"Sherlock, you've become far too recognizable, prancing around in that ridiculous hat! This job requires the utmost discretion It involves national security. Your disguise has to be perfect." Mycroft Holmes was studying his younger brother carefully. Most of Sherlock's disguises, good as they were, required a scruffy, dirty, living on the streets look, because, predictably, that was were the lower class of criminal was to be found. But this job required that the detective go undercover as an IT specialist at a large bank in the CITY. No suit or tie required, but sort of nerdish office attire. Much like "Jim from IT", the nom de plume of Moriarty when he was courting Molly in an attempt to get to Sherlock. "We can't do much about those atrocious cheekbones of yours, but the hair, eyes, have to go…"

"Do you intend to blind me, Mycroft, and supply me with braille equipment. Just how far will you go for 'national security'?"

"Pretty far, brother mine. We may have to cut your curls."

"Never, Mycroft. I'll tell Mummy if you try!"

"Perhaps a dye job will suffice. And contacts. What color eyes would your prefer?"

"Brown, I think. Yes, definitely, brown is my favorite…"

"Yes, of course, Sherlock, I should have guessed that."

Sherlock gave his brother a snide look, but continued the conversation. "I take it my alias is all in place?"

"Of course. Your name is David McAdam, from Glasgow…"

"I hate Glasgow!"

"I know, Sherlock," Mycroft said with an evil twinkle in his eye. "We've set you up with a small flat in a rather dodgey part of town. You've educated yourself in the ins and outs of computers, I take it?"

"More than enough to get by, Mycroft. I take it I'm a shoe in to get the position?"

"Once again, of course. While other candidates may have better qualifications, you will come provided a top notch security clearance. Sure to impress the human resources staff. I'll pick you up tomorrow for your interview. I hope to be impressed with your alter ego."

"When have I ever failed to impress, Mycroft?"

Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes as he rose from the chair, dropping a file folder on the coffee table. "Your biography, Sherlock. 'Til tomorrow, brother."

By early the next morning Sherlock had transformed himself into David McAdam from Glasgow, and had presented himself at United Britain Bank and Trust. The bank required someone who could start immediately, as they had been left short handed by the sudden abdication of a key employee, no doubt arranged by Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft was very good at "arranging". As had been predicted, David McAdam's sterling security credentials proved the tipping point, and after a brief check with his "previous employer", he was shown to his desk in the IT pool.

The man who sat, feet on his desk, earbuds in, and studying a computer screen was introduced as the supervisor of the department, one Bill Lawton. Bill looked up to study his new colleague, and saw a rather tall, slender man with brown eyes behind a pair of black rimmed glasses. His red-gold hair was curly and disheveled, and he nervously ran his fingers through it, before offering his hand in greeting. He was presentable looking, perhaps too presentable. There would probably be lots of calls from secretaries sabotaging their work stations, and requesting a visit from "Dave from IT". Bill didn't really mind that, as he himself had often taken advantage of such a situation, but he was currently seriously involved with a girl named Jeannie, who didn't take kindly to such dalliances. Perhaps Dave could deflect some of the feminine interest!

David McAdam had settled in well at his new job, often volunteering to work late hours, even weekends. His supervisor, Bill was a kind and friendly man, but also very nosey. Sherlock was kept on his toes, filling out his biography with all sorts of invented personal anecdotes, which he then had to commit to memory. Bill noticed that he never took advantage of the overtures made by the obviously eager female employees he came into contact with. As Dave had told him that he had no girlfriend, being new to London, Bill chalked it up to shyness, which was easily believable, as the new employee never seemed to socialize with anyone. Bill, being a kindly man and in the euphoric early stages of a love affair, decided that every man deserved to as happy as he. Unfortunately, Bill then started his campaign to kick start Dave's love life, and his girlfriend Jeannie had the perfect woman in mind.

Jeannie Gilbert worked in the financial office at St. Bart's Hospital, and it had been mere coincidence that she had struck up an acquaintance with Dr. Molly Hooper. They met each morning at the coffee shop near the hospital which they both frequented. Before long they were meeting earlier and earlier so as to enjoy a leisurely chat over coffee before they started the day. They were about the same age, neither had family nearby, nor steady romances. They would often lunch together in the canteen, or venture out to a nearby restaurant. They even occasionally indulged in a girls night out. But, lately, Jeannie was convinced that she had met the love of her life. A sweet guy named Bill who worked in IT. Molly winced when she told her, having memories of her own foray into the world of computer geeks, but Jeannie seemed genuinely happy. Bill, Bill, Bill was all she could talk about, and she kept insisting that Molly just had to meet him.

