Thanks all, for your reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter! I sure had fun writing it! It's like, twice as long as a normal chapter that I write :D
"Sherlock, where do you expect us to go exactly?"
"I'm thinking."
"So…you don't have a plan?" Molly raised her eyebrow. They were in the middle of Oslo, and confused as hell as to where they were going. Sherlock was the only one of them who could speak Norwegian.
"Thank you for putting it into terms that are less than exceptional." He rolled his eyes. John was over at a paper stand, getting an English newspaper with the Norwegian currency they exchanged at the airport.
"Well, seeing as you just flew us across the North Sea, you had hours to think about it, I just assumed–"
"MOLLY!" Sherlock snapped at Molly's angry tone of voice. "I can't! I just can't come up with a plan! Normally I would have at least twenty-nine point five plans by now, but I don't even have one. I'm stuck! I'm just, I'm stuck." He blurted out, flustered. He sat down on the park bench, running his hands through his hair, trying to figure out a plan.
"Uh, Sherlock?" John said, coming back with the paper.
"What?" Sherlock snapped at him too. John looked taken aback, but he continued talking.
"The front lines, read them." John handed him the paper, and he snatched it up. His eyes raking the page, he read the headline and article.
RUNAWAY FELON: THE FRAUD SHERLOCK HOLMES FAKED HIS OWN SUICIDE.
By Kitty Riley
In a surprising turn of events, two months ago a reported sighting of the supposed "dead" fake detective Sherlock Holmes entered police records. Just yesterday evening, the Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard witnessed Holmes remove his disguise and run from officers at a crime scene at his previous flat, 221b Baker Street. He was thereupon chased to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where he took hostages Molly Hooper and John Watson. He was last seen fleeing the Hospital with his hostages.
"It was an absolute shock to see him. There were witnesses of his death; he couldn't possibly have faked it. Yet, he did, and now this extremely dangerous man is roaming the streets of London." Said DI Greg Lestrade, upon being asked what it was like to see him after this short period of time. When asked about the hostages, Lestrade replied: "I was in pursuit of him myself, and to me it did not appear that Molly [Hooper] and John [Watson] were being brought with him by force. "
There is an investigation currently running to track Holmes down, with the help of federal agents. So far, there are no leads to where Holmes has taken up hiding.
"Complete bullshit!" Sherlock yelled at the paper, "They make it sound like I'm some sort of 'evil bad guy'', which I most certainly am NOT."
"At least they don't know about us." Molly said, then continued hastily, "I mean, us three, coming to Norway. They don't know about that."
"This paper was printed and distributed in the last 6 hours. If Lestrade learned anything from me, then he probably figured it out by now. All he has to is log into the company work computer and he'll see all those files for Ted Moriarty." Sherlock stood up, and quickly strode down the street with Molly and John in tow. "You know what? It's very late." Sherlock spun around to meet his friends, who had to walk very fast to keep up with him. "Let's find ourselves a nice hotel." John and Molly looked at each other, not realizing that Sherlock ever actually slept.
"Uhm, okay." John shrugged, and Molly looked content with the idea.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They checked into the Thon Hotel Europa, and booked 3 single rooms, all next to each other. Molly and John went down the street to buy some clothes for the night, whilst Sherlock sat in his room, entering his mind-palace, trying to come up with some theories as to what was actually happening to them. First, John's body-double that was murdered in their sitting room, and two, the fact that they were hiding away in fucking Norway from Lestrade, trying to find Jim Moriarty's twin brother, so Sherlock can go back to solving crimes with New Scotland Yard.
Meanwhile, Molly waited in line at the checkout whilst John looked to buy something they could microwave at their hotel rooms, to supplement their lack of dinner, and Molly's refusal to pay for room service for the three of them. She had picked out a set of pajamas for herself, a set for Sherlock, and a change of clothing for tomorrow (for herself).
"Jeg snakker ikke norsk." Molly read from a Norwegian phrase book she was buying, when the cashier tried to speak to her. "Snakker du engelsk?"
"Nei, ingen engelsk her." The cashier replied, too fast for Molly to fully understand by reading the book. She only picked up "Nei" and "Engelsk," so "no English." Molly only nodded, and proceeded to swipe her credit card in the machine. She swiped it again when John hobbled over (his leg had begun hurting, and he wished Sherlock didn't chuck his cane back at the hospital), with three microwave dinners for them.
