Molly practically ran out the doors and down the steps outside of Bart's. She needed this holiday badly. Desperately. After the dissolution of her engagement, she needed some time to get away and figure out why it didn't work out. What she really wanted.

Three blissful days to herself in a lovely cottage in the Irish countryside. She'd read novels, sunbathe, eat ice cream, take long walks, even longer baths, and sleep. Ah the sleep. Perhaps she wouldn't leave the big bed with that comfy looking patchwork quilt for three days. It was tempting.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she picked up her bags at her flat and made her way to the airport.

Janine caught the boutonniere Sherlock threw to her and, just out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the way the petite brunette beside her's face fell at the action. The girl's heartbroken face was in stark contrast to the cheery yellow of her dress and fascinator. At first Janine was puzzled, but then she followed the line of her gaze.

Oh.

With a flush of embarrassment, Janine realized she'd made a mistake.

She turned to the woman beside her. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realized. Is there something going on between you two?" she asked quietly, gesturing towards the detective.

"What? Oh…no…god no," the woman shook her head back and forth violently. "I'm here with somebody else. I'm engaged. We're very happy," she added, inclining her head towards a dopey looking man standing next to an older lady Janine recalled being introduced to as Sherlock and John's landlady.

"Oh…then you don't mind if I?" Janine asked again.

"No. No, of course not. Go ahead. May the force be with you."

At the time, Janine had taken Molly Hooper's words at face value. People hear what they want to hear and she wanted to believe that the exciting Mr. Holmes was free.

But later, during that whirlwind month they spent together, there were undeniable signs.

The first was a whispered word from the darkness beside her at 3 am. (Though they'd never been intimate, Sherlock often let her sleep in his bed. He usually wasn't in it anyway. But occasionally the exhaustion would overtake him and she'd wake up beside him…sometimes even wrapped in his arms. At the time she chalked it up to affection, now she realized it had only been reflex.)

Janine didn't know who "Molly" was, so she'd asked Mrs. Hudson one day on her way out.

"Oh that's just the sweet little pathologist at that hospital…surely you met her at the wedding? Cute as a button in a canary-colored dress?" The older woman had replied.

"Ah…yes…"

"She helps him with his cases…don't how she can bare to be around him in that state…" Mrs. Hudson trailed off on one of her typical streams of complaints over Sherlock's erratic behavior.

Mrs. Hudson's choice of words, "sweet little pathologist" and "cute as a button" didn't make Molly Hooper sound like much of a threat to her newfound relationship. And it seemed natural enough that Sherlock would murmur in his sleep the name of someone he frequently worked with. Janine brushed it off.

Then one morning after she'd stayed over she realized she forgot to stick her hairbrush in her bag. She'd have to borrow his. She yanked open the top bureau drawer and began rifling through it…with hair like that he must have something.

She was just closing the drawer again when she realized that her finger tips had brushed over something smooth as she'd pushed aside some socks. A comb? She pulled it back open and repeated the motion.

It was a photograph. A photograph of Sherlock and Molly Hooper. Obviously taken when neither of subjects was paying attention to the photographer…she was staring at him with an exasperated (and yet affectionate) smile while he smirked down at her. She knew it was wrong, but Janine brushed aside a few more pairs of socks.

Beside the photograph was a little white gift box…inside it held only tissue paper. But underneath that was a little tag attached to a ribbon. It had clearly been wrapped around the box.

Dearest Sherlock, xxx Molly

Odd that he should keep that. But the final item buried under the black socks was the most damning: a white cloth napkin…like one might use for a dinner party, smudged with red lipstick.

A man just didn't keep something like that unless… At least, Janine realized that now. And that was why, when she received that message on craigslist from Molly Hooper, asking to let her cottage for a few days, she knew what must be done.

"You owe me, Sherl," she found herself saying into her mobile a few days later. "You know you do."

"I'm happy to help Janine, but I fail to see why I need to travel all the way to Ireland to do so. I'm able to easily solve 73% of cases right here from the flat. Just tell me what's going on."

