Anthea answered the door and ushered in Mick and Rick.
As they approached the door to the study, Sherlock looked at Molly.
"You ready?"
She barely had time to nod before he had grabbed her, shoved her against the desk and began nuzzling her neck.
"Oh!" she breathed. The door opened.
"Harry! Stop it. Your friends are here," said Molly, in her best American, a little breathless from the feel of Sherlock's lips on her neck.
He straightened up.
"Of course. Mick, Rick, this is my wife, Mrs Molly Pearson," said Sherlock, in an East End accent.
Molly giggled.
"I'm still getting used to that "wife"!"
She extended her hand towards one of them, not sure which name went with which minion.
"Allo, Mrs Pearson, I'm Rick, he's Mick," said one of them.
"I'm so pleased to meet you both. Harry speaks very highly of you."
Mick looked surprised at this comment. Molly decided not to improvise any more.
Sherlock spoke up, affecting an East End accent.
"What d'you think of the new digs? Molly 'ere is dead keen on Downton Abbey and when she 'eard about this place, well she just 'ad to 'ave it! And what she wants, she gets!"
He pulled her towards him and planted a big kiss on her mouth. Molly gave a little squeal, mainly down to surprise.
Anthea reappeared in the room with a tea tray and a discreet "ahem".
"Tea is served in the lounge."
Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement.
"Lads, I'm going to be busy over the next few weeks, may have to do a bit of work in France, so I want you to keep an eye on the missus 'ere."
"Oh Harry, do you really have to go away? We just got married and have barely had a honeymoon!"
"I know, darlin', but we got the rest of our lives. You sit tight. I'll be back next week for the charity fundraiser I mentioned."
Molly pouted a little.
"Mick, Rick, anything my Molly wants, you arrange it. Get her a little car too."
"Harry, you're so good to me!" She squeezed his knee in appreciation.
"I'll be in touch with you, Mrs Pearson," said Rick. Both men stood and nodding to Sherlock, took their leave.
Once they heard the door bang, Sherlock moved away from Molly's personal space. Anthea poured tea for them all.
"So the scene is set, you'll play the role of bored trophy wife for the next week, shop, gym, therapy with Kate to work on your accent. Make sure you spend lots of time looking at expensive jewellery. Go to real, old-fashioned jewellers. None of that Boodles rubbish. You may be pretending to be nouveau riche but we won't attract the Monk with anything ordinary."
Sherlock noted with pride that yet again Molly was taking instruction well. Just as they complimented each other with lab work, here too it would go to plan.
"Thanks again for doing this Molly. Think of it as a strange paid vacation. I'll see you next Friday for the charity ball. Anthea, make sure she has an appropriate outfit."
He stood, draining his tiny teacup, and gathered his most-unSherlock sports jacket.
"Right, I'll be off then," he said, dropping a brusque kiss on Molly's cheek.
Before she really had time to register surprise, he was out the door.
"He likes you," remarked Anthea.
"Well, yes, we work well together and he trusts me," agreed Molly.
"No, he likes you."
Molly shook her head. "Anthea, Sherlock doesn't fancy anyone like that. Dogs on the other hand…there was once an Irish wolfhound in a case we were working and every chance he got, Sherlock was petting that dog, throwing things for him, telling him he was a good boy…he was like a different person!"
"You mean the way he was just now in front of the minions?" said Anthea wryly.
"No, that was acting, accent and all: with the dog, it was like seeing Sherlock as an ordinary child…as yet unencumbered with the concerns of the world and the realisation he was special."
Molly picked up her tiny teacup and sipped.
"Anthea, I hope there's real mugs in the kitchen?"
"Of course. Wendy, your housekeeper will be in later. She's originally from Jamaica, great cook. She's been vetted, knows the background but you should do your best to keep up the newly married persona for practice around her. She'll help you with further details."
"Ok."
"Tomorrow, I'll send a car for you at 11. You've a session with Kate to work on your accent, then we'll hit the shops. I was thinking Harrods, then some jewellers, and Smythsons."
"Smythsons? I hardly think I'm going to need monogrammed stationery, Anthea."
"Well, you might, and besides, it's the sort of thing you need to fit in. You want to appear well-respected before you even arrive on the scene. Kate has also done some research to fit your background into the right sort of Chicago respectable mob family."
"This is really a lot of work," said Molly. It suddenly dawned that the whole thing hinged on her and she hadn't a clue how to achieve it.
"It's like you said, Molly, Sherlock trusts you. Trust him and he'll guide you through it just fine. Now, if you have no more questions, I'll be off."
Molly found herself alone at last. After clearing away the tea things, she returned to the large bedroom suite and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like her own evil twin. The hair she could get used to but the clothes…they were far tighter and more revealing than anything she'd ever owned and she felt terribly uncomfortable in them. Rifling through the luggage, Molly found a pair of designer tracksuit bottoms and matching top in a vibrant pink. She changed into them and once again regarded her reflected image. More comfortable but still awful. She turned to see herself from behind and discovered that emblazoned across the back in diamante dots was "Mrs Pearson"! Well, there was no getting away from it. Just have to play along,