Hey guys, I'm back again after a mini break with my new fic. As I mentioned it's a sherlolly fic inspired by Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile. I tried to come up with a different title but it's such a good one and does what it says on the tin (to use an advertising slogan that probably only Brits will get).

Anyway it's set in current day but maybe with a retro feel, so little use of modern technology. Also, the route follows the original Agatha Christie sailing but this isn't possible anymore because of the Aswan dam so poetic license has been used. I've also never been to Egypt (though I would love to go) so apologies to anyone more familiar with it for any errors.

I think that's enough from me for now, let's get on with the story.

Chapter 1

Molly excitedly made her way into her apartment, throwing her keys onto the kitchen table and hurriedly flicking on the kettle.

As she was waiting for the kettle to boil she emptied her bag of all the brochures that she'd picked up at the travel agents on her way back from work. She had half a dozen different glossy booklets all advertising holidays to Egypt and once again, as she looked at them, she grinned to herself.

She made the cup of tea and then picked it and the brochures up and made her way over to the settee in the front room and she settled herself down to enjoy flicking through them. Ever since she was a teenager and she'd read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile she had wanted to experience Egypt for herself and now was finally the time.

She'd had eighteen months plus full of upheaval everything from Mary dying to THAT phone call from Sherlock through to her deciding to move away and settling in here in Cardiff. What she needed now was a treat.

Her eyes flicked over the over bright pictures of white painted hotels with bright blue skies and aquamarine pools and she imagined herself lying out on one of the sun loungers with a cocktail and it had her taking a deep, relaxing breath at the thought. But the brochure she coveted the most was that advertising 1920s style retro cruises down the Nile. It just looked perfect and Molly was already hooked.

JWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJWJW

A few weeks later...

John finished his FaceTime call with Molly, sat back on his settee and narrowed his eyes. Before he could think through what she had told him though there was a cry from the floor and he looked down to see Rosie banging a little wooden square shaped block against the triangle hole on the game she was playing with. A quick glance at the time told him it was time for her to go to bed and for the next hour he was busy with bath time and bed time, reading the same story three times over before his daughter's eyes drooped and he was able to slip out of her room and back into his front room.

He sighed, missing Mary once more, just as he did most nights, then he poured himself a beer and let himself think back to his conversation with Molly and the nugget of an idea that it had given him.

Seeing Molly's face just reminded him how much he missed her. She'd been gone almost twelve months now and John just couldn't get it out of his head that she'd made the wrong decision both for herself and for Sherlock.

Ever since his best friend had realised that not only had Molly left Barts but she'd left London without even telling him he'd been even more of a nightmare to live and work with than ever and John had slowly come around to the idea that he'd been wrong about who it was that had captured Sherlock's heart. He'd always been convinced that it was Irene, in the past he'd even urged his friend to text her, to get in touch and take a chance but he knew the Consulting Detective never had and now he thought he knew why...because his friend was in love with Molly and possibly had been for years.

For what must be the hundredth time he played over in his head that telephone call that Sherlock had been forced to make to Molly. It had been painful to listen too. Both he and Mycroft had felt helpless as they'd listened to Sherlock trying to persuade Molly to say those words. He'd heard his initial confidence give way to manipulation and finally to desperation and he'd felt Molly's sadness and humiliation turn to angry stubbornness as she turned the tables on him, insisting that he say those words first.

When Sherlock had first stumbled his way through and said them John had just felt surprise but it was nothing to how he'd felt when he heard him utter them a second time, this time with awe and realisation in his voice. That was when he'd first started to understand that he'd picked the wrong woman for his friend's love interest.

He hadn't been surprised though when nothing had come of it. Sherlock was always slow to deduce himself and in fairness he had had a lot of family stuff to deal with in the aftermath.

The trouble was that Molly didn't think there was any truth to his words and without telling either of them she had made her plans to leave town and leave Sherlock. John himself was only told the day before she went and he knew why...she hadn't trusted him not to tell Sherlock and if he was honest with himself she was right about that. He would have told him. As it was the man himself was out of town when she went and it was left to John to break the news to him on his return.

He had wondered how he would take it. Whether he would be angry or sad, whether he would immediately go to Cardiff to bring her back home.

He was none of those things. Instead he withdrew into himself and refused to acknowledge that the loss of Molly meant anything at all. For a week or so John wondered if maybe he'd got it all wrong but then he started to see the changes in his friend. He lost weight, his skin looking gaunt and sallow, he threw himself into work even more manically than he normally did...taking any and every case no matter how trivial. He refused to talk about Molly, to even have her name spoken...and this went on for months.

John hoped it would get better, that his friend would get over it or do something about it. And for a while he thought it would. About six months later, after a case in Bristol that John hadn't been able to join him on he'd seemed brighter somehow, he started eating again and resting more but it didn't last and now here they were and John knew it was time for him to step in and do something. He'd been wondering what and now Molly had presented him with an opportunity. He just needed a little help.

