CHAPTER 35

Molly's plane lands in Philadelphia International Airport and she spends three days there, staying at the Ritz-Carlton, shopping for new clothes, and exploring the city. She tries her first authentic Philly cheesesteak from Geno's, sees the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, and visits both the Art Museum and National Constitution Center.

Americans in this city, she noted, seemed to boast about Brotherly Love, but none ever wanted to display it - except when speaking of their sports teams.

When Molly returns to her hotel, she pens a heartfelt thank you note to Meena on the back of a pretty Art Museum postcard. On the reverse side of an identical card, she writes:

"Dearest Sherlock,

The people here spend an enormous amount of time talking about and eating cheesesteaks. I tried one. Didn't like it, but perhaps you would. I've seen you consume some questionable food, and wonder if you're always researching - or do you actually like squid ink pasta?

Love Molly xox"

She looks at the second postcard with her tiny block print, and let out a disgusted snort. Why does she continue to write to Sherlock? She must be a glutton for punishment.

It's comforting, a small voice inside confirms. And you do like him.

The words on the postcard sounded bananas; why would he read about such nonsense? Molly grasps the card with both hands, and nearly begins to tear it in two, but something stays her movement. She turns the card over, rereads the words, then places it in her luggage. She'll burn it when she returns to England.

Molly considered hiring a car to take her to the next destination Meena had chosen for her, but feeling adventurous once more, opted to board an Amtrak train bound to Williamsburg, Virginia. She watched as whole states zip past her window, but does catch several long glances of many rivers. She picked up an oversized postcard upon arrival, and, once again, jotted down her thoughts:

"Dearest Sherlock,

Riding American trains is an experience; slow, cumbersome, and slightly smelly. The girl across the aisle from me put tomato catsup on her pizza slice. Isn't that redundant - and a little bit disgusting? Still, the seats are comfy and the scenery is not too bad, when buildings don't get in the way. I think I may be missing you a bit. Love, Molly xox"

More post that will go unsent, she surmises. She shouldn't waste the money, but it really is a comfort, writing to Sherlock; she'd spent years doing it, and those terrible letters Moriarty forced her to write - and a holiday abroad - was not stopping that.

It was one thing to admit to herself that she missed Sherlock, despite his abrasive annoyance, yet another to write down she missed him.

Was his absence making her heart grow fonder? Surely not.

It's for comfort and familiarity, she tried to reassure herself; this had nothing to do with her feelings for him. He was just Sherlock Holmes, not her damned boyfriend.

But, according to him, he wanted to be - and she wanted him to be.

This shouldn't be so difficult!

Molly stashed the postcard with the other one she had written for him, still convinced they need to be burned.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Here you are, ma'am," the clerk at the Williamsburg Inn handed her a key card. With a smile. "Have a lovely stay."

Molly took her key card, picked up both of her suitcases, and looked at the guidemap she was given. Her room was not too far away, thankfully.

When she entered, it was reassuring, knowing that her best friend had had her best interests-and comfort-in mind; this room was also of a high-end quality. She was tempted to toss herself onto the king bed, but refrained from that; she was not a child. She set about to unpacking, and pondered using the indoor pool the front desk clerk had told her about, but her scars embarrassed her, so that desire was set aside.

Since there were a few hours left in the day, Molly boarded a shuttle which took her into the heart of the colonial area. She considered purchasing a ticket, but chose, instead, to browse the shops.

Molly overheard two patrons discussing ginger cakes, while she strolled between two shops. This intrigued her, as she had once heard Jill Berman talking of those, after she and her husband had come to the States, a few years ago. Had she been here on holiday? If so, what a happy coincidence that Meena chose this place.

She consulted a map and meandered down the street until she saw a small sign for a bakery pointing to a gate. She pushed it open, walked through the short alley, and noticed a few people going into a smaller building at the back of a larger one. She followed them in, and was greeted by the warmth of the recently doused brick ovens and smells of sweets that had been baking in them.

This was how her parents home was, when she was a child; her mother was always baking, and her papa loved their nightly fireside chats or board games, before Molly went to bed.

