Finally updating! Sorry that it's such a short chapter, but have fun reading it!


At New Scotland Yard, 12:00pm, three days later

"John, for the last time, tell us exactly what you, Sherlock and Molly were doing in Oslo." Lestrade rubbed his head. John was always either lying to them, or he refused to talk altogether. This time, John just shook his head, arms crossed. "John, you're my friend. I would really hate to see you tortured for withholding information from the police."

"I thought Sherlock was your friend, but now you're trying to track him down and arrest him on false pretences!" John yelled at him, snapping his head up.

"Sherlock was my friend, until he admitted to being a fraud."

"Sherlock was never a fraud, you know that."

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. If he can prove it to me that he is no fraud, then I will stop hunting him down and award him."

"So you have some faith in him."

"I never said that." replied Lestrade, with the slightest twitch of his right eye. Sherlock taught John many, many months ago that you can detect a lie from Lestrade if he twitches his right eye. John deducted from this slight slip of Lestrade's composure that he still had a glimmer of hope for Sherlock. This was definitely new.

-.-.-.-.-.-Oslo, Norway, 7:00pm, two weeks later

"Anything?" Sherlock asked Molly, entering their flat in Oslo. It was a small one-bedroom flat, with one common room and one bathroom. Sherlock Holmes, or Peter Harvey, had just returned from shopping, whilst Molly Hooper, or Alice Harvey, was working on a laptop computer, searching databases and other sites for Ted Moriarty. Sherlock strode over to her, planting a kiss on her forehead. He ran his fingers through her long, bleach-blonde hair.

"Nothing." She turned around to face him, and jumped into his arms. She breathed in his aroma, smiling as he carried her from the table to the couch. He gently set her down, but pulling her mouth to his. They kissed on the dingy couch for a while, Molly running her hands through Sherlock's ginger hair, exchanging wet kisses, groaning into the others' mouth. A knock on the door broke up their romantic embrace. "I'll get that." She muttered, hopping up on her bare feet. She looked through the peephole, only to gasp and stagger backwards. Sherlock's eyes widened, and he dashed up to look for himself. There, outside their door, was Mycroft Holmes, donning his regular suit and umbrella. Sherlock glanced at Molly, until Mycroft spoke through the door.

"Sherlock, I know you're in there. Let your dear brother in, won't you?" He said, with a tone of arrogance. Sherlock reluctantly opened the door, letting his older brother in.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock groaned unhappily, in his deep voice. Molly swiftly turned away from Mycroft, embarrassed, because her hair was now messed up and her lips swollen from kissing Sherlock.

"Can't a man pay his brother a visit once in awhile? I haven't seen you since you 'died.'" Mycroft shut the door behind himself, and sat down on the couch. "Lovely to see you, Molly Hooper. I must say however, that blonde hair does not suit you."

"Oh, shut up Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why are you really here? How did you find me?"

"You forget that I am the British government. You could be time traveling and I could still find you. Now, as a matter of grave importance, I hope that you know that Lestrade has Dr. Watson locked up at New Scotland Yard. Its only because of me that he hasn't lost the flat." Mycroft fiddled with his umbrella.

"And you felt the need to come all the way here…because?" Molly raised her eyebrows, turning from the miniscule kitchen to face him.

"Regular communication could be intercepted, the only way to go unnoticed by the police is to meet somebody in person. Really, Sherlock, I expected you to know that."

"I've been pre-occupied." Sherlock stole a glance at Molly. "My mind's been a bit fuzzy lately. I'm getting tired of the chase."

"Just be careful, little brother. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Like you ever cared." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft rose from his chair, and pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his coat. He handed it to Sherlock.

"Just in case you want to get the ball rolling." He said, and then showed himself out the door.

Molly looked at the note, and then at Sherlock, who stood there, eyes gaping at it. He opened it, read it, and then closed it. Sherlock walked straight for the bedroom.

"What is it?"

"Pack your bags, we're going to London."

"Excuse me?"

"Just do it, the next flight is in one hour."

"Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere until you explain what we are doing going back to London!"

"I'll explain later, just pack the necessities and come!" Sherlock walked out of the bedroom and up to Molly. "Just trust me on this, okay?"

After a few seconds, Molly gave in. "Okay."

-.-.-.-.-.-.- Arriving at Heathrow Airport

"Will you tell me now?"

"Not yet, you'll see."

"Sherlock, just tell me, this is getting annoying." Molly glared at Sherlock as they left the terminal. An announcement came on, telling them what baggage claim they're in. "I'll go get our bags, you just get some coffee or something." Molly and Sherlock left in opposite directions, Molly for the escalator and Sherlock for the Starbucks kiosk.

A rather annoying American girl was trying to order, and her accent so thick that it was difficult to understand her. She must be from Northwest America; she pronounces her vowels too long. She's alone, and wearing a Rotary International polo, so she's either landing here to meet her host family or on a connecting flight. Sherlock deduced. He looked back to the menu, and waited for his turn to order.

-.-

Molly stepped off the escalator, looking for baggage claim 8. Locating it, she waited for their bags to arrive. It was a struggle to pull them off the belt, but as soon as she did, Molly felt somebody grab her arm.

-.-

Sherlock scanned the crowd for Molly. He held two caramel mochas in his gloved hands, his blue coat hanging off his thin frame. With his heart in his throat, he saw their two suitcases sitting on the ground, ignored by the crowd.

He ran over to their abandoned luggage, still holding the coffees. He leaves them on the conveyor belt, and makes sure that both suitcases have Molly's address written on them before chucking them too on the conveyor belt.

He has no idea where to go. Jumping onto the median between conveyor belts, he scans the crowd from above. There's a glimpse of a blonde woman being dragged away, limp.