"No…" She answered, trying to inject as much anxiety into her voice as possible. "I can't…I can't explain it over the phone. Please, Sherl. I know you haven't got another case right now. Mary told me."

"You're still friends with Mary?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

Janine snorted. "I'm still friends with you, aren't I?"

"Point taken."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Are you going to help me or not, Sherl?"

"What was the address again?"

Molly hummed along to the soft music playing as she moved around the small bathroom, preparing for a nice long soak in the large Jacuzzi tub. A bit of an unusual choice for what was otherwise a quaint country cottage, but she wasn't complaining. Getting out of town amidst rush hour traffic had been stressful, and the first order of business was a relaxing bath.

Candles, check. Music, check. Bubble bath, check. Book, check. Chocolates, check. And water proof vibrator (just in case), check.

She stripped and slipped into the warm water.

Ten minutes later she'd gotten to the first sex scene in her novel and was just reaching for the vibe when there was a loud pounding sound. It took her a few seconds to realize it was a knock at the door.

She ignored it, surely they'd just give up after a few minutes and go away.

The pounding continued. And continued. And continued.

"FINE! I'm coming! FINE!" she shouted, dripping all over the place as she stood and wrapped a large bath towel around herself. She sighed as she noticed the little trail of water and suds she was leaving on her way to the front door. When she reached it, she flipped the lock and jerked it open in annoyance.

"Yes?!" Her heavily ingrained manners wouldn't let her be any ruder than that, although she definitely want to be.

They gasped each other's names in the same instant, both jumping slightly.

"What are you doing here?!" Molly accused when she finally found her breath. If he thought he could drag her back to Bart's to pull out a body for him, he had another thing coming.

"Where's Janine?" Sherlock asked, with an equal measure of annoyance.

"Your ex-girlfriend Janine? Why would she be here?"

"She's not my ex-girlfriend."

"Tell that to The Sun, and The Inquirer, and The T-"

"Were you in the bath?"

"Yes…well I just got here and the tub is-," Molly hated the way she felt the need to explain herself and then she couldn't decide on a comeback. "Is bathing illegal in Ireland? That's none of your business."

"You're alone?"

Molly felt her face burn. Of course, her ipod would pick this exact moment to play the most embarrassing song possible.

"That is definitely none of your business," she bit out, with as much dignity as someone who'd been caught listening to "Hungry Eyes" from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack could possibly muster.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I meant, Janine's not here?"

"Oh. No."

Sherlock ducked back to glance at the number beside the door again.

"I'm…I've let this place for the weekend…on holiday."

"I see," Sherlock picked his bag up where he'd dropped it on the ground and gestured for Molly to move over so he could come in.

"No," Molly extended her arm across the door frame. "You're not staying."

"I'm afraid I don't have a choice. There won't be another ferry until morning."

The fact that this cottage was isolated from the rest of civilization by being on the far side of a large lake had seemed like a perk when she'd let it. Now Molly was kicking herself for not staying in a hotel like everybody else.

Still, she held her ground, glaring up at the beautiful bastard in front of her.

Sherlock groaned. "Molly who'd you let this cottage from?"

"I…I don't know it was all done from craigslist and email. They signed everything J.H."

"Naturally, she did. Janine Hanigan."

Molly just raised her brows questioningly.

"I think my ex, as you've deemed her, is playing a little joke on me…us. She's apparently still not over my pretending to care for her to gain information about her boss. She asked me to come here and help her solve a case. I didn't think…I knew that she had a cottage in Ireland."

"Oh." Molly could see the genuine remorse in his eyes, even though his tone was sardonic.

"And now, I'm afraid we're stuck with each other for the night. It's no big deal. I've stayed at your flat dozens of times. I'll sleep on the sofa. Just do exactly what you'd be doing if I wasn't here."

Molly thought of her vibrator and bit her lip as she moved aside to let him in. Sure. Exactly what she'd be doing if he wasn't here.