She felt at home here, in this bakery. She vowed to spend more time baking and cooking - and less time watching telly - during her free time, when she returned home.

Molly chose three ginger cakes and two pretzel rolls, as well as some stew. She loved the idea of eating the warm, comforting food, despite the slightly warmer weather. It made her think of Anna, who probably would have loved it - and Jill, who had once made Molly a whole batch of gingerbread cookies for Christmas.

Molly felt great sorrow for her lost friends; they deserved to be alive, living good, honest lives.

Feeling somber, she found her way to the length of grassy knoll in front of a large building, and sat down, taking the time to enjoy her stew and baked goods, with a cold root beer, as other tourists walked by.

This was such a simple act, but one she would not have considered before Christmas. Now, the sheer joy of sitting in the grass under the balmy sun, surrounded by strangers in a strange town… Molly felt bliss. She was always surrounded by death, but this… this was as far from it as possible-and she loved it.

She most certainly did love her job; helping bring closure for grieving families and the overworked police was important. However, simply relaxing in the warm, green grass, and enjoying the moment was immensely satisfying.

Another thing about myself I've discovered, Molly thought. I like it.

Her thoughts strayed to the dream she'd had of herself and Sherlock lying in the grass under a tree. The day, she recalled, had been much like this one, sunny and… happy.

And she was happy in this moment. She was taking time to just be.

Some would say wanting time for one's self was selfish, but Molly disagreed; taking moments to care for one's mental and spiritual health was so important; Jill had told her that, once.

oooooooooooooooooooo

The next four days are spent touring Colonial Williamsburg, where Molly learns about the history of Colonial America - which is not as exciting as she'd thought it would be. She taxis to Jamestown and Yorktown, as well, and learns a bit more history - and receives a few good-natured comments from other tourists about her being a spy for England, which she returned with a few humorous jabs about Americans being ungrateful colonists. It was all in good fun, and Molly was thankful no one took offence.

In one of the shops, she spies a beautiful silver magnifying glass. Molly purchased this; it would be perfect for Sherlock.

While Molly packed her bag the evening before departing Williamsburg, she looked down at the notecard Meena had scribbled on and pressed into her hand at the airport: The Serendipity, the inn featured in the famous American romantic film, "Nights in Rodanthe", was written there; Molly was to stay for four nights. Getting there required a hired car.

It was lovely, the dark blue inn, and walks along the nearby beach was quite enjoyable; Molly loved seeing the shorebirds and families flying kites of all shapes, colors, and sizes. She did not experience any romantic attachments, as Diane Lane did, but that was just as well; Molly knew to whom her heart belonged.

Feeling a bit whimsical, and wanting to prolong her holiday, two nights before she was to check out of The Serendipity, Molly browsed the internet a bit more and found another lovely hotel: The Inn on Pamlico Sound. It was located on Hatteras Island, in Buxton — and was and hour's drive from Jockey's Ridge State Park, in Nag's Head, where Meena had booked Molly's hang gliding session.

It still stunned Molly that she agreed to such shenanigans. Hang gliding-her?! That was very daring, Molly knew, but living a little was what she needed.

She writes to Sherlock on another large postcard. It says, simply:

Dearest Sherlock,

'The older you get, the more you realize: it's not what happens, but how you deal with it.' - That's a quote from Tina Turner, and American singer. … I'm dealing with things in my own way, discovering and liking what's being found. Despite the overuse of the sentiment… I wish you were here. I'm sorry I was cross. May we talk when I return? I definitely do miss you.

Love, Molly xxx

Out of perverse habit, she doesn't mail this, either; it goes into the pile of unsent mail for Sherlock. The next morning, Molly drives to the Outer Banks.

Driving on the wrong side of the road was strange, for the first thirty minutes, and several other drivers honked and made rude hand gestures at her. She felt like giving up, but soldiered on; if Americans can drive incorrectly and not panic, then, dammit, she could, too!

There, she spends the first of two days flying kites, visiting the Wright Brothers Memorial, and dining in some offbeat-yet-wonderful restaurants. Molly discovers not only a love for fresh seafood and a great interest in sea turtles, but an affection for dune grass, sunsets, and the genuine laughter of small children enjoying the incoming surf on a beach.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Maybe I should have opted for horse riding on the beach, Molly thought, as she allowed the hang glide instructor place a harness over her head. Meena didn't mention all the entrapments that came along with this particular adventure.

