Sherlock stood beside Molly's bed with a large pot and a wooden spoon. He watched her for a second to see if she would get up on her own accord, but decided she wouldn't when she snored loudly and turned around facing the opposite direction. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he walked to the other side of the bed and glanced at her alarm clock. They were to have dinner with his family in less than ten hours and they hardly knew each other. Leaning down, Sherlock brought the items in front of Molly's face. "This should do the trick." He muttered before banging the spoon as hard as he could against the bottom of the pot.

With a startled scream, Molly rolled off the side of the bed and hit the floor with a sound thud.

"Ah, good you're up!" Sherlock exclaimed as he strode over to where she laid on the floor. He ignored the glare he got from her. "We have a lot to discuss before tonight," He rubbed his hands together. "I'll let you get dressed and then we can get started." He smiled at her before bounding out the door and down the steps.

Molly slowly sat up and rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were sore from lack of a proper nights rest and her body ached from falling onto the old hardwood floor. What the hell was his problem? She took a peak up at her clock and groaned. She had only been asleep for four hours, she needed at least six before she could function properly. Molly wondered how in the world Sherlock could be so chipper with the lack of sleep, considering he didn't go to bed until late as well. That is if he went to bed at all. Molly had no idea if he had retreated into his room after she left or not. Standing up she popped her back and grabbed her dressing gown. She felt instantly more relaxed as she slipped the fuzzy fabric around herself. It was a bit old, about three years of wear and tear, but Molly didn't have a care in the world.

Planning on heading straight down to fetch some breakfast, she passed her mirror and immediately stopped. Slowly backing up, Molly noticed the state of her hair and the dark circles under her eyes. "Shit." Sherlock had seen her like this?! Quickly finding a hair brush and applying a dash of make-up; just enough to cover up any morning blemishes. Molly decided she looked decent enough to head down stairs for something to eat.

"There you are!" Sherlock leaped up from his chair and guided her to John's old one. "I almost thought you'd gotten lost."

"I was just going to get some breakfast first if-"

"No you're not." Sherlock plopped her down into the chair and hastily made his way to his own. "We have a lot to cover in very minimal time, there is no time for eating. You can eat tonight all you want at dinner." He was going to make sure to know every single detail about Miss. Molly Hooper before the sun came down. "Now I have conducted a list … what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"If you don't want anything to eat, that's fine by me and is your choice. I on the other hand am starving, so if you'll excuse me." Molly got up and made her way to the kitchen, Sherlock's mouth agape and staring as she pops two slices of bread in the toaster.

Tossing the list aside, he found his way to the kitchen as well. "We don't have time to waste on-"

"If you want to get started so badly, ask me right here. I can talk and make toast at the same time you know." Molly opened a series of cupboards before landing on one that housed the peanut butter. "Ah ha!" She stood on her tippie toes and jumped to try to grab it. Of course it was placed on the highest shelf known to man.

Sherlock oblivious to her struggles went on. "Fine, but I still think we would be more efficient if we … what are you doing?" He frowned as he watched her jump.

"Trying to reach the peanut butter." She explained, while continuing to jump as high as she could. "Almost got it! … damn." She sighed and leaned against the counter.

"Need some assistance?" Sherlock asked. Without waiting for a reply, he stood in front of her and looked into her eyes.

Molly's breath hitched at how close their bodies had become. She looked up at his brilliant sea green hues. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of her as he reached up and grabbed the jar without fail. It was only mere seconds, but felt like eternity that they were like that. The blood flowed to her cheeks at the thought of his mouth, her eyes flitted down to his plush, cupid-bow lips. She watched as he flicked his tongue out to wet the bottom one and she shivered.

The peanut butter jar was still in the air, in his grasp. He wasn't moving an inch, until a cough from the other side of the kitchen stirred them and Sherlock backed away, holding the jar out to her. "Here you go Molly."

"T-thank-you." She stuttered. She has got to stop doing that! Sherlock was no one special to make a fool of yourself for. He was just the brother of a man who hired you to pretend to be his girlfriend, nothing more. Molly had to remind herself as she turned around and fiddled with the jar's lid.