Molly Hooper was sitting at a table with John Watson in the canteen at the hospital. Although no one had seen or heard from Sherlock Holmes for almost four weeks, this was no cause for immediate concern. Sherlock had often disappeared from sight for extended periods when working on a case. The fact that he had not been seen at 221B Baker Street was a bit unusual, but this may mean that he was working on the continent. The detective had been in touch by text almost every evening, checking on the well being of his godchild, John and Mary's daughter Claire. He would dispense parenting tips to the new parents with his usual arrogance, behaving as if he had a world of experience in that area. Sherlock may be gone, but he was definitely making sure he was not forgotten.

"So, Molls, you haven't heard from the wandering boy at all?" John inquired.

"He texted me to ask what was the difference between a nerd and a geek. I got the impression he was trying to figure out if he should be insulted by something."

"What the bloody hell is the difference?"

Molly broke into her best Star Trek Dr. McCoy impersonation, "Damn it, John, I'm a doctor, not an urban dictionary!"

John rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Are you now currently speaking geek or nerd?"

"Neither, that's trekker." Molly giggled a bit, but then couldn't help asking, "You do think he's alright, don't you?"

"'Course I do. He's been gone longer than this. Not a problem. I expect he'll be home sometime before Claire takes her first steps, if only to take credit for teaching her to walk."

The two were then joined by Jeannie Gilbert, smiling ear to ear. "Mind if a join you?"

"Not at all," John replied, pulling out a chair for her. He then winked and asked, "So, how's your love life?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to Molly about." She turned to Molly, and the words rushed out of her mouth. "I really want you to meet Bill. And he's really eager to meet you. All my other friends live out of town, or are married and busy with their lives. Can you come out with us on Friday, Molly? Please? We'll have fun!"

"Go on, Molly. You need a night out. You can't spend every Friday looking at us drool over Claire while Claire just drools. In a lovable way, don't get me wrong!"

When Molly agreed to go along on Friday to meet Jeannie's one and only, she had no idea that a similar conversation was taking place at another lunch table a few miles away.

"Come on, Dave. You don't seem to have any kind of life. I figure you're just not used to being in a new town, is all. Would it kill you to come out with me and my girl on Friday. A few beers, some good talk. You'll enjoy it!"

"I really…"

"Come on, mate. People are beginning to think you're anti-social. You need to get along with the people you work with. People notice things like that."

"I thought you wanted me to go out with you and your friend…"

"And some of the blokes from the office. There's usually a little get together at the Crown and Thorne on Friday after quitting. I know everybody there. I'll introduce you around . You'll meet my Jeannie. What d'ya say?"

Sherlock/Dave considered the proposal. It couldn't hurt to observe some of his co-workers out of the usual habitat. He did want to blend in, as much as he hated the idea. The case was progressing more than nicely. If fact, he had just about arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. A short visit to his mind palace to sort through things, and a brief summation for Mycroft, together with the evidence he had gathered, should do it. But it may be advantageous to make additional observations.

"You've talked me into, Bill. Sounds like just the kind of night I need."

"Great. Now, back to work. That sweet little blonde called for assistance this morning, asking for you. You made quite an impression." Bill didn't see the eye roll and look of distaste on his colleague's face as the headed for the elevator.

Jeannie Gilbert walked into the path lab at just after quitting time on Friday afternoon. She had touched up her make-up, and put on high heels,and looked appraisingly at Molly as she pulled off her lab coat. Molly had obviously made a little effort to be presentable. She wore tight jeans and a lovely pale yellow blouse, open at the neckline. She pulled her hair out of the ponytail she usually wore at work, brushing it so that it rested tangle free on her shoulders. The pathologist then slipped in a pair of low heels, and applied a bit of lipstick.

"How do I look?" she asked her friend.

"Perfect. Pretty enough to attract attention, but not enough to steal my BIll!"

