Another week passed. Molly was tired of play-acting, bored, unstimulated and the most groomed she'd ever been in her life. It was dull. She'd run through almost 10 seasons of ER. She'd begun a paper on the ways pathology was portrayed on American television. She'd spent vast quantities of money on clothes, accessories, household goods and, of course, jewellery.

She had not seen Sherlock. He had been entirely absent since the night of the gala. Anthea had passed along a couple of perfunctory messages but otherwise nothing. Her rational brain reminded her that this had always been the plan. Harry Pearson was supposed to be a workaholic who neglected his new wife. This would lead to the crime. But another part of Molly whispered that he was avoiding her on purpose. That an innocent kiss to cover their escape had been the opposite. He was confused. Or worse: appalled. If only they could meet, she could look him in the eye: do some deductions of her own. But there was no point in trying to change the status quo until this project was over. It was time, Molly decided, to matters into her own hands. She dialled Anthea.

"Anthea, I'm bored. Escape from the office and come with me to the Tower of London."

"The Tower? People usually try to escape from it, dear, not to it. And besides, it's bound to be full of horrid school kids."

"Never mind that. I have a plan."

"What plan? I don't think you making plans is part of the, er, plan, Molly."

"Well, I've changed the plan. I'll do it myself otherwise, and then you'll be in trouble for not having chaperoned me."

She took the silence as acquiescence.

"Excellent. Pick me up in an hour. Don't tell Sherlock. Oh and book tickets so we can skip the queue."

Molly reapplied her make-up and added some more jewellery. She was becoming surprisingly adept at all the bling.

Anthea obediently arrived an hour later. Her eyes widened when she saw the layers of make-up and jewellery on her companion.

"I'm getting quite practiced, aren't I?"

"Yes. Tell me the plan."

"Why? So you can tell Mycroft?"

"Mycroft thinks he already figured it out. I want him to be wrong. He's so rarely wrong. It's insufferable."

"Well, it's simple. I thought we'd go look at some of the most famous jewels in the world. I'm sick of waiting for the Monk to approach me. Let's wake him up a little."

Anthea nodded.

"Damn."

"Mycroft was right?"

"Yep. I've never been to the Tower before," she said, changing the subject.

"Really? It's fantastic. It's like the history of England in one place."

They pulled up outside and got out.

"The car will hover around."

Once inside, even Anthea's usual exterior softened a little with awe. Molly made sure to take her to all the interesting places first – graffiti written by famous prisoners, the exhibit about the Princes in the Tower, and finally, they arrived at the building which housed the crown jewels. As they stood outside, it suddenly struck Molly that Moriarty had once stolen these very items from this very building.

"I'd forgotten. Moriarty."

"How could you forget a thing like that?" wondered Anthea.

"No idea. There was a time when all I did was wonder how I could be taken in like that."

"Molly, he was a master of deception. He could have fooled almost anyone. It wasn't your fault."

"I know that."

"Let's go in. No need to dwell on the past."

Drawing a deep breath, Molly agreed "Quite right. The sooner we orchestrate the theft of other impressive jewels, the sooner I can have my natural hair colour back. And my life."

"I do wonder about your priorities there."

"Urgh, have you ever been forced to change your hair colour? It's awful."

"Well, there was this one time when I was in the field when I was forced to dye my hair in the bathroom of a supermarket, dry it under the hand-dryer and fabricate a new outfit from wrapping paper to escape. But I can't talk about it."

Once inside, the set up was not as depicted on television, which made sense once Molly thought about it. There had been metal detectors on the way into the Tower itself, but not this particular building. Most of the jewels were displayed in two long glass cases. A moving walkway was between them, presumably to stop crowds from lingering too long. You could also walk on either side of it. Then as you rounded a corner, more items were shown in lit cases and finally, the piece de resistance, the crown. Molly made a good show exclaiming at various items.

"Don't you think that one suit me, honey?" She was careful not to use Anthea's name.

"I think this little tiara would look better, Molly."

"That itty-bitty one? No, I need some much larger and more impressive. And it's actually not a tiara, it's a diadem. I've been doing my homework."

"But you'd practically need a bodyguard to follow you around just to wear it outdoors."

