So here is Chapter 2 for you! I'm sooooo sorry, i actually meant to post this last week. But my laptop decided to crap out. I had it in the shop all weekend and I just got it back an hour ago. My first priority was to get this chapter up for ya'll!

Anyway, review for me please. And, since i think i forgot this in the first chapter, i would like to exclaim my disclaim of Sherlock and Supernatural...Enjoy!

Molly made her way through the empty room, save for some furniture she didn't need to pack, and sat down on the couch next to Sherlock. She pulled the takeout out of the bag and handed one to Sherlock, who took it with some pretense. He was still staring at her when she began to eat. Finally she slammed the chopsticks into the little box.

"Sherlock, what did I say about staring?" she snapped.

"You have blood on your forehead," he ignored her. Molly crossed her eyes and attempted to look up at her forehead, earning an eye roll from Sherlock. He wet his thumb on his tongue and swiped it across her forehead. Molly's eyebrow went up at the simple, intimate gesture.

"Whose blood is it?" Sherlock asked. Molly's surprise melted away as an evil little grin replaced it.

"Anderson's," she said simply as she took a bite of her noodles. A sudden knock at the door made Molly jump. She glanced at Sherlock, who nodded and quietly made his way into her bathroom. She waited until he was out of the room then made her way quietly over to the door. She walked over and looked through the peephole, then breathed a quick sigh of relief.

"It's okay Sherlock, you can come out!" she hollered as she opened the door.

"Evening Mycroft."

"Miss Hooper," Mycroft greeted before sweeping into the flat just as Sherlock exited the bathroom. He opted to ignore his brother and instead turned back to his food. Mycroft sighed and turned to Molly.

"Your flight leaves in the morning," he said. Then he held out a small bag.

"And I brought the things you need."

Molly took the bag and thanked him. Mycroft glanced one more time at Sherlock, who was continually ignoring Mycroft, before turning back to Molly. He held out two other items; credit cards.

"I know how hard the life of a hunter is. I thought these might come in handy."

Molly took the credit cards, a look of astonishment on her face. Mycroft turned to go, then turned back around and bent down until he was at Molly's 5'6" height.

"Take care of him…please?"

"I will," Molly promised. Mycroft nodded and stood to his full height. Without another word the man left the empty flat. Molly shut the door after him, then turned to Sherlock.

"Don't say it, Molly," Sherlock snapped, setting his nearly untouched Chinese down. Molly shrugged whilst she pocketed one of the credit cards and held the other out to Sherlock.

"Wasn't going too," she muttered. She did want too, though. She wanted to tell Sherlock that this may be the last time he sees his brother. That he should be a bit nicer to said brother. But she knew it would fall onto deaf ears. Sherlock stared at the card in her hand, then took it to examine it further. After a moment he slid the credit card into his back pocket.

"It did surprise me to know that your brother knows about the supernatural," Molly mentioned as she sat back down on the couch, placing the bag beside her.

"He knows everything…or at least he thinks he does."

"Surprised me even more to find out he knows Dean and Sam."

"Knew Sam," Sherlock interrupted.

"Shut up Sherlock," Molly said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. This new Molly…she was intriguing to him. Strong, confidant, and nothing like the old one.

"What did Mycroft bring you?" he asked suddenly as he picked at his food. Molly smiled slightly and pulled the bag closer to her legs. Sherlock stared at it.

"Molly, that bag obviously has clothes in it. And there is a long, possibly rectangular box in the left corner. I repeat myself; what did Mycroft bring you?"

Molly sighed.

"Fine fine fine. Sherlock you are a little…noticeable. And since we have to take a plane, and couch class to boot-"

"What?" Sherlock snapped. Molly rolled her eyes.

"We have to remain inconspicuous. Taking first class makes us noticeable. I'm…ordinary looking enough. But you…everyone knows what you look like. We have to change that."

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"What have you done to my hair?" Sherlock yelled. He was standing in Molly's bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist as he twisted his forelocks in his fingers. Molly looked on in amusement.

"It isn't that bad. And we can dye it back when all of the hubbub dies down about you," Molly pushed herself off of the doorframe and walked back into the living room. She bent over and picked up the bag Mycroft had dropped off earlier. She dumped it on the floor and began pulling the articles of clothing apart. Something clattered to the floor, catching her attention. She picked it up and her eyebrow rose.