"Mycroft." Sherlock uttered sounding annoyed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just came by to see how everything's going … how last night went. I hadn't had the chance to ask on the phone last night." Mycroft slowly stepped into the kitchen more. "I see you two have gotten rather cozy since the last time I saw you." He pulled out a seat and sat down at the cluttered up mess of a table. "Enjoying domestic bliss, brother mine."

"Hardly." Sherlock sneered. "Only going along with what you ask of, brother mine."

Mycroft plucked an apple from the bowl of fruit, Mrs. Hudson laid out and took a satisfying bite. "I want to make sure everything goes smoothly tonight. Which means no slip ups!"

With a laugh Sherlock poured himself a cup of tea from a platter. No doubt another Mrs. Hudson perk, Molly thought as she spread the thick peanut butter on her toast. She didn't dare turn around, she thought it best the brothers have a chat unaware of her eavesdropping.

"I never slip up." Sherlock said matter of fact.

"Never, right." Mycroft scoffed. "It's not like you've made careless mistakes before, like letting sentiment get in the way." Molly listened while Mycroft scribbled something down on a sheet of paper and slid it across the way to Sherlock; who now was seated on the other side.

"Haven't I paid enough for that?" Sherlock's stool scrapped on the floor as he stood up and left to the sitting area. Mycroft on his heel.

With the Holmes' busy, Molly bit her lip and looked over at the sheet of paper that was left on the table. She was curious to know what slip up Sherlock had made, but she also didn't want to pry either. She nibbled on a piece of toast while staring at the paper. Her eyes moved to the hushed conversation in the next room, they probably wouldn't even notice that she had moved if she went and took a peek. No, it's not right. She turned herself back around hoping to get rid of the temptation to see what was written on that piece of paper.

But didn't she have a right to know? What if it came up at the dinner tonight and Sherlock had neglected to tell her. He seemed like the sort of man that would never admit his faults. If this was a slip up, Molly was certain, he'd never say. And what if it was bad? Really bad? In the time that she had known this man, she could tell his moods varied within the hour, if not the minute! Sherlock although worked for the good side, she could see where his talents could be used for not so good things.

Her foot tapped against the floor rapidly. Oh, how she itched to see what was on that blasted sheet of paper! Molly looked down at her barely eaten piece of toast and sighed. If she looked, she could be seeing something very personal or something that may help her to get to know him more. A little thought popped up in her head, that it could also be something that could save her, if he really was crazy.

Taking one last look at the sitting room and the brothers in deep conversation, Molly quickly dashed to the table and snatched the sheet and returned to her place in front of the counter. Letting out a long breath, Molly slowly peered down at the paper. Her brows furrowed in confusion at what was written down. It wasn't even a sentence! Just three letters that were capitalized, CAM.

"Cam?" Molly whispered. Now she was no expert at detective work like Sherlock nor did she really know who he was. No, Molly only knew what he allowed her to know and what she had learned from him the past few days they have been together. This CAM meant nothing to her. Was it a person? A code? A short form of a case he had worked on and failed? She couldn't say.

"But mummy would be so pleased." Mycroft's voice was getting closer and Molly started to panic. She gripped the sheet in her hands so tight, she feared she might rip it. Or give away that she had been snooping. As fast as she could manage, Molly placed the paper back on the table and resumed her position at the counter. Acting as if she had been munching on her toast the whole time. Mycroft swiftly entered the kitchen and placed the apple core in the rubbish bin, Sherlock was next. He carefully examined the array of biscuits Mrs. Hudson had left with the tea and picked out one, stuffing it into his mouth.

"I don't care if mother would be pleased, there is no way Molly and I are arriving earlier than expected. I don't want to spend more time then I have to keeping up this charade." Sherlock licked the crumbs off his fingers and dove in for a second biscuit. "We have a couple more days peace, let us have it! At least here Molly and I don't have to pretend. We can sit here and be ourselves … our unattached selves."

"Anthea would be as well. She'd love to have another woman her age to converse with." Mycroft looked over at Molly who pretended not to be listening and started on her second piece of toast.

"The answer is, no! We agreed on staying at the house the week of the wedding, not before and that is what you get. End of discussion."

"Don't be so dramatic Sherlock. What's a few days going to matter?"

