bust.  

Another shot, another break, another round. Hazel said the next one would be music. She'd play a song and you had to write the artist. Whilst waiting for it to begin, Molly asked Sherlock, “What kind of music do you like? And don’t give me any of that hoity toity bullshit like Beethoven. I mean when you were a grungy 19-year-old.”  

Part of her couldn’t believe what she’d just said. Here she was, definitely tipsy, demanding answers from the famously reticent Sherlock about his youth. Their time together had certainly increased their familiarity and decreased her intimidation of him. He was tipsy as well, and actually willing to answer. “When I was 19, I was more than grungy. I was a Uni student, skipping most of my classes, even more arrogant than I am today, and just getting into drugs. I started taking hallucinogens and going to house-music concerts. I can’t say I actually enjoyed the music, I was just looking for a scene.”  

Molly stared at him. She wondered what she would have thought about him if she’d met him at 19. At that age, she was a nerdy swot, still living at home with her father, attending class studiously, and avoiding the party scene.  

Then the music round started and Hazel played the first song: Come On Eileen . Molly could tell her handwriting was getting scratchier from the booze as she wrote Dexy’s Midnight Runners .  

In general she felt that they’d done fairly well in music, not great, but it wasn’t a disaster. But when Hazel gave them another shot, Molly didn’t know if she could handle much more of the disgusting alcohol. The next round was announced to be Geography, and normally Molly was strong in that subject, but her thoughts felt more... mushy than usual.  

Sherlock was quieter than he normally was, he just sat back in his chair and stared at her. The questions were definitely getting easier, although still hard to answer since everyone was affected by the whisky. The first Geography question was How many states are there in the USA ? Molly started to write 50, then paused, were there 52? Was it 50 all together, then you have to add Alaska and Hawaii? She asked Sherlock.   

He said, “Don't know, don’t care. This is stupid. Let’s just leave, this is a bloody waste of time.”  

She frowned, “No, we started it, we’re going to finish.” She decided to split the difference and write 51 states.  

After the last Geography question ( what is the capital of France ?) she felt some relief that she’d only have to endure one more of those horrible shots. She vowed to never buy Sainsbury brand whisky.   

During the break Sherlock got up to go to the loo and whilst he was gone, the front door opened and man came in, walked up to the bar and ordered an ale. He saw Molly, and wandered over. He said, “Hello there. My name’s Duncan and I run a sheep farm about a mile from here. You’re a fresh face, and we don’t see too many of those. Can I buy you a drink?”  

Just then Sherlock came up, stumbling slightly and slurring his words, “That my WIFE!”  

Duncan took a step back, “Sorry mate, I didn’t realize the lady was married. She’s not wearing a ring, come to think of it, neither are you.”  

Sherlock pulled a paper out of his pocket and waved it in the man’s face. “Look! Here’s proof, better than any stupid ring. A marriage certificate dated 3 weeks and 2 days ago.”  

The man glanced at the certificate, then wandered back to the bar just as Hazel announced the start of Round 5, which was Arts and Literature. Molly was a keen reader, so she reckoned they’d do OK, but although she tried, she couldn’t think of the name of a single book. Sherlock had stopped trying to answer questions entirely and busied himself glaring at Duncan.  

“Name any one play written by Shakespeare.” Molly scratched on the paper Romeo and Julie . She put hearts around the title, to show she knew it was a love story. She felt very clever.  

After several questions, some of which she could at least partly answer, came the final question of the evening. “Who is the Australian author of Big Little Lies ?” Most of the pub went completely silent. No one had even heard of the book, let alone knew who wrote it. It seemed oddly difficult, considering it should have been the easiest question of the night. For Molly, she felt she knew the answer. She'd read the book and enjoyed it, but in her addled state, she couldn’t think who the author was. It niggled on the back of her mind, but she just couldn’t remember.  

Hazel gathered up the final answer sheets and tabulated the results. Out of 5 teams, Molly and Sherlock came in third, bang in the middle. The winners celebrated and went up to get their £10 bar tab.  

Sherlock pulled Molly’s arm, “C’mon, let’s go.”  

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 13, 2010  

They left the pub and walked out of town towards their cottage. They were both weaving and a bit unsteady on their feet. When they got to the cottage, Sherlock looked around it and said, “The place is undisturbed.” He looked pleased with himself. “See? Even in my inebriated state I remembered to check.”  

Molly suddenly burst out laughing. “That bloke Duncan was hitting on me and you were all like ‘Nah dude, she’s my wife’ and you even pulled out our marriage certificate. That was hilarious!”  

He looked a bit affronted, “Well it’s true, technically at least, we’re married.”  

She shook her head, “Nah, it’s not legal because it’s fraduly. Fraudity. Fraudalicious.”  

He frowned, “But the mysterious powers in charge don’t know it’s fraudalicious. Unless and until we tell them, we’re legally married.”  

Molly paused and said, “Married, as in ‘you may now kiss the bride’ and all that jazz.”  

Sherlock took a step towards her, “You are my bride, does that mean I may kiss you?”  

The whole thing didn’t seem real and Molly wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or because of the situation itself. She nodded and took a step towards him.  

The kiss was a bit sloppy at first, but it didn’t take long until they both got into it and the kiss deepened. His arm snaked about her waist and pulled her closer. Her hands went up his chest, over his shoulders and around his neck. The kissing went on and on.  

He pulled back and said, “We should stop.”  

She said, “I don’t wanna stop.”  

They kissed some more. He pulled back again. “I don’t want to stop either, but that’s the point. If we don’t stop, we’re going to end up having sex tonight.”  

She reached up and kissed him again, he responded and made no effort to stop her. She said, “Sex tonight? That sounds like a fantastic idea.”  

He moved so that their foreheads were pressed together. “A fantastic idea except that you left your birth control pills at your flat, which resulted in the onset of your menses shortly thereafter. It didn’t occur to me to bring condoms on this journey, and the village shop is closed for the night, so sex is out of the question. We’re both inebriated, and sex whilst drunk is rubbish. Not to mention the inevitable complications it would cause in our already complicated relationship.”  

“Is it complicated?” She asked.  

“It is a bit.”  

Molly realized that what he was saying was correct, but she had never expected to come so close to living out her fantasy. She said, “You’re right. No sex tonight. But I’m really enjoying the kissing, can we do that a little more?”  

He answered, “Absolutely. But once we get into bed for the night, no more kissing. It would be too easy for sense to go out the window.”  

Molly agreed to this, and after a few more minutes, she said, “You’re very good at snogging. How did you get so good at it?”  

He replied, “It’s a simple matter of being attuned to the desires of your partner. I try something and note how you react to it, if your response is positive, I do more of it. It’s a simple matter of positive feedback response.”  

She thought about this. “Is it the same with you for sex? Does that mean you’re just as focused on the positive reactions from your partner?”  

She felt a low rumble in his chest, which was pushed up against hers. He said, “Yes, but best not think about that right now.”  

So that’s how it went. They kissed a bit more (well, actually, a lot more) then Molly felt herself wobble, and knew she should go to bed and sleep it off. The last thing she remembered was Sherlock’s body molding itself around hers and she drifted off.  

*****  

Friday, November 14, 2010  

Molly woke up the next morning to a dry mouth, dull headache, still wearing her clothes from the previous night, and no Sherlock next to her. The was a large glass of water next to the book on the table, and she drank the whole thing down.  

The door opened and Sherlock came in with his hands full. He handed her a package of paracetamol which had been already opened. The blister pack had two pills already removed, no doubt swallowed by Sherlock. He refilled her water glass, then put on the dining table a yogurt mixed with granola and a package of blueberries.  

He said, “It occurred to me that whilst we investigated the perimeter of the island yesterday, we didn’t look much at the interior.”  

“But it’s just a bunch of sheep farms and holiday lets.”  

He took a sip of the large takeaway cup of coffee and said, “Nevertheless, I need to make sure there is nothing relevant there.”  

Molly said, “That sounds... energetic. More energetic than I fancy at the moment. Do I have to go with you?”  

He replied, “I figured you would probably want a day to lie-in after all that has happened over the last week. You may stay here as long as you do not leave the cottage even for a moment, and do not open the door to anyone for any reason. I brought you an egg sandwich and a green salad that you can have for lunch.”  

She shook her head, “You anticipate everything.”  

He paused. “I did not anticipate what happened last night.”  

Molly was surprised. She hadn’t had time to think about what happened last night, but she’d fully expected Sherlock to never mention the matter. He went on, “Obviously due to our intoxicated state our inhibitions were lowered, but thankfully nothing irrevocable happened. I think it best if we put it behind us.”  

Molly didn’t know what to say besides, “Okay.”  

He seemed relieved and said, “I will return before dinner time, and tomorrow morning Joe is due in his boat to deliver supplies. We will be able to return to the mainland and resume our goal of discovering the culprit behind the falsified marriage certificate.”  

Molly whispered to herself, “Not falsified, fraudilicious.” Sherlock ignored this, grabbed his coffee and left the cottage.  

Molly spent the day not doing much. She showered, tidied the cottage, and washed a few clothes in the bathroom sink. She mostly read the book she’d picked up at the village library, The Husband’s Secret , snuggled under the warm duvet. The plot revolved around a woman discovering her husband had committed a murder in his youth, and how it affected their marriage. The book was by the same author that had been asked about in the quiz the previous night, a funny coincidence.  

She also spent a lot of time thinking about what had happened with Sherlock. They had kissed. Energetically. He had indicated that he agreed that having sex would be fantastic. Yes, he was drunk and not in his right mind, but that just meant he was allowing himself to pursue things that he would normally suppress.  

It meant he was attracted to her, even if he wouldn’t allow himself to act on it. It made Molly smile and hug her knees to herself to just think about it. Even if nothing else ever happened again, she would know that deep down, he desired her.  

*****  

Sherlock spent the day tramping through hedgerows and peeping into sheep barns. He went through the motions, alert, but not really expecting to find anything.  

His mind kept going back to the night before, and how it felt to have Molly in his arms, and to kiss her.  

What would have happened if she’d remembered to bring her birth control pills?  

The wind picked up, and he popped up the collar to his coat for added warmth. He thought about how warm it was to sleep curled around Molly. He knew they would sleep next to each other again tonight.  

Would it be so bad if they had sex?  

Ever since the appearance of that certificate, that official document, they’d spent more time together, and in more personal settings. There had been a sort of enforced intimacy from spending their days together.  

Would taking it one step further really change things so much?  

As Sherlock climbed a small hill and surveyed the farmhouses from this vantage point, he thought about how Joe was due tomorrow morning to return them to the mainland. This time tomorrow they’d be headed back towards London and towards their normal life.  

One more night on the island, one more night sharing a bed in their cold cottage. Just one more night and then thing would return to normal.  

What would they do with their one more night?  

*****  

By the time Sherlock got back, Molly was feeling a little stir crazy. He seemed disappointed and just shook his head when she asked if he’d discovered anything.  

Molly had spent most of the day under the blanket, so it wasn’t until they were getting ready to head to the Crown and Anchor Pub for dinner that she noticed how much colder it had gotten. She mentioned it to Sherlock and he said, “Yes, the barometric pressure has dropped, resulting in lower temperature, increased wind, cloud cover, and a high chance of storms. Not unusual for this time of year.”  

The short walk to the pub was a bit shivery, but the pub was a warm, familiar presence. They had a pleasant dinner while other patrons were glued to the telly watching the finale of Strictly Come Dancing .  

