Molly got into her car, sighed, and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. It had been a trying day, to say the least, and the only thing that could possibly have made it worse would have been the arrival of Sherlock Holmes. It was an unavoidable correlation: Too many of Molly's perfectly satisfactory days had been unceremoniously ruined by the dramatic entrance of one consulting detective.

But of course, there was no Sherlock Holmes to sweep in and goad her into lending body parts and blood samples, no Sherlock Holmes to pester her with questions one moment and ignore her the next, no Sherlock Holmes to make her feel like crap and doubt her position. Technically, there was no Sherlock Holmes. As anyone who knew anything about current events could tell you, he had jumped off a roof and killed himself.

But he hadn't, Molly knew. And the more trouble his fake disappearance caused, the more she wished she didn't know. Yet here she was, about to drive home to a (probably empty, despite all the warnings she gives him) flat filled with various experiments and belongings of the detective. But to the rest of the world, he was gone. All that was left was-

Beepboop.

Molly groaned and checked her phone.

ANDREW BISHOP - SH

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered. "Who the hell is Andrew Bishop?"

"It's my new alias," announced Sherlock from the back seat.

Molly let out a cry of despair and slumped against the steering wheel again.

Her bad day had just bypassed horrid, dreadful and disastrous on its way to "shit."

"So you're leaving," said Molly in an attempt to recap the previous five minutes. They had been a long and very confusing five minutes.

"Yes," Sherlock said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child.

"I'm sorry, but where do I come into this?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a way that suggested he was struggling to contain his patience. "I can't do this without assistance. Once I am situated, I need you to supply me with a box of core necessities to aid me in my endeavor."

"And these supplies are...?"

"Irrelevant. What's important right now is your cooperation. Do I have it?"

Molly considered. It would be so easy to say no, to get out of this mess forever. Yet... She HAD promised to help...

"Where exactly am I going?"

"Moscow. It's only a couple days' drive."

Jesus, that was far away.

"What about work?"

"It'll be taken care of." He was watching her very carefully. She inhaled slowly and pulled the car up in front of her building, avoiding his stare. She turned off the engine and sighed. Stamford would kill her but hey, when Sherlock said things would be taken care of, they got taken care of.

"I'll do it."

"Excellent." He hopped out of the car and strode toward the building. She grabbed her bag and ran to catch up.

"But- Wait-"

In the elevator he turned around to face her again. "Of course, it will be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" She squeaked.

"Naturally. These are Moriarty's men. Once they realize you're aiding me, they'll try to kill you."

"You really should have mentioned this before I agreed to help..."

"Nonsense, you'll be fine. But to be safe, that's why you're not going alone."

The door slid open with a soft ding and they started down the hallway.

"Not going alone? I'll be working with someone? With who?"

"Friend of mine. Owes me a favor." Sherlock stopped suddenly. "You keep going. I'll catch up." He disappeared.

Suspicious, Molly cautiously crept down the hallway. Once she reached her flat, she pressed her ear to the door to listen for any activity, but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

She had finally relaxed her guard when she walked into the kitchen and was thrown by the presence of a strange woman, sitting at her table and texting.

"Erm, hello?"

The woman didn't look up.

"Um, hi, er, this is my home… Um, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help," the woman drawled, still fixated on her phone.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The woman looked up. She was gorgeous in every way that Molly had ever desired to be, the kind of face of perfection that teenage girls everywhere aspired towards. She looked at Molly curiously, as if trying to figure her out. The puzzled feeling was mutual, as Molly could have sworn she'd seen her face before. "You must be Ms. Hooper." She stated it simply; it wasn't a question.

That's when Molly realized where she'd seen her face before. The obituaries.

The woman had stood out to her because she was so extraordinarily beautiful, and Molly had been struck by the tale of how she was captured by terrorists or something and executed. It was tragic, like a romantic novel. She remembered wondering if the beautiful woman had had a fiancé… he'd probably be breathtakingly dashing.

But that wasn't important. No, the important thing was the executed woman was here, in Molly's flat and apparently breathing.

Molly gaped. "You're dead," is all she managed to say, and clumsily at that.

The woman leaned forward. "You're adorable." The door swung open behind Molly and Sherlock entered with a crumpled paper bag. She turned to him. "Is she yours?"

Molly felt her cheeks go red. "I'm not anybody's," she said hotly.

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock said blithely. "I see you've met Irene Adler."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Hooper," cooed Irene Adler, extending a long thin hand in greeting.

"Um, yes. Very nice to meet you." Molly shook her hand gingerly, as if afraid it might shatter.

The day had gotten very weird very, very fast.

"Do you have a cardboard box, Molly?" asked Sherlock, and then dived behind the counter before she could answer- which was worrisome, because she was quite sure she didn't, unless-

"Aha!" Sherlock reappeared with the box in question. "You really shouldn't throw these things away, Molly, they're very useful."

"I—" Molly starts, and then doesn't quite know how to phrase the question "Did you really just go through my rubbish, you bastard? What happened to boundaries?" in such company as Irene Adler, and besides, Sherlock Holmes had never respected boundaries in all the time she'd known him.

"Right then," said Sherlock, gently placing his paper bag in the box and sealing it with tape. "This is what I'll need delivered to me in Moscow. Neither one of you is to open it, and I will know if you have. I'm leaving in-" (here he glanced at the clock) "-two hours and I need to get some things in order, so here is your assignment. Molly, your new name is Jennifer Green, and your lovely partner here is Catherine Undershaw."

"Erm, partner?" clarified Molly, and received the "how idiotic are you" look in response.

"Yes, partner. You two are recently engaged for a civil partnership, you've been together for four years and in celebration are going on vacation to Moscow. Now—"

"Yes, yes, we know," interrupted Irene.

"She doesn't." Sherlock was glaring, actually glaring at Irene.

"Yes but I do, and I can inform her. Run along now, sweetie, we've got everything under control. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Sherlock's glare grew in proportion but he reluctantly seemed to agree. "Fine. I'll be in contact, you both have my number." And here he sent another impressive scowl in Irene's direction; Molly was shocked the woman didn't explode from the force of it. Rather, Irene smiled sweetly, and Sherlock turned away.

"Let me know if anything goes wrong," he called over his shoulder, and
disappeared.

"I hope you don't mind my staying here tonight, Miss Hooper," said Irene, turning her attention back to Molly. "I'm a bit of a fugitive at the moment, and if we're leaving tomorrow, we'd better get to know each other." She smiled brilliantly and Molly felt her throat go dry.

"Erm, it's Molly," she said. "I mean, you can call me Molly. If you want."

"Alright then, Molly," said Irene. I'll just go get my things, shall I?"

She stood up swiftly, pulled on her coat, and followed Sherlock out the door.

Molly waited a moment before checking to confirm that there was no one else hiding anywhere in her house with an important message or mission, and then sighed, leaning against the counter. Her back brushed up against the box Sherlock had left. It wasn't even that big- how could something so small be so important?

And why did she have to deliver it?

It was going to be quite a long couple of days.

She gathered her thoughts and stood up. There was no time to waste in feeling sorry for herself or wondering how the hell she'd gotten herself into this situation. She'd better start packing.