The One in Belarus

If you like piña coladas
And getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you like making love at midnight
In the dunes on the cape
Then I'm the love that you've looked for
Write to me, and escape

Escape (The Pina Colada Song) –Robert Holmes

2010, April

Molly shouldered herself into her office with a stack of files wobbling in her arms (which were not up to the task today). "Everything's digital, except the ones I needed," she muttered under her breath, as the door of her office smacked shut behind her.

There was always a transition period, where digital and old-fashioned paper co-existed.

The latter, which the clerk reminded her "couldn't be hacked", unlike these new-fangled shiny computers. Under the circumstances Molly could agree with him, as she'd been a bit wary her own computer after it had been brought back from Scotland Yard without a dent on its existence. It was amidst this disrupted thought that her papers toppled onto the floor with a sound clatter, and she was soon crawling on all fours to pick them up.

It wasn't her day, and it hadn't been her week either - - or month for that matter.

There'd been illnesses at work, of course, and they were understaffed, as well.

She was scraping the barrel, having to step in and take care of some students. There'd been several heavy cases involving children and grieving parents, besides the constant reminder in the back of her head to talk to Sally. "Just talk to Sally, get it over with," but it felt easier said than done, as either she was too busy, or Greg was the one sent around.

She couldn't ask for Sally when Greg was stood before her all silvery haired with a hopeful look on his face. It would be like kicking a dog. He'd dished enough of feeling inadequate at work, so she didn't want to remove whatever spare ego he had left from his messy divorce.

And she never saw Sherlock these days, either.

It was alarmingly quiet from general mayhem, which she suspected was boring him to shreds, though he wasn't bothering her too much. She'd personally only gotten a few texts from him about the odd limb he'd wanted to borrow, which made her instinctively ignore said texts. Then the odd limb would be missing from a corpse, and she'd get the even odder thank you note in return.

He'd thankfully avoid the ones who had family members, or she would have his head in, somehow Mike was taking all his antics rather cool whenever she mentioned them.

"Oh, he's like that," he'd say, before adding in a low voice how much Mycroft Holmes was donating into several departments.

They were set up for life and would just have to allow the odd deceased miss a head for a week.

It all came to politics and hard solid pounds.

It always did.

She had said he needed to be casual, and he'd taken her word for it. Obviously. It annoyed her that he was listening to her, and would rather he not listen for once. The odd visit wouldn't be too odd, would it? There would be a benefit of seeing his face, occasionally, at least, and then pretending like he annoyed her to shreds, which he still, frankly did most of the time, but at least a quick snog wouldn't be too amiss.

Quick being the key-word these days – the messy sort of antics to be done in cupboards, but St Bart's couldn't boast about a surplus in cupboards.

Molly shook her head, realizing she was still sprawled out on the floor, and her papers were still beneath her…

She almost considered getting up and just going to Scotland Yard for a friendly chat with Sally rather than cataloguing and punching in work that wasn't hers in the first place.

She'd been skirting around the Sally topic for a while.

Sleuthing wasn't her thing.

She wasn't casual.

She was the most obvious and earnest person, probably on the planet.

Well, she could be sneaky if she wanted to.

Groaning she finally got up from the floor with the papers and slammed them on her desk, before settling down in front of her computer, the chair at least somewhat comfy. Or, 'she could make an appointment on Irene Adler's website'? she thought. There was a form and everything. Google was very helpful, and it would be less awkward a situation than asking how Sally knew Irene. Not that she felt timid about it, which was probably the problem.

She had no filter today.

She could practically doorbell Irene Adler's home and ask her for the details while being potentially told she was a very bad girl for even attempting.

Molly laughed, and knew that a coffee was in order, possibly – de-caff – this time.

Mycroft couldn't expect her to have results, already, could he? He hadn't shown up or texted or called or any of the like. He couldn't expect her to be one of his agents…exactly, or whatever - he did do?

Did he work in the government or MI6? Or both? Molly was never entirely sure. Then again, there was no deadline, and from all she knew – Jim from IT and Moriarty weren't connected.