He nodded his head to himself and reached for his phone. He had to flick through his contacts to find a number that he rarely used and normally only in an emergency. Maybe this was an emergency of sorts...or maybe it was more of an intervention.

He only had to wait a couple of rings before it was answered.

'Hi...Mycroft...I need your help.'

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

One month later

Sherlock was just finishing packing his bag when the front door bell to Baker St rang out. He made his way to the right hand window as he heard Mrs Hudson leaving her flat to answer it and he looked down on a familiar head of dark hair and he frowned to himself.

A moment later he heard light footsteps on the stairs and he moved forward to greet his old...Hmm, his old what? Girlfriend wasn't right, not really. She wasn't a friend either. Maybe she was a foe? Whatever...it was Janine Hawkins. The last time he'd seen her was when she'd visited him in hospital after he'd been shot and left for dead by Mary in the extended offices of Janine's boss, Charles Magnusson. Quite frankly, he hadn't expected to ever see her again.

As soon as she walked into the room he knew he was in trouble. She was dressed for seduction; he knew the cues even if he pretended he was oblivious. The carefully applied make up, the lipstick chosen to accentuate her lips. A low cut blouse paired with a push up bra and a tight fitting skirt and heels to elongate her legs.

'Janine, how are you?'

She smiled widely and came forward to greet him and he allowed her to kiss him on the cheek in a familiar way. After all, they'd done far more than that in the past.

'I'm good, you?'

He nodded noncommittally. 'How can I help you?'

At this she smiled more coquettishly. 'Maybe you can start by offering me a drink.'

He flattened his lips and narrowed his eyes but once again, given how he'd treated her in the past, he gave way. 'OK. Wine or coffee?'

'Ooh wine, thanks Sherl.'

Sherlock inwardly winced at the nickname and turned away to get the drink calculating how fast he could get rid of her. He estimated 3 minutes and fifteen seconds should do it. Two minutes longer than the eviscerating version but he felt his inner John would be happier.

As he poured her some wine he saw her wandering around his flat touching the odd item.

'Are you packing Sherly?'

He walked back towards her holding out her glass and he noticed her slightl frown at him not joining her. Clue number one in his plan to show her his lack of interest in her.

'I am...a case in the Middle East. Shouldn't have taken long but John wants to turn it into something of a holiday.'

He turned away from her busying himself with his paperwork for the trip. Clue number two, a lack of interest in her.

She cleared her throat, sounding nervous for the first time.

'Anyway, you're looking good...keeping well?'

'Wrong. I've lost almost half a stone since you last saw me. My skin shows I haven't spent much time in the sun and the dark circles under my eyes tell you I don't get enough sleep.'

She giggled nervously. 'Maybe you need someone to look after you.'

At that, he just gave her a withering look.

'Anyway Janine, I do have things I need...'

'OK, I'll cut to the chase...' she came and stood closer to him and put her hand onto his arm. It was all he could do not to pull it away but he kept still...maybe too still.

'I've missed you Sherly...I've missed us. I...I know you said that what we had wasn't really real and that it was all a ploy to get into Charlie's office but...well...I can't help but think we had something.'

He turned to face her and quickly realised that was a mistake when she moved forward into his space and, as she put her wine down, she moved her hands up to his chest.

He caught them before she could slide them up to his neck but she moved forward and kissed him.

Once again he held still, his lips closed and unmoving against her own until she pulled back scowling.

'You can't tell me there was nothing Sherlock. I know there was...you just need to give "us" a chance.'

'Listen, Janine, I don't know what to tell you...you are an amazing woman and you're right, we did have fun at times but...you should know that I consider myself to be married to my work.'

At that she scoffed. 'Well, we both know that's a lie...but I can see that you're going to play hard to get and that's fine...I can play the long game.'

'Janine...'

'No, don't worry. I can see myself out. Just...just think about what I said Sherl. And maybe remember that night we spent here after going to see the opera.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as his mind immediately brought up images from that night and he swallowed heavily...perhaps he had let things go a bit further than he'd intended to that night but it didn't change anything.

He opened his mouth to say something but she just shook her head and left his flat. He hoped rather than knew it would be for the last time.

As Janine walked away from Sherlock's flat she smiled to herself. She had known that getting Sherlock back wouldn't be easy but she had never not been successful at getting a man in her bed and Sherlock would be no different...he just needed time and the odd nudge or two. Anyway, after seeing his travel documents she had a plan.

She took out her phone and dialled a number she hadn't called in a while. It didn't take long for it to be answered.

'Hey, long time no speak. Listen, I need a favour...'

A bit of a set up chapter, more of a prologue, inspired by how Agatha started her story. Anyway, I hope it's enough to intrigue you and have you wanting to come back for more. Let me know xx