Molly and Sherlock stood awkwardly in front of each other.

"Well," he said.

"Time for you to go?"

"Yes. Thank you for your help."

"How long will you be gone?" asked Molly, stalling.

"Impossible to say. But I will come back."

She nodded. A car beeped outside.

"That's my lift."

She rushed over and hugged Sherlock, awkwardly throwing her arms around his waist. He allowed the hug, patting her on the back before gently disengaging, then left quickly.

Molly stood in her living room wondering if she would ever see him again.

Sherlock sat into the car. Mycroft was in the back.

"The documents?"

Mycroft handed over a travel wallet.

"Passport, birth cert, driving licence, pilot's licence, etc. We're en route to my warehouse, where staff will transform your appearance. Are you sure this is the way you want to go?"

"I told you: it's a perfect cover. As a charter pilot, I can go anywhere with ease. When we're not working, the man with a van gig will provide transport and convenience in London."

"Fine. The company is called MJN Air. The owner is a bossy older woman called Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. Your co-pilot and first officer is Douglas Richardson: I think you'll enjoy him. The final crew member is Arthur Shappey, son of Carolyn. He's a harmless soul, very biddable. You'll be flying out of Fitton airfield. The dossier will tell you everything else. I understand now why you spent all that time learning to fly a plane."

"Good."

"Sherlock..."

"It's fine...what's done is done. I'm sure I would have talked about you if our roles had been reversed."

"Ok."

"Look after them for me. Molly too."

"I will."

The car pulled up at the warehouse. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, tall, dark and handsome, wearing his signature Belstaff coat and scarf entered. Four hours later, sporting short auburn hair, coloured contact lenses, wearing a polyester pilot's uniform and hat with an abundance of gold braiding, Captain Martin Crieff of MJN air emerged. He got into an old transit van. Icarus Removals was written on the side. Martin drove to 22 Oakdale Avenue, just outside Fitton and parked outside. Using newly cut keys, he entered the house. Two guys and a girl sat lounging in front of a tv watching Pointless. The host, Alexander Armstrong, asked "Ok, so we want elements on the periodic table that do not end in –ium."

"Mercury," said one guy, triumphant.

"Copper," said the girl.

"Argon, Bismuth, Boron, Carbon, Gold, Iodine, Tin, Xenon, Zinc…there are several more but those should be pointless enough," said Martin, to general amazement.

"I'm Martin Crieff, your new flatmate," he added.

The guy who hadn't spoken stood up and held out his hand. Sherlock did not shake hands, but Martin was more than willing to get along with everyone.

"I'm David, that's Susan and this idiot here is Nigel. We all go to the local agricultural college."

"Aren't you a bit old for a house share?" asked Nigel the idiot.

"Well, maybe, but I'm short on cash. It's the attic room, right?"

"Yep," confirmed Susan. "Can we help you with your stuff?"

"No, thanks. I haven't got much. I'll be gone a lot: I'm a pilot, so I work funny hours."

"Oooh, that's exciting."

"Yeah, I love it."

Martin abruptly left the room and headed upstairs.

"What a funny guy," exclaimed David, as Richard Osman confirmed that almost all his answers were pointless.

A year passed. Sherlock settled into his new persona – hapless pilot by day, sometimes man with a van, and frequent rounder-up of Moriarty's cohorts. Mycroft kept in touch via previously arranged channels. Anthea booked regular hair appointments to maintain his auburn locks.

"Alright, Martin, geographical features that sound like music groups. Rolling Stones is a given."

"Right, geographical features. Em, oh, what about Le Cirque?" said Martin brightly.

"By which you mean the starting point of a glacier…yes, good one. The Moraines."

"Yes, I like it."

Arthur bustled in.

"Hi chaps. Mum says are we nearly there?"

"Arthur, have you heard the Captain or myself make the announcement about starting our descent?"

"No."

"Then what do you think?"

"I don't know but Mum wants to know are we nearly there."

"Arthur, we're about 10 minutes from starting descent into Aberdeen, so about 30 minutes from landing. Will that do?"

"Thanks, skip."

"Douglas: The 3 Levees."

"Oh excellent. We're never playing this one again, you're actually not bad at it. Ox Bow Lake?"

"A bit obvious, don't you think?"

"Yes, it is a bit."