"A few days could matter a lot! Cases I may need to consult on, learning more about Miss. Hooper so that our relationship can look flawless in the eyes of family and friends … freedom." Sherlock said the last word softly, but Molly heard him.

"Very well." Mycroft didn't sound happy in the least. "I better be getting back to the office, my work is never done." He rose from his chair and made to leave, but stopped. "I will see you both tonight." Was the last thing he said before leaving Baker street.

When the door banged shut, Molly turned herself about to face Sherlock who scowled at the paper. She watched him intently, her eyes only moving every once in a while towards the white sheet with three capital letters scrawled across it. Trying to sound innocent and ignorant about what was on the sheet Molly asked, "What does it say?"

"Nothing." Sherlock snapped, grabbing the paper ruffly, before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the bin. He must have taken notice of the way she jumped back at his snippy behavior because he softened up and looked at her. "I meant, it is nothing that concerns you. I think we should get started, Mycroft has made us half an hour behind schedule." Without another word he was off and seated in his chair, waiting for her to join him. "I think we should start off with where we were born!" He shouted, as he looked at the list he made. "That's what normal people do don't they? Tell each other where they started out."

Without anymore from him, Molly decided she better get this over and done with. A loud sigh escaped her as she left the kitchen and entered the sitting room for a grueling couple of hours, telling Sherlock all about her life … with some embellishments of course.

"You're serious?" Sherlock asked. "You Molly Hooper pathologist of Saint Bart's scared of bees?! That's ridiculous."

"I can't believe you happen to love them! The little pests going around jabbing people with their needles." Molly shivered at the thought. The one and only time she had ever been stung by a bee was when she was nine. Molly had been walking along minding her own business when a bee came out of nowhere. She did what her parents always told her to do; "For the love of god Molly, just stay still!" So she did. Bad idea, considering all it took was her to be immobile for it to sting her. It was the worst pain she had ever felt (yes she was nine and probably over exaggerated things a little, but she avoided them ever since).

He rolled his eyes. "They're not that bad. They just don't understand us and sting because of the need for survival. Natural instinct."

"I don't care why they do it. I still don't like them." She folded her arms and sat back in the chair. Sherlock and herself had been discussing their lives to one another for four hours now, with no breaks whatsoever. Her back started to ache and her legs were falling asleep for sitting for so long. Molly tried wiggling her butt, whenever she got little pinpricks from using it for this amount of time, unfortunately it only made matters worse. Besides all of the physical ramifications of this chat, she was actually enjoying it.

Sherlock was a very fascinating person. Molly didn't really doubt that he wouldn't be. After all, he was a consulting detective. Her life paled in comparison to his extravagant adventures with his best mate Watson. The only interesting thing about her life, was the day she decided to take up escorting as a means for a second job. Ah, who was she kidding! Her life was dull, even with the escorting added to the mix. She had a simple and normal life growing up. Two parents, a decent house to grow up in, very good in school, graduated secondary school with high honors and went onto uni for pathology. She hadn't the time for chasing criminals through the grimy streets of London, who did? Sherlock Holmes apparently.

He was laughing on about something funny John did on one of their cases. Molly had quit listening for some time now and was lost in her train of thoughts. Mostly about CAM and what significant role those three letters played in Sherlock Holmes 'slipping up'. By now Molly has gathered that Sherlock loves to be superior to everything and anything. Even his best mate, John! She would bet all the money in the world that if there was a small child who challenged Sherlock, he'd go out of his way to win. This is one of the qualities she didn't care for very much. Good thing they only have to know each other for another week and half.

"You should have seen his face!" Sherlock slapped his knee as he barely kept it together in order to tell Molly about the time he tricked John into thinking he couldn't stop a bomb. "Of course if he just had faith in me-"

"Yoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson rang, opening the door. "Special delivery." She walked over to Sherlock and gave him a big yellow envelope. Molly leaned over more to get a better look, curious as to what was inside and who sent it. As far as she knew, Sherlock only had four friends. One of them being his landlady.

Sherlock was just as clueless as she. He peered down at the envelope, seconds later his brows furrowed. "Who's it from?"