Suddenly the lights flickered, then went off along with the telly and music. Mrs. Hull came in and said in a loud voice, “There’s a big storm coming, and more behind it. It looks like Joe might not be able to make it tomorrow morning, but the Co-op is staying open late if anyone needs to stop by for supplies. They are on a generator, so they have power, but the rest of the island doesn’t.”  

The others at the pub filed out to head home, grumbling, “Typical Holy Island in November.” Molly could head the roar of wind that had picked up since they arrived. They agreed to grab some supplies at the Co-op before heading back. They didn’t know if they would be stuck at the cottage, and for how long.  

Just crossing the street from the Crown and Anchor to the Co-op was wild. The rain was coming down in fat drops and the wind tried to push them in the opposite direction. When they got inside, she headed one way to pick up tins of pineapple chunks, baked beans, and sweetcorn. Sherlock headed the other way to get bread and toothpaste.  

The storm was worse by the time they left the shop to head back to the cottage. The rain was pelting down, and it was just a few minutes before they were both soaking wet. And it was cold, so cold Molly’s teeth were chattering and she pushed her way through the howling wind.  

Chapter Text

Friday, November 14, 2010  

With all electricity on the island being out, as soon as they were a few steps beyond the Co-op, Molly felt like she was inside a freezing black nightmare. She became disorientated, but felt Sherlock's hand grab her own and pull her to the left, down a path she couldn’t see.  

It felt like forever but it was only a few minutes before they were at the front door of the cottage, then inside.   

It was pitch dark inside and Molly stood near the front door, uncertain of what to do. She heard Sherlock toss the Co-op bag and heard him go to few steps to the bathroom, whilst he said, “Take off your wet clothes and leave them in a pile by the front door.”  

She tried to comply, but her fingers didn’t seem to be working properly, and it took a while just to unzip her coat. Sherlock returned and touched her shoulder briefly, found she still had her jumper on, and stripped it off her in one movement. Then she felt a fluffy towel placed around her shoulders. She heard his movements and could tell he was also taking off his wet things and leaving them in a big squelchy pile by the front door. She managed to get off her trousers, socks and shoes, and rubbed her shivering body and hair with the towel, and she heard Sherlock doing the same thing.  

He said, “Take off anything that is even slightly damp, then get into the bed under the duvet.”  

She only had her knickers on as she got into the bed. Soon Sherlock joined her and he took a moment to carefully tuck the blanket around them on all sides, then he put his arms around her and held her close. It took a few minutes before their joined body heat built up enough so she started to feel warmer and her shivering slowed down, then stopped.  

It occurred to her, as it hadn’t before, that her naked breasts were pressed against his chest, and their legs were intertwined. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she stopped herself. Why should she? It was every fantasy come true, and she hadn’t even had to maneuver it. She suddenly wondered how many layers Sherlock had taken off and what he still had on. Her leg was between his, as she paid attention she could feel that this gorgeous man was completely naked, pressed up against her in bed.  

Well this was an interesting turn of events.  

Her nose was still cold, so she pressed it in the crook of where his neck met his shoulders, as she did this she pressed her breasts closer to him and just took in the sensations of all the places their bodies touched. His hands around her back, his leg between her thighs, and her hips against his stomach. It made her think about all the kissing they’d done the night before.  

She pulled her head back from his neck and looked up, wishing she could see him, but it was complete darkness. Then she felt his hand leave her back, travel up her arm, and come to rest on her cheek. Then his lips were on hers and nothing else mattered.  

His kisses took her breath away and warmed her down to her toes. He pulled away and they both breathed deeply. She said, “I thought the rule was no kissing in bed.”  

He chuckled, “That only applied last night when we were both intoxicated and we had no condoms.”  

She gave a mock-shocked voice, “That’s what you were picking up in the personal care section of the Co-op! I thought you were getting toothpaste.”   

He said, “I got that too,” and bent down to kiss her again, as his hand moved from her cheek to other areas below.  

*****  

Saturday, November 15, 2010  

The following morning, Molly woke to the sound of howling wind, and the sky was only slightly lighter than at night. She could tell the air in the cottage was very cold, but she was warm under the blanket, her head rested on his chest and their legs were intertwined.   

She said, “I can’t believe it stormed all night.”  

His mouth was near her shoulder and she could feel the vibrations as he said, “It didn’t. It stopped for a few hours early this morning and just started up again. It’s possible that Joe managed the crossing between storms.”  

She felt him move and then his hand came up to cup her breast at the same time his lips were on her neck.  

She said, “Wait, hold that thought. Do not let another thought enter your mind for even a second, but I need a trip to the loo.”  

He grunted his assent, and she slid out of the bed into the shivery air and ran to the loo. Less than five minutes later she dove back into the warm bed. She bear-hugged his warm body and said, “I hope you kept your mind firmly focused on the fascinating things you were doing before.”  

He said, “Interesting, you rinsed your mouth with water but didn’t brush your teeth. I expected you would be self-conscious about morning breath, despite the fact that I have it too.”  

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I would have, but we’re out of toothpaste, and whatever brand you bought is in a bag that got flung somewhere after you extracted the condoms. I do hope you bought a multi-pack of them.”  

He said, “8 pack, 7 left, now stop distracting me, woman. I have some fascinating things to get back to.”  

*****  

The rain had slowed by the time they made their way into the Roame Village and down to the dock. A small crowd had gathered and people were talking loudly and gesticulating.  

Mrs. Hull approached them, “Joe tried to make the crossing early this morning. He almost made it, but then the storm started up again, and the swell was just too high, the boat ran into some rocks and ripped a hole in the hull.”  

Sherlock walked closer to take a look. “Do you have the material and facilities on the island to repair it?”  

Joe heard this and said, “Aye. It’ll take a little while and it won’t be pretty, but it should be enough to make it back to the mainland for proper repairs, as long as the wind and swells aren’t too bad.”  

Sherlock asked, “Given the time needed for repairs and for anticipating clear weather, how long do you reckon before getting back to Fenham?”  

Joe shrugged, “Maybe two days, maybe more. I brought a full complement of supplies, so that won’t be an issue. I’ll let you know when I’m planning to make a go of it.”  

Mrs. Hull said, “Since the electricity is still not working, most shops in the village will be closed. No Crown and Anchor, no post office. But you and your wife are newlyweds, this is almost like a honeymoon for you. I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time.”  

Sherlock took Molly’s hand and said, “I’m sure we can.”  

*****  

The next few days were like a dream for Molly.   

During the day they spent time on the beach, looking in tide pools, examining different kinds of seaweed, and collecting drift wood. When the storms rolled though, they retreated back to the cottage and the warm bed.  

Sherlock hadn’t anticipated that their ‘one night’ would turn into several, but he had no objection. He assumed Molly understood that this time on the island was unrelated to anything back in London. It was the closest thing he’d had to a holiday for ages. Enough to occupy his mind, but without the pressure of a murder to solve. Fascinating sea life to observe, and plentiful sex to satisfy his usually-suppressed carnal desires.  

On the third morning Molly lay, comfortable and satisfied in Sherlock’s arms. Her head was on his chest and their legs were intertwined. “Who is Ramon?”  

“Ramon? Ramon who?”  

She said, “You told me that your last lover was a man named Ramon Quijada. Who is he?”  

Sherlock exhaled. “He’s no one important.”  

She lay still, now feeling much less comfortable.  

He said, “Fine, it obviously bothers you. Ramon was the leader of a Peruvian gang. I knew he was involved in smuggling but had no proof. I found out he was notoriously tight lipped, but had a tendency to babble when in intimate situations. I dressed up fine, accidentally met up with him at the Zodiac Lounge, we went to his place and during coitus he started nattering all his secrets. I passed on the information to the Met and that was the end of that. Last I heard, he was deported back to Peru and he was killed whilst attempting to escape prison there.”  

Molly was still, pondering all that he’d said. It wasn’t at all what she had expected. “When was that?”  

“About 8 months ago. John briefly mentioned it in his blog as a side note. He called it the Dandelion Diversion .”  

She said, “I remember that one. No mention of you seducing a gang leader.”  

He answered, “No. I didn’t mention that part to John, there was no need.” He shifted so he could look her in the eye. “You’ve gone tense. This bothers you. Molly, you are aware that I do whatever is necessary to solve my cases. That has involved getting stabbed, traveling to Kyrgyzstan, and dressing as a French mime. If I have to sleep with a gangster to get the information I need, that’s what I will do. I do whatever is necessary to solve my cases.”  

Molly pulled away, her voice shaking, “Is that what you’re doing now? Is that what this is about? Sleeping with me to get a better handle on this marriage certificate mystery?”  

At that moment there was a loud pounding on the door. Sherlock got up and pulled on his jeans, whilst Molly retreated to the bathroom with her clothes to get dressed. As she buttoned up her blouse she heard a conversation from the front door.  

“It’s me, Joe. We have a brief window to make it to the mainland. The boat is fixed up enough to make it seaworthy, and this morning is supposed to be clear before another storm rolls through this afternoon. I’m planning to leave in about half an hour, so if you and your wife want to leave, be at the dock as soon as you can.”  

By the time Molly was dressed and left the bathroom, Sherlock had their bags out and was tossing their things in. They didn’t talk as they gathered all the things that had been strewn around the small cottage in which so many things had changed. Molly grabbed her book and the photo of Toby the cat and slipped them into her shoulder purse.  

Then they were out the door and walking down to the dock.  

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 19, 2010  

The boat ride went smoothly, even though Molly was nervous at the obviously makeshift repairs to the hull of the boat. But the sea was calm, the sky was clear, and a cold wind made her put her hands deep into her coat pocket. She wished she could snuggle up to Sherlock and wrap herself in his warmth, but he stood stiffly by himself, looking out to sea.  

They reached the beach in Fenham, gave their thanks to Joe, and hurried to the small train station in time to catch the next train to Newcastle.  

They hadn’t had any time to talk since Joe pounded on the cottage door. During the boat ride Joe had always been present and the train was crowded so they had no privacy. Once they made it to Newcastle, there was an express train that would take them to London.  

As they were standing on the platform in Newcastle, Molly said, “It will be nice to get back to London, I’m looking forward to getting back to work at Barts, I’m sure my patients miss me.” She laughed awkwardly, picturing the row of sheet-covered bodies that constituted her ‘patients.’  

Sherlock looked at her coolly. “We’ll only be stopping in London for a few hours. I need to stop by my flat, check in with John and make a few contacts. But you and I need to get on to Tyro Amir Village in Cornwall.”  

Molly was cross. “No! We didn’t learn anything from visiting Roame, what makes you think there is something waiting for us in Tyro Amir? Besides, when you hacked into my email and told my boss I’d be taking some time off, how long did you say I’d be gone? It’s already been well over a week, and I don’t know who they could get to cover my position for that long without more notice.”  

The train to London pulled up and they shuffled forward to get on. As Molly climbed on, her shoulder bag slipped and the contents spilled out. Sherlock was behind her and he grabbed the fallen picture of Toby and her book. He stood at the entrance to the train, staring at her book, until the people behind him started to grumble.  

He got on and quickly lead her to their private first-class compartment and shut the door. He turned, towering over her and said, “Where did you get this book?”  

She answered, “I picked it up when we were doing research in the Roame library. I’ve been reading it for days, have you not noticed it?”  

He sat down heavily on the bench. “I noticed you were reading a book but I didn’t pay attention to it. Tell me everything about where you got it. Did someone give it to you?”  