It was all supposition at this stage.

Ping! A welcome distraction came, making her want to procrastinate, if even a little.

Postponing her work right now felt easy, any excuse was welcome.

Molly yawned into her own palm, eyelids only half-open at this stage, her shoulders slacking.

She brought up her phone, blinking furiously at the well-lit screen -

Pack your essentials

- SH

She mouthed the words, mouth half-open in the end, as she looked around her office as if the surrounding landscape would suddenly make sense of the text.

Coffee?

She pondered, almost mentally slapping herself when she saw the files, again.

She'd already debated the coffee.

She was supposed to get coffee already, and she half-stood up from her chair, dropping down when there was a sharp knock on her door.

Mike popped in, eyes going immediately to pile on her desk, eyebrows up.

"You really are overworked," he said punctuating it with a whistle at the sight of her, stepping inside, while she tossed her phone atop the papers.

There wasn't much space left on her desk.

She frowned, trying to say something to seem upbeat.

She was always upbeat after all, never down, always a joy to work with, though the occasion colleague would complain 'you laugh too much'.

Instead of protesting and convincing him like she intended to – she yawned soundly into her palm, her conviction dying with her open gob.

Mike proceeded to chuckle in turn, stifling a yawn that came crawling in his features as well, "I've granted your little holiday, though, in the nick of time obviously…"

He just grinned, while she tried to slam her lips together.

"…Sorry? Holiday?" she finally managed to say, blinking at him.

Mike raised a brow, "Yeah?"

"What holiday?"

"You sent… me an email?"

"An email?" she parroted, trying to remember if she'd put the words holiday or vacation in any of her emails as a laugh, but soon her eyes went to her phone.

Oh!

He hadn't?!

"Well, obviously if you can't even properly remember asking for a holiday – I think that might be a clue that I did right in granting it…Can't blame you honestly…but… why Belarus?"

"…Belarus?" she said unable to stop herself, gaping slightly at the idea. Belarus? Belarus? Situated near Russia and Ukraine. That was the extent of her knowledge about Belarus, like she'd filed it away for a future pub quiz.

Cold and bitter.

Colder than London, probably.

Really, Belarus?

That wasn't a holiday.

That was punishment.

"You should just call it a day, I think," he said with a slight nod to her neglected work.

And now she did feel the need to protest, properly this time, except another yawn came crawling along her features. Mike left her soon enough laughing to himself, while she grimaced. Typical. Well, not typical that Sherlock requested a holiday on her behalf, but that she was convincing by sheer lack of effort. She hesitantly checked her email to see what Mike had gotten – of course – an email filled with lots of exclamation marks, enough to make her eyes roll, condemning him for making her sound less professional, but smiling all the same.

Her phone chimed again.

Molly picked it up, as if it were Sherlock himself, eyes narrowed.

The plane leaves tonight

Molly blamed herself – opting for the silliest new passcode after the return of her computer. She hadn't given it much thought, over-caffeinated at that stage giggling to herself when she'd tapped in 'Sherlocked'.

Honestly, she thought it would take him some time to figure it out, but clearly, not.

Another text popped up, as if he took her silence as consent.

I like your password.

Molly knew she could argue, convincingly as well on the extent of the setback she'd get from taking what she supposed just had to be the weekend. He had to know she would not willingly go off on a holiday without it being a quick trip, as she hardly ever used her holidays or days off properly, like regular people did. In most cases when it was required of her, she'd just stay home; having baths, drinking tea, and that would be the extent of her sojourn.

She could still do that in Belarus.

Molly pursed her lips, finally, though not at all reluctantly giving the papers on her desk a wide berth. She texted him, first intending to be cross, soon deleting the extent of exclamation marks, as she realised he knew her all too well.

Okay. Why Belarus though?

I'll explain more later. Now pack.