"Think I'll just pop out to the loo before we start the descent," said Martin.

"Ok, I have control."

Martin unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his hat.

"Don't forget the hat, now, wouldn't want any of the passengers to think you were some other member of the crew!"

Martin opened the flight deck door. The toilet was situated directly to the right and as he reached out to grab the handle, the door opened and a young woman came out, walking right into him.

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry." She blushed furiously and looked up at him. Woah.

"Sherlock?!"

Martin blushed "Er, sorry, my fault, I'm Captain Martin, Captain Martin Crieff."

"Sorry," she said again, "you reminded me of someone I used to know for a moment, but now that I look again, he's much taller than you."

Sherlock was both furious and relieved that his cover wasn't blown. How the hell had Molly Hopper ended up on his plane? Mycroft should have warned him, if not stopped her outright.

"Are you really the captain?" she asked.

"Yes!" he snapped. She'd obviously hit a sore spot.

Suddenly became aware that they were still standing very close to each other and Molly moved away.

"Well, I'll just get back to my seat. I expect we'll be landing soon?"

"Yes," replied Martin, rather uselessly.

She smiled and turned back towards the seats.

Sherlock locked himself into the loo and briefly leaned his head against the door. His mind was awash with emotion and questions. How was everyone? Was she ok? She looked well. Why was she going to Aberdeen? He longed to call Mycroft immediately but they had agreed to only speak by phone out of arranged times only in the direst of emergencies and being flustered by the reappearance of The Woman Who Counted was not one of them. When did she acquire capital letters?

Martin returned to the flight deck.

"Ah there you are. ATC was on: we have to hold before descending, Aberdeen's a bit backed up."

"Right. Er: sedimentary rock?"

"Cheating…" replied Douglas.

Out in the cabin, Arthur was collecting rubbish.

"Any rubbish, madam?"

"Excuse me, do you know the captain well?" asked the long-haired woman in 3A.

"Skip? Yes, I'm one of his best friends," said Arthur proudly.

"Is he seeing anyone?"

"I'm sure he sees lots of people. Pilots have to have excellent eyesight."

"No, I meant does he have a girlfriend?"

"Oh! No. No one since the princess."

"The princess?"

"Yes, Skip went out with Princess Theresa of Lichtenstein for a couple of months but the long distance thing just didn't work for them."

"Goodness," said Molly, as Arthur walked away.

There had been a time when Molly was forward and asked men out but the presence and then absence of a certain consulting detective in her life had stopped all that. Perhaps it was time to get back on the horse. Something about the furious blushing and the hint of indignation had been surprisingly endearing.

"The captain has now switched off the seatbelt signs and cabin crew will have the door open shortly. Please remember to check the overhead lockers for your possessions. Thank you for flying MJN Air."

Molly stood up and put on her coat. Aberdeen's weather didn't look terribly friendly. She was determined to wait and see Martin again. Her perseverance was soon rewarded as he and an older co-pilot came out from the flight deck. She hurried up the cabin to join them.

"Oh hello again, Martin. I didn't introduce myself before: I'm Dr Molly Hooper. "

"Hello…this is my first officer, Douglas Richardson."

"Charmed. I'll wait for you outside," said Douglas significantly. Martin shot him a look of "don't leave me" but sadly Douglas chose not to see it.

"I wanted to apologise for earlier. Could I buy you a coffee in the airport?" asked Molly.

"Oh, don't you have to be somewhere?"

"Not until tomorrow morning – I'm here for work but they needed me first thing, so I had to come up this evening."

Martin and Sherlock struggled with the notion. Sherlock was desperate to hear news of home. Martin was terrified of women. Sherlock won.

"Yes, ok. Did you want to go right now? Only I've got some paperwork to file."

"Right, well, shall I meet you in half an hour at the arrivals gate then?"

"Fine. Right. I'll just go do that then."

"Great."

She stood there, as if waiting for him to say something more.

"Do you want to get off with me then? I mean, get off the plane?"

"Yes," she said with a small smile.

Martin followed her down the stairs and joined Douglas at the bottom.

"Ok, see you later then," said Molly and turned towards the terminal.

"Bye."

"Martin!"

"It's nothing, Douglas. Nothing to see here at all."

"I believe you are well on your way to a polo team."

"Oh shut up."