"Ready?" Molly asked when they'd finished checking out. John nodded yes, and they made the return trip back to the hotel.
"Molly?"
"Yep?"
"This is all complete bonkers."
"Oh, I'm used to it. Been taking care of Sherlock for a long time now, he's always got these crazy ideas."
"So you knew?"
"I helped him do it." Molly said, bluntly. John looked at her in shock, then shook his head and continued walking.
"I just can't believe he's actually alive. I mean, it's completely unbelievable."
"I can believe it."
"Am I in some sort of dream? Because I'm pretty sure that I watched him die, I felt his bloody pulse, and he was dead!"
"John, you can stop talking now."
"Why?"
"Because you are freaking out and people are staring."
"Oh." He looked around, and the other pedestrians were giving the foreign man who was having some sort of emotional breakdown weird looks. The Hotel was on the same block as the shop, and they entered the hotel lobby in silence. Molly pressed the lift button, taking them upstairs.
John retreated back to his room, and Molly brought him the pajamas and a microwave dinner, even though he hardly ever ate. She knocked on his hotel door, to which he immediately replied, "come in."
"It's locked, Sherlock." Molly spoke through the wood, after attempting to turn the knob on the door. There was the sound of him getting up off the bed and walking towards the door. It swung open, with Sherlock already on his way back to the bed. He flopped down, staring at the ceiling. "I bought you these." She set the plastic shop bag with the dinner and the pajamas on the night table. Molly stood awkwardly for a second, and then went to sit down on the couch, staring out the window at the city they had come to in an irrational decision that had almost no logical reason.
"You don't have to stay, I'm perfectly capable of getting myself ready for bed." Sherlock spoke, at a tone that was almost distasteful.
"I just…I just wanna look at you." She said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No! I mean, I haven't seen you look like yourself in a month." She smiled. Sherlock sat up and walked over to her, eyebrow still raised. "I mean, without the facial prosthetics, the makeup, and the false stomach, all you really gotta do is dye –" Sherlock cut her off, with a swift, soft kiss to her mouth. It lasted only a second, in which once he pulled away, Molly replied "no, no no." and pulled him back to her by the collar of his purple shirt. He placed one of his hands on her leg, and the other cupped her face. Molly held onto the shirt collar, passionately moving her mouth around his.
When he pulled away for a breath of air, Molly sighed.
"Well." She breathed.
"Quite." Sherlock nodded, but stayed sitting next to her on the couch.
"Any particular…reason?" She ran a hand through her loose hair.
"You–" He stammered, "You, Molly. Have always been there. For me. Trustworthy, loving, caring, and loyal Molly." He nodded. "It doesn't matter what I do, you always support me. Hell, you put up with my crap for all these years, and I hardly returned the favor." Sherlock tugged at his collar. "I think–I think I love you."
Molly looked at him, mouth wide open. Did he actually say that? Did Sherlock Holmes actually tell me that he loved me? She attacked him, her mouth pressed firmly to his, arms wrapped around his neck.
Sherlock accepted this as a reply. She had in fact, before, told him she loved him. She showed clear signs of affection, and all this came bubbling up when he told her his feelings. He let her lead the way in the ordeal, her being the most experienced and all.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
John woke up that morning feeling sore. The mattress on his bed was hard and smelt like tomato soup, and the sheets and duvet provided no comfort.
He quickly showered; dressed into the clothes he wore the day before, and left his room to go to the complimentary breakfast downstairs in the restaurant. John was about to pass by Sherlock's room, when Molly slipped out, clutching the shopping bags from the day before.
"Molly?" John asked. She turned and gasped in surprise, then hurried off to her room. John raised his eyebrows, then pushed open the slightly cracked door that opened to Sherlock's hotel room.
"John." Sherlock looked up from his cell phone. Sherlock was wearing only the pajama bottoms that Molly bought him yesterday, and remained shirtless. His blonde hair was ruffled, despite its shortness. John's eyes drifted to the bed, unmade and rumpled.
"Did you shag Molly?" He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.
"Well, shag is an interesting word –"
"Nope. No, I'm just gonna go downstairs. Free breakfast." He flustered. Sherlock was now beet red in the face, embarrassed by the confrontation of his friend. "You should –yeah. Never mind." John turned around and quickly rushed out the door.
Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, and pulled on his shirt from yesterday. He was completely embarrassed, yet slightly peeved that John had the nerve to ask such a question. It was a bit of a personal matter, not something he'd happily tell Lestrade if he wasn't trying to hunt him down.
A swift two-tap knock at the door pulled Sherlock out of his train of thought. Opening it, Molly smiled up to him.
"Wanna get breakfast?" She pointed down the hall.
"Sure." Sherlock slipped on his shoes. Molly waited for him outside the door, and he took her hand. Sherlock wasn't much for holding hands, but hers was so small and dainty, he couldn't help it. Sherlock was so awkward around women he fancied, but Molly was not a regular woman. She was kind, and she didn't pressure him into things, didn't make him do anything he didn't want to. Sure, she could yell at him and push him around, but that was to save his life.
-.-.-.-.-.-.- 12 hours earlier
"Sir, we've triangulated John Watson's cellular." Sally Donovan called to Lestrade as he came out of his office. "I've got it on GPS. The bastards are in Oslo, Norway."
"Let's round them up." He ran back in to get his coat, and Sally pulled hers on. Anderson called in more officers, and the ten total agents set off for the airport.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present time
Molly pushed the lift button, and while they waited, Sherlock bent down to embrace her lips. The doors opened, and they went down to the ground floor.
Seconds later, the doors reopened, and the couple left the lift, only to run back in. Sherlock held his hand over molly's mouth to stifle her scream, and once the doors closed again, he started curing left and right. Lestrade had John pinned down on the floor of the lobby, and Anderson speaking with the receptionist at the front desk.
"How the hell did they find us?" Molly cried.
"I'm so stupid, they triangulated the cell phones!" Sherlock hit his head on the wall of the lift. "My brain has been so muddled with stupid emotions!"
"Stupid?" Molly stared accusingly.
"Yes, emotions! Stupid! Getting in the way intelligence! This is why I never let myself fall in love, I just become a stupid average person!" molly glared at him, and then stood up from the floor.
"Well, I guess that makes me an incredibly stupid person then." She slipped out the lift doors as they reopened on their floor.
"Right–no! Molly, I didn't mean –"
"Lets just get our stuff and get the hell out of here, okay? We can talk about stupid emotions when we're not resisting arrest." She ran down the hall to unlock her door, and Sherlock unlocked his. He grabbed his coat, the only other thing he brought, left the keycard on the table, and dashed into Molly's room. She'd just put her hairbrush back into her purse when Sherlock ran in. "Okay." She ran past him, and the two went towards the emergency back exit.
"Molly, let me just explain."
"Sherlock, keep running." She spat back, and sped down to the bottom of the outdoor staircase. They ran across the street, and Sherlock pulled out the address that was linked to Ted Moriarty out of his coat pocket. Molly dragged him into a shop first.
"I've got to change my appearance, too." She said, grabbing the first box of hair dye she found. It was bleach blonde. Sherlock grabbed a box of dye himself, picking a reddish color. "Over here." Molly found the restroom, a one-person-at-a-time thing. She pulled Sherlock inside, and turned on the faucet. She started rinsing her hair, and ripped open the box of dye.
"Shouldn't you buy that first?" Sherlock commented.
"I can buy it when I'm done using it." She muttered, applying the dye. "Read to me how long I have to rub this into my scalp." She nodded to the instructions inside the box. He grabbed it.
"Just ten minutes." He said. Molly moved over so Sherlock could start dying his hair.
"They've got John." She said.
"He won't give away information."
"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried because Lestrade has John. You're worried about him."
"Of course I am, Molly. He's my best friend. I feel like an absolute dick for hiding form him for two months, then here I come back into his life, and he gets arrested because I carelessly forgot to tell him to leave his cellular in London."
"Right. Stupid emotions."
"Molly." Sherlock sighed.
"No, Sherlock, don't. I should have remembered that knowledge comes first before love."
"Molly."
"And right now, love is just a stupid emotion that gets in the way. We're on the fucking run, for fuck's sake."
"Molly."
"What?" She shouted, exasperated.
"I love you." He pressed his mouth to hers, both of them still rubbing the dye in their hair.