She and six others had gathered together out in the impossibly tall sand dunes at Jockey's Ridge State Park in Nags Head. Three of the group were obviously American college students, based on their language; they kept referring to a fraternity organisation, while laughing, giving one another high-fives, and slapping each others backs.

There were two women in their sixties, at least, one of whom was celebrating being cancer free. Her companion was nervous, but the cancer-free woman kept telling her she only lives once, so should make the best of it - and do something daring!

Molly chuckled nervously at this; was she not doing the same thing - trying to make the best of the life she had? She was tired of being afraid of things she did not understand, so here she was, waiting to take a flying leap off of a sand dune just to get six minutes of airtime.

The last in the group was a beautiful, raven haired woman with strikingly blue eyes. She looked to be slightly older than Molly, with an air of confidence as she hungrily eyed one of the three instructors, the one assisting her into her own harness. The sandy haired man spoke in low tones to her, and her throaty laugh carried across the sand. Molly caught two words from her dark red lips: "Later, darling."

Molly's ears perked up at her accent; the woman was British too!

When the instructor walked away to help the older women into their harnesses, Molly smiled at the dark-haired lady, who returned the gesture.

"Hello," Molly said running her hand through her hair; it had grown quite a bit in the last thirteen weeks, and was now trimmed into a cute pixie style. It was a far cry from her sloppy ponytails, and made her self-conscious at times, but she kept telling herself she would be fine. Despite her scars, she did not look too awful. "I could not help overhearing…"

The woman's smile broadened. "Ah, a fellow Brit! Hello, darling! You seem nervous. Don't be; this is one of the safest activities on the Outer Banks. See Jack, there?" She pointed to the sandy haired young man. "I glide with him often; he's quite skilled! Nothing has ever gone wrong for me while in his capable hands."

As if he had heard her, Jack turned to look at her and gave a grin and a head nod.

"Brilliant!" Molly smiled, a bit nervously. "This isn't your first time?"

The woman laughed. "I'm what many would call 'a professional'."

Molly was taken aback. "Oh, well… why are you in this group, if you don't mind my asking?"

The lady smiled knowingly at her. "Jack, of course."

Molly looked from the woman to Jack and back again, then closed her mouth, which had fallen open when she realised what the woman was actually saying: he was her lover.

"Oh, my dear!" The lady said, laying a hand on Molly's forearm. "I didn't mean to offend. Allow me to restart this conversation: Hello, I'm Lara Pulver." She held out on perfectly manicured, alabaster hand.

Molly briefly looked down at her own hands; she had little to no nails, and her skin was a bit red from sitting too long in the sun two days previous. The other woman oozed glamour, and Molly wondered: How did she stay so ivory?

She clasped Lara's hand and noted that the other woman had an amazingly strong grip. "I'm Molly. Pleased to meet another person from the great British Empire."

Lara chuckled. "I like you. How about we meet for mimosas and scones, later? My place is in Avon. We can discuss Queen and country, if you'd like."

"That's not far from the hotel I'll be checking into, later, but…" Molly was hesitant; this was a stranger - and strangers meant terrible things. But Anna turned out to be a good stranger; perhaps Lara was, too? Molly swallowed nervously and looked over at Jack. "What about him?"

Lara gave her a lascivious wink. "He can join us, if that is what you also like."

"I was hoping for an adventure on this holiday, but not that kind!" Molly turned even more red. No one had ever tried to proposition her in such a way before, let alone a female. Molly wondered if she had been in the sun for too long, again.

Lara laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "It'll be just us ladies, then - mimosas and scones only, of course. You barely know me, right? Let's change that, because I would like to know you."

Molly felt a like perhaps she was getting in over her head, but looked at the two older women, hooting like a pair of old owls, and having the time of their lives. She thought everything she had been doing on this vacation had been daring, but they seemed safe in comparison to this stranger's invitation. Safe is boring, she heard Sherlock say once. Perhaps she should put that to practice.