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson placed a hand to her chest and stared up at the ceiling. "Not sure really. He just dropped it off and said it was for you. Weird looking fellow he was. Caught him eyeing my bins. Not to worry I watched him walk down the street before he could think to do anything to them."

"Hmm." Sherlock carefully examined the thick envelope. He slid his large hand on the surface, crevices, edges. He went as far as to smell it! Before he finally opened it. By this time everyone's eyes were on that piece of mail. Molly's breath caught in her throat as Sherlock pulled a hardback copy of -

"The Grimm's fairy tales." Molly said as she looked at the book. "Who would send you, The Grimm's fairy tales? Unless you ordered it."

"No." Sherlock had a far away look in his eyes. Almost as if he was not even in the room anymore, just his body. Molly watched him as he didn't move an inch, frozen in time. For a second she thought about tapping him on the shoulder or waving a hand in front of his face to see what his reaction would be. She would have, if Mrs. Hudson hadn't interrupted her thoughts.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "He's not going to do much talking now I suppose." She took a few steps towards the door before turning back. "I'll come back a little later on with some tea and biscuits, have a wonderful afternoon dear."

A few hours later Molly was on her laptop when Sherlock scared the living daylights out of her. She jumped back on the couch and screamed as he loomed over her computer. "Sherlock" She panted clutching her chest, her beating heart. "You have got to stop-"

"You should get ready we have less than three hours before dinner." He pushed his hands inside his trouser pockets swaying on his feet, forwards and backwards.

She sat up straight and on the edge of the couch. "What about the book? Maybe we should cancel. I mean, you did just sit motionless for hours because of it. Surely this mystery person is important to you."

Sherlock looked at her with hard eyes. "Whoever sent me that is clearly playing some sort of game I do not wish to be apart of. They'll go away with time. My parents and brother unfortunately won't. So," He clapped his hands together. "let's get ready shall we?" He offered her a tight lipped smile as he walked to his room and shut the door.

It didn't make any sense, about the book. Sherlock had seemed troubled by it and Molly has lived with him long enough to know, Sherlock Holmes never gives up a mystery. Maybe he's solved it? That could be plausible … it's just how can he change his demeanor so quickly? From shocked to everything's alright now let's go to dinner. One thing Molly knew was certain, there was some things she would never get about Sherlock Holmes. With a long sigh, she made her way to her room and got ready.

"Whoa," Sherlock squinted his eyes at her. "are you planning on wearing that to dinner?"

Molly peered down at her attire. "Yes."

"You wore that last night."

"I'm well aware of that." Molly snapped, but feeling guilty. It wasn't his fault she only had one presentable outfit in her closet at the moment. Defeated she plopped down on the settee. "It's all I have at the moment. The other day when I went shopping, they wouldn't … let me shop." Molly closed her eyes tight so she wouldn't have to see Sherlock's face at her embarrassing confession. "Because of the way I was dressed and they thought I was poor. Mycroft had to rope Janine in to fix this number up for me."

"That's utterly ridiculous!" Sherlock took a step closer. "You have every right to shop where you so please."

Slowly opening her eyes, she saw how serious he was being. It was moments like this, that made her question everything Sherlock Holmes tries so hard to create; that damn wall of 'I'm so indifferent and a sociopath'. That facade breaks the second he peers into her eyes so sincerely, that nothing else matters. That's the real Sherlock Holmes. Molly wonders how many people get to see this side, the real one.

"I am sorry, they treated you so unfairly Molly."

There he was, at it again. Moving in closer towards her as he took a seat on the very edge of the coffee table. Making her heart beat so fast and her breath disappear, she feared it'd kill her. He'd kill her. Molly can imagine it on the headlines now 'Woman fatally died after Sherlock Holmes unknowingly took her breath away and stole her heart'. Scratch the last one, Sherlock Holmes in no way has her heart! He may be good looking and oh so … brilliant, but he will never have her heart. She can appreciate a man without it meaning something.

"It's not your fault." She said, with a weak smile.

"Perhaps not, but I feel a bit responsible. I was unkind earlier yesterday about your choice in … clothing." He let out a long breath. "Well, new clothes aren't going to appear by themselves and I won't make you go by yourself." Sherlock stood up and offered her a hand. "Let's go find you a new wardrobe Miss. Hooper."