Molly awoke early, after a night of fitful dreams. She was going to call the whole thing off. It was total madness. She grabbed her phone and discovered a text from Sherlock which read "you will be fine, I have complete confidence in you". Grinning at both his ability to say the right thing and his know-it-all antics, she headed for the shower, and was ready for Anthea when buzzed the door at 9am promptly.

They sat in a fancy car and headed towards an undisclosed location, driving for almost an hour. Molly had just decided that the whole thing was an elaborate joke, when they pulled up outside what looked like a warehouse. She looked askance at Anthea.

"We're going to do most of the changes here. I've assembled stylists, clothes, handbags and shoes."

"Anthea, surely you agree that this is a terrible idea."

Anthea put down her phone, a momentous move, which Molly did not properly appreciate.

"Molly, Sherlock and Mycroft believe you can do this, and that's good enough for me. Now stop moaning and focus. There's a lot of work to do. Just be glad you don't need to go on a diet too!"

They walked into the warehouse to be greeted by Eric, the gayest straight man Molly had ever met.

"Right, darling, we've a lot to do. Let me introduce my team: Sharon on hair, Trudy on make-up, Bea on waxing, Karen: accessories and I'll do clothes & general coaching. Sharon's going to make a start on your hair and while your colour is setting, we'll take a look at some outfits."

Rather overwhelmed, Molly allowed herself to be led to a chair in front of a table but no mirror. She was gowned up and Sharon began pasting a cold, wet dye on her hair.

"Why no mirror?" she asked.

"I prefer to look at my client directly. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. You won't look like a WAG. It'll be an obviously professional blonde dye job. We'll be topping up the roots every six weeks."

Molly had hoped they'd be done before that but chose instead to ask about styling.

"Oh yes, I'm glad you asked…I know you want to keep the length but at least 6 inches will have to go. Just below shoulder length, with a couple of layers for some definition. Really, love, no one over 20 should have hair down to her elbows."

This was a bit too close to a Sherlock-type comment. Molly buttoned her lip and tried not to pout as Sharon cover her hair in some kind of shower cap.

What followed was like a movie-montage, at least in Molly's head. She was waxed, buffed, tinted, tanned, manicured and shown a dizzying array of slightly trashy designer clothes. Mrs Pearson apparently liked animal prints and Prada bags. Finally, she was returned to Sharon, who did indeed cut quite a bit of her now blonde hair off.

Anthea returned just as they were finishing up.

"Don't I get to see it?" pleaded Molly.

"No, wait until they've done your make-up and dressed you up. That way you'll get the full effect at once."

Eric came over. "Great, you're ready. Now, there's one other member of the team to meet."

He gestured behind him and a small red-haired woman with glasses came towards them.

"This is Kate Harrison. She'll be your vocal coach."

"I understand you can do a basic American accent. I'll help you use the right words, tones and place your accent in a geographical location that will work with the identity we've built up for you," said Kate, her own American accent placing her firmly in the Gone with the Wind area of that country.

"Gosh…this is more elaborate than I realised."

"Well, you'll fool Brits easily but if you have to meet Americans, they'll catch you out. But don't worry, I'm very good at my job."

"Right, well, what's next?"

"Let's get you dressed and then we'll go look at real estate."

Half an hour later, she stared at her new image in the mirror. Blonde shoulder length hair, check, tight black dress, check, ridiculously high Louboutins, check, white leather jacket, check, enormous leopard print bag, check. Not forgetting more make-up than she'd ever worn cumulatively in her life.

"I look horrid."

"Yes, but you'll fit right in," said Anthea.

They got back into the car and set off.

"Where will I be living?"

"Whitechapel – close to Harry's business area but in a modern apartment block."

"Will it also be trashy?"

"No, Molly Pearson, the American, is absolutely enchanted with the British way of life, all things Downton Abbey, etc, so you'll be living in the height of Edwardian chic…or at least a modern version of it. No one had comfortable chairs in the 1920s," explained Anthea.

"So afternoon tea and church fetes?"

"Something like that…along with your daily session with your trainer, weekly visits to your spa, shopping and so on."

"How often will I see Sherlock?"

"Not very. I'll be your main point of contact along with his two minions."

"Why don't you tell me about the minions, before I start addressing them that way."