She told him about the cart with free books, and how it was the only one left. She couldn’t think why he was so suddenly interested in it.  

Then she remembered, “I don’t know if this is relevant, but do you remember at the quiz, the final question which was supposed to be the easiest one, was actually about another book by this same author.”  

He took the book, moved over towards the window, and started to read it.  

*****  

It was late by the time they got back to London and made their way to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock hadn’t spoken a word on the train, completely absorbed in the book.   

Molly remembered that she’d shut off her phone once they’d arrived on the island. There was no phone service there, so there was no point in having it on. She turned it on again on the train and was greeted by a chorus of little meow text alerts. It was a succession of friends and family which brought her back to her normal life in London. A woman from the Lazy Girls Running group wondering why she hadn’t made it for the last 2 weeks. Her Aunt Edith calling to chat. Mike Stamford from work wondering when she would return. The shop manager from the Cats Protection charity shop asking if she could cover someone’s shift. It gave her a cozy feeling to know she had so many contacts who cared about her.  

John greeted them as soon as they walked into the flat. “Christ, I’m glad to see you two. I was beginning to get worried. I haven’t heard a word from you in over a week.”  

Sherlock ignored him, tossed his bag on the coffee table and went to rummage in the fridge for some food.  

Molly said, “We ended up staying longer on the island than we’d planned due to bad weather.”  

John asked, “Did you learn anything?”  

Molly shook her head as Sherlock yelled from the kitchen, “Is there anything in? We haven’t eaten since a disappointing breakfast on the train.”  

John said, “Yeah, there’s some stuff from the kebab house. Lamb, pita, falafel, tzatziki sauce and raw onions to put on top.”  

Molly and Sherlock each made themselves a plate and sat on couch munching. John said, “Molly, you don’t like raw onions on yours either? It’s my favourite but Sherlock never eats them. Anyway, fill me in on what happened.”  

Now that Molly’s belly was full, a wave of sleepiness hit her. She said, “I’ll let Sherlock update you. I’m heading to bed.”  

She grabbed her bag and headed to Sherlock’s room. It was where she’d slept every night when they were staying here. It was hard to believe it was only this morning that she’d woken up naked in his arms on the island, but they’d been sharing a bed so regularly, the words slipped automatically from her lips as she said to Sherlock, “Are you going to join me?”  

As soon as she said that she saw John’s face frown in confusion, but Sherlock smoothly answered, “I’m going to stay up, talk to John and figure some things out. Good night.”  

*****  

As soon as Molly left the room, John said, “If you were anyone else, I’d assume that comment from her meant something was going on between you two.”  

Sherlock ignored this and said, “When we left the island, I was under the impression that we received no relevant information. However, I learned that Molly was encouraged to pick up this book.”  

He held it up for John to see. John looked confused, “The Husband’s Secret? So what? Looks like generic fiction.”  

Sherlock answered, “I cannot chide you for that impression, as it is what I thought as well. But note the author’s surname.”  

John took it in his hands. “Moriarty.”  

He looked up at Sherlock, “So that’s who’s behind this? Moriarty faked the wedding and planted the certificate?”  

Sherlock leaned back and stapled his hands at his chin. “That is what we are being led to believe. To further cement this idea, during a pub quiz there was a question emphasizing this particular author.”  

He sat up suddenly and slammed his hand down on the coffee table. “I am such an IDIOT and I did not observe. I did not notice what was under my own nose! I was too distracted .”  

John asked, “What do you mean? You were on a remote island, what could possibly have distracted you?”  

Sherlock didn’t answer, just ran his hands ruffling through his hair.  

John said, “Well, you’ve figured it out now. So what did Moriarty do? Did he have your hotel room bugged?”  

Sherlock exhaled, “No, at least I had my wits about me enough to make sure of that. We stayed in a fairly bare cottage, and I searched it thoroughly. The cottage and all its belongings were not bugged. Unless...”  

John leaned forward, “Unless what? Do you have another idea for where a mic could have been hidden?”  

Sherlock answered, “What if we brought it with us? Whoever did this got into Molly’s flat, they could have planted a bug in her belongings. What could they have put it in? Not her clothes, she would have noticed that. Not her bag, there were several she could have grabbed.”  

He sat up suddenly, “John, go into the side pocket of my carrier case. I put a picture that Molly brought of her recently deceased feline Toby in there. Bring it to me!”  

John rummaged in the side pocket and pulled out the framed picture. Then his attention was grabbed by something else in the side pocket. He put the picture on the floor and turned back to look in the pocket. He pulled something out and examined it more closely.  

He slowly said, “An 8-pack of Durex condoms.” He opened the package and looked inside. “There are 2 left.”  

He sat, staring at the condoms. He said, “So it’s true then. You and Molly really are sleeping together.”  

Sherlock walked over, picked up the framed picture and started examining it without looking at John. “Not at the moment. You’ll have noticed that I am not currently engaging in intercourse with Molly, instead I am having a pointless conversation with you in the lounge.”  

He pulled a mini tool kit from his pocket and started dismantling the frame.  

John stayed sat on the floor and slowly shook his head. “You bastard.”  

Sherlock ignored him, concentrating on the frame.  

John went on, speaking in a low, deliberate voice. “I’m not naive enough to think you don’t have a sexual past, but as far as I know, you’ve put that behind you to concentrate on solving cases. You’ve been nothing but dismissive and manipulative to Molly as long as I’ve known the two of you.”  

He rubbed his forehead. “All it took was a few days of forced inactivity. A few days without internet access and no crime to solve. So you pick up an 8-pack of condoms at the local store and take advantage of the sweetest woman on the planet, who, for some unfathomable reason, is completely in love with you. And you decide it’s time to break your duck and have at it.”  

Sherlock looked up from the frame, which was now in pieces. “Nothing in the frame either, I suppose there was no bug after all.”  

John’s voice rose in volume and intensity. “When you were bored and had the opportunity, you wasted no time in getting a leg over, quite a few times from the number of condoms used. But now you’re back in London, do you expect to go back to ‘Molly, hurry up with those lab tests’ and ‘Molly, I need a diseased aorta’ and nothing more to be said?”  

Sherlock looked up at him, finally paying attention. “Break your duck? Get a leg over? I assume that having completed medical school, a basic command of the English language would not be beyond you.”  

This sent John over the edge. “Stop playing stupid! You understand exactly what I’m talking about. The only kind of stupid you are, is the kind that doesn’t understand basic human emotion. You like to pretend that you are above it all, somehow above us normal humans. But you forget I share a bathroom with you, I know your shit stinks just as much as the rest of us.”  

Sherlock stared at him, his eyes as cold as chips of ice. “If you are quite finished with your little tantrum, doctor, I have more work to do.”  

He picked up the book Molly had acquired on the island, flung himself down on the settee, and paid no more attention to John.  

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 20, 2010  

It was 4:42 am, and Sherlock was standing in his dark bedroom.  

He finished reading the book, and if he’d been expecting a clue from the plot, he’d been disappointed. The plot mainly centered around the emotional fallout when a woman discovered that her beloved husband had committed a murder in his youth. It was an entertaining book, nothing exceptional, nothing revealing, not worth his time.  

He looked down at the woman sleeping his bed, the moonlight showing her features, softened in sleep.  

Was what John said actually true? Did she truly love him?  

Sherlock had never considered to get into a relationship, but contrary to what John thought, it wasn’t because he thought himself above normal human emotions.  

He knew he was physically attractive, he’d used that fact to his advantage on many occasions. But he also knew himself to be arrogant, insensitive, critical and socially awkward. In short, he knew he was an unpleasant arsehole, had certainly been called one often enough.  

The fact that he’d found someone who liked him, even loved him, was stunning.   

That Molly was physically attracted to him had been obvious from the beginning. But as she’d gotten to know him, become well acquainted with his true nature, he fully expected her desire for him to die off, as it had so often with others before. People thought they wanted his brilliance, his aloof nature, his obsessions, but inevitably as they experienced the reality of dealing with that on a daily basis, their interest waned.  

But Molly’s had not.  

Of course there was also the issue of what kind of person he was attracted to. Like everyone else, he needed someone to balance him. Someone to be close to, who would give him the space he needed. Someone whose kindness would balance his insensitivity. Someone who would accept, even contribute to his laser-like focus on solving cases.   

He stood watching her for a long time, then he took off his clothes and climbed into the bed.  

*****  

When Molly woke up the next morning, she found herself practically on top of Sherlock. Her head was resting on his bare chest, her arm was around his waist, and one of her legs was wedged between his.  

She wasn’t sure how to feel about this. She'd woken up in this same position several times, but with his sudden change of behavior since leaving the island, she wasn’t at all sure it would be welcomed any more.  

She was actually surprised he was in the bed at all. She’d gotten the impression that he was planning to stay up to work, or perhaps nap on the settee.  

But here he was. Social clues could sometimes puzzle him, but he couldn’t really not understand that getting into bed with a woman you’ve been sexually involved with was... suggestive?   

Especially half naked.  

Molly took a moment to catalogue: his arm was around her waist, his hand was on her bum, their legs were intertwined and she felt something firm poking into her hip. She let her hand wander down from his waist.  

He wasn’t half naked. He was fully naked.  

Given the way his hips contracted towards her hand, he must be having an erotic dream.  

She didn’t understand what exactly was going on between them. She didn’t understand what this all meant for the future. She didn’t understand how things might be changed by their returning to London.  

But she did understand that he had purposely climbed into bed with her, stark naked. And hell if she wouldn’t take advantage of that fact.  

Her hand drifted lower, and she began to stroke him, gently at first, then more firmly. A grunt escaped his lips, and then she was aware that he was fully awake.  

He said, “Wait, hold that thought. Do not let another thought enter your mind for even a second.”  

He untangled himself and sat on the side of the bed. She asked, “Do you need the loo?”  

He said, “No, thankfully, it would be very difficult in my current state. I have to go get a condom, they are in the box which is on the coffee table in the lounge. John was counting them.”  

*****  

An hour later, Molly peeled herself out of the warmth of Sherlock’s arms and went to take a shower. When she finished and went back into the bedroom, he was fast asleep.  

All of her clothes were still in the tote bag, and they all needed to be washed. She wondered when she’d have the opportunity to get back into her flat, if she’d known how long she would be gone from it, she would have thought more about what clothes she’d grabbed. It was hard to believe that mad dash through her flat had happened less than two weeks ago.  

She put on Sherlock's navy silk dressing gown and went to stuff all of her things into the washing machine.  

Once that was going, she put the kettle on to boil and dug through the cabinets for something for breakfast. She was just adding sultanas to her porridge when John came into the kitchen.  

He poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “Morning Molly. I half expected Sherlock to still be pacing around the living room.”  

She said, “No, he’s asleep.”  

He got out two slices of bread and put them in the toaster. He said, “Look, Molly, I don’t want this to be awkward about you and Sherlock, in fact, I was very surprised but when I heard...”  

Molly interrupted him, “You heard us this morning?” She blushed bright red. “That’s absolutely mortifying, I tried my best to be quiet, but that isn’t always possible. Um, y’know?”  

“Hoo hoo!”  

Mrs. Hudson came in bearing a pot of tea and some fresh scones. She said, “I certainly heard you this morning. Woke me right up! Of course, Sherlock's bedroom is right above mine, and the soundproofing is quite poor.”  

John looked blankly at both women. “No, I didn’t hear anything, what I meant was that Sherlock and I talked last night and...”  