It was a flash drive.

"I'm blonde Molly," Sherlock moaned as he entered the living room. Molly looked up at him, then back down quickly. She wasn't ready to see Sherlock in nothing but a towel.

"Well, they say blondes have more fun," she joked. She threw the clothing to him, but he was looking at the flash drive in her hand.

"Why do you have that?" he asked her. Molly shrugged.

"Get dressed and we'll look at it."

Molly pulled her laptop out of her already-packed carryon bag and began the process of setting it up.

"You have got to be kidding me," she heard from the bathroom. She turned and started laughing. Apparently Mycroft had a sense of humor.

He had tried to mimic a typical American hunter's garb. A regular blue t-shirt that hugged Sherlock's thin frame, baggy blue jeans, and military grade boots. The reason behind Molly's laughter, however, was the look on Sherlock's face as he stared down at the flannel shirt. Molly never imagined she would ever see him in a blue and black flannel button up shirt. That, coupled with his now curling blonde hair, nearly sent Molly into hysterics.

"Why can't I wear my regular clothing?" he asked. Molly continued to laugh, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes and she leaned back on the couch. Sherlock sat down and sulked beside her until she stopped laughing.

"I repeat; why can't I wear-"

"Because Sherlock," she interrupted. "For one, you're well known. People wouldn't expect someone as posh as you to wear something like this. And secondly, you can't hunt in your old clothes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not say that he wasn't mildly looking forward to learn how to hunt, but the garb was going to take a little getting used too.

"Molly, the flash drive. What is it?"

Molly snapped to and sat up, plugging the flash drive into her laptop. She pulled up the file, then sat back.

"What is it?" she asked. Sherlock got the look, the 'contemplation' look, on his face. Even blonde and clad in flannel the man couldn't get rid of his Sherlock-y-ness.

"It is the CCTV from the warehouse," he said softly. Molly nodded, recognizing the man that was pacing back and forth and the other man tied to the chair. Molly shut her eyes when Moriarty began to slice into Sherlock's chest, gasping slightly. Suddenly she heard another gasp.

"Molly, open your eyes, you might want to see this," Sherlock said. Molly opened her eyes as Sherlock backed up the video a bit. Moriarty had his back to the surveillance camera as he sliced into Sherlock. Suddenly he looked back, seemingly caught off guard, and the camera caught his face. Molly gasped again.

"Is that…is that what I think it is?"

"I think so. I read about it in one of your Uncle's books. I believe it is called retinal flare?" Sherlock turned to Molly, who, even though Sherlock had read quite a bit about hunting, Molly was more of the expert.

"Yeah…yeah it is. But…that can only be one thing."

"There is another file on this drive," Sherlock pointed out when Molly went momentarily silent. He clicked on the file and pulled it up. This time it was a CCTV of St. Bart's rooftop. Moriarty was sitting alone, his cellphone held out to his side. His head bobbed slightly. Suddenly he looked over as another figure, Sherlock, walked out onto the roof.

"There it was again," Sherlock pointed out. Moriarty's eyes had, for a very brief moment, flashed. Suddenly Molly's eyes widened.

"I get it…holy shit I get it," she said. Sherlock glanced at the woman but chose not to comment on her choice of words.

"For once, I am lost," Sherlock said, something he wasn't happy about admitting.

"Moriarty is…I think the Moriarty's we keep encountering are shifters."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

"You are correct Miss Hooper."

Molly spun around, pulling a gun from the waist band of her jeans and turning the safety off. Sherlock stood up slowly to face the man suddenly standing in the room.

"Crowley," Molly greeted, cocking the gun.

"Now now Miss Hooper. I've been gathering some information for you, so you can put the gun away."

Molly glared at the demon, then clicked the safety back on and put the gun away.

"So the Moriarty from the warehouse and the Moriarty on the roof…they were shifters?" Sherlock asked, stepping up beside Molly to face down the demon.

"Mr. Holmes," Crowley greeted. "You are looking quite…blonde."

Molly snorted whilst Sherlock glared at the demon. Crowley grinned.

"You are correct Mr. Holmes. I spoke to some of my associates. The James Moriarty that I took to hell wasn't the James Moriarty that sold his soul to me. In fact-"

"It wasn't James Moriarty," Molly interrupted. Crowley nodded.

"It was a shape shifter. It might surprise you to know that those creatures do have souls….at at least a form of a soul. Found the little bastard in Purgatory."