The women then quickly exited the building, and decided to splurge on a cab to the Crown and Thorne, Molly rather unexpectedly looking forward to a night out, and Jeannie secretly smiling about her plan to fix up her friend. She knew Bill hadn't told his chum Dave about Molly, and she certainly hadn't told Molly about Dave. Word around St. Bart's was that the pathologist was well and truly infatuated with that well-known detective. Jeannie had never met Sherlock Holmes, or even seen him, as he seldom had reason to venture into the accounting department. But he seemed to strike fear and loathing into everyone he came into contact with. Except Molly. She supposed he must be very good looking, as a number of woman at the hospital were certainly not opposed to shagging him, as long as he kept his mouth shut! Molly deserved better! She was quiet, and smart, and good, and kind. And from her Bill's description, this Dave fellow was perfect for her. Quiet, intelligent, a bit shy, but never said a mean word. Maybe tonight would be the first of many nights spent together.

The Crown and Thorne was a bit crowded when the women arrived, and Jeannie was quite happy to see Bill and his friend holding a table for them. But when she started to lead Molly across the room, the doctor grabbed her arm.

"Jeannie, is this a fix up?"

The other woman tried to look innocent, but wasn't really succeeding. "Come on, Moll. He works with Bill. He's really nice, and a bit shy, I think. You'll probably scare him off!"

The look on Jeannie's face was so imploring, that Molly thought, what the hell, it's early yet! I can be home in a nice bath by nine o'clock if he turns out to be a total jerk!

Dave was sitting with his back to the door as the women approached, but a signal from Bill told him of his friend's arrival, and he rose to greet her. Molly stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth flopping open in a very unattractive manner. My god, he looks so much like Sherlock! Is it Sherlock? His hair was a bit longer, and was a reddish gold, but still curly like the detective's. He seemed a bit taller, and maybe a bit less slender. His eyes behind the black glasses were a warm brown. But the cheekbones! Oh god, the cheekbones were the same. She opened her mouth as if to speak his name, when she was interrupted.

"You must be Molly. Jeannie talks about you all the time. I'm Bill Lawton, and I am so happy to meet you." With that, the young man took hold of her right hand, encasing it in both of his, and introduced his mate. "This is Dave McAdam. I really sorry to spring him on you like this, but he's new in London, and doesn't really know anybody. Dave," he turned to his friend, "This is Molly, and this is my Jeannie!" He smiled warmly as he put his arm around the woman's waist in a possessive manner.

Dave reached out to shake hands with the women standing in front of him, then pulled out a chair for Molly. When he finally spoke it was with a soft Scottish burr, his voice a pitch higher than Sherlock's distinctive baritone. He ran his hand through his hair, and looked down at his feet nervously, with none of Sherlock's arrogance. Molly couldn't help staring, which seemed to make him more and more nervous. His reticence was endearing, nothing like the detective at all. This was driving Molly crazy. She tried to drag her eyes away from him, but kept returning to study him closely. The brown eyes could be contacts, but it was hard to tell, what with the glasses and all. The hair could be bleached, but if it was it was an excellent job, with no new growth showing at the scalp line. When he stood to go the the bar for more drinks, he seemed slightly taller than Sherlock, and a bit larger overall. But that could be due to the clothing he wore. An oversized turtleneck, and slightly baggy jeans. Not the form fitting attire that the detective preferred. Lifts in his shoes? Perhaps. Wait! Sherlock had a small mole on the right side of his neck. If she could only get that jumper off him. But that seemed a bit overly presumptuous, given their recent introduction.

"He's really cute, don't you think?" Jeannie asked while the men were at the bar, "But so quiet. Bill was right, I think he's shy."

"He reminds me of someone. Don't you think he looks like Sherlock Holmes?"

"Molly, you really do seem to have that man on the mind. Forget about him. Enjoy yourself! Listen. On the few occasions when you've taken your eyes off him, he steals glances at you. He likes you. I can tell. Trust me."

The men returned with more drinks all around. After her second glass of wine, Molly decided that perhaps her friends was right. She did think too much about Sherlock. Tonight she wanted to think about Molly. And Dave. Then she got a text message from John Watson.

JUST GOT A TEXT FROM SHERLOCK. HE'LL BE AWAY FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER WEEK. HE SAYS HELLO - JW

Molly immediately starting typing, then sent the message to Sherlock's mobile.

HELLO - MH

GOODBYE - SH

"Bloody arse", she muttered.

"Excuse me?" Dave said, looking at her with concern. "Have I offended you. I'm sorry…" He was practically stuttering.