Sherlock then walked into the room and interrupted John, “ We didn’t talk last night, you talked and I barely listened.”  

He addressed the others, “I will catch the 1:07 train to Cornwall. The three of you must remain undetected until I am back, which I expect to be in a day or two. In a few hours a nondescript car will be delivered by my homeless network to the back of this building. John and Molly must crouch down, covered in the back whilst Mrs. Hudson drives to the location I supply. Once you arrive, remain inside with the windows covered until you hear from me.”  

There were a few beats of silence, then John said, “You’re going to Tyro Amir Village in Cornwall alone? I don’t think that’s wise. Last night I was thinking about what you said, how the author of that book is Moriarty. Well it occurred to me that Tyro Amir is an unusual name for a place in Cornwall, I thought it must be from the old Cornish language, but it’s an anagram, isn’t it? When you pick the letters apart and rearrange them, they spell out Moriarty.”  

John looked anxious, yet pleased with himself.  

Sherlock gave him a you’re an idiot look. “Of course it’s an anagram for Moriarty, that’s obvious. But it’s also a real place, and yes, the name is from the Brythonic group of Celtic Languages once prevalent in Cornwall. The place is classified as a DMV, a Deserted Medieval Village, one of thousands of former settlements which were deserted during the Middle Ages, frequently due to the population dying from the Black Death.”  

Mrs. Hudson said, “Ugh! And I always think of Cornwall as a lovely holiday destination. Penzance is so charming and sunny on a bank holiday weekend. But you’re going to confront that horrible man in a ghost town full of long-dead plague victims!”  

Molly felt distressed, “Is this still about that fake marriage certificate? What is the point of putting yourself in danger like this? We know Moriarty has killed people, what’s to stop him from murdering you too? If we both testify the marriage was fraudulent, prove we were in London during that time, the whole thing will be cancelled and we can go on with our lives as before!”  

Sherlock looked at her sternly, “I intend to end this once and for all. This is not just about getting the certificate revoked, it was meant as a statement about power and control. I intend to make it perfectly clear that I am not to be toyed with this way.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 20, 2010  

Mrs. Hudson and Molly went to the downstairs flat to get started packing  

John sat on the sette and said to Sherlock, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? Facing Moriarty on your own sounds foolhardy. He’s shown himself to be dangerous and perfectly willing to kill.”  

Sherlock said, “Which is precisely why I need you to stay with Mrs. Hudson and Molly.”  

John nodded. “Do you want to explain about the uhm, activity this morning between you and Molly? I thought that was just a distraction on the island. Her safety isn’t the only thing I’m worried about, I’m afraid you’re going to break her heart”  

John picked up the box of condoms which was on the coffee table. “If I look in here, am I still going to find 2 like were there last night?”  

He peeked in the box, “Christ, there's only 1.”  

Sherlock snatched the box away from him and walked towards his room. He ignored John’s questions and said over his shoulder, “Be sure to take your gun with you.”  

*****  

Molly’s clothes were freshly out of the dryer and she stood in Sherlock’s bedroom as she again packed them up into the tote bag.  

Sherlock came in, glanced at her and began taking some of his own clothes out and putting them into a carrier bag.  

She took this moment of privacy to say to him, “I’m frightened for you.”  

He paused, but did not turn around to meet her eyes. “You know who I am. This is what I do .”  

Her voice became more firm, “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand that you put yourself in danger almost every day?”  

She softened, “I’m just saying I want you to be safe. I want you to come back.”  

He turned and looked at her. “Understood.”  

*****  

When Sherlock had said they would be traveling in a nondescript car, Molly pictured one of those large, elegant black sedans that he was always getting into.  

But instead, a dirty grey Ford Fiesta was parked in the back of the building. The three of them stood looking at it, until John said, “Makes sense. These bad boys are the most popular car in Great Britain. If you’re looking for nondescript, this is it.”  

There wasn’t much space in the back, but they made the best of it and stayed down and hidden until they were well away from central London.  

They’d all left their phones back at the Baker Street address, they couldn’t risk being tracked to the safe house. Molly had spent much of the morning reaching out to friends and family and reassuring them that she was well, was taking some time off for a personal matter, but would be back to her normal schedule soon.  

The Fiesta pulled up to a mid-terrace two-bedroom house in the London suburb of Dartford. It looked utterly ordinary, and exactly like all of the other mid-terrace houses in the area. There was nothing special or noticeable about it in the slightest. Which was rather the point.  

The inside was the same. It had been refurbished in the same generic ‘contemporary’ style of grey carpets and white walls. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, one had a large king-sized bed that Molly and Mrs. Hudson would share. The second was smaller, with just a single bed for John.  

Once they got settled in, the three of them were sitting in the lounge and John said to Molly, “Tell me more about what happened on Holy Island. How did you find the book? What was the reference at the pub quiz? Sherlock didn’t give any details, as usual.”  

Molly walked him through the events in as much detail as she could remember. She told him about their research in the library, and exploration of the island itself.  

Mrs. Hudson listened for a while, then got up. She said, “I’m going to look at what dinner options are. It looks like the only supplies are things that keep good for a long time: tins and dried things. But I think I could manage a spag bol, and I’m sure I saw some tinned cherries, so I can make pudding.”  

John and Molly sat listening to her bang around in the kitchen, singing an old Elvis song.  

John leaned toward Molly and asked, “So after the storm hit and you couldn’t leave, then what?”  

Molly held her head up and said, “We had a few days when we couldn’t accomplish anything, had no electricity and it rained most of the time.”  

John nodded, paused, and said, “When Sherlock gets bored, he usually gets destructive in some way. In the past he’s shot holes in the wall, thank god he hasn’t relapsed recently, although there’s always the threat of that happening. I’m just glad he had something to hold his interest on the island so he didn’t turn destructive.”  

Molly spoke slowly, “You think it’s good I was there to use sex as a distraction.”  

John ran his hand over his forehead, “I don’t mean it in any demeaning or disrespectful way. But we both know Sherlock. Whatever is holding his attention in a temporary way gets thrown to the side the instant there is a particularly juicy murder. You are a good friend to him and to me, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”  

Mrs. Hudson peeped her head into the lounge and said, “Spag bol is ready. There is a cherry tart in the oven for pudding. Come wash your hands for dinner.”  

*****  

The evening was quiet and Molly went upstairs to get ready for bed. When she got out of the bathroom, Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard, doing a newspaper crossword puzzle. She looked up and said, “I know it’s just for a night or two, but I’m rather looking forward to this. It’s been ages since I’ve had a sleepover with a woman friend. What shall we talk about?”  

Molly grinned. “At every sleepover I’ve been to, we’ve mostly talked about boys.”  

Mrs. Hudson looked at her slyly, “If you think I’m going to tell you any details about me and Mr. Chatterjee, you have another thing coming!” She then put the newpaper on the bedside table and said, “How about I tell you the story of how Sherlock and I met?”  

Molly nodded. She knew the vague outline of the story but none of the details.   

Mrs. Hudson began, “I was married to Gerold for 17 years and that was not a happy time of my life. He was never physically abusive, but I guess the word you would use now is that he was controlling. Yes, controlling is a good term for it, I always walked on eggshells around him.”  

Molly sat next to her on the bed and listened. “I had long since learned to look the other way when it came to his business dealings, but after we moved to Florida, I had to take looking the other way to a whole new level. One night I overheard a conversation he had with an associate and they discussed ‘taking out’ three men who they thought were double crossing him. They were talking about murder and I just couldn’t look the other way anymore.”  

Molly thought about what a difficult situation she’d been put in, and wondered if she herself would have the strength in that position.  

Mrs. Hudson went on. “I was afraid to contact the local authorities, as I knew Gerold had most of them in his pocket. I snuck off one day and contacted the FBI. They were ever so helpful! I won’t bore you with all of the details of the sting operation, but they recommended that I have a free agent come and stay with me undercover.  They said they’d arranged for an Englishman to come under the ruse of being my nephew. He would simultaneously protect me and look for evidence to convict Gerold. It was Sherlock of course.”  

Molly smiled, picturing a younger Sherlock in Florida pretending to be visiting his ‘Aunt Martha.’  

“He stayed at my house for about two months, and made sure I was well away from home when the Feds swooped in and arrested everyone in sight. I really got to know him during that time, and if it weren’t for him, I might still be with that monster Gerald, or maybe I’d have been arrested too. I love Sherlock like the son I never had.”  

Molly was glad she had the opportunity to hear this story. It explained so much about why they were so close, their affection for each other, and why Mrs. Hudson was willing to put up with such a difficult tenant.  

“When the trial finally ended and I moved back to England, I learned that Sherlock was in a rehab facility after a major relapse. It made me so sad because I knew what he could be.”  

She reached over and patted Molly’s hand, “People with addiction issues aren’t really any different than you or me. They can be just as funny, obnoxious, smart, shy, or any other personality type. But when they are using, the addiction takes all that away. It’s like their personality gets buried under the drugs. Sherlock is such a unique man, I didn’t want the drugs to take away his shine.”  

She smiled at Molly, “Sherlock is on a journey, you know, as we all are. When he first came to stay with me in Florida I asked him if he missed his friends back in England and he bruskly informed me that he never had friends and never would. I don’t think he’d even pretend that to be true anymore. He puts on the cool and aloof act, but the facade slips more and more. He’s just a lonely man, looking for connections, like we all are.”  

Molly’s eyes were watery as she looked at her older friend. Molly said, “John thinks Sherlock was using me as a distraction because he was bored, and it means nothing. He thinks Sherlock will always go chasing the next case and give me no more thought than a friend who will supply him with an occasional severed head.”  

Mrs. Hudson looked at her kindly, “Sherlock was been bored and looking for distraction dozens of times back at Baker Street, and he never went to John looking for sex, or to that nice DI Lestrade, or anyone else except you. And my hearing might not be all that great, but the noises I heard this morning didn’t sound like he was requesting a severed head from you. You were both back in London, Sherlock had a case he was working on, and wasn’t bored, yet he still looked to you for... well let’s call it affection.”  

Mrs. Hudson got up from the bed and headed to the loo. “I’m going to put in my sleeping curlers and my moisturizing night mask. You think about what I’ve said.”

Chapter Text

Friday, November 21, 2010  

Sherlock stood in the shadowy ruins of the former manor house in Tyro Amir. It was the only building still standing, so he presumed the meeting would be here.  

He’d arrived in Plymouth last evening and spent the night doing research, sending texts, and thinking... mostly thinking.  

But now in the cold, foggy morning in Tyro Amir, he waited for someone to approach. He heard the echoing footsteps behind him. A shadow projected on the dark interior of the tumbled down manor wall.  

Without turning around to look at the man, he said, “Hello Ramon.”  

He heard a cold laughter. “Good, well done. You weren’t fooled by any of the many signposts I left leading you to believe it was Moriarty?”  

Sherlock replied, “In my experience Moriarty doesn’t leave signposts. He prefers to stay in the background. The obvious signposts were what lead me to know it wasn’t Moriarty. Although obviously he helped you.”  

Another chuckle. “You figured that out too, you really are a clever boy.”  

Sherlock now turned to face him. “You are a gang leader, known for thugary, not subtle machinations. All of the details involved in forging and legalizing a marriage certificate really aren’t in your wheelhouse. Which leads me to my main question: why?”  

Ramon's voice echoed off the dark walls. “Moriarty of course helped me plan my escape from the prison in Peru, and helped me fake my death. Which led us to discussing you and how we both despise you. It was you who put me in that disgusting, filthy prison, knowing there was a very high chance that I would be killed there by the other gang leaders. I consider that a murder attempt by you. Of course, Moriarty despises you for interfering in his business.”  

