After what seemed like ages of getting across town via a very small car, they arrived at the airport. Sherlock was pleased to see that Irene's documentation was serving them well as they breezed through check-in and security. "What is your alias, you know, to keep Mycroft from tracing you?" Irene asked after they had checked the single suitcase.

"Not relevant."

"Of course it's relevant. What should I be calling you on the plane?"

"Sherlock is fine."

"Oh god… you've done something stupid, haven't you? It's probably some even more obscure name than the one you've already been punished with, isn't it?"

"Ire—Ellie. Let's not discuss this here."

"So that's it? We're going to start things like this?"

"It certainly makes things more convincing," he muttered.

"Oh, and what is that supposed to mean?" she retorted.

"Paul Jenkins."

"What?"

"Paul Jenkins. You asked what my alias is. Paul Jenkins."

"We're married?" she squeaked. "Unless you've gone and made yourself my brother…"

"Don't be ridiculous. Marriage is the most logical answer. Certainly provides an easy answer for all the unwarranted questions you're going to be getting from nosy old blue-haired ladies, doesn't it?"

"Oh, and what am I supposed to tell them?"

"Military. Naval officer."

"You would go for something ridiculous like that."

"You're going to be living in a port city with a prominent naval presence and influence. You're going to be raising a child on your own, and people are going to wonder why. If your husband is in the service, it's easily explained as to why you're raising a child on your own."

"What if I decide to date?"

"Well, that's your prerogative."

They continued walking to their terminal in silence. "How long have we been married?" Irene finally asked quietly.

"Based on our body language, I'd say that it's most convincing to say that we've been married for three years, together for three or four."

"An old married couple."

"Certainly bicker like one."

She snorted with laughter. "No, we fight like intellectual equals who are so wired with passion and fire and too many thoughts to handle."

"Some married couples bicker like that."

"I suppose you're right about that. But you're insane otherwise."

"I can't tell if you're being genuine or if you're humoring me."

"Ah… Mr. Jenkins, we'll never know that one, will we?" she hummed.

He rolled his eyes. As they kept walking, Irene discreetly grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through his. Sherlock said nothing about this, choosing only to look down at their intertwined hands pointedly. Irene had hoped for some cheeky remark about her taking liberties, but was content to just keep walking as they were. Anything to keep the fantasy alive, she supposed.

When they were seated on the plane, Sherlock took out a book and started to read while Irene stared out the window. "How would you have proposed?" she asked him as the plane started taxiing down the runway.

His attention was broken. "Sorry?" he asked innocently.

"How would you have proposed? People are going to want to know."

"Oh."

He closed the book around his index finger, temporarily marking his place. "Tell them that I did it the normal way."

"What's the normal way? They're going to want details."

"And by they, you mean you."

"Sure."

He smirked. "You would be the sort to want details."

"Are you going to keep mocking me, or are you going to give me a good story?"

Irene stared at him pointedly, clasping her hands over her belly. "I suppose you haven't bothered to get a ring either, have you?"

"You do realize that it's just a story, right?" he asked quietly, leaning into her.

"This is my life, Sherlock. You've gone to so much trouble to make it good, right down to making yourself my husband on paper. Perhaps you can substantiate a little bit of the details and make it more than just…"

"Knowing you, it was showy. You wouldn't have it any other way. It had to be done perfectly, somehow involving a laser system and a harness…"

"Of course you would make it out to be a 007 movie," she sighed.

"Okay, how about you make up the story then?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you clearly had something in mind when you brewed this all up."

"Irene, I looked at a map and figured out, geographically, where you would thrive. I took into consideration job opportunities, the housing market, schools, and strategic locations nearby. Once I had that figured out, I then thought about what would make the most sense contextually, why you would be there. Once I had that established, I took into consideration our current situation, and why you'd be there by yourself and why I wouldn't be there, even though I would still have a presence in your life. Putting that all together, I determined that you would be married, and in order to keep questions at bay, I established an identity for myself that would concur with your story. There were no extraneous details added to that. There was no story to build up to our marriage. All you need to know is that we are, for all intents and purposes, married. You can fill in the details later."

"You looked at schools?" she asked him quietly, humbled by his abrasive explanation for why he couldn't just come up with a story of how he would ask her to marry him.

He flipped his book back open. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It's a shame when a brilliant mind is wasted on a subpar education."

"You do care."

He ignored her and kept reading. It was easy to ignore Irene's accusations of him caring when he was reading.