She looked at him and smiled, "No, not you! Of course, not you! Just a message from somebody I know…"

"Then would you like to dance. I waited for a slow one. I'm bloody awful at all that other stuff. I promise I'll try not to damage your toes. At least too much…"

"I'd love to," she said with another smile. She seemed to be doing a lot of that this evening. When they got out on the small dance floor he put his arms around her and moved slowly to the music. He didn't really smell like Sherlock. No tobacco scent. Not Sherlock's expensive cologne. She rested her head on his chest, and he tilted his closer so that he could smell her hair. When Molly looked over at the table she could see Jeannie and Bill nudging each other in the ribs, and nodding in her direction.

"I think they're enjoying this more than we are," Molly giggled.

""That would be very hard to do, as I am enjoying this very much," Dave replied, and pulled her even closer.

Molly decided that he may not be Sherlock Holmes, but he would do in a pinch.

The rest of the evening passed too quickly. Bill and Jeannie were wrapped up in each other, literally and figuratively. Molly and Dave talked and laughed. They seemed to have an easy rapport, perhaps helped along by several more glasses of wine and lager. When the time came to leave, Dave McAdams insisted on seeing Molly home.

"Are you sure about this, Molly/" Jeannie asked as they split up outside the pub. "Bill says he's very nice, and he does work with him, but we did just meet him, after all…"

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself, don't worry." Molly kissed her friend on the cheek, then turned to give Bill a peck as well. "Jeannie was right, you are just about perfect." She saw him flash a warning look at his friend Dave, and the couples parted. Molly was surprised when her escort suggested they take the tube, as they couldn't find a cab immediately. Sherlock always travelled by cab, extremely wasteful in her view. Just another refreshing difference.

When they got to Molly's building, Dave insisted on seeing her to her door, but no farther. Molly couldn't really tell whether she was relieved or disappointed. She decided it was disappointment when he bent to kiss her, not on the cheek, as Sherlock sometimes did, but gently on her lips, with just the slightest pressure, indicating interest but restraint.

"Can I call you tomorrow?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'd like that."

"What would you like to do? See a film? Dinner?"

"Why don't you come here? I bet you don't get much home cooking. I'll cook, and then we can watch a video. What kind of films do you like?"

"Scifi. Zombies. Star Trek. Star Wars. I know a lot of women don't go for that stuff, but I'm a sucker for it!"

"I've got a whole collection! How about dinner? Any preferences?"

"Anything but haggis. That's the main reason I left Scotland!"

"I think I can promise you a haggis free night!"

He kissed her one more time before she opened her door to go inside, and then practically skipped down the stairs.

The next day Mycroft received a text from his brother.

CASE CLOSED. BUTLER DID IT.- SH

EXPLAIN - MYCROFT

JAMES ROBERTSON BUTLER. VP INTERNATIONAL ACCOUNTS SIPHONING OFF SMALL AMOUNTS FROM THOUSANDS OF ACCOUNTS BY USING COMPUTER WORM. CHINESE INVOLVEMENT. SUGGEST DIPLOMATIC ACTION. SEND MINION FOR FILE.- SH

WHEN CAN WE MEET? - MYCROFT

I WILL RETURN TO BAKER ST ON MONDAY - SH

WHY THE DELAY? - MYCROFT

DAVE HAS A DATE - SH

?! - MYCROFT

ASK MUMMY. I'M SURE SHE CAN EXPLAIN WHAT A DATE IS - SH

Dave showed up at Molly's flat on Saturday night, looking forward to spending the evening with his favorite pathologist. He had with him a bottle of good wine, and a bouquet of lilies. When Molly saw the flowers she did a double take. Lilies were her favorite, which seemed like a bad cliche given that she worked in a morgue. "I like your sense of humor!", she said, taking the flowers to put in water. He seemed to be a little lost.

"People think it's appropriate, you know. Lilies, morgue, corpses…"

Dave now started to turn pink, 'I didn't think...uh...I'm sorry."

Molly stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, "No! They really are my favorite, no matter how inappropriately appropriate. Thank you."

Molly really was an excellent cook, and dinner went off without a hitch. After the meal, they settled down on the couch to watch "Star Trek into Darkness", one of Molly's favorites.

"You know," Dave said, "somebody once told me I looked a bit like the bad guy, that Khan guy. I guess it's the cheekbones." He was getting more and more comfortable on the couch, snuggled up against Molly, one arm wrapped around her shoulder.

Molly studied his profile. "It must be. I have a friend who looks a bit like him, too. It's definitely the cheekbones, only with him, it's the eyes, too."

"Is that why you looked at me so funny when we first met? Do I look like somebody you know?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes the resemblance is uncanny. And other times, it's hard to see."