"Spare me the tales Crowley. You got anything else for me," Molly snapped. Sherlock looked down at the woman in surprise. He watched her hands stray towards her gun. Suddenly he had a thought.

"What did James Moriarty sell his soul for?"

Molly glanced up at Sherlock.

"We already know," she whispered.

"No, we know what the shifter told us."

Crowley watched the exchange between the two, a sly smile on his face. The two eyed each other for a moment, and then turned to glare at Crowley, who held his hands up.

"Sorry. Demon-Human confidentiality."

"Crowley, this isn't a doctor's office. And Demon's don't keep secrets if they know it can screw someone over. Besides…this man has been evading you for quite some time now. Obviously the real Moriarty isn't dead otherwise he would be in Hell. And you've already told me that his time is up. We are going to find him, but we need all of the information we can get."

Crowley smirked.

"I like you Miss Hooper. You've got your Uncle's attitude. Alright, I'll tell you. James Moriarty sold his soul in exchange for the ability to place the monsters of the world under his control. At the time I thought it an odd request, but I just thought he might some disturbed little individual and it would give me at least a decade of entertainment."

Molly's eyes had widened to the size of saucers by the end of Crowley's rant. Sherlock simply crossed his arms.

"That would explain it," Sherlock said. Molly turned to Sherlock, an eyebrow raised.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyebrows went up at Molly's tone. He could tell she was angry. Very angry.

"I hate how you demons think that you can play with us humans like-"

She turned around and Crowley was gone. Molly clenched her fists and very nearly looked as though she were going to punch something. Sherlock stared at the girl, and then smirked slightly.

"I like this new Molly," he said softly. Molly glared up at him, but he could see a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Shut up Sherlock.

Sherlock sat at the bar at the airport, his eyes scanning the people around him. He rolled his eyes as he watched them walk by. People on their cell phones, families with children…it was all so boring. He looked down at the passport he held in his hand. Mycroft had dropped off these new ID's this morning. Apparently the night before Molly had taken a picture of Sherlock on her cellphone when he wasn't looking, and had forwarded the picture to Mycroft.

He wrinkled his nose when he read the name.

Shea McTavish

He took a sip from his bottle of water and wondered who would actually have the name Shea. And why was his surname Scottish? Suddenly he heard something on the television in the corner that drew his attention.

"And now let's take a look at the biggest story trending right now; the fall of the Reichenbach Hero, Sherlock Holmes. We went out into the streets to ask the people what they think; do they think Mr. Holmes is a fake, or was it all a set up? Let's join Benjamin O'Malley on the streets. Benjamin?"

The scene switched to a young man in a grey suit.

"Thanks Mark. I'm here to ask people how they feel about the recent headlines denouncing Sherlock Holmes' abilities to deduce and convict the many crimes and criminals. Ma'am, what do you think? Do you think Sherlock Holmes was a fake?"

A woman stopped on the streets. Sherlock watched in rapt fascination, not noticing the second person sit down next to him and order a coffee.

"Of course he was a fake. No one can be that smart. Good riddance I say. I think he was a psychopath, if you ask me."

"And how about you sir?" the reporter asked a chubby older man.

"I don't believe a word those tabloids say. I have a nephew that is a savant. The boy can't talk, can barely walk, and needs help to eat. But damn it, that boy can solve mathematical equations that some university graduates can't do. So I think people need to budge off the man. He did what he had the ability to do. It t'were not his fault that he was smarter than everyone else."

Sherlock smirked slightly. It was nice to know that some people weren't quite as stupid.

"What do ya think?" sounded a female voice beside Sherlock. The man glanced down at the African American woman beside him. She was American, judging by her heavy southern accent. She was single and slightly overweight, and just a bit older than Sherlock. Other than that Sherlock couldn't get much from her.

"What do I think about what?" Sherlock asked, trying to raise the pitch of his voice slightly. Molly had told him that he had a very distinct voice, and the last thing they needed was someone recognizing him.

"About that Sherlock man," she gestured to the television. Sherlock glanced up at the television, then back at the woman.

"I…think he is a fake. No one is that smart," Sherlock said slowly. The woman shook her head.

"Nah, I don't think so. I've met some smart ones, and I've met some dumb ones. And that boy is a smart one. Could outsmart the devil, he could."