Cold. That's what the forecast told her when she checked Belarus, wherever they were going in Belarus that was. Molly could hardly expect anything else, then again, she'd never been there before. She'd thrown in jumpers and wool trousers into her suitcase, which felt the opposite of holiday clothing.

'There will be a cat and house-sitter,' was written on a post-it-note stuck to the fridge when she'd given Toby some food.

Sherlock had covered all aspects, which shouldn't surprise her. Then again, she had her inkling that something was going on, but she had no idea why. When she finally dragged her luggage out of the door, checking her watch for the time – a cab stopped outside, and Sherlock got out holding the door open. She tried not to look pleased, more like the reluctant traveller (though she was if a little sceptical to Belarus), or caseworker.

This had to be because of a case, right?

"No, John then?" she asked, half-expecting to see the sandy-haired man loitering behind him or already in the cab with a grumpy expression on his face.

"Just us," he said.

"Oh," she said, mildly irritated when she felt a blush bloom in her face. They would be entirely alone, at least. There was that. He'd been rather impishly secretive, which was annoying, but exciting all at the same time. " – Where is he?"

"He took the opportunity to visit his sister," he said taking hold of her suitcase, which the cabbie soon took off his hands.

Sherlock let her get in first, before he got in besides her.

"He didn't want to go to Belarus, then?" she said allowing herself to grin.

"John's not very fond of the cold."

She grinned, soon pursing her lips however, the sheer idea, and novelty hitting her, the what if's – "It's for a case, right?" she said trying to clear her head.

"Mhm," he said staring at his phone with intensity she couldn't entirely understand.

"Well, is it interesting?"

Sherlock quirked a brow, letting out a sigh, pocketing his phone, "Not at all… ". He looked at her, "My client's guilty."

She blinked, "But then-," she began, not being able to fathom the point of traveling for a case, if he could and had already solved it still in his jim-jams at home.

Sherlock looked at her like she grew an extra head.

Obviously, there was something interesting after all.

Obviously.

"…Molly, we aren't going to Belarus."

His mouth was twitching, eyes glinting; sheer warmth radiating his face.

"What? …We aren't?" she said, maybe it was because she hadn't slept properly in a while, or the fact that she felt she deserved Belarus, of all things, because what else…

"No," he said clearly amused.

She narrowed her eyes, "Where are we going?"

He smirked, "Well - John wouldn't want to go anywhere cold, which is why I said Belarus when I got a client request-,"

"Oh…"

"- However, if I'd said - Kos in Greece, he'd probably come up with reasonable enough arguments as to why it would be imperative for us to go. Not that he hasn't tried before..."

" - - There's no case?" she said feeling a tiny bit lost, despite the instant relief.

She didn't know if she could stomach paperwork of any kind.

Even if she wasn't the one filing it away.

Molly felt that just seeing a pile of papers on a desk might knock her off her feet.

"No."

"Just a holiday?" she said, needing the confirmation once again.

"I needed to get away - - then again, Mrs Hudson also opted to leave, as well. Clearly, my absence is enough to fuel the need to exit Baker Street…" he said looking all-too-pleased with himself, even if she personally believed they probably didn't trust leaving him by himself in Baker Street.

"And it's... just the two of us?" she asked again, half-expecting someone to ruin it all-together, then again, they could walk into the hotel room and a dead body could be on the linen bedspread.

She couldn't entirely relax her shoulders.

"John's in my suitcase," he deadpanned.

"It is Greece?"

Sherlock chuckled, "Of course, it's only us! ...You really do need this holiday."

The latter part said under his breath, though there was a genuine tinge of worry on his face, which his cool demeanour couldn't shake off under her gaze.

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "Why didn't you just ask - instead of making such a fuss?"

"Would you have said yes?"

He had a point.

"I'd probably assume it was for a case first," she said making a face.

"And there'd still be an equal amount of back and forth for a while so why be bothered by semantics?"

"Because I've got work!" she said with some conviction.

"You've been asleep almost every time I've stepped into St Bart's."

"...Did you watch me sleep?" she said, eyebrow raised.