A little smile played on Ramon’s face, “But I knew something he didn’t. Due to our, shall we say intimate encounter , I knew that a romantic heart beats beneath your icy exterior. As much as you tried to hide it, I saw the softness inside.”  

He continued, “And now that you have experienced the first glow of love, I’m going to watch whilst it’s all taken away from you. Moriarty agreed that it was a good idea to give you a heart before burning it out of you. I have associates in London right now going to capturing your wife to bring her here. The book I left for you was even a little clue, I can’t wait to see the shock on her face when she realizes that her husband is actually a murderer. Attempted murderer at least. Then I can’t wait to see the horror on your face when I pull out my chuzo , or shank as you call it in English. It’s a blade I made and sharpened in the Peruvian prison, and I’m going to slit her throat with it.”  

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow, “If you expect horror, that just goes to show how little you know me. During the intimate encounter with you, I was acting . I do see that inside your heart is a love of anagrams. Marrying us off and leading us to the town of Roame, which is obviously an anagram for AMORE.”  

Ramon smiled slyly, “It worked though, didn’t it. Obviously I couldn’t plan for storms to cut you off for days, although at this time of year, it’s a common occurrence. Mrs. Hull is in my employ, and made sure you stayed in an unheated room with only one bed to keep warm. She reported on you holding hands, kissing, and looking forward to your honeymoon.”  

Sherlock replied in a clipped voice, “Again, you idiot, I was acting . We were portraying a married couple, of course we kissed and held hands whilst in public. I presume you had hidden mics inside the cottage and so you know we dropped the act once out of the public eye. You know I slept in the armchair.”  

Ramon looked disappointed, “No, I didn’t put recording devices in the room, I assumed you would search for them. Are you really saying that, despite being in a cozy arrangement with an attractive woman who’s obviously in love with you, you didn’t...?”  

Sherlock shook his head once, “Not my area.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and said, “Right. If that’s all there was to it, no hidden motivation, no secret plan, no twist ending... I must say I’m a tad disappointed. But to end this anti-climax... lights!”  

The Met police officers who had been hiding in the dark shadowy interior turned on their bright flashlights, just as they all rushed forwards, simultaneously yelling, “Down, get down on the ground! Hands on your head!”  

The officers, led by DI Lestrade converged on Ramon Quijada, as Sherlock rolled his eyes, walked away, muttering under his breath, “Idiot.”  

*****  

Back in the safe house in Dartford, after a peaceful night, Molly, John and Mrs. Hudson awoke to a boring day.   

Whilst Sherlock was setting out to confront his enemy, John was washing the dishes. Whilst Sherlock was speaking to Ramon, Mrs. Hudson was playing solitaire on the dining table. Whilst Sherlock was watching Ramon being hustled into the police car, Molly was trying to get interested in one of the books she’d found on the shelf in the house. She suspected the books had been selected for how they looked, without any regard for the actual quality of the story-telling.  

In the late afternoon, they were all sitting around desultorily, when there was a sudden banging on the front door. They all froze, looking at each other, unsure of what to do. John fumbled in his jacket for his gun, then there was the distinctive sound of the lock being jimmied, and then Sherlock was striding into the room.  

Everyone rushed towards him, all exclaiming, “What happened? Are you alright?” His eyes scanned each face, taking in all the details. He reassured himself that his plan to secure them in this safehouse had been a success and they remained unharmed.  

He said firmly, “John, take Mrs. Hudson back to Baker Street.”  

John stepped forward, looking confused, “Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?”  

Sherlock said tightly, “I expect so, but not now. I have inspected our flat and it is safe. Take her back there and we will meet you there later.”  

As John and Mrs. Hudson went upstairs to get their things together, Molly fretted. “Do you need a cup of tea? Or maybe something to eat? There’s some leftover soup from lunch.”  

Sherlock just shook his head and didn’t say anything.  

Within a few moments, the grey Fiesta was gone and zooming back towards central London.  

Sherlock looked at Molly, his eyes burning with intensity. He said nothing, just took another step towards her. Then another.  

Molly felt like a mouse that was cornered by a hawk. He had a predatory look in his eyes. She didn’t know if she should be afraid, or thrilled. She was thrilled.  

In two steps more he was on her. One hand was in her hair and the other was around her waist, his lips were on hers and her whole body felt like it was on fire.  

He was backing her towards the settee, but she knew from sitting on it most of the afternoon that it was hard and uncomfortable. She pulled her mouth away from his just in time to say, “Not here, let’s go upstairs. It’s better there.”  

He nodded and they started up the stairs. A thought occurred to her and she stopped and said, “What about condoms? I didn’t think to bring any and I still haven’t been by my flat to pick up my pills.”  

He reached into the pocket of his Belstaff coat and pulled out the box of condoms they’d bought one stormy night on Holy Island. He said, “I mentioned I stopped by the Baker Street flat before coming here. There's only 1 left.”  

She smiled and they continued up the stairs to the bedroom. She reckoned 1 condom should be enough. For now.  

Chapter Text

Friday, November 21, 2010  

Molly lay in the big bed upstairs in the safehouse in Sherlock’s arms. She felt completely relaxed and satisfied.  

She rested her head on his shoulder and said, “That was mad, it felt almost like I was a little gazelle being ravished by a hungry tiger. Not that I minded!”  

Sherlock hmmed, “I felt a bit like a hungry tiger. After I finish a case, especially a big case that’s taken a lot of time or mental energy, I feel like I have an excess of adrenaline and this was a very... satisfactory way to discharge it.”  

She giggled, “How do you usually discharge your adrenaline after a case?”  

He shrugged, “Sometimes I go to the Pall Mall private pool and swim laps until I’m exhausted. Sometimes I just smoke an entire pack of unfiltered cigarettes and play my violin all night.”  

She mock-punched him in the arm, “As a physician, it is my duty to inform you that one of those options is significantly less healthy than the other.”  

He said smoothly, “Is it? Is it really? I had no idea, none at all.”  

They lay quietly together for a while, he wondered if she would object to him having a post-coital fag. Given her recent comment, he rather thought she would, best not to risk a conflict, when they were both feeling so peaceful.  

He thought about how pleasant the situation was. Better than an hour in the pool staring at the lane line as he swum back and forth. And much better than driving John crazy by sawing on the violin until the wee hours of the morning. Having sex with Molly as a regular post-case option sounded ideal in fact.  

He said, “How would you feel about making this a more long-term arrangement?”  

Molly’s heart beat fast. Sex with Sherlock had very quickly become one of most favourite things to do on earth, was he suggesting a serious relationship?  

He went on, “We could set up an agreed-on code word, like ‘Q’ or whatever. I can text you ‘Q’ after a case is over, and we can meet up for an adrenaline discharge , so to say. I think this is something we both would enjoy.”  

Molly felt like he had just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over her. She said coldly, “So you text me whenever you want a quickie, and I dump whatever I’m doing to drop trou and bend over for you. Is that how it would go? What about me? Can I text ‘Q’ to you and you come to put out for me?”  

Sherlock wasn’t sure why this conversation wasn’t going the way he’d planned. He’s expected Molly to giggle and be thrilled with the idea of secret trysts with him. He uncomfortably said, “I have no objection to that idea in general, but I’m frequently engaged in research or on a case or doing an experiment. So I imagine that most of the time I would not be immediately available. But perhaps I could manage...”  

Molly jumped up out of bed. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes were blazing. “Stop. Not another word.”  

She pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. She said, “I am going to go take a shower. When I get out, you will be gone from here. Miles away. I expect that once I’m dry and have packed up my things, you will have arranged for a taxi to be outside that will take me home. To my home, not to yours. And don’t for an instant think of waiting for me at my flat, I don’t want to see or talk to you.”  

*****  

Molly walked down the communal corridor to the front door of her flat. On the one hand, she felt very glad to finally be going home, after two weeks of being away. On the other hand, she was so angry at Sherlock that she could barely see straight.  

She came to a sudden halt when she saw John Watson waiting by her front door. He said, “I got a text from Sherlock asking me to check out your flat before you go inside to make sure it’s undisturbed since last time we were here.”  

Molly saw the sense in that, so she nodded and handed him the key. He drew his gun and walked in tactical style. She waited in the corridor until he returned a few minutes later and said, “All clear.”  

They walked in together and spent some time getting the flat back into a habitable state. He threw out the wilted spinach, spoiled milk and some leftovers in the fridge that now had a layer of mold. She tossed out the remnants of the single rose that was still on her bed, and then put on fresh sheets. Even though it had turned cold, she opened the windows to get some fresh air and watered her very thirsty looking plants.  

John had made them both a cup of tea, and they sat on the settee together.  

He said, “Do you want to talk about what happened with you and Sherlock tonight, or would you prefer to not talk about it at all?”  

She said, “How do you know anything happened between us?”  

He answered, “I’ve lived with the git for over a year, and some deductive abilities have rubbed off on me. When I got back to my flat, the box of condoms which had been sitting out was gone, and Sherlock was the only one who could have taken it. At the safehouse he was staring at you intently whilst ordering me and Mrs. Hudson to leave. Originally the idea was that you would both come back to Baker Street, but a few hours later, he’s asking me to check on your flat, a job he would normally take on himself. And you showed up with red eyes and tear tracks on your cheeks.”  

Molly sighed, sometimes she felt so transparent. She said, “You were right, John.”  

His shoulders sunk low. “That’s what I was afraid of. I really don’t want you to get hurt. We both know what a prick he can be.”  

He reached out and gripped her hand, “It’s obvious to everyone that you are the best thing that could possibly happen to Sherlock. Maybe his only chance at true happiness. But until that’s obvious to him... well, you’re a smart lady, and I’m sure you can make the right decisions as to what to do about this.”  

Molly nodded, she just felt so tired.  

John asked, “Do you feel safe here? If you want, I don’t mind staying and kipping on the sofa to give you some peace of mind.”  

She said, “Thanks, John, you’re a good friend. But I’m just glad to be back in my own flat, and I feel safe here. Good night.”  

*****  

Sherlock walked into his flat and threw himself into his favourite chair. He scowled and fidgeted. He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong, why Molly had reacted the way she did. Everything had been going so well, and then she was suddenly furious with him.  

What had he said that was so wrong? She had obviously greatly enjoyed when he came home from the case and ravished her. He had only suggested that they continue doing so more often.  

Just then Mrs. Hudson came in with a platter with tea and sandwiches. She put the tray on the small table next to him and settled herself down across from him in John’s chair.  

She said, “It takes a lot to upset Molly. She's one of the most easy-going people I know.”  

He picked up a sandwich and examined it. Tuna salad. He said, “What makes you think she’s upset?”  

Mrs. Hudson said, “The way you looked at her when you came to the house made your intentions clear to the entire neighborhood. Yet here you are now, face like a thunderclap. You obviously did something to upset her.”  

He took a big bite of the sandwich and said nothing.  

She continued, “Has it registered in that big brain of yours that everything changed when you first saw that certificate? You’ve known Molly for years, her attraction to you, her love for you has always be obvious, you’ve spent time together and you know what she’s like. Yet all it takes is that marriage certificate being posted online, then you move her into your flat, whisk her away to make sure it’s legitimate, and then start having sex with her.”  

 He took a sip of his tea. “It was for a case.”  