"Well, obviously. Shame this isn't a shopping mall. I'd take one of almost everything!"

"All you need do is divorce your current Harry and find a younger, more ginger Harry. Then you'd get access to the goodies."

"Hmm, there is some merit in that notion. Although the last prince who wanted an American divorcee didn't get very far."

"She still got to be a duchess…and I'm sure there were jewels."

"I don't think my Harry would be very pleased to hear I was leaving him for access to diamonds. Besides, I'm quite fond of him, even if he is a workaholic."

"You haven't seen much of him recently?" her voice all sympathy: Anthea could really act when she needed.

"We're barely married a month and I hardly ever see him. It's hard."

"Let's go have some cake."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Anthea led the seemingly bothered Molly away from the shiny accessories and back towards their car.

"Ok, so what did we achieve there?" she asked, once they were seated.

"I just had a notion that international jewel thieves might keep an eye on places with interesting goods. Perhaps he'll have someone working there who'll have overheard the plan."

Molly fished in her handbag and discovered 5 missed calls, all from Sherlock.

"What the hell does he want?" she said, holding up her phone for Anthea to see.

"Mycroft probably called him."

"I said not to tell."

"You said I was not to tell Sherlock. There was no directive for Mycroft to ignore."

"Looks like my husband will be visiting me later…lucky me!"

"You've been a naughty girl!" Anthea quite happily allowed the double entendre tone in her voice.

"Anthea, don't be ridiculous. There's nothing like that going on."

"Then why do you suddenly look so excited?"

"Anything to alleviate the boredom."

Anthea decided not to come in and left Molly to face the music alone.

When she arrived up to the penthouse, Sherlock was pacing a hole in the carpet of the lounge.

"There you are!"

"Here I am….your fake wife, ready to do your bidding."

"That's funny, because I thought I told you to stay in the house!"

"Sherlock. I'm not your slave. There was nothing in the plan that said I couldn't leave the house!"

"But you did agree to a plan. And said plan did not involve crazy trips to the Tower of bloody London!"

"Oh will you relax? I went to a historic site, like any American tourist might do on a visit to the capital of Britain. And if I lingered a while over the shiny jewels, so what?"

"But you might have gotten hurt! Or worse!"

"Hold your horses. And will you stop pacing? Why would I get hurt as a tourist? It's not like Moriarty was planning another visit today."

Something seemed to snap in Sherlock at the sound of his nemesis' name and rushed over to Molly, grabbed her and squeezed her tight.

"I know," he muttered into her too-blonde hair, "it's not at all rational but that place is so connected with him…"

Molly returned the embrace, with less force.

"It's all fine though. Nothing went wrong. Anthea and I had a perfectly lovely time. It struck me that the Monk might have an interest in such places and keep an eye on them. Thought it might bring me to his notice a bit sooner."

Sherlock pushed Molly to arm's length and peered down at her.

"That's actually not bad."

Molly shook free of his arms.

"Don't shower me with praise or anything. You've not got a monopoly on clever! You can't blame me for trying to move the plan along. I'm ridiculously bored here alone most of the time. There's only so many times I can pluck my eyebrows or get another pedicure."

"Alright." Despite the curt reply, his tone was more conciliatory.

"What you need is some friends. Perhaps it's time to make contact with Camilla Rawley."

"I could do that."

"No, Molly. Your assistant will contact hers and set up a lunch date."

"Right. I could get used to this having an assistant."

"Yes, it's very convenient."

"I don't think John would like to hear you call him your assistant."

"No, he usually doesn't," he said with a smile. "Right, I'd better get going."

"Oh do you have to? I was going to get some take-away.."

"Can't. Working. Meant to be workaholic borderline absentee husband. Wouldn't look good if we had an evening cuddled in front of the tv."

Molly wasn't sure when cuddling came into the occasion.

"Alright then. What's the next step?"

"Camilla Rawley. I told you. Now, please do behave. Mycroft was insufferable when he phoned earlier and I couldn't bear it again."

To the surprise of both parties, Sherlock leaned back over Molly and gave her a brief kiss on the mouth. Before she could form "oh", he was gone. Again. A kiss and run. And we're back to over-analysis, she thought, as she fished out a pizza menu.