Anthea handed over a folder. She was always prepared. Molly spent the rest of the journey reading about Rick Heathcote and Mick Donnelly, two East-end petty criminals who'd be selected by Sherlock for greater things about 6 years ago. He'd made sure to keep all aspects of his business segmented, so these were the only two he ever met with.

"How much am I supposed to know about Harry's business?"

"You only know about the legit stuff but we'll play it by ear, it may become useful for you to suspect. Now, when we arrive at your place, you'll have about an hour to acquaint yourself with the surroundings."

"What happens then?"

"Show time."

Anthea let Molly into a 2 storey penthouse apartment and handed her a set of keys, complete with a diamond encrusted M.

The main hall way had corridors to the left and right with a black and white check tiled floor. A big bowl of flowers stood on a side table. To the left, Molly found a large show house kitchen and dining area.

"Don't worry, you won't be doing any entertaining," said Anthea.

"What about regular eating?!"

"The kitchen will be fully stocked, and you have a housekeeper."

The kitchen led on to a large reception room, decked out like the library in Downton Abbey, except it also had a grand piano, a 40" flat screen tv and easy chairs for reading. When Molly stopped to examine the bookcases, she discovered a lot of the books were leather bound telephone directories. Only one small section contained real books. A window wall allowed spectacular views of London. Passing through the reception room, which Molly couldn't ever imagine being comfortable in, she found a study, obviously set up for "Harry" with a computer and other modern office equipment. Lastly, she found herself at the other end of the corridor, with a guest bathroom tucked under a stairs. Anthea indicated she should continue her tour upstairs, where she found a home gym, a guest bedroom dressed like a bordello in purple and red, a lounge area with couches, another television with a serious games console and a substantial dvd collection. The last room was more a suite, containing a dressing room, master bedroom and adjoining bathroom. 4 Louis Vuitton cases sat on the floor.

"What do you think?" asked Anthea, with a twinkle in her eye.

"It's spectacular in a really nasty trashy way. I feel like I'm on one of those hideous reality shows. I presume those bags are full of my new clothes?"

"Correct. The housekeeper, Wendy, will be along shortly with Mick and Rick to meet you. Don't worry, Sherlock will be there too."

"And what role do you play in all this?"

"I'm your assistant, but you'll contact me by phone rather than my being based here with you. Remember, you're a bored housewife who is too rich to do housework."

"Right."

At that, they heard the front door opening and Sherlock's voice called "Molly!" loudly. They hurried down the stairs as fast as Molly's shoes could take her.

Sherlock was standing facing the window in the main room. "Excellent, Molly, there you are," he said turning around. His jaw hung open at the sight before him, amazed at the transformation.

Molly held her arms out and did a small twirl, wry grin on her face. She was under no illusions about her appearance.

"You look shocking! It's absolutely perfect, of course. Anthea, your team is to be commended. Now, off you pop and make some tea. Molly likes everything nice and English."

Anthea's smirk wafted out of the room leaving Molly and Sherlock alone.

"Sherlock…" she started.

"Harry…get used to it. We won't be in company very often but I can't have you slipping up. And don't forget the accent."

"Alright, Harry, what's our story?" she replied in her best American accent.

"What story?"

"Our love story…we've got to have one."

"Hmm, well, Mick & Rick will be here shortly so there's no time to think one up now. Let's go with…" he paused, thinking.

"Obviously, we met in Las Vegas. You were there for business, I was on a batchelorette weekend. We hit off. You followed me back to Chicago, where I lived, chased me, wore me down, won me over and we were married 4 weeks ago at the court house. It was fantastic," said Molly, a little bit too dreamily.

"Right, well, I'll leave you to fill in the blanks. Oh I almost forgot."

He put his hand in his pocket and it re-emerged with 2 rings. Dropping them in Molly's palm, he said "You better stick these on."

Molly shrugged. If she'd entertained a fantasy about a certain detective putting a ring on her finger, today was not the day for fulfilment. She examined the rings. The engagement was a monstrous diamond, surrounded by square cut emeralds in a solid boxy gold setting. The wedding ring was obviously designed to go with it. Nothing small, antique or tasteful for Molly Pearson, it seemed. She placed them on her finger, momentarily stunned by the weight of them. How did people wear these all the time?

The buzzer rang.

"Show time," she said.