"Not good?"

She grinned, despite herself. "It's sweet because... we're, you know," she said half-shrugging.

"No, I don't actually..." he said with a knowing expression.

"I really have to-,"

"You're welcome," he said clutching her hand in the backseat of the taxi.

"You expect to cock up soon then?"

"What makes you think that?" he said innocently, his mouth quirking upwards.

Molly grinned.

She licked the foam from the cappuccino off her lips, relieved to find a decent cup of coffee, which already felt like holiday enough. Dangling on her wrist was a posh pink paper bag where she currently had a pair of summery dresses and a bikini. Sherlock's treat, as she'd just checked in a suitcase with a silly number of jumpers and wool trousers.

Belarus was cold. Kos was not.

"What's wrong?" she said taking another sip of her coffee, handing him his, which he wordlessly took, eyes up on the screens, besides airport personnel.

There was something wrong, of course, and she'd remarked on it being busy when they'd gotten there to begin with. There were queues everywhere, delays most places, and lots of airport staff walking around talking on walkie talkies with knitted eyebrows.

Molly had just lulled herself into a false sense of security and into envisioning herself stepping out in a slightly see-through summer dress to lounge by the beach preferably with a good book in one hand, a drink in the other, while Sherlock tried to cope with mundane holiday activities.

He was on his phone, dialling in rapid speed, while she looked up on the schedule seeing – cancelled – delayed – both those words popping in and out of the board with higher frequency.

Sherlock sighed, turning the screen of his phone to face her.

There it was, of course, like clockwork to destroy the last smidgen of hope she had left.

A volcano blasting out fumes, once more.

Bloody Iceland.

Mycroft Holmes probably didn't have the government power to cancel volcanic activity in Iceland, though Sherlock had been conniving his big brother to at least 'borrow us a plane, there has to be a pilot brave enough to handle some smoke'. She was a bit unsure whether volcanic ash could be compared to 'a bit of smoke'.

Molly could only hear Mycroft sigh in that older brother way of his on the other end and confirm that yes this wasn't a secret government project of some sort, even if it were the second time around, and not even Indiana Jones would dare brave such a thing – which in turn made Sherlock go "Who?"

She just shook her head in return, not knowing what to say as she felt deflated, her arm in Sherlock's as he was trying to find a solution. "We could take a car – my parents home is emptied out?"

"The weekend would get lost to driving."

"We could take a train-,"

"To Kos?" she snorted.

"…I see your point."

They both laughed despite themselves.

Ash had yet again filled the skies, and cancelled flights.

Theirs was included in those cancellations no matter how shirty Sherlock had gotten with one of the attendants at their service desk, especially when their luggage was lost in the kerfuffle as well. Molly was just glad she glossed things over rather quickly, even if she too wanted to be cross, but shouting at a stranger could be cathartic – however – they'd not personally wanted this to happen either.

They'd have to be there all day; she'd hardly known she was going to be out traveling before this morning.

However, because she knew she had time off from work, she was ready to jump into a comfy outfit and laze about on her sofa the rest of the day, preferably week.

It was nippy out after all.

"You're just going to go home then?" she asked when he pocketed his phone resignedly.

He gave a throaty murmur in return, however, his head soon snapped in her general direction.

"Nobody's at Baker Street."

"Nobody's at mine, well, Toby – oh god – Toby!" Molly wondered how she'd managed to forget him in his entirety. She'd even heard his fuzzy paws on the floor, but she'd been too preoccupied to even properly remember, the guilt overwhelming her. "I forgot Toby-,"

"Molly - I got a cat sitter."

"A cat sitter? Oh, wait, oh right..." she echoed, suddenly relieved and then confused.

He made a face, "What?"

"Who is the cat sitter?"

Sherlock just grinned enigmatically.

Mycroft hung up the phone with annoyance, the small cat asleep in his lap. He'd barely gotten any work done today, and would probably not get much more work done if this were to continue.

The kitten purred and he concurred by giving him several strokes.