Sherlock smirked slightly, adjusting his shades to make sure the woman couldn't see his eyes.

"So you don't think he faked all of those crimes?" Sherlock asked, sipping his water.

"Nah…I also don't think he's dead."

Sherlock started. He set the bottle down quickly and turned to the woman who was starting to get up. He briefly heard the intercom call for boarding for a flight to Kansas, but was distracted by the thoughts rushing through his head. Most prevalent of all; did she recognize me?

"That's my flight. I'll be seeing you youngin'."

Sherlock moved to stand up and follow the woman when he suddenly felt another presence beside him.

"Sher-…Shea, are you alright, you look as pale as a sheet," Molly said. Sherlock sat back down and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he finished off his water and threw the bottle away.

"Our flight will be boarding soon," he said, picking up his carryon. Molly nodded, glancing at the man worriedly, before following him. They got through security fairly easy (Sherlock was patted down but nothing past that) and they boarded the crowded plane with very little incident. Once on the plane they took their seats near the back. Molly took the aisle seat whilst Sherlock took the window.

As the plane began to take off Molly clutched Sherlock's wrist. He looked over at her in amusement.

"Afraid of flying?"

"A bit. I'll be better once we're higher up," she said, clutching his wrist tightly. Suddenly Sherlock peeled her fingers from his wrist and allowed her hand to hold his own hand. Molly glanced at him in mild surprise, then shut her eyes quickly and squeezed when the plane began to ascend.

Once it was finally up in the air she took a deep breath and let go, allowing Sherlock to massage the circulation back into his fingers.

"'Scuse me dear, are you afraid of flying too?" came a kindly-looking, obviously British woman asked. Molly nodded.

"Yeah. I've never been too keen on it," Molly said, adopting an American accent. When she had first spoken in the accent earlier that day, Sherlock had been surprised at how good she was at it. And then he remembered that she had been raised in America.

"Either am I. I'm off to a funeral in Maine. My son-in-law is picking me up in New York. What about you two?"

Molly had a momentary panic moment. She and Sherlock had never discussed their backstory. They had assumed that the fake name would be enough. So she blurted the first thing that came to her.

"We're on our honeymoon."

Sherlock, who had been focusing on the clouds outside of the window (actually, he had been analyzing the people on the plane, but people knew when they were being stared at so he did it discreetly), glanced over sharply. He saw a flush rising on Molly's neck.

"Oh really?" the woman asked, looking down at Molly. Suddenly Sherlock noticed a flaw in Molly's story, and the old woman seemed to have noticed too.

"We're eloping, actually," Sherlock said. Molly raised an eyebrow at the man. He discreetly tapped his finger onto her left ring finger. Her mouth formed a slight 'O' as she realized what he meant.

"Yeah, we're eloping in New York," she said, turning back to the old lady. The older lady smiled and clapped her hands.

"Oh, how romantic. Why did you two have to elope?" she asked. He felt Molly stiffen. Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, then plastered a big, fake smile on his face.

"My parents, the blue-bloods that they are, couldn't contend with the fact that I wished to marry a middle-class American. So we're eloping."

The older woman sighed. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes and scoff at how…female, the woman was acting. Molly played along, even going so far as to take Sherlock's hand again.

"Yes, his parents couldn't know which is why we don't have any rings."

Sherlock nodded, and then raised Molly's hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. The flush on Molly's neck overtook her whole face. The older woman clapped her hands again. Then she began to stand up as the fasten safety-belt light turned off.

"Excuse me," she said, then stopped beside Molly. She placed her hand on the younger girls shoulder.

"And don't worry dear, your secret is safe with me," she said sweetly. Molly blanched and she felt Sherlock tighten his hold on her hand.

"S-secret?"

"Oh yes dear. Back in my day it happened all the time; brides would get married quick, and then just a few months after they would have the baby. They always denounced the baby as a premature, but those babies were just a bit too big to be premature. At least you are getting married. The things the girls get up to these days."

Molly watched the woman walk away to the rest room, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped. She turned back into her seat and glanced up at Sherlock, who had an amused expression on his face.

"Did she…" Molly stopped, her mind processing what the woman had said.

"Did she think I am pregnant?" Molly asked, horror creeping into her tone.

Sherlock couldn't help it. He began to laugh. A good solid laugh, something he hadn't done in weeks. Molly glared at him and spent the rest of the flight pouting.