“Pah! The patented Sherlock Holmes excuse for everything!” She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “What is your opinion in general of marriage?”  

He quirked up one eyebrow. “In my experience it’s almost 100% unhappy. It’s the primary cause for domestic murder, or I’m being employed to investigate infidelity. My opinion of it could scarcely be lower.”  

Mrs. Hudson made a shooing motion with her hand, “You’re intelligent enough to recognize that you have a skewed sample size. Happily married people don’t come to you to investigate their beloved spouse.”  

She decided to take a different tact. “Do you think John will marry?”  

He swallowed the rest of his sandwich and said, “John Watson was born to be a husband. I estimate an 82% probability he’ll be happily married within 3 years.”  

She said, “Your primary model for your view on marriage is of course your parents. They have a happy marriage, don’t they?”  

He rolled his eyes, “Disgustingly so. They’ve been married 48 years and still dance in the lounge to Elvis’s Love Me Tender on a regular basis. You can imagine how mortifying it was for me as a teenager to catch them making out in the kitchen.”  

She nodded. “And now you have your very own Mrs. Holmes.”  

He shook his head, “Not Mrs. Holmes, she would retain her last name of Hooper, not change it. We discussed this last week.”  

A little smiled appeared on Mrs. Hudson’s face. “Discussed it last week, did you? Interesting.”  

Sherlock got up and said, “I think we’re quite finished with this tedious conversation. Today I faced down a Peruvian thug and prevented my thankless friends from being murdered. I believe I’ll go to bed.”  

He walked off down the hall.  

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 22, 2010  

The next morning Sherlock was pouring himself a cup of coffee when John walked into the kitchen.  

John stared at Sherlock for a moment and said, “Since you didn’t bother asking, Molly’s flat was safe and looked as if no one had been in it for weeks.”  

Sherlock took his coffee to his chair, sat and said, “I know. You would have notified me immediately it if that weren't the case.”  

John stood in the kitchen with a look of disbelief on his face. “That’s all you’re going to say? Molly was so upset at your...”  

Sherlock interrupted him with, “No, not again! Shouldn't you be at your girlfriend’s place. You haven’t been able to visit her for days. Better go over now, or she’ll dump you. Again.”  

John shuffled his feet. “What do you mean?”  

Sherlock, feeling on safer footing now, said, “It’s quite apparent that whilst Molly and I were gone you reconnected with your former girlfriend Dr. Sarah Sawyer. You spent most of the previous week in a ‘honeymoon phase’ of your relationship, spending most nights at her flat and having copious amounts of intercourse. Last time you were a couple she gave you the boot because she felt unappreciated and like you didn’t spend enough time with her. You’d better go over there before that happens again.”  

John was perplexed, “How do you know that?”  

A bored voice from the doorway to the landing said, “Dr. Watson, you should know better by now than to ask that question. An inordinately long, tiresome answer will eat up the next several minutes of your life due to my brother’s limitless desire to show off. And none of us really wants that, do we?”  

John was startled. “Mycroft! You’re back.”  

Sherlock didn’t look up from sipping his coffee, “Were you away? I hadn’t noticed.”  

The others ignored him and John said, “You were in North Korea, eh? That must have been a bit harry.”  

Mycroft gave an insincere smile and said, “It was certainly not as... productive as I’d hoped. The leadership is quite stubborn on certain matters. Rather like my dear brother.”  

Sherlock chugged the last of his coffee. “What a delightful visit it's been, brother mine. However, I’m very busy so if you’ll just... pop along...”  

Mycroft frowned and pulled out a thin manilla folder. He opened it and said, “Busy? I doubt that very much. In fact, it looks as though just yesterday you completed a lengthy case that resulted in the arrest of one Ramon Quijada, previously deceased, who is currently being held in the Dartmoor Prison pending his extradition to Peru.”  

He then shuffled to the next page in the folder. “When I picked up the file as to your goings on whilst I was away, I was rather surprised to find a marriage certificate. It’s an excellent forgery, the signatures are spot-on. But it was obvious from the start that it is a forgery, marriage isn’t exactly your forte, and even if you did... Manchester !?!” He said the city’s name as others would say a dreaded disease or a disgusting insect.  

Sherlock said nothing, just stood and took his mug to the kitchen. Mycroft continued, “Although clearly related to the Quijada case, the quality and delicacy of the forgery speaks to a more sophisticated criminal. And yet the idea of forcing you unwillingly into a legal marriage speaks to a childish playfulness that brings to mind only one name: James Moriarty. Quijada hired him as a consulting criminal.”  

Sherlock said in a small voice, “Obviously.”  

Mycroft said, “One day you will need to have a final confrontation with Moriarty, but today is not that day. Luckily for you, the procedure for dissolving a fraudulent marriage is not onerous. Here is the form.”  

He put two pieces of paper into a file and held it out towards Sherlock, “Inside this file is a copy of your marriage certificate and a Nullity Application form. You and Dr. Hooper must both sign it. We have CCTV from the 22nd of October, the date of your ‘marriage’ showing Dr. Hooper spending hours at a charity shop for felines in Blackheath, and other CCTV showing you at Scotland Yard headquarters. This should be sufficient evidence that you were both in London on that day, not Manchester. Take the form to our solicitor, along with a £595 fee, and after a brief, uncontested Family Court hearing, your marriage will have never happened.”  

Sherlock didn’t turn around but busied himself with the kettle. Mycroft frowned and put the folder on the small table next to Sherlock’s Corbusier chair. “You have ten weeks after you can be shown to know about the fraudulent marriage to file to nullify it. In picking up the certified copy from Manchester, you are showing that you are aware of it, so the clock started ticking then.”  

Sherlock still said nothing and didn’t turn around to look at him.  

Mycroft turned his attention to John, “I’ve no idea how you manage to live with him. I’d advise you to do all that you can to maintain your renewed relationship with Dr. Sawyer so as to spend as much time as possible away from him. As he and I share blood, I unfortunately do not have that option.”  

*****  

Time passed for Molly.  

She went back to her job and neatly sidestepped any questions about where she’d been for two weeks. A sudden personal matter was all she’d say.  

She decided to do the 10K instead of the 5K in the Cats Protection Charity Fun Run. Her friends from the Lazy Girls running club helped motivate her and get her up to speed. She wore her newly earned t-shirt with pride.  

She helped organize the charity shop’s Christmas party for the volunteers. They rented a karaoke machine and Molly belted out Last Christmas by Wham! after she’d had a few hot buttered rums.  

When she saw Sherlock at work, she was professional but distant. She didn’t volunteer to help him anymore than she was required to for her job. He didn’t ask for any body parts.  

*****  

Time passed for Sherlock.  

Cases came regularly. The more he solved, the more his name started to become known and the more good cases came his way. The Cranberry Caper was particularly well responded to. After his cases he went for long swims in the Pall Mall private pool.  

John was spending an ever-increasing amount of time with his girlfriend Sarah. They often went away for weekend in the Cotswolds or Bath. During the week John stayed at her place three or so times a week. She came to his Baker Street flat, but never stayed the night after the first disastrous time when Sherlock barged in on them demanding John’s immediate attention for help identifying an especially curious mushroom.  

After a small, dull Christmas get-together at their flat, Sherlock went to his parent’s home for the actual holiday and endured his father’s fussing and his mother’s nagging about calling them more often.  

He went to Barts when necessary for his work. Molly was polite, efficient and helpful. But she didn’t do more than necessary. She didn’t linger in the lab to watch him work. And she didn’t engage in nervous chatter. He missed it.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 6, 2011  

Molly jumped when she heard the pounding on her front door. She had mostly gotten over the jumpiness she felt at first from having her home violated when the rose was left on her bed, but she couldn't imagine who it could be.  

She looked through the peep hole and saw the familiar curly dark hair that led her to immediately open the door.  

Sherlock reached into his coat pocket, extracted something that looked like a rag, and thrust at her saying, “Here, I didn’t know who else to bring this to.”  

Molly took the thing, and upon closer inspection, she saw it was a kitten. A small, wet, bedraggled, filthy orange kitten. It was shivering madly.  

She immediately took action. “Go get the duvet off my bed and take it to the settee. I’ll get a towel.”  

In a few minutes, the kitten was wrapped in the towel and placed on Molly’s chest as she sat next to Sherlock on the settee. They were all under the warm duvet.  

She asked, “The poor dear, where did you find her?”  

He said, “I was leaving a crime scene, the forensic department had just left and I was looking it over to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, when I heard something rustling under some rubbish in the corner of the alley. I found this... thing.”  

Molly laughed, “It looks like the cat distribution system decided it’s your turn.”  

Sherlock's brows came down, “The cat distribution system? What are you on about?”  

She said, “When I was growing up, we always had a cat or two. We never bought them or anything, they just... happened. Much like this one happened to you. My dad always said it was the cat distribution system. The universe just decided it was your turn for a cat and provided one for you.”  

He rolled his eyes, “This is not my cat, this is your cat. Besides, you’d think the universe would have more important things to tend to rather than providing cats to people.”  

She said, “Nope. It’s a high priority for the universe obviously. My dad and I would always name them after the last thing we’d eaten. I had a cat named Biscuit. Another one was Chip. My favourite was a grey one called Fish Pie, but we called her Fishy.”  

He asked, “What about Toby? Is this some obscure food I am unaware of?”  

She checked on the little cat who had stopped shivering. “Toby was inherited from my aunt when she went into a care home. I had nothing to do with naming him. What was the last thing you had to eat?”  

He answered, “That is irrelevant because it’s not my cat. However, this morning I had leftover yellow Thai curry from last night. Since this is your cat, the better question is what you last ate.”  

She said, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast? Well, coincidentally, I just finished dinner and it was a delicious Indian chickpea curry. Since it fits both of us, I guess her name is Curry. It even goes with her orange colour.”  

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, she was suddenly aware that they were very close together, their legs pressed against each other. It was the closest she’d been to him since that night at the safe house. She said, “Did you have cats growing up? You must have had some sort of pet.”  

Sherlock replied, “It was more of a dog family. We had an Irish Setter, and he would have eaten any cats. I must admit, I think I’m more of a cat type person now. I admire their independent natures, they always appear to be deep in thought.”  

She said, “See? The cat distribution system knew that and decided it was time for you to get your first cat and provided Curry here.”  

He pondered, “Maybe it was a birthday present.”  

Molly was surprised, “Is today your birthday? I had no idea.”  

“Do not, under pain of death, tell John about this. I’ve worked hard to keep that information secret.”  

She smiled, “I pinky promise.”  

They both turned their heads to face each other and Molly was aware of how very close they were. His face was maybe an inch from hers.  

She said, “Happy birthday Sherlock.”   

She bent forward to kiss him. Maybe she meant to kiss his cheek, but somehow their lips met and they were kissing. Her mind was flooded with memories of them together, and the kissing extended.  

There was a tiny mew and Molly pulled back with a start. She really hadn’t meant for that to happen.  

She cleared her throat and said, “Little Curry here is probably hungry. Go into the kitchen and in the cabinet on the right side you’ll find some leftover wet cat food and kibble from Toby. I’ll get her some water.”  

Curry ate and drank ferociously, then Molly took her into the bathroom and wiped her with a warm damp flannel, until her orange coat was clean and shiny. Sherlock filled up a hot water bottle and they put it in a shoe box, covered it with the towel, and put Curry inside. She fell asleep right away.  

