Thank you so much to all who reviewed! I love all of you so much :) I was going to PM everyone who reviewed to say thanks, but there's quite a few people who have reviewed, so I'm just going to say thank you here if I haven't messaged you already :)

Hope you like this chapter, I apologise in advance for Sherlock's frustrating behaviour :) as always, reviews and stuff are appreciated.

Love Misty x

Chapter Three

There was no honeymoon.

Sherlock had decided to stop the ostentatious celebrations there; they had a very important task to finish, and any sort of deviation from it could threaten its completion. He had to focus. Molly Hooper was merely part of the plan, and when they'd managed to complete it then they'd divorce and go back to normal. Simple as that.

But he couldn't help but feel a little pang of the feeling he loathed most.

Sentiment.

Bloody sentiment, so complicated but so common among the ordinary. The ordinary... was Sherlock Holmes himself developing an ordinary side? He couldn't bear the thought. That was it: he had to distance himself from Molly. Any further contact would distract him from his work, and that could be disastrous considering the current situation.

Despite the lack of honeymoon, Mycroft had insisted on a night in an expensive hotel up in London, and having paid for this before even asking Sherlock and Molly, there was no way to refuse. Sherlock was sat in one of the velvet armchairs in their suite when Molly came in. "Sherlock!" she said, smiling. It was remarkable how her whole face had lit up upon seeing him. Maybe she too had acquired unsuitable affections. "Molly," he said, in a tone quite opposite to hers.

She smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. Then she frowned. "What is it? Is there - is there something wrong?"

"No, no, Molly, I'm fine," he said, rather too quickly, waving her away. "Thinking."

"Hmm." She stopped like she didn't know what to say. "What about?"

"Molly, I'm thinking," he repeated firmly. That had been a little too harsh. He internally cursed himself. She knew he didn't like to be disturbed, but he shouldn't have reacted that way.

"Oh," she said, stifled, and then went to hang her coat up, the light gone from every inch of her face.

Now look what you've done, Sherlock thought to himself. Yes, you don't want to become attached to Molly, but that did not mean brushing her off entirely. She could still abandon him and then the plan would fail. She came back into the room and he attempted to smile at her but was met with a scowl. He'd never encountered an angry Molly before. He didn't know that an angry Molly existed. And he really didn't know how to deal with one.

"Molly-"

She sighed and ignored him.

"Molly, I-"

"Stop trying to act like you're sorry!" She turned to him, her expression angry and sad at the same time.

"But I am sorry," he said plainly.

"No, you're not! I don't understand, Sherlock. Over the past few weeks you've actually regarded me as a person and not just a thing who helps you with your stupid experiments," she cried. "But now you're being horrible and acting like nothing ever happened!"

Sherlock looked down at his hands. Part of him wanted to say sorry (and mean it). Part of him wanted to carry on as he was, without emotion or feeling, with just his work. Which possibly was enough. And part of him wanted to just hug her, which he felt somewhat ashamed of.

He settled for the first option, but just as he was about to say sorry, Molly stormed out, leaving him dazed.

Sometimes Sherlock wished he had feelings, feelings like ordinary people; he hated to admit it, even to himself, but sometimes being ordinary was an advantage.

Molly didn't know where to go.

She felt slightly silly, having just stormed out of a room with nowhere to storm to. She just supposed she'd come back in to the hotel room, say sorry for shouting at him, melt into a big puddle of tears on the floor...

But for some reason she didn't feel like she could face Sherlock after the previous exchange. It was almost like one of her tragic love stories she liked to cuddle up in bed and read: the woman devoted, willing to do anything for a man who didn't even acknowledge her existence. Except in reality, Sherlock would never like her back, and Molly would keep on watching him from afar like a lovestruck hawk. She didn't blame him either. What man in their right mind would see her as anything beautiful or sexy or romantic? No, she'd stay this way her whole life. Sad. Unwanted. Like a sparrow amongst swans.

She found herself walking out of the hotel, her eyes red but not crying, and heading for St. James' Park. Yes, Molly would go to the park and sit for a while, maybe buy a book and read it on a bench and watch the world go by. Then she'd come back relaxed and confident, and she would not apologise. She had no need to. What had she done? (All right, she had shouted at him, but not for anything he didn't deserve.)

That was when she saw him. Sitting on the bench she had been about to take.

He looked so different. He was in a navy blue suit, his dark brown hair neat, stubble on his chin and upper lip. And then there were his eyes. They held an intensity they never had held before.

But most importantly, Jim Moriarty was alive.

It began to occur to her that she should go somewhere he wouldn't be able to see her. For god's sake, this man had people killed. He tried to kill Sherlock, he tried to kill John and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. She started walking away from him, slowly, as if any small movement could alert him to her presence.

Jim's eyes locked with Molly's. He seemed to recognise her.

He smiled slowly. Why hadn't he spoken to her? Was he toying with her? Molly wondered. Even so, she was glad to walk straight out of St. James' Park and abandon her plans.

Molly found a coffee shop, ordered a hot chocolate, then sunk down into one of the leather chairs. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Hello, love. -JM

Her blood ran cold. Now Jim was texting her. He was an evil, psychopathic criminal, yet he bothered to text her. He must want something from me, thought Molly. She didn't know what to reply - the smallest thing could offend him - yet she was sure she was safe here, it was a public place and Jim didn't know where she was... hopefully.

I'll phone Lestrade. -Molly she typed, her fingers shaking. The reply came almost immediately.

Nice try. No, you won't. I would recommend a biscuit with your hot chocolate. You look starving. -JM

So he did know where she was! The situation was getting worse and worse.

How do you know where I am? -Molly

He ignored her. I would also recommend you do not tell Sherlock that I'm alive. I'd hate to have to hurt you. -JM

And now he was threatening her. You found out that he survived? -Molly

Oh, Molly. I knew that he'd survive before he even jumped. -JM

Another text. Sherlock is about to come and say sorry to you. Stop texting or he'll suspect something. -JM

She obediently put her phone back into her handbag and stirred her hot chocolate idly. It was scary; in two weeks, Molly would be helping Sherlock kill Sebastian Moran. And as if that wasn't enough, she had the most dangerous man in the world watching her every move.

She was in far too deep and there was no going back now.