"How about now?" He lowered his face closer to hers, and Molly caught her breath.

Sherlock? she thought. Her heart was racing, her breathing speeding up. She felt the rough brush of his woolen turtleneck against her. What was with the damned turtlenecks? She wanted to rip it from his body and plant kisses on the small mole that she just knew in her heart must be there. He moved even closer to slowly press his lips to hers, moving with a slow and steady pressure. Her arms went around him, and his hand tangled in her hair.

Her world was upended. If this wasn't Sherlock, the undoubted love of her life, then why was she feeling this way. Why did it feel like some fairy godmother was granting all her wishes at one time. She felt herself slipping away, drowning in the moment. But she just couldn't do it. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't. Dave was nice. He was kind. He was almost perfect. But he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. Maybe they could have something meaningful, maybe she could grow to care for him, as she did for the detective, but not this way. Not after knowing him for just one day. So she regretfully pulled her face away from his, and disentangled her arms from beneath his jumper, where they had wandered at the height of her indiscretion, slowly moving them over the skin of his abdomen. And that's when she felt the scar. The one where the bullet entered and embedded himself into his liver. The bullet that almost killed him, and, by extension, her. She looked up at his face, his black glasses having been knocked askew. She looked deeply into his eyes, and saw the contact lenses floating on the surface. Slowly moving a bit forward on the couch, allowing sufficient space between them, Molly crooked her elbow and brought it forcefully back into his ribs.

"You son of a bitch!"

Sherlock Holmes was still fighting for breath, as the air had been knocked out of him.

"What was that, another experiment, Sherlock?"

He tried to answer, but was still gasping a bit.

"You've driven off every boyfriend I've ever had, one way or another. Now you're, what, trying to seduce me by proxy? What was the point?"

Molly was just getting started. Sherlock knew that look, and braced himself for the slap. Nevertheless, when it came, its ferocity surprised him. She was about to deliver another one when he jumped up grabbing his eyes.

"Molly, you've dislodged the lens. It hurts! Can you see it? Is it still in there? It must be in there! It hurts."

Molly shoved him back down onto the couch, "Be still, you big baby! I can't do anything with you squirming around like that!" She was now holding his eyelid open and examining the the offending orb. "Aha!" she shouted triumphantly, displaying the lens on the tip of her finger.

"You've blinded me, Molly." Sherlock was now holding his hand over his supposedly injured eye. "I shall have to get a white cane. And a bloody dog!"

"It's only one eye, you git. You can see with one eye. It just wreaks havoc with your depth perception. And your peripheral vision. You'll just have to ask any prospective assassins to approach from the left! No problem!"

""But it's my left eye, Molly!"

"I know."

She sat down and studied him. "Sherlock, you look really weird…"

"Really, what is it? The hair color? A bit much? Too gingery?"

"Your eyes. You've still got one brown lens in."

"Could you remove it, Molly. I'm still a little shaky, what with being semi-blinded and bludgeoned with a sharp instrument."

"It was just an elbow."

"You must admit it is rather boney. But lovely just the same, Dr. Hooper."

"Sherlock Holmes, that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

"Yes. I suppose it is. I'm sorry."

"For paying me a compliment?"

"No, for not doing it more often."

Molly moved to stand in front of him, examining his other eye in order to remove the brown lens. She made absolutely no objection when he placed a hand on each of her hips.

"I was undercover, Molly, working a case for Mycroft. I had no idea Bill was planning on setting me up with someone."

"But you texted me back!"

"Wiggins has my phone, in case of emergencies. I told him to reply appropriately, but non-committally to any incoming texts."

"When I first saw you, I just knew it was you! I knew! But then you were so nice. So kind. You paid attention to me, you danced with me, you flirted with me. When you kissed me, I really wanted it to be you. But that's when I became convinced it wasn't you! Why, Sherlock?"

"I was playing a part, Molly. It felt good. It felt right."

"How far would you have gone, you prat?"

"As far as you would have let me, my love. But even if you had gone to bed with David McAdams, you would have certainly woke up with Sherlock Holmes. I suppose that would have been your loss."

"I think maybe I should try going to bed with Sherlock Holmes, and hoping I don't wake up with David McAdams! His hair really is a bit too gingery. The first thing we do in the morning is go buy some hair dye."

Sherlock pulled her down onto his lap, and kissed her with a passion ol' Dave could only imagine. "Maybe, the second thing we do in the morning, my Molly!"

.