Looking down on the sleeping bundle, Sherlock said, “I think it’s obvious that I am merely a conduit for the cat distribution system and this is meant to be your cat. You have the experience, and the equipment. I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea what to do to save this kitten’s life.”  

Molly looked fondly at Curry, “I don’t know if I’m ready to get another cat. It’s been such a short time since Toby died. God! I can’t believe my cat was murdered by a mad killer!”  

Sherlock said, “Unfortunately, when you are in my orbit you may come to the attention of criminals. But it’s been two and a half months, I think you’re ready. Plus, the look in your eyes when you see this kitten is enough to convince me.”  

She nodded, “Speaking of you and attention, you are getting more public attention these days. I read the online article about you in London Crimestoppers. Your name is certainly getting out there more.”  

He said, “Yes, I was surprised the author of that article did her homework. She even looked into vital public records about me. I’m sure you noticed that she wrote that I am married to a doctor at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.”  

Molly had noticed. Her stomach flip flopped when she read that bit. Her and Sherlock being technically married was something she tried not to think about much, as it always left her feeling confused.  

He said, “Mycroft brought to my attention that to get the marriage nullified, we have to submit some paperwork to the court within 10 weeks of learning of the fraudulent marriage. That gives us only a week, plus a few days. I have the paperwork at my flat, if you would like to stop by.”  

She nodded. She didn’t know why she felt so sad by the idea of nullifying the marriage. Neither of them had chosen for it to happen and it had never been real. But still...  

Sherlock stood and walked towards the front door. “Come over tomorrow, and we’ll work this out.” He put on his coat and turned to her, “Thank you for taking care of Curry, I don’t know what else I would have done. I can always depend on you.”  

He bent down and kissed her. Again, it was meant to be a brief, thank you kiss, but it didn’t turn out that way. Their lips lingered, then returned to pressing passionately together. After a few minutes he pulled away and pressed their foreheads together.  

“I have to go. Goodnight Molly.”  

“Goodnight Sherlock. Happy birthday.”  

He left and Molly shut and locked the door. That had been an unexpectedly intense night. She’d gained a cat and made out with Sherlock. Twice. Oh, and they’d discussed dissolving their marriage.  

She went to check on the sleeping kitten.  

Chapter Text

Saturday, January 7, 2011   

Molly came into the open door off the landing at 221B Baker Street and immediately started taking off her shoes. “Ugh! The rain just won’t stop! I left my brolly and mac downstairs, but my shoes are positively squelching.”  

Sherlock waited until she was done and handed her a hot mug of tea. “Ta” she said.  

They settled on the sofa and he said, “How’s Curry?”  

She said, “I took Curry to the vet this morning for a full check-up. First thing is that she’s a boy. I should have guessed, over 80% of orange cats are male.”  

“Really? I didn’t know that. Are any other feline coat colours sex related?  

She answered, “Yes, almost all tortoiseshell cats are female. Over 99%. Anyway, the vet said Curry is underweight and dehydrated, but besides that, he’s a generally healthy 8-week-old kitten who hasn’t been microchipped. He was dewormed and got his first round of vaccinations.”  

He said, “Have you accepted that he’s your cat? It was clearly meant to be.”  

She smiled, “Yes, I accept it. But he’s your responsibility too! You owe me cat support or something. The occasional tin of Whiskas.”  

He put up his hands. “I’m happy to pay cat support. I’ll be solely responsible for vet bills and cat nip.”  

They grinned at each other, then Molly looked around and said, “Where’s John? Is he working?”  

Sherlock shook his head, “No, he’s at Sarah’s.”  

Molly put one eyebrow up, “I see. Sounds like they are getting pretty serious. Does he spend a lot of time over at hers?”  

He nodded. “Increasingly so. If things continue on as they have been, I estimate he will move to her flat in two months.”  

She gently asked, “How do you feel about that? Is it a bit... lonely?”  

He exhaled, “John and I have lived together for over a year and a half. This has been an exceptional time for me, both in terms of personal and professional growth. It is a bit difficult to see it coming to an end.”  

He moved both of their empty mugs to the coffee table. “I suppose I’m rather of a similar temperament to a cat. I like my freedom and independence, but it’s still pleasant to come home to the warmth of a human. Maybe the occasional pat.”  

Molly smiled, “Maybe the occasional scritch behind the ear.” She reached over and put her hand in his hair, pretending to scratch behind his ear. In doing so she twisted so that they were face to face and without a word or thought, they were kissing.   

This went on for several minutes, then Molly pulled away. She said, “We need to stop doing that. It’s confusing to me.”  

Sherlock pulled back, nodded and ruffled his hands through his hair. He got up and stood in front of the coffee table.  

“I need to apologize. That night, all those weeks ago at the safehouse, I was an idiot. At the time I expected you would enthusiastically agree to my boneheaded suggestion. I was flummoxed when you became angry. After I left I spent a great deal of time thinking about it. It was a mystery to me and you know my deep need to solve unexplained mysteries.”  

He was pacing in the small reception room space. “It finally occurred to me that we were approaching the matter from totally different angles. John and Mrs. Hudson both tried to get it through my thick skull that your feelings for me are romantically intense, love even. You were thinking with your heart and I was, pathetically, thinking almost exclusively with my dick.”  

He stopped, put his hands in his pockets and looked abashed. “After that I reckoned we both needed a bit of time away from each other. But last night and again today we seem to be falling back into the same patterns by kissing at every opportunity.”  

Molly was watching him, fascinated as always when he described his thinking process. “I don’t think we’re 'falling into the same pattern’. I think we are attracted to and enjoy kissing each other. It’s called sexual chemistry, and we have it in abundance.”  

Sherlock looked disconcerted. “I have few friends and I count you as one of that small number. Someone whom I like and someone who likes me. These both seemed fairly insurmountable hurdles. There are few people whom I really love and fewer still whom I think well of. With John on his way out of being my flat mate, I cannot afford to lose or diminish any more. The last weeks during which I have held a distance between us have been difficult for me. I am unsure as how to proceed.”  

She said, “I have spent a lot of time over the past several weeks thinking about this same issue, which is basically: where do we go from here? I think we can both agree that we are unhappy maintaining a professional distance with no closer interaction. I also think we can both agree that a purely platonic friendship seems unlikely because our tongues seem to keep accidentally becoming intertwined.”  

He nodded briefly, “Agreed.”  

She took a deep breath. She knew this next part would be the tricky bit. “The logical next step would be for us to attempt a romantic relationship.”  

He looked horrified, “Romantic relationship? Have you met me?”  

She was expecting such a response. “Yes, I met you years ago. We’ve worked together and been friends for quite a while. We’ve also had sex quite a few times and spend a significant time snogging. Oh, and I should mention we’ve been married for the past two and a half months.”  

He sniffed, “I don’t think a romantic relationship with you is something I could consider.”  

His blatant dismissal infuriated her. “Why not? What is so wrong with me that you could not consider it?”  

He stood with his arms crossed in his elegant designer suit. She was still on the settee, so he was literally looking down on her, “It would be inappropriate to say the least.”  

She was close to tears, “Why would you stand there like a haughty prick, knowing that you are hurting my feelings? Do I matter to you at all?”  

He looked at her dismissively and said, “You are being emotional. Your behavior is unseemly.”   

She said with controlled fury, “Unseemly? Yes, I’m feeling quite unseemly. Indelicate even. You see, I want this to work. I want it so bad I feel like my heart will pound out of my chest. I’m quite willing to be unseemly, to thrown a goddamn temper tantrum to get through to you. And yet you stand there and look cool.”   

His eyebrows came together. “I assume you don’t mean I look as though I have a lower temperature. I think you mean cool as in having an attitude of composure and an intriguing personality. Why would that be a bad thing?”   

She looked at him blankly. Did he really not understand? She said, “Being composed and intriguing isn’t a bad thing at all, but in a relationship, you need to get beyond that. No one is really cool in real life. If you think someone is cool, it just means you don’t know them all that well. Cool is always a facade.”   

Sherlock was momentarily lost in thought, he murmured to himself, “...being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.”   

Molly looked confused, “What are you talking about?”   

He shook his head, “Something John told me recently, I think he was trying to get the same point across to me, but I wasn’t ready to hear it.”   

Molly nodded, “That makes sense to me. I’m sure John struggles to get close to you for the same reasons I’m struggling. You can’t be cool and mysterious and become close to someone. It doesn’t work that way. To get close requires you to be awkward, honest and a bit uncool.”   

She stood and paced back and forth, “Think of old married couples who have been together for dozens of years. They can admire, love and deeply respect each other. But for their relationship to be honest, they have to know the real person, not just the refined version we show to the rest of the world. Relationships are about revealing your vulnerabilities. Being cool is about being confident, detached and above it all, but relationships are about seeing the person’s uncool side and loving them anyway.”   

Sherlock sat down on the settee. He was looking at her, trying to understand.   

She went on. “I know you already have deduced every embarrassing thing about me, so it’s pointless to admit things to you. But I will admit something uncool about me, then you have to admit something uncool about you.”   

She looked at him expectantly and he nodded. She said, “I slept with a teddy bear until I was 16.”   

He said, “I reckoned it was until you left for Uni. Alright, let me think of something.” He furrowed his brow, “I get motion sickness on car rides. Both uncool and unsexy.”   

Molly smiled at him. “Totally uncool and unsexy. Excellent. Let’s do another one. I get disgusting dandruff unless I use an anti-yeast shampoo regularly.”   

He huffed, “As if I didn’t recognize the scent of ketoconazole. Right, well, I use an anti-fungal product as I’m prone to athlete’s foot. It’s nasty, but effective.”   

She sat next to him on the settee, “For years I had a life-sized poster of Brad Pitt on my wall.”   

He gave a little smile and said, “I was a huge fan of Korn in 1994, which I’ll have you know was before they were mainstream cool. My mother’s favourite picture of me from my teen years I had a shaved head, ripped black jeans, a Korn tee shirt and unfortunate facial hair.”   

Molly laughed and put her hand on his knee. “What do I have to do to see that picture? Is my life savings enough to bribe your mother to show it to me?”   

He rolled his eyes up, as if beseeching the heavens. “You don’t have to bribe her at all, in fact, she has the picture framed on the living room wall. I’ve nicked it a dozen times, but she just gets another one made up. She probably has a dozen framed copies in her linen closet and just takes a new one out when I nick one.”   

They both laughed and she rested her hand on his cheek. “This is what I mean. I won’t.... care about you less just because you let me peek behind your inscrutable facade.”   

Love. She wanted to say that she loved him. In this moment of openness and honesty. But she couldn’t bear the idea that he would reject that from her.   

He looked at her with those strange pale eyes. “We’ve only scratched the surface of my faults. You know about my public faults: drug addiction, penchant for danger, obsession of crime cases. But there are all the things the public don’t know about, things even John doesn’t know about.”   

She softly said, “Tell me.”   

“I have excessive plaque buildup on my molars, psoriasis on my elbows, and worst of all, if I eat raw onions I get terrible gas.”   

Molly started giggling madly. She gave him a kiss on his lips and whispered, “Raw onions give me gas too.”  

He reached out and softly brushed her hair from her face. “Right then. Sherlock Holmes begins a romantic relationship.” He leaned forward to kiss her.

Chapter Text

Sunday, January 8, 2011  

Molly woke up sprawled on top of a naked, sleeping Sherlock. Her head was on his chest and their legs were intertwined.  

Outside she could hear the wind whistling and the rain coming down. A typical winter day.  