"What's your address?" Molly asked, pulling her mobile from her pocket. She couldn't believe she was going to some strange woman's house, especially after her horrible ordeal all those months ago.

"How about you follow me over there after this little shindig," Lara smiled. "I promise there will be no funny business. You can leave whenever you'd like, but I'll wager you won't."

Molly pressed down the worry that tried to take over. "Sounds brilliant!"

The two six-minute intervals Molly floated in the air in her hang glider were probably the most exhilarating of her life; she could get used to being more daring!

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Lara's home took Molly's breath away.

"Reed Cottage," Lara called it, but it was no small, quaint bungalow one would find in American films about the Outer Banks. No, this was much larger.

The beautiful, dark stained oceanfront home gave panoramic ocean views from inside and out. Lara told Molly it was an historic home that had been been built from the previous family's original home that had sat on the very same site for forty years, until a hurricane destroyed it.

"There is so much extra space for stretching out and relaxing," Lara confided, as she showed Molly the home. "I never realized, until I came here, that I love the ocean breeze."

Molly marveled the top-level deck, with its high roof; it created a shaded deck alongside the full sun deck. It allowed Lara to spend leisurely days soaking up the beautiful views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Molly felt a strong twinge of envy.

The hot tub on the mid-level deck seemed comfortable and luxurious. Lara was rather lucky, Molly thought, trying to keep the green-eyed monster at bay.

"There's an elevator, too; makes access to all levels easy," Lara told Molly, waving her hand at a paneled door carved with shells.

"You have an elevator?" Molly gasped; the building her flat was in didn't have such a luxury!

"Oh, yes," Lara replied with a twinkle in her eye, "and it's an enormous help on shopping days!"

They sat together on the shaded deck while sipping mimosas and eating currant scones.

Molly closed her eyes with joy. "Mmm. These scones are amazing. The ones the hotel serves are not quite right." She held up her half eaten scone. "This is how it should be."

"I adore piling jam on top," Lara said, scooping a bit of berry preserves onto her scone. "It's probably injurious to one's diet, but has never stopped me. So, please, enjoy!"

For a while, both women ate and drank in silence, listening to the sounds of the ocean waves crashing onto the sand and the occasional gull that cried as it passed by.

"You never told me what brought you here on holiday," Lara spoke up, finally. "Curiosity? Difficulties at home - or did you simply need a break?"

"I was…" Molly searched for the right word; 'well' was not correct, and neither was 'living'. "… surviving in London, until Christmas. Then, after a disastrous holiday party, things went… tits up. I'm doing well, physically, now, but there was a time when I thought I would even cease surviving."

Lara chuckled. "I had a night like that. So, it was a man, was is not? I sense you are here because of man."

Molly reddened . "I am not here with a man, if that is what you mean."

"Oh, I know," Lara replied silkily. "If you had been, he would have been by your side. A lovely thing like you? He would be crazy to leave you alone."

Molly grimaced. "Well, there is a man-a brilliant man. Unfortunately, he never noticed me, before - unless he required something. Married to his work, you see."

Lara frowned. "That's unfortunate. Is he a co-worker?"

"Of sorts," Molly shrugged. "I … well, I work in a morgue, and he is a regular visitor, as he works with Scotland Yard."

Lara leaned forward, interested. "Oh, a detective, then! How yummy. Perhaps he comes in often because he does care, and simply does not know how to tell you?"

"Oh, haha…" Molly tittered. "No. Lately, he has practically tried to attach himself to my side. He won't leave me alone. Thought it best to get as far away as possible, for a bit. He… doesn't know I'm here." She sighed. "It's all been unnerving, especially since he has said in the past: 'caring is not an advantage'. "

Lara chuckled again. "I know someone who has the same motto; it must be a British Man Thing. You know, stiff upper lip and all that. It can be quite frustrating."

Molly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I think it is just a Consulting Detective Thing."

Lara paused, her eyes widening. "Consult-?" She set her mimosa glass down with a thunk. "Are you, perhaps, speaking of…Sherlock Holmes?"