She felt warm, comfortable and happy. But it didn’t stay like that for long. Her mind began to race. What did it all mean? Sherlock said they were beginning a romantic relationship, but they didn’t talk at all about what it meant, how it would work. As soon as those words were out of his mouth, a sex filled haze descended upon them both.  

But given that Sherlock didn’t do anything in the normal way, what would a romantic relationship mean to him? She assumed it didn’t mean a pint of raspberry ripple ice cream and a rom com film.  

His lazy, sleepy voice interrupted her musings. He said, “Stop thinking so loudly, you woke me up.”  

She tried to gather her thoughts to figure out what questions to ask first.   

But he spoke first, “You’re wondering how this is all going to work. Badly, on my part, I presume. I’m a selfish, arrogant bastard and you’re a fool to want to be anywhere near me. But you are also the kindest, most patient person I know. So I promise to be less selfish, less arrogant, and the least bastard I can be. And hopefully you can be patient with me as I try to do better.”  

Molly sat up and pulled the duvet up to her chest. There was one thing she felt she had to confess to Sherlock, and she didn’t know how he would react to it.  

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye, so she stared at her hands, picking at the edge of the duvet. “I’m more concerned about the fact that I think we have... well I’ll call it uneven affection . I mean, I know you like me and all, but I...”  

Sherlock spoke in a low, soft tone. “You love me.”  

She looked at him. “Yes.”  

He sat up, the sheet pooling about his waist. “I know, I’ve known that for a while.” He ruffled his hair with his hand. “My brother has always tried to convince me that love doesn’t exist, but he’s a lonely ponce, so I take that with a grain of salt. My parents are deeply in love, so I have them as life-long role models, but they are less emotionally constipated than I am.”  

He reached out and touched her hand. “I know that I’m happier when I’m with you than anyone else. I miss you and think about you when we’re apart. When I think about losing you, I have trouble breathing. I don’t know if that’s love, I don’t know if there’s more to it. I hope you can help me understand what it’s all about.”  

Molly smiled and pushed him back so he was lying down again, and she got into position with her head resting on his chest and their legs intertwined. She could hear his heart beating fast.  

They lay there for a few minutes without speaking. Then Molly let her hand wander down and gave a little squeeze to his rear end.  

He chuffed, “Any particular reason for that bit of fondling?”  

She answered, “I’ve spent ages pretending not to look at your arse and really just wanting to give it a squeeze. Now I’m just taking advantage of having your permission to do so. I do have your permission, don’t I?”  

He responded, “Since we are naked in bed together, you can fondle anything that you want. When I am coordinating with Scotland Yard, not so much.”  

She said, “Hmmm, naked in bed, I can squeeze your arse. Whilst at a murder investigation scene, that would be a ‘no.’ I think I can remember that.”  

Then she groaned, “I just remembered, much as I would like to spend all day lounging in the lovely bed with you, I need to get home soon. I didn’t mean to leave Curry alone all night. He’s got food, water and a warm bed, but he’s so little that I need to get back to him. I never expected to end up staying all night.”  

He said, “Yes, I think the events of the last 48 hours have been surprising to us both, although certainly not unwelcomed. The purpose of inviting you over last night got rather tossed to the side. The original intent was to have us both sign the marriage nullification paperwork.”  

Molly’s breath caught. She didn’t know why, signing the paperwork was unrelated to the beginning of this relationship. But for some reason, she suddenly detested the idea.  

He said, “Mycroft printed out the form, put it in a folder, and left it on the table beside my chair. I haven’t touched it since then. It has since then been covered by layers of newspapers, crime scene photos, and dirty coffee mugs. It would be a hassle to uncover.”  

She wasn’t sure where he was going with this line of thought, but she said, “I can see how that might be an annoying task.”  

He went on, “Then we would both need to read and understand it before signing. I hate trying to comprehend legal documents.”  

She said, “Everyone hates legalese, it’s so long and convoluted. I think even solicitors hate it.”  

He continued, “We would also have to then take the Nullity Application certificate to my solicitor’s office. His office is in the most swish area of Mayfair. His furniture is from the latest designer of the day, but it’s always hideously uncomfortable. I despise going there and try to avoid it if at all possible.”  

She responded, “That sounds quite unpleasant.”  

He said, “Then we would need to have a hearing in Family Court. It would be uncontested, but giving statements at court is my least favourite part of working as a detective. All those self-important twats walking around in robes and wigs. It puts my teeth on edge.”  

Molly said, “I have to give evidence regularly in court for contested death hearings, and I never enjoy it either.”  

He said, “And then there’s the matter of paying £595 for the marriage certificate to be officially nullified.”  

She was startled, “£595? That’s a lot of money! I never thought about that.”  

Sherlock responded, “Yes, £595. That money could buy a lot of cat support. A great deal of kibble and cat nip.”  

He then took his hand, put it under her chin, tilted her face up until she met his startling pale eyes. He said, “So what if we... don’t.”  

She softly said, “Don’t get the marriage nullified? Then we’d be married. And in a romantic relationship.”  

He chuckled, “Most people who are married are in romantic relationships.”  

She stared up at him. This seemed like the most important conversation they’d ever had. “Why? Why would you want to stay married to me?”  

He ran his fingers through her hair. “That night when I came to your flat to tell you that Moriarty was a killer and question you about him, I asked why you’d broken up with him. You told me that you never felt like you could trust him, and that trust was a vital component for you. I agree with you on that matter. When I think about any person in the world who I trust, respect, enjoy and feel attraction to, well, it narrows down to one person. And it just so happens that I am currently married to that person. Once I’ve made up my mind, I do not vary. I see no point in undoing what is already done.”  

She looked up at him, imprinting this moment on her heart. She understood what he was asking, understood what he was saying.  

She said, “You really are the most remarkable man.”  

He smiled, “I know.”  

Chapter Text

Sunday, January 8, 2011  

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea when John Watson bustled in with his arms full of shopping bags.  

He said, “I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet, because I’ve got everything I need to make us a proper fry-up: eggs, bacon, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, beans, bread and potatoes. I know I haven’t been around here all that much recently, and I’m sorry. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sarah, and to make up for it, I’m going to make an unmistakable Full English breakfast for us two.”  

Sherlock said, “Is there enough for it to be for three?”  

John had already got to work slicing the potatoes and mushrooms. “Of course there is, if we stretch it a bit. Is Mrs. Hudson coming up to join us?”  

Sherlock sipped his tea, “No, not Mrs. Hudson.”  

John had the frying pan on the hob and was starting to put the bacon in. “If not Mrs. Hudson, then who?”  

Sherlock said nothing, just looked at him and sipped his tea.  

John then heard the sound of running water coming from the loo, which he previously hadn’t paid attention to. He turned to Sherlock in disbelief, “Molly?”  

Sherlock said nothing, just gave a single nod of his head.  

John angrily poked the bacon around in the frying pan. “I can’t believe it, not again! Didn’t you learn anything from last time? You hurt her so badly, the two of you barely spoke for well over a month! I can’t believe I have to tell you, of all people, not to think with your dick instead of your head. It was a disaster last time, what makes you think it will be any different this time?”  

Sherlock answered, “It’s different because this time I have committed.”  

John took the cooked bacon out of the pan and put the sliced potatoes in. “Committed? What does that even mean?”  

Sherlock replied, “Do you doubt that I am committed to you as a friend? Do you think that if you were in trouble I might not come help you?”  

John thought about that. “No, I don’t doubt your loyalty to me.”  

Sherlock said, “Precisely. I have made a pledge to Molly.”  

Just then, John saw Molly walk into the kitchen from Sherlock’s bedroom. She looked much like she ever did, her shirt was navy and yellow polka dotted, and her jumper was rumpled and had pale stripes. But her cheeks were pink, her eyes were shinning, and she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen. She smiled at him and said, “Morning, John.”  

He answered, “Good morning Molly. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here so I didn't pick up any vegetarian sausage.”  

She said, “Oh, don’t worry about that. It smells delicious!”   

Sherlock handed Molly a mug of tea, and then he went over to the table beside his chair and began to rummage amongst the things on it. He picked up a manilla folder, opened it and extracted the two pieces of paper within it.  

He handed the marriage certificate to Molly and said, “Somewhere around here are the pieces of the frame that I took apart to see if they contained a hidden microphone. Perhaps you can use it to encase this important certificate.”  

The other piece of paper he took to the fireplace. He took a silver lighter from the mantle and lit the paper on fire. Molly beamed at him.  

John watched from the kitchen as he fried the tomatoes. “Is that the Marriage Nullification form that you just incinerated?”  

Sherlock crossed his arms, “Yes.”  

John said, “So you don’t intend to dissolve your marriage?”  

Sherlock said, “No.”  

John shook his head as if to clear it. “You intend to be married, then, for real?”  

At the same time both Molly and Sherlock answered, “Yes.”  

John pointed at the two of them. “So... so... is Molly moving in with us?”  

Sherlock huffed and said, “I think she should, but she thinks we need to build up to that, give it more time. She's probably right, she usually is. And of course there’s the matter of cat-proofing the flat.”  

John took the saucepan of baked beans off the hob. “Wait, I thought you said that your cat died several months ago?”  

She answered, “He did, but Sherlock brought me a kitten.”  

John said, “He... brought you a kitten... Christ! It seems like there’s a lot I need to catch up with. How about we fill our plates with some of this breakfast and then sit down to talk. Molly, I’ll make you a plate, what would you like?”  

She answered, “Toast, beans, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms... everything except the bacon and the raw onions.”  

John handed her a plate. “Sherlock, what would you like?”  

He answered, “Everything, extra bacon, but I suppose you should also hold the raw onions.”  

John watched as Sherlock and Molly grinned at each other.  

*****  

October 29, 2012 by Kitty Riley 

The Star Daily Journal  

Sherlock Holmes – The Man Beneath the Hat part 2  

In part 1 of this series we covered Sherlock Holmes’s rapid rise to fame, his most notable cases (the return of Turner’s masterpiece The Great Falls of the Reichenbach), and Jim Moriarty’s failed attempted to portray him as a fake.  

In this article, we will take a look at the man behind the myth, the real life of Sherlock Holmes.  

Holmes is notoriously private, but some information has become known through public records and reading between the lines of John Watson’s blog.  

As portrayed in The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson, Holmes’s character is excentric, inconsiderate, loyal, brilliant, arrogant and even cruel. But there is one exception to most of these characteristics: his relationship with his wife Dr. Molly Hooper.  

Holmes married Dr. Hooper just over two years ago in Manchester, several years after meeting her whilst she worked as a pathologist at Barts Hospital. Dr. Hooper continues to work at Barts, and Holmes frequently visits there for work on his cases. Anonymous sources at the hospital have told this reporter that they interact frequently, and are warm, but not overtly affectionate in public.  

The few peeks we’ve had behind the curtains of their domestic life seems oddly normal. We know they live together in the famous Baker Street flat. We know they have an orange cat. We know she runs marathons in London. We know he bought both of them wedding rings custom made of fossilized dinosaur bone and metal from an asteroid. We know he takes a week off on their anniversary every year during which they go to some undisclosed island off the coast of England.  

But questions remain.  

Why did Watson continue to live in the Baker Street flat for 6 months after Holmes and Hooper married? Was there any truth to the rumors of Watson and Holmes having a physical relationship before they both became involved with women and got married? Is Holmes, famous for his publicly prickly and brusque persona, actually just a softie inside?  

This reporter will continue to look into these questions and more. Stay tuned for more information as it becomes available.  

-KR