Molly nodded. "Yes. That's him - the one I had to get away from. The world's only Consulting Detective. He really is quite amazing, and has helped Scotland Yard solve many cases, but his people skills are horrid. Has news of his talents reached America?"

Lara rose to her feet. "Mmm. Yes, he is a man of particular talents."

Molly eyed her hostess suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

Lara gave a small smile as she moved over to Molly's seat. "I … know what he likes."

Molly froze, looking up at Irene incredulously. "Wait. You know him?"

Lara grasped Molly's upper arm and pulled her up gently from the chair. "I hate to do this, because you seemed like such a lovely young woman, but… this is where I bow out gracefully from the conversation. It has been a tremendous joy getting to know you, but… it is time for you to go."

Molly stutters as she's pulled across the room. "But… how do you know Sher-? Wait. Where are you taking me?!" Panic flooded her and she tried to wrench her elbow out of Lara's grasp.

Lara, however, did not have murderous intentions; she pushed Molly to the door, collecting the petite woman's bag and light jumper as they moved along. "Thank you for the conversation and company, Molly Hooper! Have a lovely afternoon! Please… do not return."

Molly stumbled out into the porch. "I don't understand… What's going on?!"

She suddenly found herself looking at Lara's front door as it's slammed in her face. She knocks, but there is no reply. Confused and hurt, Molly sits in the rental car for several long minutes before returning to her hotel to sit in her room in silence, wondering what in the bloody hell just happened?

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Lara Pulver, previously known as Irene Adler, had been placed in a witness protection scheme, thanks to Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. She still entertains clients for more 'adult activities', but they're mostly tourists, now.

When Irene realizes she's speaking to someone who may compromise her location, she contacts Mycroft… and this is how he learns of Molly Hooper's location.

Hello, Iceman. -IA

What do you want? You are NEVER supposed to contact me unless it is an emergency. -MH

This warrants your attention. -IA

You're trying my patience. Say what needs to be said. -MH

Should I be concerned about a Molly Hooper? -IA

Seconds later, Irene's mobile rang.

"Why are you texting me about Doctor Hooper?" Mycroft barked as soon as Irene hit the 'answer' button.

"Hello to you too, Mr. Holmes," Irene purred. "I'm doing well… although, there was a spot of trouble with my garage door opener, yesterday. Can you see about getting that fixed for me?"

"I am not your maintenance man!" Mycroft snapped. "Why did you mention Molly Hooper?"

"Because I have just tossed her out of my house."

"What?!" Mycroft practically choked. "Details!"

"Well, now," Irene drawled, "You Holmes men certainly know how to woo a lady."

"Ms. Pulver…" he remembered to call her by her new name, which delighted her in a perverse way - but his tone was definitely one of warning.

"Tetchy!" She scolded playfully. "Anyway, I was minding my own business, going hang gliding, where I talked to this beautiful young man…"

Irene heard Mycroft sighing, again, and she imagined he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Relay the facts; I do not wish to hear about your… rather colorful personal life."

Irene chuckled. "What would you know about 'colorful', Mr. Holmes? Your world is nothing but bland beige."

Surprisingly, Mycroft did not reply; either she had angered him into silence, or he was simply waiting for her to tell him what he wanted to hear.

"Fine," she sighed, annoyed; she has not spoken to the man in a year, and this is how he treats her? "I bumped into Molly Hooper while hang gliding at Jockey's Ridge. I did not know she was connected to… our mutual acquaintance… until after I invited her to my home and she started speaking of him."

"You invited a strange woman into your home?" Mycroft was slightly incensed.

"What do you think I do over here, across the pond, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked, exasperated. "Knit caps and play bridge?"

"Keep an eye on Doctor Hooper, her whereabouts and activities; our mutual acquaintance will be most desirous of this information," Mycroft instructed, ignoring her question, "and give me regular updates."

"He will?" Irene was intrigued. "Why? What has she done - and what do I get out of it?"

"The former is none of your business, and the latter will bring you the joy of seeing said mutual acquaintance, again."

This thrilled Irene to her toes; she gives Mycroft her consent almost immediately.

After he ends he ends the call, Mycroft wonders how to tell Sherlock that he knew Molly was in America.